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milksnake-tea · 4 months ago

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━━ star-shaped .

War was never pretty. Death comes for both enemy and ally, and even as a healer, you cannot save everyone. Wearied by the war that seems to drag on for years, with no victory in sight, you join Jiaoqiu at the campfire for a rare moment of peace.

jiaoqiu x gn!reader

contains: based on leaks abt jiaoqiu's character stories !! but honestly its kinda implied in the quest but idk. has death, war, depictions of injuries and diseases, things are rough, can be read as platonic or romantic !!

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i love this man and his potential because goddamn war stories??? in my hsr??? sign me UP. also this was inspired by The Things They Carried by Tim Burton that i was forced to read in highschool. i loved the soldier death scene in that book so YEAH

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven @camellia-rabbit , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace

The man you killed had two eyes; one was closed, and the other a star-shaped hole.

You wake when the sky is still dark and the sun bathes the other side of the planet. Harsh winds beat unrelentlessly at the tent’s folds, and hail pelts at the sturdy fabric.

Some of your comrades, fellow healers, sleep soundly as they can on the battlefield, while others work tirelessly in the makeshift hospital next tent over, keeping an eye on injured and diseased soldiers’ conditions.

Fire crackles outside. The sound is sharp, yet barely audible over the snow storm.

With a sigh, you pull your sheets off of you and as quietly as possible, make your way outside the tent. You aren’t going to get much sleep anyway - you might as well do something useful.

The man you killed resurfaces in your mind. He had two eyes - one closed, the other a star-shaped hole.

You pull your fur-lined coat closer around you as you step out into the camp. Snow crunches under your boots and you have to hold your hood in place to shield yourself from the hail.

To say that this planet is freezing would be an understatement. Here, the cold chilled you from your bones to your skin, seeping into your veins and leaving icicles in its wake. Frostbite was an everyday occurrence here; you’ve had to amputate more toes and fingers than ever in your life.

A silhouette sits before the fire, their back turned to you. As you get closer, you make out tall, Foxian ears and the same winter coat you’re currently wearing.

“Jiao?” you wrinkle your nose as you near, suddenly slammed with the strong scent of chili. Your comrade acknowledges you with a brief flick of the ears, but nothing more.

You don’t blame him. This war has been a harsh one, with less soldiers returning to camp every time they’re sent out. Unknown territory and harsh weather conditions made the battles long and exhausting, and healers could only do so much.

Not to mention, time passed so quickly yet so slowly here. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been stationed, but it feels like several lifetimes.

Everyone is tired. You can see it in the hollowed cheeks, the eyes that have grown numb to death, and the despondent numbness that has overtaken the camp. They no longer cared who won or who lost. All they wanted was to return home in one piece.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed, and the other was a star-shaped hole.

You sit down next to Jiaoqiu on the log. The Foxian makes no move to push you off, only shifting to the side to help make room for you. Hugging your knees to your chest, you stare blankly at the drifting embers that dance in the air.

Jiaoqiu absentmindedly stirs at his soup. It boils in a small pot just above the fire, the thin liquid a red so bright it’d be threatening… if you had the energy to be threatened.

“It’s late,” you say into the crisp silence. “You should get some sleep before the sun rises. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Even as the words leave your mouth, you know it’s pointless. In war, sleep is something you have to force your body into. You have to lie down in the tents, look up at the fabric sky and listen to the hustle and bustle outside as soldiers are carried in and out, and close your eyes to the screams as yet another frostbitten knight has their arm cut off. You have to put yourself first, even for that small second, and allow yourself rest while your comrades fight on the front lines.

Sleep is a luxury that no one can afford. It is an escape. It is shameful.

And from the looks of Jiaoqiu’s darkened eye bags and mindless stirring, it’s a sin he won’t be partaking in tonight.

And neither will you.

Your gaze falls to the small bag of spices lying next to Jiaoqiu on the long. You can see peppercorns, cloves, fennel, cinnamon, and… star anise.

You look away.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed.

“How are you faring?” Jiaoqiu finally speaks. He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes on the flame.

Another gust of wind runs through you.

“As well as anyone else is, I suppose.”

Jiaoqiu swirls the soup with one hand. A bubble bursts and sprays the snow in little sizzling red freckles.

“How about you?” you ask.

The snow has already covered the soup’s spill by the time Jiaoqiu replies.

“As well as one can be,” he mutters. His hands, gloved with thick leather, clench once before relaxing.

A hollow chuckle leaves you. You sigh, kicking your legs out onto the snow and leaning back on the log. You look to the sky, to the cryptically beautiful cosmos. Blues, purples, and reds merge together like watercolor clouds above you, and small, white stars bejewel them.

Stars… Your gaze becomes lidded.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was a star-shaped hole.

“Do you think that man had a family?”

If Jiaoqiu was surprised at all by your question, he didn’t show it.

“Does it matter?” He takes a small taste of his soup. Despite it practically glowing in red, he doesn’t seem satisfied. “He was the enemy, need I remind you.”

You close your eyes briefly. “But I’m a healer.”

“You are.” Jiaoqiu opens his pouch and dumps in the rest of his chili rations - what for, you don’t know nor do you care to know. “You are also a soldier of the Xianzhou Yaoqing military. War always ends up in casualties, you know this. So did the soldier.”

There’s a bitterness in his tone that makes you wonder if he was talking to himself as well as to you. Your eyes soften.

“You did what you could, Jiao,” you offer. You want to put your hand on his shoulder, but you aren’t sure if that is appropriate, given the circumstances. “What happens outside the camp is beyond our control.”

Jiaoqiu sighs. His hand tightens around the ladle.

“Then what’s the point?” he whispers. His brows furrow, and his eyes open - a gem of amber reflecting years worth of grief and hopelessness. “What purpose do I have as a healer if I cannot stop my patients from hurtling towards their deaths?”

He turns to you, searching your face for any sort of answer that could satisfy him, that could reassure him that there was meaning, there was a point, that all of those bandages and surgeries and amputations weren’t for naught.

But you cannot answer him, for it is a question that no healer knows the answer to.

“You gave them another chance at life,” you say softly, unconvincingly. “That’s all that matters.”

“Even if that life is destined to end regardless of what I do?”

Dead eyes meet dull ones.

“What happens outside the camp is beyond our control,” you repeat blankly.

The man you killed had two eyes.

Jiaoqiu searches your gaze once more, before ultimately giving up. The amber of his eyes close, and he returns to the cauldron.

In a feeble attempt to console him, you go against your earlier thoughts and rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. But with the roughness of your gloves and the cold limiting the dexterity of your hands, it isn’t much - but it’s enough.

Jiaoqiu glances at your hand, then back at the cauldron.

“Do you feel bad?”

You blink, a bit caught off guard by the question, but you settle down soon enough.

“No,” you say after a brief pause. “He would’ve killed us if I hadn’t killed him.”

You lean forward, resting your head in your palm as you watch the flames swallow up what little tinder the others managed to collect.

“I’m just glad to be alive.” You don’t sound like you believe it.

Jiaoqiu’s ear flicks. You hear him stand up and scoop some of the soup up into his ladle, and dash out his tongue to taste it. His tail swishes, and his eyes widen momentarily, amber flashing like lightning.

A smile, a weary, tired, but grateful smile, slips onto his lips.

He turns to you, vitality returned, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Try this,” he says, holding the ladle out towards you.

You eye it warily. The liquid drips down the sides of the ladle and drops down onto the snow below, sizzling the second red touches white. You didn’t think it was possible for the soup to get even redder, but Jiaoqiu somehow did it.

“I won’t die if I eat it, right?” you try to joke. Jiaoqiu huffs, his breath steaming in the air.

“You doubt my cooking capabilities?”

You shake your head. “No, but whatever you have in there doesn’t exactly look… edible.”

And yet you’re already leaning forward to taste his concoction. Jiaoqiu carefully holds the ladle still as you take a sip.

Instantly your senses are flooded with pure, unyielding heat. Fire blazes on your tongue, searing your throat and bringing tears to your eyes. Your stomach burns, and for the first time since you’ve come to this planet, you stop shivering.

It’s painful.

It’s exhilarating.

“It’s delicious,” you praise despite the coughs that wreck your being. “Although… did you have to add so much chili?”

Jiaoqiu hums out a laugh. “But that’s what makes it special.”

You don’t bother denying it. Instead, you laugh alongside him, eyes crinkling with joy instead of pain after years of constant war.

You’ll have to return to the war eventually. The sun is already beginning to rise, and soon the soldiers will be awakened to go out into battle once more. You’ll have to take over for your comrades who had spent the night in the hospital.

But you don’t have to do it just yet.

For now, you just want to enjoy this moment, this second of normalcy and peace in the battlefield.

The man you killed had two eyes.

One was closed.

The other was a star-shaped hole.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu #hsr jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu hsr x reader #jiaoqiu hsr #x reader #reader insert #y/n #archives 🏵️

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dreamgrlarchive · 1 year ago

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High Maintenance 101

Prissy Girl Beauty Regimens 🎀

my prissy girl guide to beauty services and building a beauty lifestyle that fits you 💗

Skincare:

Essential Skincare Routine ❤︎︎

twice daily, in the morning and at night

daytime: gentle cleanser, toner, serum, eye cream, moisturizer, SPF

prep and protect skin

nighttime: double cleansing with oil and cleanser, exfoliation, treatments, moisturizer

wash away the day and help skin accept treatments and actives during your beauty sleep

products will change depending on skin type and goals, but sequence will more or less stay the same

Face Masks + Treatments ❤︎︎

Face Masks -

typically done at home 1-3x/week

clay, gel, mud, cream, liquid

my fav masks at home:

aha + bha liquid mask by the ordinary: a literal overhaul of my pores. it’s refining and helps reduce texture and hyperpigmentation. 1-2 x/week

korean modeling mask: i use this after doing everything in my routine. it’s super cooling and smooths my skin out. the low temp of the mask reduces flushing of my skin and helps the steps in my routine absorb better. 2-3 x/week

Treatments -

done either 1-3x/week and/or exclusively at night

consumer grade Retinols, AHAs, BHAs at high strength

little extra things i like to use to enhance my routine:

gua sha, ice pack, rose quartz roller, however often i choose

Facials ❤︎︎

done every 1-2 months by licensed estheticians

often includes exfoliation and extraction

Classic Facial: cleanse, extract, massage, moisturize

HydraFacials: extracts pores while infusing serums to boost skin’s vitamin and nutrient content

dry, dehydrated skin

Microdermabrasion: microabrasive tool removes outermost, textured, damaged layer of skin using suction to reveal a smooth and refined new layer of skin

sun damaged, aged, textured skin or skin with hyperpigmentation

Chemical Peel: application of medical grade AHA, BHA, Lactic Acid, Fruit Enzymes, or Retinol to peel away top layers of skin over the course of 1-2 weeks

pore refining, brightening, and anti-aging

after care is crucial. skin will be peeling and sensitivity to sun is increased. SPF MUST be used. it’s heavily advised that clients stay home for the first few days.

