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emjayewrites · 24 hours ago

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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (12/15) - Part II

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew @tremendousstarlighttragedy @henneseyhoe @serpenttines-library @f1-football-fiend

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

The warehouse stood inconspicuous amidst the arid Palm Springs landscape, its weathered exterior masking the creative pulse within. Inside, the vast space was a stark contrast - state-of-the-art sound equipment lined the walls, and a professional-grade stage dominated one end of the room. Soft, ambient lighting created an atmosphere conducive to artistic expression, while the air conditioning fought a constant battle against the desert heat.

Rorie stood center stage, her voice resonating through the cavernous space as she ran through the chorus of "The Zone."

"I never meant to make you feel alone, a non-chivalrous tone you've used since I got home..."

Ms. Tee, her vocal coach, nodded approvingly from the side, occasionally calling out suggestions. "Remember to support from your diaphragm on that high note, honey!"

Van, the choreographer, moved in sync with Rorie, demonstrating the fluid movements that would accompany the lyrics.

Rorie nodded, sweat beading on her forehead as she repeated the sequence. The knowledge that Beyoncé had once rehearsed in this very space for her legendary Beychella performance added an extra layer of pressure.

From his seat not far from the stage, Lyric's voice piped up. "Go, Mama!" he cheered, his little hands clapping enthusiastically.

Ms. Tee chuckled, shaking her head. "That baby is too cute!"

"And he knows it," Rorie quipped, shooting a wink at her son.

As they moved into the next song, Rorie's mind briefly wandered to the mysterious text she'd received weeks ago. The sender hadn't responded when she'd asked who it was, leaving her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.

After running through the set twice more, Yael called for a lunch break. The team dispersed, grateful for the respite from the intense rehearsal.

Rorie scooped up Lyric, making her way to a table laden with an array of healthy options. As she settled in next to Yael, balancing Lyric on her lap, she couldn't help but marvel at how surreal this all felt.

"So," Yael began, taking a bite of her salad, "have you given any thought to the Mercedes event? They're really pushing for you to be there for the G Wagon unveiling."

Rorie nodded, helping Lyric with his lunch. "Yeah, I think we can make it work. It's after Coachella, right?"

"Car!" Lyric exclaimed, pointing at Yael's phone which displayed an image of the new G Wagon.

Rorie laughed, ruffling his hair. "That's right, baby. It's a big car."

"He's growing up so fast," Yael remarked, smiling at Lyric. "Seems like just yesterday he was saying his first words."

Rorie nodded, a mix of pride and nostalgia washing over her. "I know. It's crazy how quickly they develop. He's stringing two or three words together now. The other day he said 'Mama sing pretty.' Nearly made me cry right there in the kitchen."

Yael chuckled. "Well, he's not wrong. Speaking of which, how are you feeling about the performance? Three songs is a lot, especially with the choreography."

Rorie took a sip of water, considering. "Honestly? I'm nervous as hell. But also excited. I've never been on a stage that big."

"You've got this," Yael assured her. "The rehearsals are going great, and the crowd is going to love you."

As they continued to discuss the logistics of the upcoming events, Rorie felt a familiar mix of excitement and nervousness. Coachella was a big stage, one that could make or break careers. She absentmindedly stroked Lyric's hair as she listened to Yael outline the schedule for the next few days.

"We've got two more full rehearsals here, then we move to the actual festival grounds for a tech run," Yael explained, scrolling through her tablet. "Lil Yachty's team will join us for the final run-through."

Rorie nodded, her mind already racing with all the details she needed to perfect. "What about wardrobe? Have we finalized the looks?"

"Almost," Yael replied. "The stylist wants to do one more fitting tomorrow. She's got some ideas for a quick change between songs."

As they delved into the intricacies of the performance, Lyric began to fidget in Rorie's lap. "Mama, play," he said, pointing towards the small play area they'd set up in the corner of the warehouse.

"Okay, baby. Just for a little bit," Rorie smiled, setting him down. She watched as he toddled off, his little legs carrying him with determined enthusiasm.

"He's handling all this travel and chaos like a champ," Yael observed, following Rorie's gaze.

Rorie sighed, a mix of pride and guilt washing over her. "Yeah, he is. Sometimes I worry it's too much, you know? But he seems to thrive on it."

"He's resilient, just like his parents," Yael reassured her. "Speaking of which, have you heard from Lewis? How's he feeling about the DNF in Australia?"

Rorie's expression softened at the mention of her husband. "He's frustrated, of course. But he's channeling it into preparation for the next race. You know Lewis, always looking forward."

Yael nodded, then added with a hint of sympathy, "It's a shame he'll miss your performance at Coachella though. The scheduling conflict is unfortunate."

"Yeah, it is," Rorie agreed, a touch of disappointment in her voice. "But he's got the GQ Global Creative Awards in New York that weekend. It's a big honor, and I wouldn't want him to miss that." She brightened a bit as she continued, "Besides, the Biebers will be there, and my sister's coming too. They'll make sure Lyric has plenty of support in the crowd."

"That's great," Yael smiled. "It's good to have your people there. And I'm sure Lewis will be watching the livestream, cheering you on from New York."

Rorie nodded, grateful for the support system she had. "Absolutely. We've always made it work, no matter the distance. This is just another one of those times."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Lyric's delighted laughter. He had discovered a small ball and was attempting to bounce it, his coordination not quite matching his enthusiasm.

"Should we get back to it?" Rorie asked, her eyes still on Lyric.

Yael nodded, standing up. "Absolutely. Let's run through the transitions one more time before we call it a day."

As they made their way back to the stage, Rorie felt a renewed sense of purpose. The nerves were still there, but they were overshadowed by excitement and determination. This performance wasn't just about her; it was about showing Lyric that dreams were worth pursuing, no matter the challenges.

With one last glance at her son, happily playing in his own world, Rorie stepped onto the stage. The music began to play, and she lost herself in the rhythm, ready to give it her all. Coachella was waiting, and she was going to make every moment count.

_____________________________________________

Rorie cruised down the Palm Springs street, the desert sun casting long shadows as evening approached. From the backseat, Lyric's voice joined hers in a sweet, if slightly off-key, rendition of Daniel Caesar's "Get You."

As the song faded out, Lyric piped up, "Bwent!"

Rorie chuckled, shaking her head. "Being toxic isn't cute, sonshine." She skipped to Brent Faiyaz's "Clouded," the smooth R&B filling the car as they pulled up to their rental.

Waving to the security guard at the front gate, Rorie parked and unstrapped Lyric from his car seat. She held his hand as they made their way inside, Lyric gleefully jumping up each step to the front door.

Roscoe greeted them enthusiastically, and Rorie let Lyric play with the dog while she headed to the kitchen. After washing her hands, she pulled out pre-made cookie dough from the fridge.

"You want cookies, baby?" she called out.

"Yes, Mama!" came the eager reply.

Rorie scoffed, muttering, "Of course you do," as she arranged the dough on a cookie sheet.

Struck by a sudden craving, she grabbed a popsicle from the freezer. Then, following an odd impulse, she dug into the cabinet for chunky peanut butter. Scooping some onto the popsicle, she savored the unexpected combination of salty and sweet on her tongue as she slid the cookies into the oven, setting it to 380 degrees.

Just then, her phone rang. Seeing Martin's name on the screen, she hesitated before answering.

"Hello?" she said, her voice cautious.

"Rorie, hi," Martin's voice came through, a mix of nervousness and hope. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she replied, her tone neutral. "What's this about, Martin?"

"I... I wanted to talk to you. About Athena, about everything. How's Lyric doing?"

Rorie paused, conflicted. "He's good," she finally said. "Growing fast."

"That's great," Martin said, his voice softening. "Listen, Rorie, I was hoping we could meet. I know things are complicated, but-"

"I don't know, Martin," Rorie cut in, glancing at the oven timer. "Things are pretty busy right now."

"Please," he pressed. "I want to make things right. I want to be part of your life, of Lyric's life."

Rorie sighed, the weight of the situation settling on her shoulders. "I need time, Martin. This isn't something I can decide on a whim."

"I understand," he said, a note of disappointment in his voice. "But will you at least think about it? For real this time?"

"I'll think about it," Rorie conceded. "But I can't promise anything."

As she hung up, Rorie leaned against the counter, her mind swirling with conflicting emotions. The timer dinged, jolting her back to the present. She pulled out the cookies, the sweet aroma filling the kitchen.

"Cookie, Mama?" Lyric's voice called from the living room.

"Almost, baby," Rorie replied, forcing a smile into her voice. "They need to cool first."

As she set the tray on the counter, Rorie took a deep breath. Coachella, Martin, the constant juggle of family and career - it was a lot to handle. But as Lyric's excited chatter drifted in from the other room, she knew she'd find a way to navigate it all. She always did.

The desert night hummed with anticipation as Rorie stood in the wings of the Coachella stage, her heart hammering against her ribs. The bass from the previous set reverberated through her body, but the nausea rolling through her stomach had nothing to do with the vibrations.

"Five minutes, Mrs. Hamilton," a stage manager called out, then paused, studying her face. "Hey, you're looking a bit pale. You okay?"

Rorie nodded, though her complexion said otherwise. "I'm good," she managed, willing her stomach to settle. Somewhere in the VIP section, she knew Lyric was watching with Aaliyah, the Biebers keeping them company.

"You sure?" The stage manager pressed. "You look like you might puke...."

"I said I'm good," Rorie cut in, more sharply than intended. She softened her tone. "Just pre-show jitters."

The opening notes of "The Zone" filled the air, and Lil Yachty's voice boomed across the festival grounds: "Y'all make some noise for my girl, Rorie!"

Taking one final deep breath, Rorie stepped into the lights. The crowd's roar washed over her as she emerged, and suddenly, the nausea didn't matter anymore. This was what she was born to do.

Her voice, clear and strong, cut through the night air. The choreography she'd practiced countless times flowed naturally, her body moving in perfect sync with the music. Each transition, each note, each movement came together in a performance that felt both carefully rehearsed and effortlessly spontaneous.

But as the adrenaline of the first song began to fade, that unsettling queasiness returned, stronger than before. Rorie pushed through, determined not to let it show. She had two more songs to go, and she was going to give this crowd everything she had.

The crowd surged with energy as Rorie finished her planned set, their cheers echoing across the festival grounds. Sweat glistened on her skin under the stage lights.

"One more! One more!" The chant built like a wave.

Rorie exchanged a glance with her band, a slight nod passing between them. As the opening notes of another song filled the air, the crowd's roar grew even louder.

But it was the second encore that would become the night's most talked-about moment. Rorie stepped to the microphone, her breath slightly catching as she spoke.

"Y'all have been amazing tonight," she said, her voice carrying across the field. "I want to share something special with you. A few years ago, my husband and I wrote this song together. Some of you might know him as XNDA…"

The crowd erupted at the mention of Lewis's musical alter ego. A smile played on Rorie's lips as she remembered the late nights in their home studio, the two of them writing and rewriting lyrics, finding the perfect melody to express their love story.

The stage darkened, and then a recorded voicemail played through the speakers: "Hey baby, just wanted to hear your voice…" Lewis's distinctive accent filled the space, intimate and warm.

The soft melody began to build, and Rorie's voice floated over the instrumental, telling their story of love found in the fast lane of life. When Lewis's pre-recorded vocals joined in for the chorus, their voices intertwined in perfect harmony, the chemistry evident even through the playback.

"When the world's moving too fast You're the one thing that lasts Through the curves and the breaks You're the risk I'll always take…"

The crowd swayed, phone lights dotting the darkness like stars. Somewhere in the VIP section, Rorie caught sight of Lyric on Aaliyah's shoulders, his little hands waving in the air.

As their voices rose together for the final chorus, Rorie felt tears prick at her eyes. This song, this moment, was everything - their love, their family, their journey, all wrapped up in melody and rhythm.

The final note hung in the air, and for a moment, there was complete silence. Then the crowd exploded, the cheers almost deafening. Rorie took a final bow, her heart full to bursting.

Walking off stage, she quickly checked her phone. A text from Lewis was waiting:

Killed it, baby. Wish I could've been there. So proud of you.

Rorie smiled, the nausea from earlier completely forgotten in the glow of the night's success. This performance would definitely be one for the books.

Following her triumphant performance, Rorie took a long drink of water before her bodyguards escorted her to the VIP section. Aaliyah immediately engulfed her in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face.

"You were incredible!" Aaliyah sobbed, overcome with pride for her sister.

Rorie's own eyes welled up as Lyric toddled over, clutching a piece of paper in his tiny hands. "Mama!" he exclaimed, holding up his drawing of her on stage. "I love you, Mama," he said, his toddler pronunciation making the words even more precious.

Rorie dropped to her knees, gathering him close as tears spilled down her cheeks. The Biebers joined the group hug, everyone congratulating her on the spectacular show.

After a while, Justin excused himself to prepare for his set with Tems and WizKid. Rorie and Hailey settled into comfortable chairs, falling into easy conversation and shared laughter.

When a waiter approached, Rorie ordered vodka, water, and lime. "What about you, Hails?"

"Just water is fine," Hailey replied.

Rorie shot her friend a questioning look. "When do you ever say no to a drink?" she teased.