HydroJelly Facial: facial made of electrolytes, algae, organic white grain oat flour, rice flour, and white willow bark powder. leaving your skin hydrated, plump, and nourished. forms a vacuum-like seal that compresses facial contours.

there are 25 different hydrojelly pro masks for most skin concerns you may have, check here

More Facials ❤︎︎

Contouring Facial: sculpting, tightening, and lifting of facial muscles

LED Facial: uses LED light to soothe inflammation, aiding in acne healing and prevention

Vampire Facial: plumps skin and improves wrinkles by extracting blood, removing its platelets, then either re-injecting it into the skin or applying it topically

Diamond File Facial: finely ground diamonds resurface skin by filing to improve dark spots

Glass Skin Botox: multiple tiny botox injections just below the surface of the skin. alleviate fine lines, redness, texture, and more achieving glass skin

AquaGold Facial: microinjections that combine vampire facial methods, hyaluronic acid, botox, stem cells, antioxidants, vitamins, peptides, etc. improves fine lines, wrinkles, pores, pigmentation, acne scarring, dryness, tone, texture, skin elasticity, and more

cite

Hair:

Hair Care ❤︎︎

Wash Routines:

curly textured: wash and condition every 2-3 weeks, deep condition every 1-2 weeks

straight: wash and condition every 2-3 days, deep condition every 2-3 weeks

Styling ︎❤︎︎

Hair should have a style everyday! At home hairstyling is limitless and really depends on your taste and lifestyle. The everyday woman does her own her once every 1-4 weeks using natural hair products, heat, or other tools.

Professional Stylists:

hair is styled every 1-3 months: uses heat to straighten or curl, extensions to lengthen and add volume, shears to maintain/attain a shape and length

trim ends: every 6-8 weeks

hair color: touched up roughly every 6-8 weeks (depending on how fast your hair is growing and how fast your color will fade)

Silk Press:

after a clarifying wash and deep conditioning, natural hair is straightened using flat iron and/or pressing comb, then usually curled in feathers or pin curls to preserve the style

lasts 3-4 weeks depending on maintenance

preserved by wrapping hair at night, keep hands out of hair, and using a wide toothed comb only

can be further styled with different kind of rollers, or with pin curls

Braids:

afrocentric hairstyles typically done to protect hair while maintaining beauty

lasts 3-8 weeks

styles include knotless braids, faux locs, stitch braids, french braids, etc

Extensions:

hair added to natural hair to enhance length or volume

can be done at home with patience and proper materials

sew-in extensions: (my personal fav) 1-2 months

your natural hair gets braided down flush to your scalp and the bundles are sewn on by the wefts in a flat pattern typically with a section of hair left out to cover the wefts $100-600

microlinks: up to 4 months

i-tip extension is added to hair using micropliers, clippers and loop tool. takes far longer than most extension methods but looks the absolute most natural $500-1000

tape-in extensions: up to a year, touch ups every 4-6 weeks

medical grade tape is used to attach extensions to small sections of hair $200-400

clip-in extensions: 3-6 months

extensions are clipped on by the wefts. the hair itself can last up to six months, but it’s not recommended to sleep, shower, or swim with the extensions in $50-100

Natural Styles:

all last roughly 1-2 weeks at most. allowing hair to completely DRY is crucial for these styles. your natural hair can be further changed in styles like buns, puffs, etc once dry

natural hair essentials: scalp oil, leave in conditioner, detangling brush, wide tooth comb, curling cream, styling gel, edge control and edge brush

wash n’ go

wash and detangle, then use leave in conditioner to keep hair moist. oil on the scalp and ends is recommended for growth and healthy ends

bantu knots

a traditionally african style where the hair is cleanly sectioned (usually parted in a cute pattern) and twisted into knots. style can be worn just like this or taken down for curls

braid/twist out

a specific pattern of curls is achieved after hair is twisted or braided with curl preserving products. end result depends on how big your twists or braids are

roller set

hair is sprayed with water and curl cream applied before roller of your choice is added. hair is left to dry usually overnight for springy well formed curls

Brows and Lashes:

Brow Shaping ❤︎︎

in salon or at home

Waxing - every 3 weeks

Threading- every 2-3 weeks

Razor Shaping - weekly

Brow Enhancement ❤︎︎

Tinting - monthly

can be done at home or by pro in the salon

Microblading - every 1-3 years + annual touch ups, exclusively professional work

cosmetic tattooing using a manual tool with nearly invisible hair-like needles to inject pigment in brows to create your desired brow look

Lash Enhancements ❤︎︎

*done exclusively by professionals

Lifts - every 6 weeks

basically a perm for your lashes to curl them semi-permanently for lashes to appear longer

Lash Extensions - new set every 6-8 weeks, fill ins every 2-3 weeks depending on quality and style

false individual strands of lashes glued to natural lashes to create semi-permanent length and/or volume

lash baths: wet lashes and apply a small amount of gentle cleanser or a “lash bath” to lashes. cleanse lashes and eyelids for about 10 seconds. hold a towel under your eye and use a nozzle bottle to flush soap and bacteria from lashes then dry with a disposable lint free towel. finish by brushing your lashes with a spoolie. daily.

Lash Styles:

Classic: one lash on each fan, thin lashes

Volume: fluffier lashes with more lashes on each fan

Hybrid: uses classic and volume lashes to make an alternated look

Russian: volume lashes made with very thin individuals, 5-6 extensions per natural lash, fanned out look

DIY Lash Extensions - lasts about a week (sometimes longer)

lash fragments or individual wisps are glued either under the lashes or on the lash line. KISS Falscara is a product that makes this concept simple and easy

Nails:

all these services can be done at home with the proper materials and KNOWLEDGE

Classic Manicure ❤︎︎

every 1-2 weeks

nail service that consists of soaking hands in warm soapy water then drying them. nails are trimmed, filed, and buffed. cuticles are pushed back before applying nail polish (base coat, color, top coat), then finally cuticle oil is applied.

nails can be enhanced with rhinestones, glitter, or charms and attached with uv gel or nail glue

my fav styles are pink, cream, white, black and any french tip using those colors

Pedicure ❤︎︎

every 2-4 weeks

sister to the classic manicure, but can be upgraded depending on materials. steps are similar to manicure, except feet are scrubbed and exfoliated before feet are washed and dried to apply nail color

regular polish, acrylic, or gel can be used on toenails

Gel or Shellac Mani ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

same process as the classic manicure, but traditional nail polish is replaced with uv base coat, gel or CND Shellac polish, then uv top coat that’s cured in a UV or LED lamp

longer lasting and more strong/3d than classic mani and is typically removed by soaking in acetone

Apres Gel-X Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

my personal fav at home nails using the artme yoko matsuda nails. after doing a classic mani sans polish, you apply a dehydrator and primer to prep nail for gel. then you apply builder gel to your natural nail and cure. then you apply that same builder to the nail extension after etching it using an electric drill or acetone. marry the gel to your nail and cure. then just shape to your liking and top with uv top coat. tutorial here

Acrylic Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks, nails are fully grown out after 6 weeks

manicure done with liquid monomer and acrylic powder to build and extend natural nail, then polished with color or just a top coat if desired

Russian Mani ❤︎︎

every 4-5 weeks

essentially a gel manicure, but more invasive. the eponychium is snipped away so polish can be applied more closely and flush to the cuticle. this aids in visuals and longevity

service is seen as risky because the skin is more susceptible to fungal or bacterial infection. this is actually how i do my nails at home.

Body:

Bathing ❤︎︎

2x daily

self explanatory, we all know how to bathe. i have other posts that talk about my shower and bath routines.

use a gentle cleanser then a scented body wash to complement perfume and smell fresh all day.

if needed, you can use body soaps with actives like aha, bha or retinol to exfoliate or treat skin at night

exfoliation - 2-3x/week. using scrubs, loofahs, bath brushes, etc.

Hair Removal ❤︎︎

shaving - 2-3x/week

waxing - every 3-5 weeks

sugaring - monthly

ipl device - a device that uses light therapy to slowly destroy hair follicles and unwanted pigment in skin. i use mine after every 5-6 shaves but i could really use it more often.

Vajacial ❤︎︎

1-2x/month

a “facial” for your lady area

the esthetician will first wax, then cleanse and apply an enzyme exfoliant. then they extract any blackheads or ingrown hairs from the area before applying a soothing mask usually in the jelly form.

Moisture and Hydration ❤︎︎

body cream or lotion - daily right after bathing to hydrate skin

body oil - daily to seal in moisture and protect skin from debris and dryness

masks - weekly to address particular skin concerns

ex. when i was having eczema flare ups on my back, i used a dead sea mud mask every 1-2 weeks to help treat it

done at home or at spa

glycolic, clay, mud, salicylic, etc.

Enhancement Procedures:

the goal is to look younger and balance facial features. all these services are exclusively done by professionals usually in a medspa and are widely considered luxury.

Botox ❤︎︎

every 6-8 months; between brows, smile lines, outer corners of eyes, etc

discourages muscle movement to reduce wrinkles

Lifts ❤︎︎

lasts about 10 years; face, neck, brow, eyelids

skin is lifted to desired look, then excess skin is removed

Fillers ︎❤︎︎

every 6-12 months; under-eye, lips, jawline, wrinkle sites, cheekbones

injects acids (usually naturally occurring) like Hyaluronic Acid and Calcium Hydroxylapatite to add volume to your face

Body Contouring ❤︎︎

every 2-4 months until desired results are achieved

non invasive liposuction to achieve desired physique

CoolSculpting - cryolipolysis freezes fat cells for the body to the metabolize and and remove them

SculpSure - essentially the same as CoolSculpting, but uses heat and laser technology to destroy fat cells

Laser Hair Removal ❤︎︎

every 5-6 weeks; bikini, underarms, legs, arms

touch ups done every 1-2 years

hair growth is inhibited by exposing follicles to light at frequencies that kill them

Building the Regimen 🗒️💕:

when making appointments with your “glam squad” you can stagger your services by week depending on what’s being done. for example you can get your mani and pedi done one week. then your facials, brows and lashes another week.

Things to Keep in Mind 💭💞:

these frequencies won’t be the same for everyone depending on personal wants, budgets, etc. but will most likely land somewhere in the ranges i gave. if you need touch ups or redos any sooner than i mapped out, then the service most likely was of poor quality.

anything done at home may or may not be up to the level of detail and longevity as salon or spa work. if you see yourself doing the majority of your beauty maintenance at home, this can save money but may end up taking more time than professional services. so it’s a give and take.

More Resources:

manage your routines, services and products using a beauty binder

a look at my skincare routine

at home beauty treatments for the summer

my hair care routine at home

pretty on purpose by @shefromhouston

monthly beauty routine by @angeljpg

dream girl routines by me

#the prissy girl agenda #dream girl journey #prissy lifestyle tips 💕🎀#dream girl routines #masterpost #my posts #skincare

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milksuu · 1 year ago

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Second Magic

Pairing(s): Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & II / witch!fem!reader

Word count: 2.OK

Content/Warnings: soulmates, reincarnation, immortal, soft magic, slice of life, fluff, minimal use of y/n, minor angst, implied sexual themes, minor blood

Summary: Death claims everyone at some point. Unfortunately for you, your gift of magic cursed you with eternal youth and an ability that has shunned you from the village of Berk. More than one-hundred years later, memories resurface when you’re visited for a potion from Berk’s next chief.

He was the spitting image of your long-lost love—your soulmate—Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.

a/n: hello there everyone! I'm back with something new to add to the hiccupxreader tags. still on my mythical/magical kick. I do plan to have about three parts to this. so please stay tuned for updates, or let me know if you'd like to join a tag list. thank you and please enjoy.

There came a knock at the door. No one ever knocked on a witch's door by accident.

From the bedroom window, you peeked through the muslin curtain. Below the two-story cottage, grew a garden of lush greens and wild flowers. Where the weeds and dandelions led a trail to your front porch, a figure stood at your door. More pestering thuds bothered the home and the skin of your nose wrinkled. Muttering a thing or two, you ambled down the aching stairs. Before reaching the door, you rummaged through a decorative drawer, procuring a gray river rock. It was enchanted with one of your magic spells—a screeching stone, you called it.

“You can stop trying to break down my door,” you said, pressing the stone against the entryway. “Didn’t you read the sign posted on the oak tree outside? Clearly, it said no trespassing.”

“No—think I might’ve missed it,” the muffled voice of a young man answered, and it seemed honest enough. The stone hummed at the response. “Are you [Y/N], by chance?”

“There’s a chance I could be,” you said with soured lips. “Not many people come this far into the woods. And fewer people know of me, let alone my name. Which leads me to ask, who exactly sent you?”

“Gothi sent me. She mentioned you two knowing each other,” he replied in truth, and the stone continued its soft hymns. “She said if there’s anyone who could help me, it would be you.”

She’s still alive?

“That all depends. I trust Gothi, but I’ll need to trust you as well. You can start by telling me your name.”

There was a beat in the air. “It’s Hiccup.”

The ghost of your breath trapped itself inside your chest. That name—it had been buried beneath over a century ago. Yet the stone sang sweetly, and your heart squeezed in a haunting delight. A part of you wished it would scream. Wretched and revolting as it was, it would give you reason to cast the stranger away.

To your grief, he wasn’t so much a stranger as you thought.

Pocketing the stone, you opened the door with a creak. Meeting the green meadow of his eyes, your magic dug its fiery claws between your ribs. With all your power, you tried not to let his familiar freckles unsettle you. Fearing if you did, your magic would spring out of control. The windows would shatter. The roof would crumble to dust. The fireplace would spark and scorch the floors. Or something much worse. Touch him, and reveal when death would knock on his own door.

You wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not ever.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in,” you said, "we can talk more inside.”

He tipped his chin and thanked you for the invitation. When he stepped through, his gaze swept about your home. Dried flowers, herbs and spices hung from every inch of ceiling by twine. Sunlight spilled from the white-painted windows, and warmed the cushions of two chairs perched near the fireplace. Bookcases stood on either side of the mantle, stretched tall enough to touch the rafters, and wide enough to cover the entire walls. At the back of the home was the kitchen and brewing space. With emerald cabinets and honied-countertops, stacked with jars and vials, scattered petals, and corked potions.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said. “I’ll prepare us something warm to drink.”

With a blink, he tore his gaze from the foliage and oddities. “Sure, I would appreciate it.”

When you left for the kitchen, he absently traced a hand against the chairs upholstery. Although it matched its counterpart, there were subtle differences; the legs were built taller, and arm rests crafted higher. When he took a seat, it felt made for someone of his stature—an odd thing to notice. His gaze raised to a row of books on one of the bookcase shelves. One particular book stood out among the jewel-toned backs of scarlet, green, and yellow. A simple spine of leather, softened over-time with use, and streaks of charcoal staining the edges.

Like a cool breeze, a sense of familiarity swept through him, touching the marrow of his bones. It begged the question.

“Have you always lived here by yourself?” Hiccup asked.

“You could say that.”

For a moment, you lost yourself in the fragrant pools. When was the last time you served someone tea? It may have been the day before a young man's mortal fate—the same day you couldn’t convince him to stay. Leaving you to join the collection of things he left behind. Your throat tightened around what felt like a ball of hot wax. Searing as it was, you swallowed its entirety.

Balancing the trembling porcelain, you returned to the next room and took a seat of your own.

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’ve…never welcomed visitors. It’s always been safer that way.” With a smile, you offered him a cup. “But between Gothi sending you and your genuine nature, I’d like to help you.”

“Thanks—and you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who decided to come here unannounced. So…” Hiccup trailed off, taking a drink. He stared at the ripples with solemnity. “My father isn’t doing so well. And you know Gothi, she’s the best Seer we have on Berk. She’s done all she can, but it’s not going to be enough. When I asked if there was anything more I could do, she recommended that I seek you out.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” you said, lowering your own cup. “If Gothi wasn’t able to help him, then he must be very sick.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.” He worked the tension of his lips between his teeth. Then pitched a sincere look your way, and said, “So you know, I’m not worried about you being a witch. If anything, I find myself pretty lucky to ask for your help. Even if that does mean I have to sell my soul for it.”

“I have some good news for you, then. I won’t be needing it. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even know what to do with yours,” you said with a laugh. “But most spells and potions require something of personal value. At least, the stronger ones do.”

Setting your tea cup aside, you hopped onto your toes. Approaching one of the bookcases, you trailed a finger against the backs of countless titles. Your search came to an end when you plucked one out; dense with musky pages, a silver lock clasped at the side, and a small wooden door carved into the cover.

Peering over your shoulder, you found your nosy company arched forward in his chair. You cleared your throat, “Don’t think about peeking over here. A witch never reveals her secrets.”

He apologized under his breath, and shifted his chin away. But like a child snuffed out of his curiosity, he wore a pout of disappointment. You smiled in amusement, and brought your attention back to the book.

You knocked against the small door in a melodic tempo. The little door sprang open, revealing a tiny ear inside. You brought your mouth close, whispering the incantation with the smallest voice you could muster. Too loud, and the door would snap shut against your lips.

An unpleasant experience you remembered from childhood.

The lock clicked open, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Page after page, you mumbled and zipped through each recipe. A couple more turns, you tapped against the right one. Breezing through the ingredients, you had all but one. Oh buttercups, you blushed.

“What is it?” Hiccup furrowed his brows at your dawning expression. “Everything all right?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. I—I don’t have one of the ingredients any longer. But maybe you still do,” you exclaimed, taming the warmth of your cheeks. “Come with me.”

With a tilt of your head, you gestured to the kitchen. Your guest rose from his seat, following your footsteps. With instructions for him not to touch anything, you scrambled to find your proper ingredients; mugwort, newt tail, bog water, and a strand of witch hair. Tossed and muddled by mortar and pestle, you poured the mixed contents into a glass jar.

“Time for the last ingredient,” you said, picking up a kitchen knife, “hold out a finger.”

Although hesitant, he lifted a hand. “Tell me you’re not going to cut it off. I’m already down a leg, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Not at all. That would be more than what I actually need,” you answered, albeit a little too plainly. With your other hand, you touched the stone tucked in your dress pocket. “You only have to be honest when I ask you this question. If you’re not, then we’ll both hear about it.”

He nodded carefully. “Go ahead.”

“Have you ever—Oh, how should I put this?” Calming the storm of embarrassment brewing in your chest, you exhaled the words in one breath. “Have you ever committed the coupling act?”

There was a gulp. Then a twitch of his lips. Followed by a blush that bloomed from nose to ear. “What? No, I—I haven’t. What kind of question is that?”

Without a word, you sliced the tip of his finger. A hiss sizzled from his mouth when you squeezed it open. Aligning the bottle underneath, you caught the blood falling in pitter-patters. Once enough dripped into the brew, a plum of red smoke burst into the air. Both of you coughed and waved your hands around the space. When the pungent cloud faded into wisps, you corked the bubbling potion.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” He wrapped his finger in a handkerchief you provided. He went on to mutter, “Not sure why you couldn’t use your own finger.” By the delivery, the last part was meant to stay in his head.

Embarrassment washed through your veins, and painted every inch of your skin posy pink. The sight of it colored his own complexion.

“I didn’t mean to say that, honestly,” he apologized after the realization struck him. “It just sort of came out.”

“Absolutely no tact at all,” you chastised, snatching back the handkerchief. “Gods, you’re just as bad as him.”

He blinked with mystification. “Him?”

A slip of the tongue had the back hairs of your neck bristling. Magic pulsed like coils of lightning in your stomach. Crackling up through your chest, wanting to burn deeper holes in your heart. The roof groaned and creaked. Grains of wood dust fell onto your nose, dispelling the awful feeling.