Hailey grew bashful, shrugging. "I'm fine with water."

"What's going on, Hails?" Rorie pressed.

Hailey opened her mouth to respond but closed it as the waiter returned with their drinks. Once he left, she gave Rorie a sympathetic look.

"I don't want to talk about it, Ror, especially with what's going on with you and Lew," Hailey explained.

"What do you mean?" Rorie asked, setting down her drink.

Hailey shrugged again. "With you guys going through IVF again… I don't think..."

"It's fine, Hailey. We're fine," Rorie assured her, taking her friend's hands. "It's okay."

"Honestly?" Hailey questioned.

"Yes, Hailey. It's fine."

They stared at each other in silence before Hailey opened her oversized leather jacket slightly, revealing a small rounded belly. "Justin and I are pregnant," she confessed, tears running down her face.

Rorie felt a complex mix of emotions - genuine joy for her friend tinged with a hint of sadness for her own situation. But happiness won out as she pulled Hailey into a tight hug.

"It's still early, though," Hailey said after they separated. "I'm barely ten weeks, but I'm showing really soon for some reason."

"It's a boy," Rorie said instinctively.

"How can you tell?"

"I was showing early with Lyric. It's definitely a boy and he probably has a big head," Rorie joked.

Hailey laughed. "Just like his father."

As their laughter subsided, Hailey grew serious. "I want you to be a godmother. You're an amazing friend and Justin and I love you so much."

"I would love to be the godmother, Hailey. Thank you," Rorie replied, wiping away fresh tears. "Damn, tonight is making me such a sap!" Hailey's smile widened. "But thank you. Seriously. Not only for asking me to be a godmother but sharing this and taking note of everything. I love you so much."

The two friends embraced again, the desert night wrapping around them like a warm blanket, full of joy, hope, and the promise of new beginnings.

The week after Coachella felt like a whirlwind. Rorie scrolled through her phone, taking in the flood of coverage about her performance.

@/MusicInsider: "Rorie's surprise performance of XNDA collab brought Coachella to its knees. The chemistry is undeniable, even through a recording. #PowerCouple"

@/ChartData: "Rorie's Coachella performance garnered over 2M livestream views, highest for a guest appearance this year."

Of course, there were also the less favorable takes:

@/PopCultureTakes: "Sure, she can sing. But is anyone else tired of the Hamilton PR machine? #Coachella"

Rorie rolled her eyes at the last one. Her nausea had finally subsided, and she was grateful to chalk it up to pre-Coachella nerves. With Lewis in Shanghai for his race, she missed him, but they had a packed schedule ahead - the WhatsApp collaboration in New York, Miami Grand Prix, and then the Met Gala. The thought of reuniting made her smile.

Stepping out of her G Wagon onto the black carpet at the Mercedes-Benz G-Class premiere, Rorie was immediately engulfed in camera flashes.

"Mrs. Mercedes! Over here!" "To your left, Rorie!" "Give us that smile, Mrs. Mercedes!"

She couldn't help but laugh at the nickname - an extension of what they called Lewis. As she posed for photos, a familiar figure caught her eye. Miles was making his way down the carpet, pointing at her with an exaggerated gesture. She returned the gesture, and he came bounding over. They posed for several shots together before heading inside, arm in arm.

"I didn't know you were going to be here!" she said as they stopped at the bar.

"Sort of last minute, honestly," Miles revealed. "But look at you, Miss Superstar - that Coachella performance though…"

"How was it?" Rorie asked, genuinely curious.

"Off the fuckin' chain, lil' sis. You did that."

"Thank you," she smiled, taking a sip of her drink.

As Miles and Rorie made their way through the event, they were stopped every few feet by familiar faces. Kendall Jenner pulled Rorie into a warm embrace, gushing about the Coachella performance.

"You absolutely killed it," Kendall beamed. "And that song with Lewis? Everyone's still talking about it."

Before Rorie could respond, Ciara joined them, her megawatt smile lighting up the space. "Girl, when were you going to tell me you were performing again? That was incredible!"

The conversations flowed easily, punctuated by genuine laughter and warm exchanges. Tracee Ellis Ross swept by, wrapping an arm around Rorie's waist as they posed for photos, while Snoh Aalegra complimented her vocal arrangements.

The evening progressed with typical Hollywood glamour - Travis Scott's performance had the crowd energized, the bass reverberating through the space as he commanded the stage. During dinner, Rorie found herself engaged in easy conversation with those around her, the kind of mindless chatter that filled these events.

As the night wound down, Rorie decided to head home early, missing Lyric and feeling the weight of the day settling in her bones. The drive started peacefully enough, the lights of LA streaming past her window as she thought about the upcoming reunion with Lewis.

Then her phone lit up with an unknown number.

Rorie hesitated before answering, but something compelled her to pick up. The moment she heard the voice on the other end, her blood ran cold.

"Rorie—"

"You must have a fucking death wish," Rorie cut in, her voice sharp with anger.

"Please, just hear me out—"

"I'm calling my lawyer," Rorie snapped.

"Wait!" Deja's voice was urgent. "I want to meet in Miami. We need to talk face to face."

"You've lost your rabbit ass mind!" Rorie couldn't believe her ears. After everything - the lawsuit, the leaked information, the media circus - Deja really thought they could just meet? The audacity was mind-blowing. Rorie clenched her jaw, her hand gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles went white. She could almost picture Deja on the other end, probably desperate, maybe even smug, as if she’d thought Rorie would just give in to this little stunt.

Deja doubled down. "I'm not settling until we talk. Face to face."

"I don't give a fuck what you want. We're going to win anyway - you violated my privacy, remember?"

They went back and forth, Deja pleading her case while Rorie's anger mounted. Finally, Deja suggested Rorie bring her lawyer if it made her feel better, but insisted they needed to meet.

"I'll think about it, bitch," Rorie spat before hanging up.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit her hard. "Pull over," she managed to tell her driver, who immediately complied.

Rorie barely made it out of the car before emptying the contents of her stomach, her hands braced on her knees.

"Are you okay, Mrs. Hamilton?" the driver asked, concern evident in his voice.

Another wave hit her, and she groaned as a headache began to pulse behind her eyes. "Call my husband, please."

The driver quickly dialed Lewis, putting the phone on speaker just as Rorie retched again.

"Baby, are you okay? You're scaring me!" Lewis's voice rang out.

"It's Deja…" Rorie managed after a moment.

"What about her?"

"I'm going to kill that bitch, Lewis."

Lewis let out an exhausted "Fuck," followed by, "Let me call Julian."

Rorie stayed bent over, the cool night air doing little to settle her churning stomach. This night had definitely taken an unexpected turn, and somehow she knew it was just the beginning of whatever Deja had planned.

The Miami Grand Prix was a spectacle of color, sound, and energy—a vibrant mix of fans, press, and celebrities, all eager to catch a glimpse of the action on the track. Rorie moved through the paddock with an effortless confidence, dressed in a chic Tommy Hilfiger ensemble—a red mini dress paired with a tailored jacket that bore the iconic brand’s colors. As a Tommy Hilfiger ambassador, she was there to represent, but her mind was constantly pulled to her family, to Lyric, who was wide-eyed and curious, soaking in everything around him.

Julian, their lawyer, had been adamant about his involvement from the start. He wasn’t thrilled about the meeting, and honestly, neither was she—but at least they’d agreed that Julian would be there too, ensuring Deja wouldn’t pull any more stunts. When Julian had looked her in the eye and said, "We’re not letting her turn this into another circus," Rorie had felt an odd sense of relief. Knowing he’d be present gave her the peace of mind to enjoy the weekend with Lewis and Lyric.

Rorie’s attention snapped back to the present as she felt a tiny hand tug at her fingers. Lyric was pointing excitedly to the rows of cars lined up, his face lit with pure awe. She bent down to his level, taking in his excitement with a soft smile.

"Vroom! Vroom!"

"Yeah, baby," she murmured, brushing a soft kiss over his braids. "Those are Daddy’s friends’ cars."

"Where Dada?"

Rorie grinned. "He’s around here somewhere."

Just then, as if on cue, she spotted Lewis, looking impossibly focused and handsome in his race suit, his head bent as he spoke with one of his team members. When he looked up and saw them, his face transformed, a wide grin spreading across his features. He lifted a hand in greeting, then broke into an easy jog to close the distance between them.

"There’s Daddy," Rorie murmured to Lyric, moving aside so he could see his father approaching. "Look, sweetheart."

Lewis bent down, scooping Lyric up and spinning him around, making their son laugh with pure joy. Then, Lewis turned to her, his eyes softening as they met hers. "You’re a vision today," he murmured, his voice low and warm.

Rorie smiled, feeling her cheeks flush a little. "All part of the ambassador duty," she teased, tugging lightly on the lapel of her jacket.

The three of them shared a quiet moment, standing close amid the bustling paddock. For a while, it was easy to forget about Deja, about the upcoming meeting, about everything that threatened to intrude on this moment. But she could still feel the tension, a low hum of anxiety that sat just below the surface.

Julian’s text from earlier that morning flashed in her mind: Remember, we’re handling this our way. She doesn’t get to make the rules.

It was a reminder she clung to, something that kept her grounded even as she stole another glance at Lewis and Lyric. This weekend, she’d focus on them, on supporting Lewis and creating memories with Lyric. Whatever Deja had to say could wait—she wasn’t about to let that woman spoil the joy of watching her husband race, of seeing her son’s eyes light up in wonder.

But just as she settled into the moment, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. Turning around, she was greeted by the sight of KiKi, striding over with her typical swagger, dressed in a sharp, stylish outfit that turned heads as she passed.

Rorie raised her brows, genuinely surprised. "KiKi? What are you doing here?"

KiKi grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Lewis called me in for backup," she said with a shrug, flashing Lewis a knowing smile.

Lewis, still holding Lyric, gave a small, guilty grin. "Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra support this weekend," he said, adjusting Lyric on his hip. "Especially with everything going on."

Rorie couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief. Having KiKi around meant an added layer of support, someone who understood the intricacies of their situation with Deja and who would have her back if things got tense. But she was also wary; KiKi wasn’t exactly known for her subtlety, and Rorie wanted this meeting to be as low-key as possible.

"I don’t know if having you there is the best idea, though," Rorie said, keeping her tone light but firm. "You know how things can get."

KiKi put a hand on her hip, feigning offense. "Girl, please. I can be chill when I need to be," she replied, but the glint in her eyes suggested otherwise.

Rorie sighed, giving her friend a look. "I mean it, Ki. The last thing I want is for this to turn into a showdown."

KiKi held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Promise, I'll keep it cool. I’m just here to have your back. Besides, I’m curious to see what Deja’s got to say for herself."

Rorie gave a reluctant nod, knowing KiKi meant well. She’d always been fiercely protective, and Rorie knew that no matter what, KiKi wouldn’t let anyone disrespect her or her family. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure how Deja would react to seeing KiKi there.

"So, what’s the plan with her anyway?" KiKi asked, lowering her voice slightly. "You really think she’s trying to play nice?"

Rorie bit her lip, glancing over at Lewis, who was now trying to entertain Lyric with exaggerated car sounds. "I don’t know. She claims she wants to talk about boundaries, but I’m not sure I buy it. It feels like another setup."

KiKi snorted. "Wouldn’t put it past her. But hey, at least you’ve got Julian there to keep things on track. And me, if she tries any funny business."

Rorie managed a small smile, grateful for KiKi’s support even if she was apprehensive about the meeting. "Yeah. Julian’s already set some strict ground rules. We’re meeting in a neutral space, and he’s keeping it professional. He won’t let her turn this into another circus."

"Good," KiKi replied, crossing her arms as her gaze turned serious. "Just remember, she doesn’t get to call the shots here. You’re in control."

Rorie took a deep breath, nodding. "Right. I just don’t want her stirring up drama when all I want is to focus on this weekend with my family."

KiKi gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "You’ve got this, Ro. And if she steps out of line? Well, I’ll be there, chillin'... but keeping an eye out."

Rorie laughed, the tension easing slightly as she glanced back at Lewis, who had Lyric balanced on his shoulders now, the little boy giggling as he held onto his father’s head.

"Thanks, Ki. I appreciate you being here," Rorie said softly.

KiKi smirked. "Girl, you know I’d be here even if you didn’t want me to. Now, let’s enjoy the day and not let her mess with our vibe. Besides, your little one looks like he’s having the time of his life."

After watching Lewis' Free Practice, Rorie found herself alongside Mick Schumacher at the Tommy Hilfiger pop-up store in the paddock. Their easy rapport made the ambassador duties feel less like work and more like hanging out with a friend.

"The new collection's fire," Mick said, adjusting the collar of his Tommy polo. "But I think Lyric's stealing the show."

He wasn't wrong. Lyric, now dressed in a miniature version of the collection, was charming everyone who passed by.

After wrapping up the promotional duties, Rorie made her way to watch the F1 Academy practice sessions with Susie Wolff. The sight of female drivers commanding their machines around the track filled her with pride.

"It's amazing to see how far we've come," Susie remarked, her Scottish accent warm with emotion. "These girls are the future."

Lyric, perched on Rorie's hip, pointed excitedly at the cars. "Fast! Mama, fast!"