“You have to go. Please, take it and leave. And don’t worry about repaying me.” Before he could argue, you forced the potion into his possession. With a clap of a hand, the wood beneath his feet shifted, motioning him out the front door.

“Wait a second.“ He wedged his prosthetic between the shutting door and frame. “Right bookcase, third shelf, leather back.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s a book that belongs to my family. Ask me how I know.” The question was rhetorical, and in your bafflement, he continued. “My families crest is sealed in its spine. And the only way you could have it is if someone gave it to you. You said you never had visitors. Sorry to say, but I’m not buying it.”

“That book has nothing to do with you or your family,” you glowered, and the stone screeched and howled from your pocket. You clapped your hands against your splitting ears, with your company mimicking your movements. Over the prevailing wails, you cried, “You’re right—I lied and I’m sorry for it! It belonged to your great-grand uncle. And that’s the truth of it.”

The screeching stone fell to whispers. But the thumping of your heart continued to beat in your ears.

“Wait. My great-grand uncle?” He caught a breath in his throat. “You don’t mean—there’s no possible way you’re talking about—”

“I am.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “My only visitor before you; Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.”

#hiccup x reader #httyd #hiccup httyd #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #how to train your dragon #hiccup horrendous haddock ii #reader insert #httyd fanfiction #httyd 2 #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup x you #httyd book references #you bet we're going to get some flashbacks of hiccup the second #buckle up dragon riders #we're expecting some angst in this fanfic

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wilmavasquez82619-blog · 9 days ago

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icarusignite · 3 months ago

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An Eye for an Eye Ch.8

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"You're my family and I love you. But you're terrible, you're all terrible."

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is left behind in the ruins of his marriage as he fervently seeks absolution for his sins, but neither his pious mother or gentle sister can give him what he needs and his debts to his wife will pay themselves in far bloodier ways.

Word Count: 4.3k

The morning sun began its slow ascent beyond the horizon, casting its faint light through the shattered remnants of the Red Keep's window. Its feeble rays danced upon the dishevelled figure of Aemond, whose once proud stature now slumped against the cold stone floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, as he ignored the splinters that dug into his flesh. His chambers lay in disarray, debris littering the floor, a chaotic mosaic of broken furniture and shattered glass.

With trembling hands, he examined the remnants of his misdeed. Blood, still wet and sticky, clung to his skin like a macabre badge of dishonour, nestled into the creases of his palms and beneath his nails. His fingers trembled as they traced the contours of the unseeing eye that lay nestled within his grasp, although it was no longer that brilliant shade. Discolouration had begun to set in, its surface wrinkled and cloudy, a relic of his own making.

Aemond's heart constricted with every beat as he beheld the ruin he had wrought, the weight of his sins pressing down upon him like a leaden shroud. He knew he should wash away the evidence, but no amount of scrubbing would rid him of the stain that marked him as a pariah in the eyes of gods and men alike.

Kinslayer.

Murderer.

He could not bring himself to move, could not muster the strength to rise from his pitiful perch upon the floor. His limbs felt heavy as lead, his eyelids drooping with the weight of his weariness. It seemed fitting, a poetic justice of sorts. He had the blood of his nephew on his hands, he had killed him after all, and yet his hands had remained untainted of the incriminating stains. Now he was covered in the blood of the one he loved most. He laughed self-depreciatingly, knowing that before this war was finished, he would be covered with a lot more blood. Perhaps even with the blood of his family. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he had sparked the first flame and now his family was under even more threat. His mother, Helaena, the children. Even his brother, his stupid drunk fool of a brother, but a brother nonetheless.

Aemond took a deep breath, willing himself to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept returning to the events of the previous hours. He should have been faster, more reactive. He wished he had gotten there earlier, had somehow managed to knock the knife out of his wife's hands before she carved up her own face. Instead, he had just stood there and watched like some shell-shocked fool.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't think she'd do it, didn't think she had it in her. It was too horrific a curse to incur upon oneself, and it took a certain measure of loathing to carry it out to completion. This final act of hers made him realize just how much her brother's death had affected her, unhinged her in some way. Looking at the blood under his fingernails again, he abruptly stood. Seized with the manic urge to scrub his hands until they bled, he could not stand the idea of having her blood on him for even an instant longer. He might as well have killed her, for the version of her he used to recognize was dead. It was the same as if he had wrapped his fingers around her pretty throat and squeezed until the life left her eyes, transforming her into whatever she was now.

She hadn't made a single sound. It was impossible and yet Aemond had seen it with his own eyes, the strange detachment, as if she was carrying out the procedure on someone else, and not her own flesh. His eye throbbed in fresh agony, the memories resurfacing with painful clarity. His own screams echoed in his ears. It had been agony. It had to have been agony for her as well.

They were finally equals in a way they had never been before.

That is how Alicent found him, minutes later, standing in his day-old clothes, frantically scouring his palms, the basin below him filled to the brim and devastatingly crimson. She had seen her son in moments of distress before, but never like this—his face drawn and haggard, his eyes haunted by shadows she could not hope to fathom.

For a fleeting moment, the dowager Queen found herself frozen in place, her mind struggling to process the tableau before her. She had been roused from her slumber by the distant echoes of chaos, the telltale signs of upheaval that had become all too familiar within the walls of the Red Keep. And now, as she stood on the threshold of Aemond's chamber, her gaze swept across the chaos that lay strewn about.

Before she could take another step forward, her son was upon her, his hands dripping with blood and water as he seized her shoulders in a desperate grip, staining her pale mint sleeves with carmine streaks. Despite being at his wit's end, despite everything, her safety was of paramount importance to him. Her silken slippers would do nothing to protect her from the danger his chamber floors posed, and he would be damned if he allowed his chaos to hurt her.

"Aemond," Alicent breathed her voice barely a whisper as she met his wide-eyed gaze. "Aemond? What's wrong?"

She looked like she had rushed out of bed and thrown on her robe haphazardly without a care for her appearance. Aemond thought it was quite unusual for his mother, given that she always did her best to look put together and meticulously tidy.

"Nothing, Mother. Nothing is wrong. You should go back to bed, it is very early," he tried to lull her back into a state of calm.

"What do you mean nothing is wrong? What are you doing, and did you not change for bed last night? You look out of sorts...and your chambers...what has happened, " her eyes fell on his hands and they narrowed, flickering upwards to trace his face.

"Mother...."

"Is that blood? I smell blood."

"Mother wait...I-" Aemond's loss of words did nothing to ease his mother's nerves.

"It's blood, isn't it? It's on your hands. Is that what you are trying so desperately to wash away? It's on your face too," she pointed at his forehead in horror and Aemond cursed himself. He must have smeared it accidentally.

"It is nothing. I just..."

"How can you say it is nothing? Have you not done enough? What other calamity have you brought upon our heads?"

She was rambling now, angry and tearful, not giving him a chance to explain.

"I heard a commotion. I couldn't sleep. It hasn't been easy these past few days and I had to see if you were alright! Tell me, son, are you alright?"

"I am perfectly fine, Mother. You do not have to worry about me."

"How can I not worry?" Alicent scoffed. "All you do is make me worry. All you do...you...and now I come to find you and see you scrubbing blood from your hands. Is it your own or someone else's? I do not know which I fear more."

"It is not mine," the one-eyed prince muttered softly. "I am not hurt. You have nothing to worry about. I'm right here."

Alicent was silent for a few moments, scrutinizing him in a way that made him want to squirm. She had a way of knowing when he was lying, even when he was just a boy. She'd eye him down like this, as if she could pull the secrets from his heart before he knew of them himself.

"You killed her didn't you?"

Aemond recoiled, his hands dropping from her shoulders instantly. He took a step back in horror.

"Who?"

"You know who, son."

"What-how?"

It was Alicent that gripped his shoulders now, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

"I asked you if you killed her Aemond! Your wife is missing and you're here covered in blood you say is not yours!" her voice dropped so that he had to strain himself just to hear her, and it was particularly hard to do so with the blood thundering through his ears.

"You...how could you say that? Do you...do you truly think me capable of something like that?"

His voice was stone against stone, hard and brittle, just inches away from shattering, and he did everything in his power not to let his mother hear the slight warble behind his words.

She heard it nonetheless, and her eyes softened. She was his mother after all, and she always knew.

"I did not think any of my children capable of bloodshed," she paused in thought —but if any of them were, it would have been you— "but after Lucerys, I... I am not sure about many things."

"I did not mean to kill him," her son said quietly.

"But you did...you have cost Rhaenyra not one, but two children. She will have your head for this. Daemon will have your head for this. Rhaenys and Corlys will have your head for this. That girl was..."

"I never said I-"

"All I ever wanted was to keep my children safe," Alicent snapped. "And yet they insist on creating new dangers for themselves. Why are you hell-bent on getting yourself killed with your foolish impulsive behaviour?"

Aemond looked away, feeling stung. Standing here now, listening to her berate him felt just like standing before her when he was a child, listening to her berate him for foolishly endangering his life by trying to tame dragons.

The stupidity of a child with the hands of a man, but no, that wasn't quite right.

The crimes of a monster under the guise of a man.

Even his mother thought he was a murderer now. He had always done his best to please her, to be the calming obedient child so that she would not be caused worry by him at least. The gods knew Aegon gave her plenty to worry about already, and his father was a demon of pointless dreams and a breaker of trust. There was so little joy in his mother's life, so he had always tried to fill the void, although perhaps there was only so much he could do, when he came from the unhappiness she did.

She thought him a monster; capable of monstrous things. His anguish must have shown on his face because Alicent finally stopped her tirade. Aemond could see the gears turning in his mother's head and he was afraid of the new suppositions taking root there. When she took a deep shuddering breath, he held his. Her initial shock seemed to seep away, and in its place, she slipped on a mask, returning to the calm and collected queen that she always was.

She placed a hand on his cheek and he leaned into her touch.

"Yes, well things happen my son. Now did you kill her? You must tell me immediately so we can take care of it before too many people find out. We must delay the news reaching Rhaenyra at all costs. Is there a body we need to dispose of?"

We.

She said we, and Aemond wondered if she'd really go through with it if he had killed Daenys. It almost scared him how well she took charge, talking about damage control with such practiced ease.

"Your duty is to your family Aemond. They are your priority. They are who you must protect. What is done cannot be undone. We must look to the future and ensure the protection of Aegon's crown," she continued.

Aegon. Always Aegon, and his crown.

"MOTHER!" Aemond finally exploded. "I did not kill her. I swear it on the Seven!"

Alicent froze. She blinked at him, slowly digesting the information before her face crumpled in relief. She almost collapsed to the floor and Aemond had to support her weight as she regained her balance.

"Where is she then? And whose blood is on your hands? Did you kill someone else?" his mother's questions were endless.

He told her what he could, in brief muted sentences, skimming past the more gory details, and omitting others entirely. He did not say that Daenys now sported a wound to match his own.

"So...so she's gone then? Where did she go?"

"To Dragonstone I suppose. Where else?"

Aemond lowered his gaze, realizing how disappointed his mother and grandsire would be upon finding out that he had let her go. After all their efforts to make her stay. Otto most of all, would be positively furious and he'd take it out on Alicent.

"Mother, I am sorry."

"For what my love?"

"For everything."

How did a boy apologize to his mother for being born?

"But most of all, for causing you to worry. And...for letting her go."

"Oh, my dearest boy, I cannot fault you for that. That girl was going to leave one way or another. I suppose it is better that she returned on her own and not in a casket. It was Father's idea to keep her here in the first place. I wished for peace, I have always wished for peace you know," Alicent brought him closer and held him tight.

Aemond felt like a little boy again, although this time it was a fonder memory, one of the few he held. A memory of his mother holding him like this, of the sleepless nights she spent tending to him after the loss of his eye, even when she could have passed him off to the maesters and servants. She loved him. She knew all of him and she loved him despite it all.

"Aemond."

"Yes, mother?"

"I need you to make me a promise."

"Anything."

"I want you to come back to me. No matter where you go...or what you do...I need you to return to me. My priority is your life, and in order to come back to me, you may have to do things you do not wish to. You may have to hurt people that you cannot fathom hurting, but you must promise me that you will. Promise that you will always come back to me no matter what you have to do for it."

"I-"

"You have to promise me this. That is all I ask. Nothing more, nothing less. Always return. it will never matter to me what you have done to do so."

It was as if she had read his mind once again, digging out his worst fears, shining a light onto them, and saying that she didn't care. It didn't matter to her, what he was, or who he'd become. He would and always be her son.

Aemond clutched his mother tighter. No one could love him like she could, in her own strange way that he sometimes found hard to understand. And in return, he'd lay down his life for her. He'd die for his mother, but he supposed she'd rather he kill for her, and so he would.

"I will pray to the gods for you, dearest."

The air hung heavy with the weight of centuries past as Alicent slipped into the chambers of the late King Viserys. It was a desolate place, devoid of life and warmth —not that it had ever contained those things anyway— and pale sheets draped over the furniture like shrouds, casting long shadows that danced across the barren floor.

Aegon's refusal to inhabit his father's chambers had left the room abandoned and forgotten, a ghost town within the heart of the Red Keep. The absence of knights to guard the entrance lent an eerie stillness to the air, broken only by the soft whisper of Alicent's footsteps as she moved further into the room.

Her eyes swept over the tapestries that adorned the walls, their colours dull but she knew them by heart, the placement of every thread, every stitch. She had after all spent many a night staring holes into them, wishing to be anywhere but here.

In the center of the chamber stood Viserys's model of old Valyria, its intricate spires and towers frozen forever in a state of incompleteness. And then, there was the bed—the accursed bed where she had spent countless nights wishing she could cease to exist, longing for a reprieve that would never come. Its ornate carvings seemed to mock her, each twist and turn a reminder of the shackles that bound her to a fate she had never asked for.

Alicent's chest tightened with each passing moment, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she fought to contain the rage and despair that threatened to consume her. She wanted to scream, to scream until her throat bled, but in all her years of servitude and sacrifice, she had never given her grief a voice, and she certainly wasn't going to start now.

Still, it wasn't fair.

As her fingers closed around the first miniature stone structure, she could feel the weight of resentment and grief pressing down upon her. The cool surface of the model was rough against her skin, its edges sharp with the memory of a thousand silent screams. With a surge of determination, she wrenched the structure away from the model, a fierce satisfaction blooming within her chest.

The impact as she hurled the stone against the wall reverberated through the empty chamber, the sound echoing but unheard in this corner of the castle no one wanted to visit anymore. Alicent watched with a mixture of triumph and relief as the shards scattered across the floor, a testament to the destruction she had wrought.

But it was not enough—not nearly enough.

With renewed fervour, she set to work dismantling the model piece by piece, tearing down the city of old Valyria with relentless fury. Each stone she pried loose was a blow against the legacy of her late husband, a reckoning for the pain and suffering he had inflicted upon her and their children.

With each structure that burst into dust beneath her touch, she felt a surge of vindication coursing through her veins. It was Viserys's fault, she knew it with a certainty that bordered on madness. He had been the architect of their misery, the puppet master pulling the strings of their lives with callous disregard.

Her children bore the scars of his indifference, and he was the worst part of them —the fact that they came from him. He made them so difficult to love, but she loved them all the same because they came from her too.

And now they were going to be taken away from her, and everything would have been for nothing. All her years of silence would be for nothing. Rhaenyra was going to kill them all, and it was her own son who had hastened the inevitable.

Somewhere in the corner of his chambers, the ghost of Viserys laughed at her misery, laughed at how everything she had spent years building was coming undone through the acts of her son, just as she tore down his life's work.

Later Alicent would light a candle in The Grand Sept, and say a prayer for forgiveness. She would ask the Seven to protect her children, to forgive her sons for their misdeeds, to forgive her for her outbursts, and then she'd spare a single thought for her own mother, gone long before Alicent knew what a burden it was to be one herself.

It was said that no child could save their mother, but it was rarely remembered that no mother could save her child either.

Old habits died hard, and whenever things got particularly difficult, Aemond found himself returning to his sister's chambers. It was their own particular tradition, seeking shelter in each other, Aemond from his thoughts, and Helaena from her dreams.

She was awake early this morning, gazing out the window in contemplation. She registered his presence before he even arrived at her door, calling him in with her back turned toward him, and for a moment neither of them spoke, the only other noise being the sound of their synchronized breathing and the gentle breeze coming in from the open window.

"So she's gone then?"

Aemond was startled, wondering how she could possibly know, but he nodded.

"I saw her go, brother...but she left something behind."

Not knowing what else to say, the one-eyed prince apologized.

Helaena's words were soft, almost a whisper, "I am not the one you should be apologizing to, at least not yet."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I...I killed Lucerys Velaryon," Aemond confessed in shame, and his sister's lips twisted in a grimace.

"I think we are all aware of that already."

"No, I actually killed him. I think I meant to kill him."

Helaena was quiet for a long time.

"Please say something..." Aemond almost pleaded

"Did you want to kill him?"

"No! Yes. I don't know. When I saw him that day in Storm's End, I was just so angry. When I took Vhagar after him, all I knew was that I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to hurt as much as I hurt. I wanted him to be in pain, I wanted him to suffer."

"So it was both a game and also not?"

"Perhaps."

"Only you can say for sure. Your dragon can sense your intentions, brother."

"I know," Aemodn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was a fool and now I'm a coward. I blame Vhgar for something that was my fault. A dragon is a weapon. I was her wielder, her rider. She felt my rage and behaved accordingly, and it resulted in death.

Aemond's swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. The answer to his next question was what he dreaded the most.

"Do you think I'm a monster, Hel?"

His nickname for her made Helaena's heart ache. He said it with the same earnestness that was so reminiscent of the times when they were children. Infact this entire situation was painfully nostalgic, although a younger Aemond drunk on milk of the poppy was much different than this older version of him who was drunk on regret.

They both looked at her in the same way though, pleading for her understanding, pleading for her forgiveness.

Do you think I'm a monster? Do you think I look like one? Do you think I behave like one?

He couldn't help it. He was her little brother.

She couldn't help it either. She was his sister.

This was their tragedy.

She knew him once. She liked to think she knew him still.

Helaena Targaryen took her brother's face in her hands and kissed his forehead.

"It does not matter what I think. Your sin is not mine to forgive."

"She will never forgive me, will she? How could she? How could anyone."

"You are not a monster. Monsters are not capable of self-condemnation."

"I have done a monstrous thing, Hel! Does that not make me a monster?"

"Men do monstrous things," Helaena sighed. "It is what separates us from the saints. What separates you from a true monster is that you know it was a monstrous thing to do and you feel remorse. Your conscience still lives."

Aemond let out a bitter laugh, "You may be the only person who thinks that way. I suspect even Mother is weary of me now. And Daenys...well it would be a miracle she can restrain herself from gutting me open the next time she sees me."

"My dreams do not tell me how all this ends, brother."

"You do not need any dreams to know how this one ends. A war only ends in bloodshed."

"And grief," Helaena added. "Always grief."

"Right."

Helaena turned to look at him with sorrowful eyes, "I grieve for her. For our dear sister, for all she has lost and has yet to lose."

I grieve for myself too, and all that I will.

"I don't think I've told anyone this before," Aemond admitted. "I don't think I have even allowed myself to think of it. It felt easier to pretend that I did not wish for it, but I think... a part of me meant to kill him and now that I feel awful for it, I'm not sure what I am."

"Do you feel awful because your actions killed him or because Daenys wants nothing to do with you anymore?"

"Is there a difference?"

His sister nodded sagely, "That makes all the difference."

"I...I am not sure."

"Then perhaps you need to think on it more, brother."

"I know."

"The right thing is never easy. Your guilt is your penance. You must live with it for the rest of your days."

"Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"

Will Mother? Will you?

"Mother has already forgiven you," Helaena said simply, as if reading his mind.

"And Daenys?"

"You cannot completely unlove someone, no matter how hard you try, no matter how awful they are. And you are far from awful, brother."

"Of course, you would say that. You're my sister."

"I only mean to say that your debt will find a way to pay itself. Debts usually do."

She frowned then, as if lost in thought and Aemond found himself wondering what it was that held her captive in her own mind. He dare not ask. His sister had a habit of spouting strange things, things he could make no sense of.