"That's right, baby. They're very fast," Rorie agreed, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Later, they ran into Kevin Magnussen near the garages. Lyric immediately perked up, looking around expectantly.

"L'waura?" he asked, his little face scrunching up in confusion when he didn't spot his friend.

Kevin laughed warmly. "She's with Mommy today, but we can FaceTime her later. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" Lyric clapped his hands excitedly.

The lightness of the afternoon stood in stark contrast to what awaited Rorie that evening with Deja. She wanted nothing more than to end whatever bullshit Deja was on, but she knew that not everything will be easy coming from her.

____________________________________________________

Later that evening, away from the excitement of the track, Rorie arrived at the offices of Ocasio & Associates, one of Julian's trusted colleagues in Miami. The sleek high-rise office space felt appropriately neutral and formal for what was about to unfold.

Julian was already there, reviewing documents when Rorie walked in with KiKi. They settled into the conference room, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the Miami skyline at dusk.

When Deja walked in with her lawyer, her face immediately darkened at the sight of KiKi. "What is she doing here?"

"I'm here for moral support, honey," KiKi drawled, her tone deceptively sweet.

Julian cleared his throat. "Let's focus on why we're here."

What followed was an hour of increasingly tense discussion. Deja insisted on rehashing her version of events from All-Star Weekend 2017, her voice growing more animated as she described what she claimed was a meaningful connection with Lewis.

"We had something real," Deja insisted, leaning forward in her chair. "Before she came along—"

"You're delusional," Rorie cut in, her patience finally snapping. "You had a drunken hookup - if that even happened - and now you're trying to rewrite history."

"You don't know what—"

"No, you don't know what you're talking about," Rorie stood up, her voice firm and final. "Julian, we're done here. No more settlement talks. Take her ass to court and drag her to fucking filth."

As they left the office building, KiKi fell into step beside her. "You good?"

Rorie nodded, her jaw set with determination. "I'm done playing nice. She wants to live in her fantasy world? Fine. But she's about to learn what reality feels like."

As they walked down the quiet Miami street, the humid evening air thick around them, Rorie suddenly felt her stomach lurch. Without warning, she lurched toward a nearby trash can, barely making it before emptying the contents of her stomach.

"Rorie!" Julian rushed out after them, producing a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to her as she straightened up, her hand trembling slightly as she wiped her mouth.

KiKi was at her side instantly, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Girl, are you okay? What's going on?"

Rorie took a deep breath, trying to settle her churning stomach. "I'm fine," she managed. "Just stress, I think. This whole situation with Deja…"

"Nah, you need to calm down," KiKi said firmly, keeping her hand on Rorie's back. "This isn't worth getting sick over. Remember that wine bar we used to hit up when I lived down here? The one with the amazing cheese plates?"

Despite her queasy stomach, Rorie felt a small smile tugging at her lips. "God, that sounds perfect right now."

"Then let's go," KiKi decided, already steering Rorie toward the street to hail a car. "Julian, you good?"

Julian nodded, still looking concerned. "Call me if you need anything. And Rorie? Try not to worry about Deja. We've got this handled."

As they climbed into the car, Rorie leaned back against the cool leather seats, grateful for KiKi's steady presence beside her. Maybe what she needed right now wasn't more strategy sessions or legal talks. Maybe what she needed was just this - a night with her best friend, some good wine, and a chance to remember who she was beyond all the drama.

"Thanks, Ki," she said softly as the car pulled away from the curb.

KiKi squeezed her hand. "Always got your back, girl. Always."

TO BE CONTINUED....

#emjayewrites #lewis hamilton #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #private landing #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton x black reader #f1 driver x reader

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racerchix21 · 21 hours ago

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AITA Tommy’s Version

r/AmITheAsshole 25 minutes ago

UpInTheAir

AITA for breaking up with my partner and then calling him to say I miss you 2 hours after

TL;DR: I was a cute guys bisexual awakening, we dated for 6 months and I broke his heart to save my own broken heart later and now I miss him

I (39M) recently broke up with my partner E (33M) after 6 months of dating. We met at work and I was intrigued by him from the start. A few weeks after we met he called and asked for a tour of my job (we both work the same job just different locations). I agreed to give him a tour because I thought he was hot and I wanted to get to know him better. He offered to buy me a beer but I forgot I was supposed to go to a fight with a mutual friend D (32M) so I had to leave right after our tour.

We didn’t talk anymore after I left with D until we played basketball and E and another friend showed up. E got jealous and hit D and injured him. I took D to get looked and then after I got him squared away at home I went to E’s place to apologize where we talked and we kissed for the first time. I had to leave almost immediately after to go to work but we texted a few times.

We decided we’d do dinner and a movie for our first date and it was going well until D and his girlfriend interrupted our date and E panicked at being forced out and I decided it was time to end things for the night. I paid for dinner and left and thought that was it until he called me and asked if we could meet up again.

During the 5 days we didn’t speak he was all I could think about. I agreed to meet E for coffee after work and when I got there he told me he’d had conversations with his older sister M (44F) and D about us. He wanted a second chance and when I agreed he asked me to be his date to his sisters wedding.

We went to a failed bachelor party, I had to leave early for a work thing but while I was gone the groom went missing. He was found and the wedding went off without much more of a hitch and I got to the wedding late but E and I made out in the middle of the hospital before we joined the party.

We had a good time all summer and early this fall. We spent almost every mutual day off together and it was great. Sure we bickered occasionally but nothing really major.

At our anniversary dinner I mentioned I was engaged and that was that. A couple days after we realized we had a mutual ex and E asked me to move in with him. And I spiraled and broke up with him.

I went home and a couple hours later called him to say I missed him. His best friend answered and I could hear E in the background crying.

ItalianStallion • 23 minutes

YTA. You’re an idiot OP.

UpInTheAir • 21 minutes

So helpful

ItalianStallion • 20 minutes

I try buddy

EightPack • 19 minutes

YTA. You can probably fix it if you go get him and bring flowers

UpInTheAir • 17 minutes

You really think so?

EightPack • 12 minutes

Just go get him and tell him you love him

BuckinItUp • 24 minutes

ESH. You said you realized you had a mutual ex and then E asked you to move in?

UpInTheAir • 22 minutes

Yep

BuckinItUp • 20 minutes

I bet he’s sorry too and wants to talk to you too. Go get your man

OverTheCoop • 10 minutes

ESH. You for breaking his heart and E for asking you to move in so quickly

StuckInTheChimney • 2 minutes

YTA. Fix it and try to win him back.

Update: It’s been a year since I posted this but here’s an update for anyone curious. E and I are back together!! I just flew him to Vegas and we got married by a guy in a really bad Elvis costume.

Tagging: @rdng1230 @bangpop91 @thecarrott @cliophilyra @girlwonder-writes @desert--moonchild @thepinkcrayon @marvelousbuckley @nine-one-wanton @30somethingautisticteacher @sunnywithachanceofbi @dadbodbuck @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #eddie diaz #hen wilson #chimney han #sal deluca

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em-ontv · 3 days ago

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Hi I’m the anon who sent you the idea for “sing a song for me” and it’s literally so perfect I can’t wait to read the second part. I might cry a little I’m not even lying this was a dream I had and I was like huh wow that would make a cool fanfic but I can’t write at all. And you made it even better than I could’ve imagined thank you so much 🥰

Sing a song for me. (2/2)

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader

Warnings: injuries/scars, comfort/intimacy (non-explicit), language, no use of y/n, Butcher being Butcher, probably ooc Ben (I made him a bit too gentle, we don't need more trauma), not proof-read

A/n: hello, anon! I'm so glad you liked part 1, this is the long due part 2 I promised. Hope you like it <3 sorry for taking so long to write this :'(

Read part 1 here

Word count: 2.4k

The inside of the van was cramped and smelled faintly of oil and sweat. The seats were worn, the leather cracked from use. The night outside was dense, you saw just enough stars to remind yourself that while you were locked away, there was a whole other world out there beyond your cell.

You sat beside Ben, who kept casting glances your way as if he was afraid you'd shatter. But you couldn't blame him... you must have looked terrible. The bruises, the exhaustion, the haunted look in your eyes. You didn't even bother to look at yourself in the reflection of the window on your way into the van. It felt like too much—like you couldn't handle what Vought had done to you. Not yet.

The ride was mostly silent until Butcher finally spoke.

"Alright, love, here's the deal." he said, breaking the silence. His eyes looked over you, his expression calculating. "We need to know now. Are you in, or do we drop you somewhere nice and safe to rot? We're taking down Homelander. It's not a bloody game."

Hughie shifted uncomfortably, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent. You stared back at Butcher, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to form words, but your head was spinning.

You knew what he was asking, but it felt too much to make that decision right now. You just wanted to rest—a bed, a moment to breathe without fear clawing at your throat.

"Alright, back the fuck off." Ben's voice snapped, breaking through the haze of your thoughts. The tension in the van spiked, and for a second, it looked like he was ready to lunge across the seat at Butcher and knock all of his teeth out. "Can't you see she's been through enough? She doesn't need your bullshit right now."

Butcher's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he met Ben's glare. "We don't have time for second-guessing, mate. It's a very simple question."

Butcher turned his gaze back to you. "You can help us take down Homelander, the bastard who’s got half the world wrapped around his fuckin' finger, or we can take you back home. But no guarantees, yeah? Vought knows about you. They’ll come for you. Eventually."

You swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over your throat, your mind spinning. Home? That word didn't even feel real. Could that place—that cell—even be worthy of being called something like home?

But then again, if you didn't help, could you ever be safe again? For once in a very long time, the choice was yours, but both paths seemed like a death end.

"She needs time." Ben said, his jaw tensing, quietly observing you as if he knew what you were thinking. The hand that he rested on your back made you flinch slightly, causing him to retract it, his fingers curling into a fist.

Your gaze faltered, your eyes dropping to the ground before you managed to look back at Butcher.

A sharp huff escaped Butcher, his patience worn out. “Time's not a luxury we've got. This ain't a charity." He turned toward you, his tone biting. "Again, you can go back to your cozy little cell, I suppose. Vought’ll just find a new use for you.”

"For fuck's sake, she just got out of an shithole." Ben snapped, his voice simmering with anger. "Give her some fuckin' time."

For a moment, Butcher looked like he might argue with some witty comeback, but after a beat, he exhaled sharply, turning his attention back to the road. "Fine. But time's ticking."

The rest of the drive was quiet. You leaned back in your seat, your eyelids heavy, letting your eyes close for just a moment, the noise faded into the background as you let exhaustion win over.

––––

When you reached the destination, Ben helped you out of the van, his movements cautious, his hand warm and solid on your lower back as he guided you inside. The "safe house" was as secure as it was miserable, but right now, that didn't matter. It was shelter, and it was enough.

The others dispersed, Butcher grumbling quietly under his breath as he stalked off to another room, Frenchie and Kimiko greeted you with a wave before leaving too.

Ben, though, lingered by your side, his hand hovering near yours, gently brushing against it for a second, but he didn't dare to reach for you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough but oddly gentle, his gaze never leaving your face. It wasn't something you expected to hear from him—after seeing his quite violent display in the lab, but here he was, looking at you with more concern than anyone else ever had.

You nodded, a small smile curling on your lips, swallowing thickly. "I'm... yeah. Just... tired," you were almost embarrassed by how weak you sounded, but he didn't judge, a faint understanding in his expression.

Hours passed in a tired blur. You had settled into a room, a worn-out bed, but it was better than nothing. Everyone retreated to their own corners of the place for what little rest they could find. You sank into the mattress, your eyes drifting shut almost instantly.

––––

It was sometime past midnight when Ben jolted awake, a cold sweat clinging to his skin, running a shaky hand over his face. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight outside filtering through the window. He sat up, his heart pounding, the remnants of the dream clinging to him.

Images flashed through his mind—memories of Vought, of his own time in their hands, of the time when he was betrayed, taken away, being tested on, and then frozen for decades. His breathing was ragged, the familiar surge of anger clawing its way to the surface, but something else broke through.

His thoughts drifted to you.

Without really thinking, he got up, slipping out of his room and down the hallway, to the room where you slept. His steps were slow, cautious, not wanting to disturb you.

He hesitated at the doorway to your room, his breath catching when he saw you lying there, on the narrow, uncomfortable bed.

In the dim light, your features were softened, the lines of worry and pain absent. You looked peaceful, your breathing slow and steady, and it eased something in him, his shoulders sagging as the tension slipped away.

Ben took a step into the room, but the floor creaked under his weight, and your eyes snapped open, sitting up on the bed, startled.

"...m'sorry," he whispered, his voice soft but hoarse, like something was bothering him. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

"It’s okay," you murmured, your breathing becoming steady. Your eyes flickered over his face, the lingering pain in his expression catching you off-guard.

You knew that something was wrong, you'd seen that look before, in patients who had been through a lot, in people who had lost themselves along the way.

He hesitated, glancing away, as if embarrassed by his own vulnerability. He looked like he might turn and go back to his own room—but his uneven breathing made him pause. The sight of you was comforting, and that kind look in your eyes made him move closer instead of backing away.

He took a few careful steps closer, almost unsure. "Just wanted to… make sure you were alright," he said, his voice low.

You nodded, your heart still pounding, but not from fear this time, it was something warm. "I’m okay. Just… hard to sleep sometimes."

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. He sank down to one knee, then both, kneeling beside your bed, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him and his slow breaths. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy but comforting.

Without thinking, you lifted your hand, resting it gently against the side of his head, your thumb brushing over his temple. His eyes widened, a brief moment of shock crossing his face.

"What are you—?" his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the touch almost made him wince in pain from how gentle it was. It was like your fingers brushed against some soft spot inside of him, he almost melted.

"It's okay... trust me," you started, trying to reassure him. His eyes met yours, the initial tension easing. He didn't pull away, but instead leaned into your touch in a quiet surrender. "My powers, they'll help," you added softly.

At your voice, his eyes fluttered shut, his expression softening as he exhaled a long, shaky breath. The walls he had built around himself crumbled bit by bit the more he felt your touch.

You hesitated, then began to hum—a soft, gentle melody, barely audible but enough to fill the silence. It felt strange, using your powers willingly again, but different this time... it brought you back to the bittersweet memories of your time before Vought. The tune was simple, soothing, a song you’d sung so many times before. Not destructive, but safe, warm.

As the notes drifted through the air, you felt Ben’s body relax under your touch. His breathing slowed, each exhale deeper, more even, and his hand reached up, covering yours as he pressed your palm closer to his face, silently grounding himself in the warmth of it.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a gentle touch, and he felt something he thought he lost... peace. A kind of comfort that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Or something that he thought he'd given up for good, back in the old days, or maybe he'd never had it to begin with.

When your humming finally faded, he stayed there, his hand still covering yours, his eyes still closed. For a second, you thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his tone laced with a sadness that made your heart ache. "You don't understand what I've... the things that I did."

You shook your head, your hand instinctively wanting to fall from the side of his face but he only held you closer with a conflict—whether he wanted to push you away or pull you into his arms and not let go.

"All I know is that I would've been stuck in that lab if it weren't for you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "A favor for a favor. I think that's fair."

"Well, it wasn't entirely my choice to break you out," he muttered, that blunt tone of his slipping through, as if it was his last attempt to pull away before sinking too deep.

A soft scoff escaped your lips. "Whatever it was, at least I'm not stuck there anymore."

Slowly, you pulled him up onto the bed beside you, and he let you, his movements careful like he was afraid he might shatter the moment. You shifted, settling so that you were facing him, the blanket fell from your shoulders to pool around your waist, leaving the bruises and scars on your arms exposed under the dim light.

Ben’s gaze traveled over each mark, each scar, but there was no horror in his expression, no pity—only reverence. He reached out, his fingers brushing over a bruise on your shoulder, gentle and careful, as if touching something precious.

"They did this to you," he murmured, a hardness in his voice. It wasn't a question, but a statement. He knew too well.

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "They're fading." you said, looking away for a moment, as if you didn't want to acknowledge the scars.

Without a word, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bruise on your shoulder, a feather-light kiss that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Ben...?" you asked hesitantly. The small tremble in your voice made him stop, a flash of worry crossed his face, his teeth biting at his lower lip. He thought he might have overstepped.

"I'm... sorry," he whispered, pulling back. He feared that he had ruined whatever small trust that had begun to form between you.

But your fingers threaded through his hair, hand pressing to the back of his head to bring him closer again. "Stop apologizing," you breathed softly.

His eyes met yours and a small smile threatened to curl up on his lips, a mutual understanding settled between the two of you before his head dipped down to the crook of your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, kissing an old scar, then he kissed another, and another, his mouth trailing over each scar, each bruise, as if he was trying to erase the pain they held. It felt like an apology, like he was mending you.

His touch was careful, almost reverent, and you felt the warmth of each kiss seep into your skin, soothing the ache that lay beneath. You closed your eyes, letting the gentleness of his touch wash over you.

You felt your chest restricting, your breath becoming shallow, you couldn't remember the last time you'd been so taken care of. It was overwhelming, but you didn't want him to stop.

Ben’s hands were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but the way he touched you was anything but. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away the tears that had slipped down your cheek without you even noticing. Then he closed the distance, pressing his lips to your forehead, a kiss so soft, so full of warmth that it made your chest warm and ache at the same time.

"You're safe," he whispered. "You're still here, and I'm with you." It wasn't much, but it was the most reassurance anyone could get out of him.

You leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he sighed, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way you hadn't seen before.

Slowly, he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you as you settled your forehead against his chest, his heartbeat steady against your ear. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe.

After a long silence, you spoke, your quiet voice breaking the quiet. "Hey... Ben?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his voice a murmur against your hair.

"I'll help you take down Homelander."

#soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy fic #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys fanfic #the boys tv #the boys amazon #jensen ackles

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izzabela · 21 hours ago

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Could you write headcanons for the Lin Kuei trio (Cyrax & Sektor too if possible) with an Autistic reader helping them deal with a sensory overload? Thank you! ^_^

Too Much - Lin Kuei x GN!autistic!reader (headcanons)

in which you experience a sensory overload

a/n: i'm back

ship[s]: tomas vrbada, kuai liang, bi han, cyrax, sektor x GN!autistic!reader (separate)

warning(s): sensory overload (i did my best on research guys), pre-lin kuei split

Sensory overload: "...occurs when one or more of the body's senses is overstimulated to a point where a person is unable to cope."

While it can be used for PTSD and OCD, for the purposes of this fic, it will be related to autism and people on the spectrum

Tomas Vrbada - Ear-clapping

- ear-clapping is one of the more serious mechanisms that could happen with a sensory overload, which involves the person with autism to aggressively clap their ears. in the most severe cases, screaming and crying can occur

- Tomas learned this was caused by very loud sounds

- to help you, he learned that immediately moving you to a quieter area works wonders

- if there were no available quiet spaces, he did his best to hold you very tightly (and i mean very tightly) and cover your ears for you himself

- sometimes, during the severe attacks, you scratched his arm because they were in the way, but he powered through because you would not only calm down, but according to him- "tis but a scratch!"

Kuai Liang - Foot-tapping

- Kuai Liang used to think you foot-tapped when you were annoyed

- it always happened during the meetings where they were held in the old meeting hall, where the flames always seemed to flicker a bit too much

- or it happened when you heard the ancient clock in your shared room tick-tick-tick too much (he had it removed after weeks of back-and-forth between one of the elders)

- Kuai helps you out during these moments by just sitting next to you. he'll even talk to you (only when you say so)

- he learns that holding your hand is the best way to help you overcome the overload

Bi Han - Sensory-seeking Behavior

- Bi Han though you were really odd when he first saw you intensely smelling the unlit candle in your shared room, he realized though it was much more

- Bi Han definitely has "asian dad vibes" because his response to that was buying the entire stock of the candle you liked in case you were going somewhere and had an overload without him

- if you couldn't get your hands on the candle scent, Bi Han juggled ice balls (no you will not correct me on my headcanon that Bi Han juggles). he even mastered how to do multiple ice balls at once

- he learned this was caused by the intense smell of the incense that's burned in the training room. a combination of smelling salts plus some weird potion the elder mages imbued with the salts

- he prohibited the use of it immediately, but you occasionally smell it due to the centuries of use

- still, when you do smell it, he'll help you anyway he can

Sektor - Distraction Behavior

- Sektor thought it was weird that you fiddled with the stylistic wires that stuck out on the back of her helmet, but after learning it was to cope with sensory overload, she was more than happy to help

- sektor made you a personal "sensory toy," a stick with the exact wires that stuck out on one end. you use it often, but when it isn't on you, Sektor has other ideas

- she brought you this toad sculpture made of wood, with ridges sculpted in them for you to touch (you find it rather soothing)

- if it those things aren't present, Sektor doesn't mind that you fiddle with her hand: tracing pictures with your finger, playing with her fingers, etc

Cyrax - Sensory Avoidance Behavior

- after Cyrax watched you shut your eyes as tight as possible while rocking in place after dropping a huge aluminum tube, she felt really really bad

- caused by loud sounds, she learned your overload coping behavior was to not feel, see, or hear everyday sounds

- she made you a helmet that's blacked inside and out, and has incredible noise cancelling abilities

- she also made you earplugs, a combination of technology and soft materials so that you wouldn't be uncomfortable. she paired it with a simple blindfold made with the "blackest fabric dye in the world" (with what funds?)

- while there were days you wanted Cyrax to hold you, other overloads weren't as kind. sometimes you didn't want her with you, and thank the elder gods she didn't take it personal. she still felt bad leaving you alone, so she always left a pillow that was heavily doused in her natural smell

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

okay two of my mass-posts

i really did my best with research on this guys, but if i wrote anything wrong or anything else, please let me know! constructive feedback is accepted, but as soon as i see insults or berating, those will be deleted and your blog will be blocked

see yall in the next fic

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albinokittens300 · 6 hours ago

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!Spoilers Under The Cut!

A/N: SO...been a minute since I wrote fic but. Made sense since I have ideas floating around might as well write and share them. Please note not only am I rusty writing in general, this is my first attempt at these characters. Be gentle on me please XD. I do hope you all enjoy. Let me know what you think, and maybe I'll try and get another one out maybe before Act 2 drops this weekend. All this ended up being was a little drabble of a possible reunion between Ekko and Jinx because I need some Timebomb goodness. Isha making an appearance is a bonus! Fair warning I make some wild leaps about what goes on during Act 2, so beware this is based some of my speculation.

He lets it go on for a few turns into different allies before finally stopping.

Ekko knows his little shadow is nothing more than a child, judging by the sound of the sets on the stone and the occasional clang of metal being kicked or tripped on. He usually wouldn't be worried- but with no one chasing after and taking her back to where she belonged, he took it as the sign it was. To follow him so far means she is all alone. Having just gotten back across the bridge, helping an orphan wasn't something on the list of deep concerns. At least, not until it needed to be.

"As quiet as you are, I have to say it'd be easier to get around if you weren't hiding." He says softly. Light brown eyes peek around the corner, playing at being undercover without actually doing so. She is hard to make out in low and greeish light, but he manages. "You can come out. Not gonna hurt you. All safe, I promise."

His hair raises, though, when her gaze flicks back to where he can't see. By all appearances, she is getting permission. So the girl isn't alone. When she takes a few steps out, he tries to remain unsuspicious.

"Whose behind there?" He asks as he kneels while she approaches.

"Definitely not who you're expecting." A darker, familiar voice speaks.

Jinx hasn't even revealed herself before the instinct takes over, and Ekko grabs the little girl and puts her behind him.

Attempting to pull her away from the known danger sets off another problem, though- the little girl reacts as if she has been burned. Letting out a cry, she wiggles away from him quickly before running back and wrapping herself around Jinx. While she removes the hood of her cloak, revealing a far too proud smirk, another arm wraps around the kid's shoulder. His eyes quickly scan her other side. A few bombs are latched there, but no pistol or any of her bigger toys. It was not a situation he loved, but it was preferable to facing down a minigun.

When Ekko's eyes return to the child, he doesn't think someone so small has ever looked at him so frightened. Something screams this isn't right as he watches for a few seconds.

"Relax, this one, I'll admit, has a reason to be a bit jumpy." She says, directing the words at the girl. Then, leveling a look at him. "What was it Vi said you had to say when the two of ya caught up? About looking good for a dead person?"

"That makes three of us, then." He says back. "Wanna explain what is going on down here, seeing as you are my welcoming party."

"Ah, nothing much. War, revolution, infighting, and unifying! All of that. If you are looking for the Firelights, they aren't at the tree. Or what's left of it." She says with a wave of her hand and a shrug. The blood runs like ice at the words and he rounds on her.

"What did you-"

"Woah, woah, I didn't do anything. Those wackos from Noxus? They are the ones who tracked the tree. My only part was helping everyone out." She hisses back. When his face changes, so does hers—relaxing just the slightest bit. Helped them out? Months trapped away should mean nothing surprise him. But it does.

He sees her arms crossed, watching and almost waiting for him to decide how this will go. Deciding to match her lack of hostility, just this once, he looks around to the eerily empty and quiet lanes.

"Guess I got a lot to catch up on."

That brings a less taunting smirk to her face. "Just a bit."

#Arcane Season 2 #Arcane Season 2 Spoilers #Ekko #Jinx #Isha #Timebomb #Ekko x Jinx #Fics #Drabble

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mikichko · 6 months ago

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⛔ this blog is 18+ !! minors and ageless blogs please dni ⛔

soulmates au - your scars show up on your soulamtes body cw: angst, implied character death, mentions of injury, this whole thing has a big focus on scars so please approach it carefully

Johnny gets his first scar when he’s just barely 10 years old. It’s not a traditional scar either but something more jagged and rushed. Like someone had been in a hurry to pierce the skin and get through. It’s on his lower right abdomen, a thick horizontal line with three, thinner, evenly spaced lines. Just a few centimeters below there’s another miniscule scar, another horizontal line.

That night he learns about appendicitis. Learns how the dull aches he’d been feeling in his belly were a result of an internal organ failing within. When his parents ask him how long he’d been feeling the dull, ghost-like, aches their eyes widen at his response. His mother immediately dropping to inspect his scar, looking for any sort of color difference that would stand out along his already pale skin.

On that same night Johnny understands that you never want your scars to turn white. Ever.