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3

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antiagingtreatmentclinic · 3 months ago

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Combat Aging with Expert Skin Rejuvenation Treatments at Leading Clinics

With time the skin becomes saggy and wrinkles appear which can lead to loss of self-confidence for a woman but with skin rejuvenation treatments at leading clinics one can make the skin look young and fresh in a safe way. Professionals at the leading skin clinics do a proper analysis to understand the skin types and issues affecting a person and then prepare a proper plan to utilise the best treatment and also cosmetic injectables for making the skin beautiful and supple.

Helping in Developing a Beautiful Skin with Best Treatments for Skin

Skin resurfacing is an effective treatment used at leading beauty clinics for rejuvenating the skin by addressing various concerns such as wrinkles, acne scars, and uneven skin tone. It uses advanced radio frequency technology and with this treatment the deeper layers of the skin are heated to stimulate collagen and elastin production. This is considered suitable for all skin types, and the downtime is minimal. The overall texture and appearance of the skin is significantly improved thus, making it a popular choice for those seeking non-invasive anti-aging solutions.

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There are many issues related to skin that can affect an individual and each issue require a proper understanding of the situation and then applying the correct treatment. Book an appointment with the leading skin and beauty clinics see the difference in their approach to understanding a problem and offering the correct solution for the situation.

SUMMARY:

Prominent skin clinics provide skin rejuvenation treatments to make people appear younger and more radiant. These therapies include LamProbe age spot therapy, anti wrinkle injections, etc. In order to improve texture and look, skin resurfacing entails heating deeper layers of skin to encourage the creation of collagen and elastin. All skin types can benefit from these treatments, which have little downtime.

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#skin rejuvenation treatments #age spots treatment #skin resurfacing #anti wrinkle injections

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teenfamedr · 1 year ago

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Real Skincare Guide

Level 1: breakouts, non-painful, a little scarring

Minimize your skincare routine, all you need is an oil cleanser (if you wear a lot of makeup) than a good foam cleanser, moisturizer, and sunscreen. Repeat the same routine before bed just without the sunscreen.

Wear sunscreen everyday!!!

Always apply more moisturizer than you think you need.

Drink a lot of water (2-3LT)

Get consistent sleep

Take a multi vitamins to balance your hormones. I recommend the One-A-Day Woman’s Vitamins (get a real pill cause the gummies don’t have enough iron)

Work on your stress (breathe work, meditate, journal, yoga, walks, going out with friends, therapy, etc)

Look at what body oils/shampoo/conditioner you are using. Could be your akin reacting poorly to something in there.

Level 2: consistant breakouts, acne, scarring

All the stuff for Level 1 apply.

Minimize your skincare routine and than slowly add back in stuff like hydrochloric acid and retinol. Having an elaborate skincare will just make your skin worse. First, focus on healing your skin barrier.

If you are a teenager, it just might be your hormones/growing pains. It will go away eventually.

Pimple Patches work and are especially good if you are trying to stop touching your face.

Wash your pillow cases every 1-2 weeks.

Try to sleep on your back.

If you pop a pimple than apply an antibiotic ointment.

No point in using anti-aging products if you are under the age of 25. It just won’t do anything for you.

Note that if you take in a lot of nicotine you will breakout. If you smoke and you have bad skin, it probably won’t improve unless you quit or lessen the dosage.

Level 3: painful consistent breakouts/acne/scars, redness, irritability, hurts,

Go see a dermatologist!

Acne is can be a real problem. If your acne is painful seek professional help.

If Accutane is recommended, than I would do it. Based only on the experiences of my friends, I have seen great results after a couple months. There are side effects and it is not for everyone but if a professional says you should than I might consider it.

No topical treatment is going to make those scars go away. You are going to need to laser resurfacing which is like this secret treatment rich people do to clear up their skin. It is expensive but really works. Beauty brands want you to think that the right cream can clear up your skin but if you have bad scarring you are only going to see real results with laser treatments

All of the above recommendations still apply

Your acne does not take away from your beauty or your worth as a human being. Remember that acne is normal and social media is fake.

Product Recommandations:

Disclaimer: Not every product will work for every skin type. Do your research for what will be beat for you!

Korean skincare! It is reliable to buy from yesstyle or Olive young. Don’t buy on amazon. (Japanese skincare is good too)

AESTURA Atobarrier 365 Cream

Ma:nyo Pure Cleansing Oil

Ma:nyo Bifida Biome Conplex Ampoule

Beauty of Joseon (sunscreen, eye cream, and serum)

Round Lab 1025 Dokdo Cleanser and Round Lab Birch Juice Sunscreen

Torriden Serum

KAHI Multi Balm

Anything from The Ordinary

CeraVe Daily Moisturizer

CeraVe SA Face Wash Cleanser

CeraVe Acne Foam Cleanser

CeraVe Resurfacing Retinol Face Serum

La Roche Posay spot treatment and soothing balm

EltaMD sunscreen

Soon Jung brand

Laniege Toner

Royal Honey propolis Essence

Aware Lip and Eye remover

TIRTIR- Centella Foam Cleanser

KAHI wrinkle bounce collagen mist

Real Calendula Toner Hyaluronic Toner Pads

Abeille Royale double R renew and repair serum

Tom Ford Lip Balm

Rovectin activating treatment lotion

LA MER moisturizer

PanOxyl Acne Foaming wash

#beauty #books #fashion #kate moss #lily rose depp #makeup #self love #skincare #tiktok #workout #kpop #korean #beauty tips #skincare tips #moisturizer #product recommendations

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donaweasley · 2 months ago

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The Unsaid Things

Pairing: Clint Barton x Fem!Reader

Plot:

The years, and especially the war, have taken a heavy emotional toll on everyone. But through everything, you’ve always had your friend by your side. Will the changing times bring a change in your relationship, too?

P.S.: Laura and family never happened. Clint is very much single. 😌

Warnings: Angst, Passing mention of a character’s death, Sm.u.t

💔💜🔥

Read time: ~29 mins

Minors!!!! Do NOT interact!! 🫣 🤨

You both had talked about retirement, about that fantasy land of peace several times. Clint had even announced his retirement once, twice … what was it … four times now? But every time he thought he could live without getting into the mess of the world, he got dragged into one.

Another mission.

That’s where Clint and you found yourselves on an otherwise beautiful Sunday evening. It was one of those nasty ones that always left scars - not just on the skin but also on the soul. Thankfully, you were provided backup by the government; a rare event but so was the task at hand.

You both fought, saved, killed, retrieved the necessary information and the assets you were asked to retrieve. You witnessed people die - both good and bad ones. You watched in horror as both of you made close calls with death; more than just once.

When you returned from the field, you both unwillingly brought the weight and the stench of the battle on your backs. The aftermath of such missions never washed away easily, no matter how many minutes or hours you spent in the shower, no matter how loud you played your favourite music or who you hung out with or how many drinks you downed. And with the Avengers disbanded, there were not many left for you to share your thoughts with.

Clint had always been steady in his friendship with you. After Natasha, you were, undoubtedly, his most precious human. But when Natasha was gone, it had momentarily left a gaping hole in your relationship. He could not get out of his guilt and you did not want to push him into anything. Days after days, you had watched him stare at the void. You knew what was going on in his mind: different scenarios of the day on Vormir, wishing that he had done things differently, wishing that he had somehow put in more effort. Maybe then - maybe - she would have been here in his place. Maybe.

You had watched him torture himself for days, spiraling into despair, secluding himself from everyone, even from you, until one day you decided to breach the threshold that he had built around himself. Clint was lost in thoughts, like always. He was startled when you had walked up from behind, and wrapped your arms around his sitting form. He had fumbled for excuses to leave your embrace, lying that he had to go somewhere, that he was not in the mood for any of it. Your grip was tight, and he did not have the strength in him to push your arms away. And when you did not yield, when you did not leave him but had whispered in his ear, “Clint, please! Come back to us. We need you. I need you!” he had shattered. Turning around on the bench, he had wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and sobbed into your chest. You used to think that it was painful watching him fade away. You realised then and there that you were wrong. Watching him sob like a child, feeling him tremble under your touch was perhaps the most excruciating thing you had felt after the departure of your friends. It felt as though his sufferings were entwined with your own.

That was two years ago.

But since that afternoon, you had slowly watched him return to you. The Clint Barton that you used to know was resurfacing. Slowly but steadily. Of course, there were pieces of him that were lost to time forever. But then you all had lost parts of yourself in the war; parts that you’d probably never get back. But that did not mean that there was no room for the famous Clint-humour that you loved or the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughed. They were all coming back gradually, along with a newfound side to your friendship.

It was difficult to put a name to it but it felt warmer, the bond felt stronger and the understanding deeper. Unsaid things found a new, comfortable place between the two of you. Though no one could fill the void that Natasha and the others had left in their wake, you knew that this - whatever this strange bond was - was enough to fill the void that had once been burnt into your soul.

So, that night when you had taken shelter in the allocated safehouse, neither of you played any music nor did you strike up a conversation. You were exhausted - more in the mind than in the body. You both let the quiet take over, let the unsaid things do the talking.

After a quick shower, some bandages, and after discarding your battlesuit for your black tank top and underwear, you let your body drop down on the bed, too exhausted to climb it gracefully and get under the covers. Clint was in the other room. The safehouse wasn’t much but it saw to your basic needs: first aid, food, a hot shower and some clean towels, and two decent beds to drain the fatigue. It was a small flat in the midst of the town, rumoured (as spread by S.H.I.E.L.D) to be more like a pit stop for the owner who sometimes had work on that side of the town. So, though many eyes turned when two unknown figures in casual black clothes - one holding a large gym bag and another carrying a backpack - walked up the stairs, nobody made an effort to recognise the faces.

It was a humid night. Lying on top of the comforter, on the second floor of the building, you allowed the sound of the streets below to drown you. In the noise of the traffic and the market and the crowds, you tried to find some normality that had otherwise gone missing in your life. Minutes went by. And yet all that flashed on the curtains of your closed eyes were the harrowing moments of the day’s battle. Those eventually morphed into the wars of the past. The dying soldiers today got replaced by the pale, lifeless bodies of your friends who were no longer with you. Of those who were still there with you. Of Clint.

Your eyes snapped open. The ceiling was staring back at you. The constant rotating of the fan above and the whir of its motor seemed to mock you. Everything seemed to have a rhythm, a steadiness in their being. But you? All you were left with were bits and pieces of the moments that you had once shared with those you loved.

Sitting up, you ran a hand through the damp hair. No, you could not do this alone. Grabbing your pillow in one hand, you silently walked towards the archer’s room.

The door to his room was ajar. Clint was lying on his side, with his back turned towards you, the comforter rising up to his bare torso. He was looking all warm and comfortable. So much that the anxiety in your eyes was immediately replaced by a softness at the sight. He always did this to you - made you feel grounded even when the world around you was burning to ashes.

You were about to knock when you noticed the slow, steady pace with which his arm and shoulder rose and fell. Even after all these years, it still surprised you how fast he could fall asleep! The first feeling that kicked within you was that of frustration. Now you were doomed to bear the burden of your thoughts alone. All through the long night. But then, a small smile tugged at your lips when you saw the peace that engulfed him. After the war, it had become a rare sight to see Clint so peaceful, cocooned from his PTSD that often kept him up at night.

You had turned halfway to return to the torment in your room when you heard Clint softly call your name. You turned to see him almost on his back, craning his neck to look at you.

“I thought you were asleep,” you declared.

“I was. Almost.”

“Then how the hell did you know that I was here?” A small smile played on your lips since you already knew the answer.

The same knowing smile settled on his mouth, too. “Just like I do every time! You’re not as stealthy as you think you are.”

“And people think you are deaf!” You rolled your eyes playfully while taking a few slow steps into the room.

His room was much cooler than yours, thanks to the large windows that allowed cross-ventilation.

Clint was lying on his back now. “Not deaf! Hard of hearing! How many times do I have to make myself clear?”

“As many times as I want you to, Barton. Now, shut up and make room for me.” You threw the pillow at his face but he caught it in time.

“Why, did they hide bedbugs in yours?” He joked as you climbed under the cool comforter.

“I believe they had intended it for you but, accidentally,” you sighed dramatically, “I got the room.”

Clint laughed as he turned to face you.

“The same pattern?” His tone was serious now.

“Huh?”

“Your nightmares,” Clint clarified.

Your smirk was quickly replaced by a frown. “Yep,” you whispered your confession. “Tried but couldn't sleep at all!”

“Me neither.”

“I thought you were almost asleep,” you raised a playful brow.

“Was pretending to! Thought my body couldn’t tell the difference if I lay still.”

Clint’s smile grew larger when you shook with laughter. His eyes, adorned with creases from the weight of the years, took in your sight as though it was the last bit of peace, the last bit of sanity that was left in his life.

“I love you, Barton,” you said between dying laughs, as you had said uncountable times before.

“You know I love you, too,” he replied, just like he had innumerous times before.

Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead before beginning to get off the bed. He was clad only in his boxer briefs. Black. Somehow you knew it’d be black. Both of you had an inclination towards an all-black-clothing when it came to fights. ‘A weird kink’, Natasha used to call it.

“You know you can share the bed, right? Don’t have to sleep on the floor!” You called out with a grin spread on your face.

“Yeah, yeah!” he waved dismissively as he sauntered towards the washroom. “And stop staring at my ass.”

“There is nothing to stare at, old man. I’ve seen better.”

“Whose, Bucky’s?” You did not need to see his face to know that he was smirking. Bucky had been his favourite topic to tease you ever since you had confided in him that you had a crush on the super soldier. That was a long, long time ago.

“Nope. Mine,” you tilted your chin up as this time you owned the smirk.

Clint peeked at you in defeat before closing the door. He did have a nice ass though, now that you thought about it. You shook your head quickly before your imagination drifted away beyond what was appropriate.

Your thoughts went back to Natasha. Nat! Oh, how she used to tease the two of you! How she would have teased had she seen that you were sharing a bed! And dressed only in the bare minimum! Nat!

A silent laugh left your mouth and touched your eyes.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling and the rotating fan. It did not mock you this time. This time when you closed your eyes, you did not see red. You did not see any meadow either but it was fine. It was … normal.

A couple of minutes later, you felt the bed dip beside you. You must have dozed off because you did not remember hearing the sound of the flush or of the bathroom door opening or closing. You felt something tickle your face, and soon realised that it was Clint moving a stray strand of hair. You opened your eyes and they instantly met his. A moment passed in silence. It was comfortable … but there was something heavy in it, too. Something that made your breath hitch. Clint probably felt it, too, because he blinked and then suddenly moved away.

Unsure what to do, you slowly closed your eyes again, as though still partially asleep and hence vaguely aware of the situation. You tried hard to compose your sudden ragged breathing.

“I hope you’ve washed your hands,” you mumbled, your eyes still closed. You hoped that it would lighten the moment.

“Oops! Sorry to disappoint you!” Hearing the mirth in his voice gave you a little relief.

“Ha. Ha. Liar.”

The sound of his chuckle and the shift in the mattress told you that he had turned to face the other side. You opened one eye to confirm your doubt.

Indeed he had.

A small wave of disappointment washed over your heart. You lay there for a while, trying to slide back into the dreamscape. Nothing. A few innocent ideas to find that lost shred of peace popped up in your mind but, remembering the heaviness in the air from a few moments ago, you rejected them all. Your exhaustion had started taking its toll on you. And, in the end, you surrendered to your heart’s desires.

Sighing, you shifted closer to him, and wrapped your arm around his torso. In response, he held your hand, gently pressing it close to his chest. The warmth of his skin was soothing. But it was not enough. You scooted closer so that you were practically spooning him, and slowly wrapped your leg over his.

“Is this okay?” Your voice was barely audible, it being muffled by your doubts and by the pillow.

But the way he rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb and responded “yeah” allowed you to unclench your muscles.

It was just one word but you heard everything in it. It wasn’t just an obligatory “yeah”. Neither was it a sleepy, half-conscious “yeah”. He wanted these - your closeness, your touch - as much as you wanted his. Clint reached for your thigh and pulled it further over himself.

Despite the depth of your friendship, you had never been so close to him before. But then, life wasn’t the same as before, was it? Clint was the only ray of sunshine in your life, and now you needed to hold on to that light - its warmth, its glow, everything.

Lulled by his steady breathing, you gradually descended into a peaceful space. You did not even realise when sleep had taken over. That was until your friend shuffled. The movement of muscle beneath your limbs and the tug of the comforter awoke you but only partially. You registered something warm and heavy settle on your waist, and faintly noted that Clint had pulled you flush against him.

He was warm. And even beneath the tautness of his muscles, there was a softness about him. It felt nice. Peaceful. Safe. It felt like…home.

Your sleep-drunk mind tried to pull up more descriptions but failed. “Home”: it felt like the perfect word for him; nothing further was needed.

Warm air rustled on your upper lip rhythmically. Heavy eyelids opened only slightly to note that his face was mere inches away from yours. For a moment he opened his eyes, too - hooded eyes that looked as though they were dreaming but you knew well that they were looking deep into your soul through your own. Two seconds later, he closed them, and so did you. Your fingers itched to touch his face but your arms felt too heavy. And they felt better on his back. So, you left them there.

Before you could doze off again, you felt warmth descend on your lips. You did not need to open your eyes this time. The softness of his lips was the first thing that registered in your mind; a delightful surprise. You had always found his mouth cute but never had you thought that they would be this tender! And they were sure of their actions. Clint knew what he was doing. It was not some sleep-driven whim, no. He wanted this. It almost felt like he needed this; a connection that transcended the moment.

Your mind was too dazed to process things further. And it ended all too soon, even before you could grasp properly what had happened. Or why.

When you opened your eyes again, you found Clint’s intense ones staring back at you - wide and wild. His breathing was paced. As if the faint, golden glow of the streetlights was not testament enough, you could feel its rush on your mouth. His hand was gently splayed on your back, as if to make sure you do not slip away.

And before you could fully comprehend the state of your own mind, your arm - the one that was comfortably flung around his back - slowly began making its way up to his face. Your fingers took their time to travel across the skin of his back, over his waist, his arm, all the way up to the side of his neck until they reached their destination on his cheek.

Clint’s frantic breathing visibly calmed down beneath your touch. Instinctively, he tilted his head so that the corner of his lips brushed against your palm. When your thumb started rubbing gentle circles on his cheekbone, he let out a long sigh before closing his eyes in content.

And you? Well, you leaned in to capture his parted lips with your own.

Behind closed eyes, Clint saw an entire galaxy unfurl before him. He inhaled a lungful of air through his nostrils while you let out a breath you did not even realise were holding. Both of your lips moved ardently, in perfect sync with one another. Unlike the previous brush of a kiss, this time Clint kissed you with a fierce passion that you had, until then, believed only to exist in fantasies. He pulled your body further into his, wrapping a leg over yours and threading his fingers into your hair. Unlike the dazed state of your mind the first time, this time you felt it all: the dizziness, the hunger, the burst of happiness, and the all-consuming desire to hold him as close to you as possible!

But with these feelings, crept up some uninvited voices in the back of your head. Logical voices that urged you to stop. Voices that warned that this was a mistake, that this was not how things were supposed to be, that Clint Barton was a friend, and that all of these will only end up in a heartbreak.

But you couldn’t be bothered. Not when Clint’s mouth was leaving pleas on yours and his hands were whispering prayers on your skin. Not when it finally made sense - all of it. That nagging feeling of being something more than friends, those stolen glances, those long looks, those blinding smiles that lit up whenever you were around each other, those fleeting touches that sent tingles racing long after, those unsaid things that always lingered between words - a silent acknowledgement of something much deeper. They all fell into place. Perhaps this was why neither could ever settle down with anybody else. Maybe - no, not maybe. Surely, that’s because you both sought each other in the crowds, drawn together by an undeniable connection.

His lips were insistent, leaving no room to catch your breath. Hot breath fanned your cheeks as arms pulled each other closer. When you tugged on his hair, the soft moan that left him almost melted you. Grabbing the moment, you dipped your tongue past his lips, and he welcomed you immediately. As you tasted one another, you rolled Clint over, almost lying on top of him. Your hand descended towards the mattress for support but found nothing. Opening your eyes, you realised that you both were balanced on the edge of the bed.

It took some effort to pull yourself away from a ravenous Clint.

“We’re on the edge,” you gestured with your eyes.

He first looked at you in confusion but soon turned his head to see. Then, absolutely unbothered by it, smoothly rolled over to hover on top of you, the comforter tangling you both up even further. Clint did not utter a word. Everything that needed to be said was being told by those kisses.