You’re six when you get your first ghost scar. One that’s not yours but it is in some odd special way. You don’t quite grasp the idea of fate and soulmates yet but, you can understand that someone getting hurt reflects on you.

When you notice the newly adorned scar on your chin you let out a pitiful scream. Your mother rushes to you, thinking you wounded, only to find your small fingers tracing the newly scarred skin. You’re trembling, eyes wet with tears, as you continue to inspect the marked skin.

“Oh sweetie, did your ghost give you a fright?” She reaches for you, hands moving to cradle your face. You’re unable to speak, teeth clenched as you try to such in air. “It’s alright sweetheart, looks like he had a little tumble.” Her fingers press the area around your chin gently, “See how it blends in? That means he’s okay. It probably hurts a little but he’s alright. Don’t you worry”

It still tugs at your little heart to know that your ghost is out there, hurt without any help. What if his momma isn’t there like yours? Or if he’s alone? Will he have someone to help him with the hurt the way your momma does with you?

Your mother brushes your tears away, interrupting your train of thought. She chatters about the birds outside, how she needs your help feeding them, and distracts you from all thoughts about your lonely hurt ghost.

Johnny amasses more scars over the years. Small ones across the bridge of his nose, underneath his left eyebrow, one right above his knee. He even gets the hint of a burn on his left calf. They marr his skin, their color just barely present against his complexion. His mother shakes his head every time she sees him with a new scar, a playful smile on her lips, “Got yourself an active one did you, Johnny?”

He laughs it off, kissing the side of her temple. He thinks of them as gifts, reminders that you’re out there in the world making your way to him. He worries sometimes that you might think him dead, a singular scar on your chin to remind you of him. But he reminds himself that your scars have not yet lost their color, have not become the absence of color just yet.

His newest one comes just as he starts basic training. He’d have missed it if it weren’t for the phantom sting he feels when it comes in. It’s on the back of his foot, a crooked vertical scar running along the fibular bone. He can’t even control the surprised laugh that escapes him. It’s baffling how without having met you yet you manage to entertain him so much. Bringing him so much comfort in having parts of you with him. You’ve even brought him some close friends, your marks a conversation starter for everyone he’s come across.

His fingers trace the scar, warm water pouring over his back as he inspects the new piece of mauled skin. “Oh lass, always a creative one aren’t ye?”

A hiss escapes you before you can register the dull ache on your right bicep. Not one, but two new scars are now companions to the sole scar on your chin.

An entry and exit wound, your mother tells you when you seek her out. Her fingers trace the edges of the new circular scars, eyebrows pulled together as she inspects. You’re barely 17, and not one to seek out trouble, but it seems your partner is. You can see the worry lines etched into her face as she moves her fingers along the slight divot in your newly damaged skin. A gunshot wound, she tells you, clean shot.

Your stomach drops at that, an uneasy feeling coming over you. They, whoever they were, were in danger. One way or another, violence had found it’s way into their lives. You’d had questions before, mostly due to the lack of scarring and whether or not they were alive, but you’ve gotten confirmation now. Not only were they still alive but being harmed. You’re left to wonder whether or not they brought this on themselves. If this shift will bring any other scars.

Sometime after your mother talks with you about the unfortunate ones. About what love looks like for those who lose their ghosts early in life.

You alter Johnny’s flesh a few more times. Three large scars run along the side of his right thigh, right above the knee up until just a few centimeters from the halfway point of his thigh. Phantom ankle pains that he’s gotten familiar with accompany these scars. He laughs when he tells Ghost that you have weak ankles, probably couldn’t last a damn day out there with them. Ghost snorts at him, tells him he needs to focus on making your knees weak instead. Johnny shoves him, “Is exactly why ye get to meet her last. Cannae have you givin’ me a bad reputation.”

Months later you unknowingly bless the team with the happiest Johnny they’ve seen to date. When Gaz inquires he proudly shows off the four new dots that mark his upper left cheek. “They have a cat!” Gaz laughs, ruffling the little tufts of hair that Johnny has. Finally, he gets a small glimpse into your life. He spends the helicopter ride wondering all about you and your feline friend. Names him Chomp and wonders if they’d get along in the end.

The last scars you give Johnny are three tiny pinprick scars along his abdomen. Barely there, Price tells him they’re usually associated with a cholecystectomy, a gallbladder removal. A sense of dread overcomes him as he sits down to read about it, hands absentmindedly rubbing over the new dot on his sternum. It’s the second time that you’ve undergone a major surgery and Johnny can’t escape the distress that settles into his bones.

As he grew he’d learned there was a great chance that you could have passed had your appendectomy not been done in time. None of the other scars had been large enough indicators of anything serious, merely skin wounds. But this, he’s suddenly eighteen again, grappling not only with his own morality but yours as well.

He’s come to terms with the fact he could die long ago, it’s part of the job, but Johnny doesn’t think that he could stomach the idea of dying without meeting you. To go his entire life waiting in anticipation for your stories to never hear them. Never feel your touch, hear your voice, feel your heartbeat, see your face. He’s gotten used to tucking the feeling away. Never letting it bubble up even when pinned down. But in moments like this he’s faced with the reality of it all and he realizes that he’d only ever considered the possibility of him dying first.

Never you.

It’s not a dull ache this time, but a burning sensation across the entirety of your forehead. It feels like someone had stabbed you or seared something into your skin.

You scramble out of your bed, not bothering to turn on the lights, rushing to the bathroom solely by memory. Your skin screams at you in protest and as your hands scramble to turn on the cold water you realize the searing pain isn’t contained to your forehead, but the back of your head as well. Splashing some water on your forehead with one hand, you clumsily look for the light switch with the other. Flipping the switch, you blink rapidly forcing your eyes to adjust as quickly as possible. Your eyes finally focus and instantly you wish they hadn’t.

barely two centimeters in diameter, in the center of your forehead, is a gunshot wound. Your wet hand reaches around to the back of your head, patting around until it finds the sweltering skin there too.

A clean shot.

Your body reacts first, tears already filling your eyes, as you try to process the new markings on your skin. He’s shot, again. In trouble, again. But it’s more than just trouble now, it’s a goddamn headshot. He couldn’t have survived that.

“No.” Your hand reaches for the mirror as if willing the scar to disappear, “No, goddammit, no! I didn’t even-”

The loss of heat along your head makes you freeze, as if staying still will prevent the fate you’ve been dealt. You watch in realtime as the scar settles, blending into your skin, before finally they begin to lose color. On your forehead, chin, and bicep, the three scars turn a colorless shade of white. The final indicator of a soul now passed.

Finally, the tears fall, leaving a wet path behind. Your hands grip the still running sink as you stare into the mirror.

“I didn’t even get a chance to meet you.”

a/n: this scratched my brain so good in the shower so you get it. unedited I just word vomited. smoochies!!!!

star banners by @/saradika

#.txt #.mine #.cod #.soap #this was #yeah y'all have fun LMAO #im sorry we need more soap angst in this jawn #the ending made ME CRY while i was writing it too #again shouts out to nenita for being my first victim #john soap x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap x reader

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littleplantfreak · 4 months ago

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'When', not 'if'

("I'm not a romantic" I cry and scream before dropping the most sickening thing i've written to date. Blame @stunie because i did tell her i would write the most ume thing ever and maybe this is it. The title in my docs for it is 'Fucking disgusting' but i figured i better not title it that here because I'd be seeing it in my notifs lmaoo)

SFW/no cw unless you hate fluff

When you wake up from your nap, one of your slippers is gone, and there's a blanket on you that wasn't there prior. Looking at the clock, it's been about an hour since everyone had left your apartment once your birthday party ended. The day as a whole had been chaotic, your boyfriend shoving you out the door with a note to go see Kotoha.

The note took you farther than that, though, as it seemed Umemiya created a whole scavenger hunt for your birthday that had you running into all of your friends, having dessert at your favorite cafe, and eventually ending up at your shared apartment to find that all that time spent around town was a distraction so that he could set up the space for your party. After it had ended, you were banished to the couch because princesses aren't allowed to help clean up their own birthday parties, which had you huffing and falling face down into the chicken shaped pillow affectionately called Mr.Clucky.

It was a product of your boyfriend's endless cycle of hobbies when he took up sewing. A little lopsided and overfilled with stuffing, you complained to and into Mr.Clucky with your face pressed into him. Apparently, he was soft enough to fall asleep on because before you knew it, you had been drooling on him the entire hour. Prying yourself off the couch took more effort than was almost worth it before your eyes fell on the reason you were so tired to begin with.

Hajime smiles and hums looking at your bleary eyes. "Good morning sunshine, I was just about to take you to bed," he says, folding a dish towel over a chair. You toss off the blanket and grab on the slipper that fell under the living room table before padding up to him. Dipping your hands under both of his arms to lock them together behind him, now your face is in his chest instead of the chicken, which is entirely preferred.

"Don't wanna go to bed just yet," you muffle, sinking even deeper into him when both of his arms wrap around you in support. He smells like dish soap and birthday cake, and you turn your head to hear the heartbeat in his chest.

"What do you wanna do lovey? You know I'd give you the world if you asked," you can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest with your pressed ear. He's cheesy, but half asleep, you feel just as much, if not cheesier.

"I have the world if I have you, they're one in the same. So just you is more than fine." Your eyes are closed, but you feel him shiver a little. "I wanna dance with you, though," you say, voice still soft and kinda raspy from sleep.

"Dunno if I can top what you just said even when I propose," he chokes out a laugh, or at least you think it's one. He shifts his hold a bit and starts leading you both in a lazy sway that starts near the toaster and ends next to the potted plant at the back door before starting over.

"When? Not if?" You tease him, a hand going to scratch the nape of his neck lightly.

"I'll never meet another you, so I'm pretty set on When."

"I'll say yes." Because you will. You can't imagine a life where you wouldn't.

"And I'll still cry when you do." You can tell he's crying now because it comes out shaky and his hold tightens a bit, before you lean back, stopping your impromptu waltz. Both of your hands come up to cup his face and look at his teary grey eyes before cooing at him.

"You big baby! Save those tears for When please. You'll be congested and sniffley all night if you don't stop." You start cleaning off his face with your sleeve, but he stops one of your hands and starts peppering your palm and wrist with small kisses. "I think I'm ready for bed now. Princess's orders," you say, dragging him towards your bedroom. You'll have to figure out tomorrow just how soon When is going to be, but for now you can hear the slow thumps of Hajime's steps as he follows behind you, squeezing your connected hand. It's not pressing in the least, you think, because it feels like there will be plenty of tomorrows too.

-----

When you wake up in the morning, it takes you an hour to realize Hajime had put the ring on your finger while you were asleep.

It takes you five minutes to run through town in your pajamas, barefoot to find and full on tackle him in front of the place he was about to get your breakfast in.

And it takes about two minutes of unintelligible blubbering on both your parts before anyone understands what is going on.

No one timed it, but if they did, it would've taken less than ten minutes for the whole town to find out via texts, calls, and yells down the streets and through windows that you're engaged.

#umemiya hajime x reader #umemiya hajime #mari writes #also em this is because of YOUR sweet ume fic as well YOU'RE my inspo #the most romantic thing /i/ can think of is slow dancing even when theres no music its always been that way #though the song i gave to this one is one summer night by the danleers just like...thats what should play when reading the dancing part #also i watch too many turner classic movies so its like....watching an old old romance movie #i couldnt reread it more than twice sorry if the grammars bad i was cringing the entire time because while i think this is good #im allergic to emotions and i made myself cry during it #one day id like to write something small on the scavenger hunt he sent us on cause i think it'd be cute #he might do something similar when he proposes but shhh #i want him to drop the ring off on my finger when im sleeping like the tooth FAIRY OH MY GOD I COULDVE ENDED IT LIKE THAT FUCK ME #WAIT I CAN WRITE IT AS A QUICK SIDE #ok im back i wrote it

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novadorks · 1 year ago

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finally finished orv after two years . . . what do i do with my life now

#started in junior year hs dropped it for a while then started reading again at the start of this semester and now im finally done !#dont know whether to cheer or just crumple up and start crying bc wow that was a ride #i thought the ending was tragic but then i moved on to the epilogue and oh my godd #the way kdj was crying and miserable bc he missed his companions and he wanted to be with them so Badly #but when kimcom finally Finally chase him down and come back to him theyre too late and hes already disspitated into other world lines #and after that like. whenever kdj pulls some shit and dies the next chapter always starts with an ‘i’#and hes back and alive and kicking and Thinking but after that epilogue chapter there isnt a chapter in his pov theres no more ‘i’s and.#it just made me incredibly sad bc we dont get to see his pov ever again bc hes truly gone unless we as a reader can imagine him alive again #anyways sad things aside it is Incredibly funny that lee hyunsung just became a wanted man in the 1865th round lmaoo #+ uriel sun wukong and black flame dragon forming a band together ??? truly the most randomest thing in the epilogue #++ yoohankim need to stop beating the shit out of e/o and learn to talk their feelings out Please #+++ sooyoung’s love for dokja has me miserable o-|-< she would wait for him an eternity write for him an eternity im so sad #three times she endlessly wrote a novel for him to read three times she waited to see him for so long <//3 #you bet im imagining the happiest conclusion i can for them #they WILL live happily ever after in that big house together as long as i have something to say about it!#orv

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meatriarch · 4 months ago

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yknow im probably going to sound a bit overdramatic for a moment with this sorry but,

ive said like two lore streams ago or w/e that im not going to let myself get as heated as i did at the start with how gun's been handling ( read : forgetting she exists ) maria all this time bc at this point i consider my portrayal of her an oc, as i essentially feel across the board with my other texas muses frankly but like.

i do think, while i was obviously thrilled to no end that they announced maria & she was playable etc, i do think the execution of her in-game really sincerely disappointed and pissed me off so badly. like yes end of the day shes a bunch of pixels etc etc whatever sure but its like. genuine frustration at how absolutely sidelined she has been since day one. and i know theres plenty of valid arguments for other characters receiving similar treatment ( ie. sonny ) in a variety of ways, and i do get the angle of maria initially serving as a haunting of the narrative, haunting her friends and sister and being more of that sort of invisible presence rather than physically there in the moment like they all are - but its severely disappointing to see just how little they give a shit about her, both in lore & in gameplay etc.

model-wise? shes completely fine i adore how she looks and everything shes beautiful shes adorable shes exactly as babygirl as i hoped and imagined her to be & look. but shes otherwise both so underwhelming and so borderline useless ( being generous ) and her ability is just the most uncreative pointless thing i feel they could have thought to give her. like. theres so many pieces i can rip apart for just that alone but i dont wanna yap for an eternity lmao

i just wish they gave an ounce of a shit about her. and like sure yes they could easily alter things or add on things on for her in the future etc. sure, yeah, fine and all but its just... i dont think im going to forget how sloppily put together they made her. or how they've consistently forgotten & disrespected her all these months. and with them branching away from her & the friendgroups' story into other victims' as time passes, their already sheer-ass attention spans are only going to grow thinner across the rosters and i guess in my eyes theyre just never going to make up for any of how they treated her character. and like yes thats fine bc i & others will do her infinitely better justice than they ever will but its still just like... its still disappointing.

like so much went wrong with that release day that i think i was just trying to cling onto the excitement of her just being playable but everything else, certain other complaints etc i wont get into, made me think that disappointment in how she was executed was an exaggeration on my part bc im too attached to her lmao and so i kinda just internalized the disappointment i think but it really is just like man. i feel like ive lowkey been in mourning of her since she was released. no faith at all that they are ever going to give her an ounce of dignity outside of how her model looks.

and again. i know i and the fandom do her infinitely more justice than they ever will at this point and that fact alone does make up for this all, i just wish she was remotely fun to play as and didnt feel like such a slapped together, zero-thought, near copy-paste non-asset in-game. i play her bc i love her but she also just makes me fucking sad LMAO

#sorry for random whatever this is its been eating away at the back of my mind since release day & only worsened while playing lately lol.#im literally so fucking thankful that ive been able to work on her for so many months & that ive had such lovely experiences building #her character from the ground up with this lil corner i love you guys so sincerely & bigly for helping her grow into the character #she is currently & will grow into in the future - i just wish gun would love her w even a fingernails worth of how much we adore her.#( 'mourning' is probably overdramatic as hell but its the word that comes to mind lmao ) like i know my expectations need to stay #reigned in w/ gun & i try to but it is just. discouraging as hell w/ her in-game & then the constant worsening state of the #game on top of it not helping in the slightest lmao. anyways sorry again ignore me im just thinking too strongly about my girl-#end of: im proud of where ive been able to take her & how ive built her over this nearing year of writing her & im beyond happy w/ the #connections shes made & the stories being built & all of it. shes my oc as she stands on this acct & i truly hope i keep #building her for a long while more. sorry if u read thru all this nonsense also thank u & kisses to the sky for loving my girl w/ me <3 #we all do more than gun literally ever will with any of them.#gonna go lie down & prob cry a moment & then return to Normal and try to write FNJKSD

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bokuwadekinaiko · 3 months ago

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cw post / tags. sorry

i don't even know if i have the words

to express this

she's gone

and its all my fault

#~ . 🥀#half my brain wants to scream to cry to do something #the other half wants to lie here forever and wait til i go numb #im in such a state of shock rn i .m gonna throw up #for context #2 hours ago as of writing this i received news that a loved one committed suicide #i was one of the only people that knew she was severely depressed / suicidal i shouldve seen the signs #i shouldve helped her more or called her or told someone #i was a coward. i couldn't.#and because i willingly did nothing to stop someone from dying #i am compliant. therefore . its my fault shes dead #.#this isnt some story where you can rewrite the ending #this is real life #and now i watched someone i love die and will have to live with the guilt of knowing i couldve done something but chose not to #the worst type of person.#i didnt deserve to be friends with someone like her.#no one did. she was smart and witty and oh so stubborn (affectionate)#we both loved the same bands. i don't know if i can ever listen to those bands the same way again #god i cant think #im actually gonna throw up #this is the 2nd time in my life something like this has happened. 3rd if you count all COD not just suicide #knowing something is wrong with a loved one but being too much of a wuss to tell anyone or help them or do anything useful #god im fucking worthless #my friends and family will vent to me and share their problems with me and ill say i care and tell myself i care #but givenmy behavior i don't think i can ever say i can #idoly standing by while people i love suffer #fuckin pathetic #this was a deliberate choice i made. this is all my fault #this is all my fault

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mortellanarts · 1 year ago

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I hadn't read the ztd prologue in a while but I'm midway through writing my fic that could benefit from that knowledge so I finally got around to it with some of my friends and I firstly did not recall Sigma losing his cool that quickly but also the only canonical interaction this Sigma has with this Akane being "Swear future you will not lie to past me about how the end of the world goes down" and her essentially lying about not lying is so good and Phi being just as mad at him as Akane but otherwise staying off to the side oough the dynamics at play there

#because! I was fact checking on the wiki and it indicated that they were simply inconsistent with this information #as in she never gives the details away despite her own memories having left D-COM intact #but I did already think she probably just decided to lie by omission about the decision game #but this really did make it feel like that was the intention all along!#so yeah I'm glad about figuring that out logistically speaking it was bothering me while writing to not be sure #she was about to cry from how Sigma was talking to her too... that one fanart I made of her with big weepy eyes.......#stop bullying the criminal mastermind she was born in a wet cardboard box all alone #it works for the angle I'm coming from writing her though that she's feeling the pressure of not knowing everything™#and suddenly having to prevent a whole apocalypse after she just started to have a life again™#Sigma this girl is the best liar of the series do you really expect her to not take the chance if she has to like it isn't second nature #underrated dynamic they're the worst coworkers and no one actually respects one another #they're so funny to me they're sooo at odds while working towards the same goal but no one really got a choice to #and in the end the real time loop was the friends we made along the way and the world really only ended because she got them to prevent it #''oh but there's also the fanatic-'' shhh....#zero escape #ztd #zero escape spoilers #vlr spoilers #sigma klim #akane kurashiki #not art #writing

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specialshinytrinkets · 7 months ago

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[ID:

You do [caps] not [end caps] need to kill off a character for 'emotional impact', or 'realism'. Especially if you've given readers / watchers time to bond with said character. Come on.

/endID]

im starting to think you guys dont like it when stories make you feel things

#thinking about what example to use for this. stance i remembered the duel by alexander kuprin #to be short it is about a young officer romashov trying to get through the army while managing his personal life #like semi-romancing with a wife of another guy or breaking up a fight caused by another officer drinking #and swinging his sword around to the point it could harm women inside #either way. the husband of the woman romashov was romancing with ends up calling him to a duel #he wants to back out from it and is even adviced by probably the most wise/sane/philosophical character in the novel #but shurochka (the wife) takes the upper hand and convinces romashov to go to the duel because if he doesn't #then her husband - nikolaev - won't move up the ranks #as you can guess romashov goes to the duel and dies #the whole point of the novel is to showcase the effect russian army had on those in it. how it rotted them inside out #it is very important to note that the characters who are the most nice (besides the commander of 15th division I REMBER)#are those who are removed from serving most of their time. and the guy who tries to talk romashov out of duelling is an #alcoholic so. that already says a lot. they have been broken before is what i'm trying to say #and that influence is seen in romashov too. kuprin writes that he has books in dust that he meant to get to but in the end #it just never happens #the conflict is in romashov trying to keep his humanity and intelligence AND stay up in the army to impress shurochka #who is very manipulative because her life depends on her husband being in high ranks. she values army more than romashov tbh #it is also very important to note that you can see the destructive effect of the army on people in the soldiers too #one of them - khlebnikov iirc - literally tries to kill himself but gets talked oit of it by romashov #the point of romashov dying is to point just how far shurochka - and the army life - have gotten into him #they literally ended his life. he knew the duel would be dangerous but because of love for shurochka #and because of shurochka's love for keeping a high status he still went there; shot in the air and then took the bullet #if he didn't die it would not hit as hard. it would make the story a lot less impactful because we SAW how shurochka #manipulates romashov. how she keeps him around her finger. he was too deep to get out by this point #his death was necessary. he died from the old time's unspoken law #anyways if you want to i recommend reading the duel. and the garnet bracelet. WITH music that shit made me cry rivers #alexander kuprin #mention of death #sui mention #forgotten videotapes_uwu

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peachysunrize · 6 months ago

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Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid…

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily.

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way…

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,” he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,”

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.”

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little.

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #prince aemond #aemond x reader #rue:smut #rue:angst #rue:fluff

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cherrybr4t · 3 months ago

Text

DILF!SEUNGCHEOL (+18, mdni)

A/N: to the anon that requested for some dilf cheol, i love u i am u. i think about dilf cheol probably 20 times a day. wanted to write a hc but got carried away…as u can see… 2k words 💨💨💋

WARNINGS: smut, DILF CHEOLL, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), dom!cheol, sub!reader, f reader, it’s pretty mild…i think…

dilf!cheol whom you met while bringing your niece to her weekly soccer practice. you often helped to babysit her, and you loved seeing her in action — playing passionately every sundays, calling out to her aunt on the field with her adorable pigtails

dilf!cheol first noticed you on one fateful saturday practice at the stands, shades at the top of your head, pretty face with your ponytail dangling behind you

dilf!cheol comes up to you; telling you that you look younger than all the other parents here. you explain that you’re here for your niece, while he mentions his own daughter on the soccer field

dilf!cheol wastes no time, and asks you out on a date the second time yall meet during practice, as if you could say no to the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your 22 years of living…

dilf!cheol decided that a gem like you deserved the finest things in life — bringing you to his favourite restaurant, a private room he booked out specially for you, the best wine on the menu, with the most spectacular view (especially the man in front of you clad in a sleek button up, hair flawless as he combs it back every few minutes)

dilf!cheol who has his own successful company running, always mentions how his daughter is the light of his life, the one thing that kept him going after his ex-girlfriend up-ed and left after leaving pretty little sua on his doorstep. all he wants is to provide the best for his lil munchkin

dilf!cheol being a gentleman, drives you home and you invite him up for some tea, not wanting to end the night there. he agrees, though it probably wasn’t the best decision; considering how he told himself not to fuck you yet — not after a few more dates (he strongly believes he does not have the sex drive of a 20 year old) aaand he really did not trust himself to be in a room alone with you

dilf!cheol was right — feeling all his self-restraining effort go down the drain as he looks at you, sitting so damn near him on the couch, you might as well be on his lap.

you weren’t playing though. you wanted him, and you needed him immediately. your hands dancing dangerously on his thighs, leaning in closer to him whenever he made a witty comment.

fuck the water that was done boiling. you weren’t going to leave this couch to go make some tea, all you could think about was how cheol looked like he was about to lose it too.

he leans in. you lean in. “cheol…” the way you uttered his name in such a soft and slightly raspy manner made his breath hitch. he definitely caught on to the slight cry and need for him to make the move

that was all he needed, before he crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you so fucking deep, you could feel every crevice of his pretty cherry lips, drenched with the need to meet yours. his tongue — oh god his tongue, dancing with yours half way through the kiss, as if teasing you, showing you what that pink muscle of his was capable of.

dilf!cheol loved making demands. first, you were to strip out of your red dress slowly, standing in front of the couch where he sat, manspreading with his elbows propped up on the sofa. he stares, hungrily, eyes watching every movement you made to remove that article of clothing that was driving him crazy all night.

after which he demanded you to sit on his lap like a good girl — making sure you knew that he loves rewarding good girls. the dark spot on your lace panties made him chuckle. “you wanted this that bad princess? had to ask me if i wanted a cup of tea, when this was your true intention all along…” he traces his finger along your thigh as you settle down on his lap.

you let out a whine — embarrassed, but it was true. “why princess? admit it, you wanted me so bad you were willing to do anything to get us in this situation,” his fingers continued tracing to the back of your bra, unhooking it with one hand, letting the lace material fall to the ground.

“yes cheol, i wanted you so fucking bad i- , you looked so good, during dinner a-all i could think about was you fucking me right,” you moaned out, gripping on his hard shoulders, nails clutching on the fabric of his button up.

he let out a groan, “you thought about that during dinner? my dirty girl, so filthy — all for me, i made you like this didn’t I,” his hands travel to your tits, thumbs brushing on your hard nipples, before pinching both buds and pulling on them, eliciting a load shriek and moan from you.