This was not how you had expected the night to unfold. Neither of you. Tongues painting feelings on your souls, hands memorising every curve and turn, limbs wrapped tightly around your bodies - neither of you knew how you ended up like this. But the only thing that you both knew was that it felt right. Nothing felt awkward or out-of-place. It felt like it was meant to be.

Clint’s weight pinned you down in the most delicious way. Reaching down, his hand gently but firmly tugged on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh in his grip before placing it over his hips. Sliding up the length of your leg, the said hand settled on your ass, kneading it firmly. A smirk graced his lips when you squealed in response, and he took a mental note to do it again, as often as he could, wherever he could.

As soon as you shifted your head to breathe, away from his hungry mouth, he landed on the side of your neck, leaving nibbles on your pulse point, along the length of your neck, and over your jawline, while his tongue quickly followed behind to soothe the marks being left behind.

Yout teeth caught his earlobe, eliciting a beautiful moan from him. While your lips sucked on his skin and left open-mouthed kisses along his neck, your hands desperately mapped his back. Every time you squeezed a muscle there, a hiss escaped him, encouraging you to explore more such vulnerable areas.

All this time, Clint had been touching and teasing you over your clothes. And although it did make you shiver in pleasure, you were beginning to grow weary of it. You wanted more. You longed for the warmth of his skin against yours. So, the next time his fingers brushed the hem of your tank top, you gently took his hand and guided it beneath the soft fabric, urging him closer.

It was not like Clint had not tried to hold himself back. Ever since you had slipped under his covers, and wrapped yourself around him, he had been wrestling with his desires. He had even slapped himself mentally the first time he kissed you. But then, when you had kissed him back, his resolve shattered. How could he possibly resist when he could feel your yearning mirroring his own? He had still tried. Tried not to cross the line, whatever fragile bit of it was left. But the moment you invited him on your skin, all his defences crumbled.

He looked up at you, searching your eyes for any shards of hesitation. Relief washed over him to find that you were longing for the exact same things as him. His heart was hammering against his chest but his hand was gentle as it travelled up your body, taking your top up in its wake, eyes intensely following the movement of his own hand. It lingered for a small while on the underside of your breast, where it tickled patterns with the thumb. He wanted to take his time. But watching you writhe in anticipation changed everything. One instant, you felt his hand claim your breast, rough palm massaging you affectionately. The next instant, your top was being pulled off of you in a not-so-graceful manner. You could never mind, no. With Clint’s body enveloping you in the most loving way, you could not have a care in the world! Not especially when calloused fingers were spanning across hot skin, tweaking a nipple or when his tongue was doing its magic on the other.

Your head fell back in pleasure, tempting Clint to taste your neck once more, to leave marks that would be reminiscent of these treasured moments. As his mouth travelled north, your hands travelled south on his back. They made their way beneath the comforter, past the elastic resistance of his underwear, and squeezed his ass. A smile formed on your lips at the beautiful moan that grazed the shell of your ear. Very lightly, you dragged your nails across his ass cheeks. His hips jerked up in response. And this time you were rewarded with a groan that was music to your ears. You did it again. He growled.

“Do it once more,” a warning lingered in his now hoarse voice, “and I swear-”

Before he could finish, you squeezed his ass with your nails, and delicately scratched your way up his spine, all the way up to his scalp. He could not help the roll of his hips against yours, drawing out prolonged moans from both.

“Fuck you, (Y/N)!”

His hoarse voice, paired with the unfinished threat, only aided to turn you on even more. You dragged your clothed core up and down his thigh, leaving wet trails behind. A strangled grunt from him adorned the night air.

Dragging your teeth along his jawline, you whispered close to his ear, “If all of this doesn’t lead to it, I’ll be genuinely disappointed, Barton!”

That dazzling grin - the one that you had unconsciously fallen for years ago, the smile that had dimmed under the weight of the world - sparkled once more. It was so good to see him happy again that you wished for time to stop right then and there, all so that you could watch that beautiful face light up again.

Your own face lit up with a smile but your eyes betrayed you. That blinding smile morphed into a frown as Clint watched a single drop of tear slip down the side of your eye, landing softly on the pillow.

He quickly cradled your face, concern etched on his handsome features. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

You felt silly and guilty at the same time, robbing him of his bubble of happiness. Sniffing, you shook your head. “No, no! Nothing, it’s just … “ You stared into his worried eyes. Cupping his face, you took a deep breath. “I love you, Clint Barton.”

His eyes softened, and that radiance was back on his face, crinkling his eyes in the most gorgeous ways! He took your hand from his face, and placed a long kiss on it. “You know I love you, too.”

He kissed the side of your wrist, over your pulse, on the back of your hand. He kissed each knuckle separately - an affectionate gesture to soothe years of pain. He ran your forefinger between his lips, eventually taking it, along with your middle finger, in his mouth, and gently lapping his tongue over it.

Your mouth breathed out a silent moan at both the sight and the feeling. You watched him run his lips over the length of your arm until they started tickling the side of your neck.

Your giggles were engulfed by his kiss. This was slower, more tender than the previous ones. This wasn’t one of the desperate battles of teeth and tongue but a heart-touching love letter written for your soul. He continued peppering kisses on your chin, your nose, your cheeks, eyes, forehead, temple - until he was sure that he hadn’t left any inch of your face untouched, and until another string of giggles reached his ears.

“You sure of this?” He searched your eyes once again that night.

You narrowed your eyes in mock annoyance and sighed. “I always knew you were thick-headed.”

The arch of an eyebrow and the look he gave you, along with that smirk, told you that your words had backfired.

“How did you know?” His words rumbled in your chest.

Blushing, you lightly punched his shoulder. “Just shut up and fuck me, agent Barton!”

The archer gave you a swoon-worthy lopsided smile. “Yes, ma’am!”

That sole word, “ma’am”, made you clench your thighs together. His mouth stole another greedy kiss from you while his fingers fumbled with the waistband of your underwear beneath the covers. You were busy shoving his own boxer briefs out of the way. You had successfully pushed it past his backside but got stuck on his erection.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaimed. “Did I hurt you?”

Clint assured you that he was fine, and assisted you in pushing the little piece of clothing down his ankles, your own following it two seconds later.

You were already prepared for him. So, when you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he lined up with you, it took him very little effort to slide inside. The sting of the stretch made you hiss. Clint kissed your cheek before slowly inching himself inside you. And once he was completely sheathed, he paused, allowing you to adjust to him. He was himself basking in the feeling of you wrapped around him, resting his forehead on yours, breath mingling with yours. It was only after you nodded lightly and patted his shoulder that he started moving.

It was a languid, agonising pace. It was intimate, beautiful but you wanted more. You could feel every bit of him inside you, and it only increased your hunger. His mouth left kisses wherever it could reach - your face, your hair, your collarbone, neck shoulders, ears, your chest - anywhere and everywhere.

“Clint!” You moaned. “More! … Please!”

“Yes, babe,” he groaned into your neck.

He pulled out up to the tip and pushed back swiftly, reaching deep inside you, causing you to bite your lip to suppress a rather loud moan.

“No, babe,” he breathed, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip, “don't. You've been holding back all night. I need to hear you. Please! Let go!”

And with those words, he pulled back and pushed in harder. This time you were almost sure that the sound of your pleasure was audible beyond the walls of the house.

“That's it, love!”

His praises spurred you on just like the sweet, sultry sounds that you made kept encouraging him.

The room was soon filled with sinful sounds of approval and of skin slapping on skin as you both began edging closer to that magical precipice. The cool breeze of the night wasn't helping your sweat-drenched bodies anymore.

With one hand he gently moved some of the sweat-stuck hair from your face. Slowly, he brought the hand down the side of your face to your neck. Delicately wrapping his fingers around your throat, Clint dipped his thumb into your open mouth. He watched in awe as you closed your lips around it and sucked, twirling your tongue around it now and then.

With a loud moan, Clint closed his eyes, pushing into you harder. Your head rolled back, and your moan filled the night air, giving him the perfect opportunity to replace his thumb in your mouth with his tongue.

Clint carefully pushed your right leg upwards, so that your knee was close to your chest. This new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting that perfect spot every single time, making your eyes roll back in your head and urging you to scream his name.

Not much later, you realised that his rhythm was faltering. He was close but was trying hard to hold himself for you.

“Touch me!” You rasped, and guided his hand down to your clit.

Cradling your head in the hand with which he had propped himself up, Clint rubbed you with that perfect pressure that made electricity jolt up your veins. The pace of his fingers matched the pace with which he pushed into you.

It was not long before you felt that familiar tightening in your belly.

“Clint! I'm-”

“I know, babe.” God, his hoarse voice was a sin in itself! “I can feel you.”

Whimpering and writhing beneath him, you kept clenching down on him involuntarily, pushing Clint faster towards the edge. You felt yourself coming undone when he bit on your shoulder with a grunt. And with the sound of his name echoing through the room and with you squeezing him with your entirety, he released into you.

You both took some moments to calm down, your sweat-sheened, limp bodies swelling and dipping with the pace of your hearts.

Clint slowly lifted his head to look at you. His attention was drawn to the way your tongue darted out to wet your parted lips, and he could not resist a tender kiss on them.

You whined when he slowly pulled out of you, an unwelcome feeling of emptiness making its way inside. Clint smiled and cradled your face.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised before getting off the bed.

A couple of minutes later, he returned with a warm, damp towel in his hand. Clint’s hands were unexpectedly delicate whilst cleaning you up. Once he was done, he bent down and blew a raspberry on your navel. You squealed and laughed like a child encouraging him to press loud kisses all over your tummy. It made you laugh. And it made you swell with love for this dork.

Throwing the towel on the floor - an action at which you scrunched your nose up but he chose to ignore with a shrug - he crawled back beneath the comforter, and pulled you flush against him.

“You’re one gorgeous piece of a woman! Did I ever tell you that?” Clint was drawing featherlight patterns on your skin.

“You did. Twice, I think. But both the times you were so drunk that I wasn’t sure if it was you talking or Tony’s booze.”

He laughed heartily. Oh, how you loved those crinkles around his eyes!

“Nah, it was me. It was me all along.”

“Yep,” you wrapped yourself around him. “It was you all along.”

You kissed again. The last thing you remembered before sleeping soundly was the feel of his mouth on you and the smiles and giggles that drowned the noises from the streets below.

***

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