“yes cheol, you did.. n-need you..” he latched his hot lips on your nipple, showing you once again the power of his pink muscle, licking and sucking like it was his favourite candy. it felt so fucking good you couldn’t help but cry out, grinding down on his crotch. feeling like any more attention towards your sensitive tits could make you cum sooner than expected.

“fuck princess you’re fucking soaking, i can already imagine how good that warm cunt will feel around my fingers, around my tongue..”

“and your cock cheol, need you to be inside me,”

“patience, i told you good girls get rewarded,” as if he himself could wait any longer.

he carries you to your room, laying you on your soft sheets. with no buffer time, you feel a pair of lips at your center, licking through the soaked material.

“o-oh my god, cheol,” he rips the material off you, leaving you exposed right in front of him, and he swears he’s never felt this hungry for pussy before. he licks, he inserts that tongue of his down your warm cunt, pushing the walls open, slurping every single drop of you he can. wrapping his thick lips around that sensitive nub of yours, sucking it hard enough that you cry out, arching your back as you laced your fingers through those locks of his, pushing him closer.

“so good.. so good cheol…more more..,” you were a broken record, all you could think about was chasing your high, and the man in front of you was more than happy to make that happen.

“yeah, princess? so good for me, so fucking delicious you deserve to be eaten out every day every fucking hour, goddd,” wanting to look at your pretty face as he makes you come, he rubs your sensitive engorged clit roughly in tight fast circles, while inserting two fingers without warning.

you screamed out, unable to control the unhinged moans slipping out of your lips. you felt otherwordly, as if you were ascending into a new realm with immense pleasure. “fuck, cheol oh my god oh my god,” your moans going higher in pitch when he curled his fingers, touching that textured gummy pad deep inside you, hitting it non stop.

“wanna cum princess? i know you want to, feels so fucking good doesn’t it? i know princess i know,” he spoke in an overly sweet tone, and it just made you clench around him even more. your knuckles turning white at how hard you were gripping those poor sheets.

“i wanna cum cheol, can i cum now? please please please,” your sweat blends with a drop of tear sliding down the side of your face, feeling your high literal seconds away.

cheol’s cock hurts, straining so bad against those dress pants of his. he needs to be inside you now, but he wants you to — no, needs you to come before that. “fuck, you can cum princess, let go for me,”

and you let go, spasming around his fingers, with the loudest cry of the night yet, body jerking up from the immense sensation of flood gates opening.

“yeah that’s right, princess, so good for me, so pretty when you cum, feels so good doesn’t it,” cheol swears he could cum in his pants at the sight of you coming undone, wrecked on his fingers. and he thinks to himself — it’s a sight he wants the privilege to have, every night, for the rest of his life possibly.

you came down from your high panting, looking up to see cheol in his boxers already, pulling them down, only to reveal the prettiest, girthiest cock you’ve ever seen, and all you want is for him to be in you, for him to make you his.

“i-i’m on the pill, you can go for it cheol,” you muttered out with whatever strength you had left in that moment, all you can think about was being pumped full of cheol’s cum. his heart thumps at your words. he lets out a groan, stroking his member as he gets back on top of you, and you admire how his muscle — his biceps and shoulders goes taut, god, he looked so fucking strong, you were about to cum the second time looking at him.

“ready princess? swear m’gonna fuck you til you’re full of my cum,” and he slowly inserts his full length inside of you, and you moan at the stretch his thick cock gives you.

“hnnng, so thick cheol, so big,” you moaned, nails gripping on his shoulders and he grabs both of your wrists, slamming it right above you on the pillow, holding you right there. you whined, while he spotted a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“look at you princess, so fucked out when i’ve just barely started, is my cock that good baby? hmm? you like it that much?” one hand pinning your wrists down, the other adjusting your leg above his shoulder. the angle making you feel him in places you didn’t know you could.

“this is what you wanted, right princess? fuuuck look at you, so fucking pretty all under me,” he falters; wanting to degrade and embarrass you to utter filth, but looking at you being so good under him, he can’t help but praise you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

your heart swells, pussy gripping onto him even tighter if that was even possible, “cheol…i wanna cum again, wanna cum around you,” you whine out, eliciting a deep growl from the man above you.

“i swear princess, you drive me fucking crazy,” he snaps his hips into you in an insane pace, feeling so lost in the feeling of you and your warm slippery cunt hugging his cock so good he thinks he went to heaven and back for a moment.

as he feels his release approaching, he’s in disbelief at how fast it comes, but he can’t hold it in any longer. “cum with me princess, fuck, can’t take it anymore, need to fill you up nice and full with my cum.” his moans get louder and you love how needy he sounds; not holding back, moaning your name with a crack in his voice.

with no warning, your orgasm crashes over you, arching your back, crying out cheol’s name as you spasm around him. “fuuuck baby i’m coming,” with slower thrusts, cheol leans down to give you a passionate kiss as he releases his hot load into you, it spills and shoots, so much fucking cum that it leaks out immediately and you moan at the feeling, at complete bliss being so full of his cum.

dilf!cheol giving you the best aftercare ever, you’re his and only his now, his princess and now he self declares that he’s going to take care of you like no other man could, or will!

dilf!cheol has a stamina of a teenager, going for multiple rounds throughout the night, leaving marks all over you, needing so bad to claim you as his.

yup…trust that i’m not done w dilf cheol and i’ll be back with MOREEE ✍️💋 anws i hope yall like it <33 if you did, like/comment/rb to lmk what u think abt it 😍 thanks for reading lovelies,, xoxo 😘💨💋

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kenjakusbraincum · 1 year ago

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can you pls write something about reader being sick and like not the cough and cold kind of sick- like really really sick, and sukuna realising how much he doesn't want to lose her to this sickness and how if she dies, he'll be alone again..🥺

You have NO idea how much I love this idea!!! I did go a bit overboard with it cause I love suffering though 👍 Still, this was SO much fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Vows

Sukuna x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, true form! sukuna, master/pet dynamic, fluff but most importantly ANGST, mentions of weight loss, mentions of violence, implied nsfw, reader dies in the end :( (sorry)

It's not the first time Sukuna has been made aware of your mortality. He recalls many instances when he's been reminded that you are human. Finite. The first time he wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed with calculation while you were laying under him, and you looked up at him in fear for your life. Your little hand couldn't even wrap around his wrist, much less provide resistance. Or when he'd pull your hair a little too roughly, and hear a crack in your delicate spine. When you'd get sick, and humbly refuse his healing. So little as a tummy ache had you writhing on your bed.

You are so weak, so small, clinging to life like there was anything for you in it, beyond Sukuna. By all means he hates all of these things. So what witchery is this, and why does he care about you so much? Why does he keep you for years, and why does your company bring him comfort he hasn't ever known in his lifetime?

Still, as much as he cares, he doesn't notice when it starts. He's trained you to tolerate pain, after all. It's no wonder you hesitate to tell him. Little things like tummyaches and colds occur to you all the time anyways, and you never complain. Sure, you've grown closer to Sukuna, but he was still your master, and the rules he instilled in you from the start were always fresh in your mind, not to be crossed. Bothering him with everything that feels off always seemed inappropriate.

And Sukuna is just like that. If you're not screaming or crying, he won't know you're in pain. But he notices that you're acting off. And how he reacts really doesn't help your case, or encourage you to speak up about your condition. ''I don't have all day. What is wrong with you?'', he sneers when he catches you pacing too far behind him.

So you just sleep longer and preserve energy for when you are with him. You don't skip around as much anymore, or spend time doing your hobbies. Food doesn't taste so great anymore. You have a cough that gives you sleepless nights because it just won't calm down. And the time you owe Sukuna starts to feel like an obligation. You start to dread it. Dread slipping up, dread annoying him or failing to satisfy him. Dread being disposable.

When things start getting worse, it's hard to hide it even from him. He was taking you from behind one night, and you were grateful he couldn't see the look on your face. You thought you could do it. Sukuna was always demanding, but he would never force you to do anything. If only you told him before you felt yourself struggling for air, and your chest closing in on itself in tightness. You reached one hand back, frantically grabbing his wrist.

''Feathers, feathers!'', words came out as gasps, and you slumped forward when he let you go. You were panicked and crying by then, this kind of discomfort being foreign even to you, even after weeks of pain behind you. He hovered next to you with a puzzled look on his face. He wasn't even being that rough.

''What's wrong? Tell me.'', he said, and reached his hand to feel the warmth of your tears streaming down your face. He swiped your cheek gently. He didn't seem mad at all. Why didn't you say anything from the start?

''I just feel so sick.'', you muster up in between sobs, and shut your eyes. You were too embarrassed to even look at him.

''I see.''. His hand leaves your face, and he traces it from your neck down your spine. The pain subsided slowly, allowing you to relax and find comfort in his arms.

But the effects of his healing were short lived. Just a week later the feeling of fatigue creeps back into your life. Manageable, but lingering. And the cough persists. And it gets on Sukuna's nerves too. He's been quite patient with you, but his patience was reaching it's limit.

You're sitting by his throne as you often do, and as hard as you try to hold the cough in, you just can't help it. His hand finds the back of your neck and squeezes, turning you to him. And he looks at you with all four, terrifying eyes. ''Can you shut up?''

''I'm sorry, I'm trying -'', you stutter, but just end up coughing more. He doesn't wait for you to stop.

''Get out of here.'', and pushes you away. You stumble down the pile of bones and fall, landing on your hands and knees. You don't remember him being this cruel to you in a long time. You look back at him with teary eyes, and he looks back like the merciless monster he is. The villagers awaiting him moved to make space for your fall, taking note of the tense situation.

That day, Sukuna sends word that he doesn't want to see you until you get better. You're forbidden from going outside again, in fear that that is making your 'cold' worse. It's a lonely week in your room, until Sukuna starts to crave you again. It didn't take him a while, counting the couple days he spent convincing himself he doesn't miss you. He does. So when he sends word for you again, and the servants come back to him saying you're still not feeling well... he's worried. So worried he comes to see it for himself.

Sukuna rarely comes to your room. It's the only space you have for yourself, and he doesn't want to take that away from you. Your room is modest. You have a bed, a carpet, and a couple shelves to house the books he's gifted you. There's a desk where you can eat and read, and a doorway to the garden. There's an empty glass of water and a napkin next to your bed. You're still sleeping, but the door shutting behind him wakes you up, so he doesn't get to enjoy observing you in your natural habitat for long.

It's not the first time doors opening and closing woke you up. But you know this time is different. The servants are always quickly shuffling around the room, cleaning up and moving around. Uraume clanks with plates. There is no noise now, other than your strained breathing and a cough brewing in the back of your throat. Besides, the aura that Sukuna brings with him everywhere he goes is recognizable. Especially to you. Heavy.

You turn around, and meet the gaze of his four eyes. ''Master...'', you struggle to sit up, and even a little action like that has spots forming in your vision. Then a coughing fit hits you. You pick up the napkin and put it to your mouth.

Sukuna sees your whole body strain with the effort of coughing. And when you call him master, even your voice sounds different. He knows your morning voice. He missed hearing it, but this... this is not it. You sit with your head hung low, staring at the napkin between your hands. There's a fresh splatter of blood on it. But Sukuna scares you more than the progression of your illness.

''Are you mad at me?'', you ask timidly, meeting his gaze.

''I'm concerned.", he says and sits next to you. You curl up to make space for him. "Two weeks is a long time for a frail human like you to be sick.", he looks at you, scanning your form up and down.

"I rested and drank every tea Uraume told me to!", your defense mechanism kicks in, and you start babbling.

Sukuna dismisses you with a hand and a pained facial expression. "I know.", he says. His brows are furrowed now, and he's looking at the ground, lost in thought.

You feel guilty for annoying him again. You feel guilty for the whole thing, getting sick, draining the energy it takes him to heal you, robbing him of the time with you that he deserves. Owns. He is very generous with the way he treats you, having all that in mind.

You tug on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Master... You deserve better.", and you're sobbing again. Sukuna gives you a pathetic look, but smiles as he pulls you into his embrace.

"Silly pet. I can survive a couple weeks without your assistance.", he says, rubbing your shoulder.

You run your fingers against the back of his hand mindlessly, not knowing how to respond. Caressing his knuckles, bones, veins... feeling his nails and their sharp tips against your sensitive skin. When you bring his palm up to your lips, your kiss stains it red with blood.

You still sleep with Sukuna sometimes. Less frequently, only on days when you feel well enough, and those are rare. You've lost weight by now, sickness making itself visible on your body. You're sitting on his lap and clinging to your robes, scared that he won't like you as much, that you won't live up to his standards. But Sukuna's demeanor about your illness has changed, as he seemed to sense something unusual about it. He flips you over so gently, like you're made of glass, and peppers kisses from your neck downwards, slowly undressing you as much as you allow him. When he takes you, he's so careful. Constantly checking you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. You feel so loved and relaxed, and pleasure comes so easy when you're in this state. It's not the first time Sukuna is this caring with you in bed, but this time is different. This time you can't help but feel like he's saying goodbye.

He holds you afterwards, tracing his fingers over the ridges of your spine and your shoulders. You were always little in his grasp, but now that he feels your protruding bones under his fingertips, you seem all the more vulnerable.

"Will you kill me?", you ask, breaking the silence.

Sukuna frowns. "Nonsense. Why would I do that?"

There's a gulp in your throat. "It won't be long before I can't even do this. I won't be of any use to you then...", you say.

"Stop.", he says sternly. "There's a lot more to you than what you provide me with in bed."

You smile to yourself, but there's still a hole in your chest. Your statement is still true, and you aren't comforted. But this is Sukuna, and you know that he's offered you quite a lot even with that little bit of reassurance. To your surprise, he speaks again.

"Don't upset yourself. It's been a long time since killing you crossed my mind.", he says. "Save the energy for something else."

You nod and thank him. Just moments later, you're asleep. Quicker than ever before, he notes. You usually love it when he lets you cuddle and talk to him. You would force your eyes open when you were sleepy, just to enjoy it longer.

He feels guilty. He's your master, he's responsible for your well being. Yet nothing he does seems to help you long term. Healing you is temporary and he knows that without accessing the source, it will never work. If he could, he would find what was making you sick and rip it out of you with his bare hands, crush it with the force of his palm. He would have to look deeper, open you, and for once, he thinks he can't open a human being. He thinks of you trashing, screaming, and worst of all, looking into his eyes. Just the thought of you like that makes his chest feel like a gaping cavity. Worst of all, he's sure you would let him. He's sure you would forgive him for spilling your blood, and find comfort in his arms again. If you survived, that is. What has he done to you? And to himself?

Now, your head rests on his chest, and you're snoring lightly. For once, a repetitive noise like that doesn't annoy him. For once, he wishes he could listen to it every night. One day, that noise will be the only thing audibly confirming you're still alive.

Months pass and you're only getting worse. You barely leave your room now, too weak to even do so. You eat little, and it's showing in your sunken cheeks and eyes. You feel yourself withering away, loosing color, drying like a dying flower. Sukuna is in grief. He struggles to look at you, and visiting you falls heavy on him every time. He always finds himself thinking afterwards. Regretting that he let himself get this attached, wishing that he could simply forget you. But it doesn't work that way.

He goes to see you, after avoiding you for a week. He's Sukuna, he doesn't have any shame. You're sleeping, like you usually are when he comes to visit you. Your snoring is laboured, and it sounds painful. This time, the doors and the silence don't wake you up. He watches you, curled up under a stack of blankets, rising and falling with your struggles to breathe. How foolish he was, to think forgetting you would be as easy as avoiding you for days. How evil he was, trying to forget you while you are still alive under his wing, still his responsibility. Still his.

He sits next to you and leans over you, fingertips ghosting over your face. The snoring stops and you flutter your eyes open, turning in bed and feeling his body next to yours. You smirk at him, eyes adjusting to the light, and smile when you recognize him. ''Master.'', your arms wrap around his neck as you welcome him, your voice dry, but lively as you beckon him closer. ''I missed you.''.

He comes down to plant a kiss to your forehead. ''I missed you too, darling.''. Oh, the things that escape his mouth when he's alone with you. He cups your face, enjoying how much healthier you look with a smile on your face. ''Feeling any better?'', he rubs your cheek, lingering closely above your face.

You nod, but both of you know you only feel better because you saw him. Still, the little surge of happiness that brings you gives you more energy than you've had the whole week. You wiggle to the edge of the bed, making space and inviting him to join you. Sukuna lies down, hooking one arm underneath your neck and pulling you flush against him.

You wrap your arm around him and lean your head against his shoulder. He's still as big as you remember him, unfaltering in the face of your illness. It's comforting. ''You didn't visit in a while. Were you busy?'', you ask, stroking his back. ''How were your days?''

''Monotone.'', he says. ''The villagers bring remedies for you every day, and wish for you to get well.'' It's no wonder. So many times, Sukuna found himself hesitating to kill just because you were sitting on his knee, dressed in something too pretty to be splattered with blood. In the local villages, word spread that you have ''domesticated'' Sukuna. As if such a thing was possible. Or was it?

''Oh?'', you smile. ''I didn't think they would notice my absence.''. You always were supposed to be Sukuna's accessory and nothing more. Remedies and good wishes make it sound like you're more important than just a pet. So it really is that obvious...

''They did.'', he says, and lowers his head, brushing his nose against your face. ''Some took that as an opportunity to gift me new pets.''

You blink at him, a bit taken aback by his honesty. You keep smiling anyways. ''Did you take any?'', you ask, and he sees nothing but genuine curiosity in your eyes. The truth is, you've had a lot of time to think about your place in Sukuna's mansion. You knew, especially in sickness, that you were never entitled to exclusivity with him. You knew that at some point you would have to be replaced, just by the virtue of being a mortal. A human, who would age and become ugly, wrinkled and useless. You were just unlucky enough to meet this fate sooner than you should've.

Sukuna sighs, the weight of the conversation shifting to him. ''Not to bed, no.'', he says.

You're quiet while you think of what to say. You still have a habit of picking words when you're with Sukuna, but the times when he would punish you for improper formulation are far behind you. "Why not?", you settle. You hope the implication is there, that you wouldn't be so mad even if he did.

Why not? Because he thinks it might break him. Because the image of someone else in your place, under him, feels unnatural and wrong. He thinks the guilt might eat him alive. For once in centuries, someone else's needs come before Sukuna's. He is gone, so far gone. You've raised his standards, and he's not sure anyone he takes now will be able to live up to them. Besides, training a new pet to fit your mold would take years, and even then... He couldn't train someone to love him. Not like you do.

''I wouldn't want you to hold back because of me.'', you say, and he realizes he's been quiet for too long. Years ago, if you dared to imply that Sukuna would do such a thing as hold back because of you, that he cared, you would've been minced meat ready for dinner. Now, he looks down at you tenderly when you say it. Well, a tender look from Sukuna is a docile one. You've gotten used to the way that Sukuna communicates love. Subtly, innocuously.

''Worry about getting well, pet.'', he shuts down the conversation, and moves away from you, sitting back on the bed. ''Any wishes? Food? Activities?'', he asks, and feels your forehead with the back of his hand.

Food? No, but... ''I'd like you to stay, please.'', you say, and take his hand with the two of yours, feeling it up with your thumbs.

Sukuna resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the thought of annoying him would upset you greatly. ''That's a given. Anything else?''

You pretend to think, then just babble your favorite food. Sukuna takes your order to Uraume. But when he comes back, you're already asleep again. He waits by your side, but you don't wake, so eventually he leaves. By the evening, the plate of your favorite food remains untouched.

You can't leave the bed on your own anymore. Sukuna carries you outside when you're feeling good enough. You barely have the strength to latch onto him securely. Still, it's hard to slip out of the grasp of his four arms. He says you've gotten pale. You lay in his lap and bask in the sun, while he tells you about his day or reads a book out loud for you to enjoy. You wish you could talk to him more, but your voice leaves you as days of endless coughing wreck your throat. No herbs and teas ease your condition anymore. You wait for your final day.

And Sukuna doesn't know when he's given up on the idea that you might get better. But he starts spending whole days with you, leaving your side only to sleep in his bed. He tends to almost all your needs personally. You think that if you asked him to get on his knees for you, he would. He is not familiar with this ache that brews in his chest when he looks to his side and doesn't see you there. It feels violating. To be as powerful as he is, and yet completely helpless in the face of the sickness that drains you in front of his very eyes.

He plays with your thinning hair one morning, and you look at him from his lap, as adoringly as always. ''Isn't it funny?.'', you say, and he snaps out of his thoughts to look at you. ''I always imagined dying by your hand.'', you kiss his hand again, planting your dry, blue lips against his knuckles. ''Who would have thought?''.

You, you little human. You made him feel like a fool, like a coward. You made him feel powerless. Who could ever get away unscathed with making Sukuna feel like this? The thought of killing you now, even out of mercy, fills him with horror. He thinks he couldn't live carrying the burden of your death on his back. It's already hard for him as is.

When he's not with you, he withers away in his room, waiting. And when the servants finally come, and tell him you're at your last strengths, he feels as tense as he feels relieved. The servants shake in fear of his reaction, and he simply dismisses them. In a thousand years of his existence, he doesn't remember having to prepare to enter a room. His hand trembles as he brings it up to push the door open. He dreads what awaits him inside.

He expected blood, hysteria, chaos, yet there's none of it when he walks in. Just the pained noises of your breathing. A servant, your favorite, sits by your side and wipes sweat off your forehead. She talks to you in a comforting tone and pats your head gently. When he walks in the room, she lowers her head and moves to leave. It's only a second, but he sees the sad look on your face. ''Stay.'', he orders, and the servant bows and thanks him.

You move your attention to him, raising your hand to greet him weakly. He picks it up and bends down to kiss it. There's tears in your eyes as he settles into a seat next to you, and you open your mouth in an attempt to say something.

''Easy now.'', he shushes you, and helps you into his lap. You lean back, looking at him through a blur. His features appear even more doubled through the tears, and you still find his beauty mesmerizing. Your master. Your own little god and protector. Although he regrets it, you've never claimed the title of his spouse. Yet, he still stuck by your side, until parted by death. In sickness and in health.

He wipes your tears, and the mouth he conjures onto his hand kisses your forehead. One set of his hands caresses your face, the other massages the tension out of your bony shoulders. Sukuna knows how important it is for you to pass in peace. He doesn't want to curse you, or have despair turn you into a curse. "Relax now.", his voice is so soothing, as if lulling you to sleep. "It won't be long". You weep. What did an ordinary human like you do to deserve this honor? To be comforted on their death bed by a god. To be guided to death by him.

"Master.", you sob. "I'm so scared..."

Delicate touch against your skin. Sharp nails grazing your cheek ever so slightly, just barely enough to make their presence known. "Have no fear.", Sukuna looms over you like a snowdrop. "Where you go now, pain won't follow.". You speak to him a little longer. Tell him all the things you always wanted to tell him, but were scared of the consequences. Dangerous words, ones that were rarely associated with Sukuna. Love. And Sukuna is attentive, so human. Your blinking slows and you find comfort in his voice, as he returns every loving word back to you. Your pained breathing follows, and your eyelids are so heavy. But the sight of him is so hypnotizing, you wish you never had to look away. "You are so brave, my little dove. Go now, be free.". You were too good for this wretched palace anyways. The sight of him is etched in your memory as you close your eyes. "It was a pleasure to have you by my side.", you listen, feeling control over your body slip through your fingers. When you can't move, or feel his touch, you still hear his calm voice. "When you're ready, come back to me. I'll be waiting for your return.". Then everything is quiet, for you and for him. The servants cries are muffled by the sheets, where she has her head pressed by your side.

The hallways, silent except for the busy tapping of feet. Outside, the wind blows petals off of blooming flowers, leaving them bare and stranded. Autumn is here to carry you away.

Servants hold their breath when Sukuna walks by. One wrong look at him and the walls would be painted red. Just like before. Before you. And it's not long before Sukuna looks like a monster again - red eyes and a permanent frown etched on his face. Villagers bring bouquets, and lay them to the right of his throne, where you used to sit. He stares them all down, and only for a moment thinks that maybe, humans are not the scum he thought they were. But then he remembers, they only mourn you because you held him back from his destructive tendencies. Scum.

And he kills again. The first is a villager from afar, where news of your passing hasn't reached. Ripped to shreds for mentioning you. The women who screamed, their blood soaks the carpets and seeps through the wooden floor, dripping down to the cellars. He feels like himself again, unhinged, unbeatable.

Until the day is over, and he goes back to his empty room. His cold, empty bed, and the old habit of reaching for you in his sleep, only to grab nothing instead. And the crocheted figures of the two of you on his nightstand, watching him as he struggles to sleep alone. He can't bear it. So he leaves, and doesn't come back for days, weeks, months.

Smoke clouds the skies on the horizon once again, after years and years of peace and clarity. As far as the eye stretches, the world will know of Sukuna's wrath. But as thrilling as it feels to conquer again, when the village is burned and ash covers the grass on the ground, the thought of you still lingers. Your devastated eyes the first time he's killed before you. The first time he's felt guilty about his monstrous nature. When he comes back, no one's warm embrace awaits him. No one's there to brighten up his day. No amount of blood shed and villages burned replace the emptiness you left behind in his heart.

The grief settles, and sits heavy in Sukuna's chest, as he assumes position in his lonely throne again, and gazes at the row of people waiting to beg, talk, offer... bore him. Another eternity of boredom. An eternity of picking through thousands of humans, in vain hopes of finding you again. In vain hopes of recognizing you, even if it's lifetimes from now, when the last memory of your face has already faded from his mind. When generations change, and the thought of a monster like Sukuna being capable of tenderness vanishes. When the fire in his chest, ignited by love, is already a memory so distant, that recalling it feels surreal.

Maybe he will forget you by then. Maybe times will harden him again, and the idea of a pet becoming his lover will make him laugh. But for now, the thought of finding you in a crowd, taking you in his arms and never letting go, is his comfort and safe place. For now, he will wait for you. As long as it takes, like a stone, unyielding against the passing of time.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #sukuna #soft sukuna #i love bastardizing sukuna in my fics #also this is totally leading me into a part 2 w reincarnated reader #yes weve heard it a thousand times #idc it makes me happy

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