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humanpurposes · 3 months

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It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #modern!au #aemond targaryen smut #it will come back #hozier coded #my fics

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loveforsatoru · 5 months

Text

Our Blue Spring- Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader (Chapter 4: To Get Over You)

Shoko, Suguru, and Megumi watch from outside Satoru's office as he weeps, the pieces of the broken camera scattered along the floor. It felt like he was never going to stop crying. All of them were hurt when you left as well, but nothing would compare to how Satoru's been holding up. Neither of the 3 knew how to break the silence, but someone had to go in there and at least try to console him even if it seems impossible.

"I'll go." Shoko volunteers.

The 2 others look surprised at her willingness, but didn't protest.

She hesitantly cracks the door open before stepping inside. Satoru didn't notice she was there until she pulled out a stool and sat beside him.

He looks up at her with his eyes full of tears, and sleeves drenched. He quickly looks away, embarrassed and attempts to reach for his blindfold before remembering he threw it in the far corner of the room. He didn't want to be seen like this, at his most vulnerable. You were the only one he showed his true emotions around. He isn't used to being this way around other people.

The two sat in silence for a couple moments before Shoko spoke up.

"Gojo, it's been 7 years. You need to at least try and move on."

Her words made his heart hurt. There's no chance he'd be able to get over you, not after his numerous failed attempts at doing so. He's accepted the fact that he'll never move on from you. That part doesn't bother him. Only the lack of your presence.

"But I can't." He replies, voice hoarse from crying.

Shoko looked at him, mentally cursing at herself for believing that would be enough, but she couldn't let him find out how you've been doing. It would only pain him more. She's been in secret contact with you for years and promised she wouldn't go against your wishes of keeping your whereabouts private, especially from Satoru. Nobody knows how you've been doing except for her.

"I need to talk to her at least one more time. I need closure. Even if she doesn't want anything to do with me after that. I need to know why she left, how she's doing, if she's even thinking about me." He was beginning to ramble. Shoko wants so badly to tell him where you are and to go win your heart back, but she can't. You would never forgive her if she did.

"You can't do that. Don't even think of contacting her in any way. She doesn't want to see you again" Her voice came out harsh, and demanding, which only made Satoru's blood boil.

"How the hell would you know? It's not like she's spoken to anyone from around here for the last 7 years."

"Because if she wanted to be with you, she wouldn't have left. You need to get that through your head. She won't be coming back. Not for me, not for you, not for anyone else."

Of course, she doesn't know that. She doesn't know if you'll decide to ever come back, or if you still love him, but she knows you did all those years ago. She just needs to crush his thoughts about contacting you. He doesn't know how many problems that would cause.

Yet her words still cut through Satoru like glass. He didn't want to accept that you were really gone. A small part of him still had hope that you would return, but hearing somebody tell him the opposite made him begin to question it.

He looked down at his feet, feeling ashamed that he'd let himself be so naive, but he couldn't help it. The small possibility that you would one day be back gives him motivation to get out of bed in the morning.

"Shoko, please. Let me borrow your phone to call her. She blocked me the day she left and I know how close the two of you used to be. Maybe you're still in her contact list."

Hearing the way his voice quivers makes Shoko feel bad and almost give in, but she has to hold her ground.

"I'm sorry, Gojo, but I can't do that. I wish I could, I really do, but it's for the best if you don't know. Don't try and take matters into your own hands by snooping around in her business. You'll only hurt yourself. She's hiding from you for a reason. You can't change that. Accept it and move on."

With that, she leaves the room, not wanting to argue with him any longer. Megumi and Suguru who were watching everything go down turn to look at Shoko, not surprised by how it went. Megumi was about to walk into the room, try his best to console Satoru, but Suguru stopped him. It wasn't the right time.

It's beginning to get dark outside. The building is empty as it's far past school hours. Satoru hadn't moved from his place while everyone else went home. The silence was making his skin crawl. It's uncomfortable, suffocating.

Shoko's words have been repeating in his head nonstop. He wants to get to you, contact you, beg you to come back to him, but what if you deny him? He doesn't know what he'd do with himself if that were the case. Did he possibly do something to drive you away? Did you leave because of him? He wants the answers to his questions. He never got the closure. It bothers him to not know what caused all of this, and how he could've prevented it.

He wants to call you. It's not like he hasn't tried before. He's done it over 100 times, but they all resulted in nothing. He would never admit how half of the times he called you was just to hear your voicemail.

Maybe this time it'll be different.

He pulls out his phone from his pocket and clicks on your contact. It's the only one in his favorites.

*Ring*

"Hey!"

His heart nearly stops beating. Is this really happening?

"It's y/n, unfortunately I'm busy and unable to answer the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!"

Just like that, his hope fades away even more when he realizes you had just changed your voicemail.

He sighs in frustration and slumps against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. He needs to clear his head and get some air.

He pushes his body off the chair with the little energy he has and picks up his blindfold, stuffing it in his pocket followed by throwing his sunglasses on, the ones you gave him for his 19th birthday. He's never worn another pair.

He walks through the empty hallways and thinks about how much time he's spent here. He regularly catches himself falling asleep on his office desk whenever the sleep deprivation begins to catch up to him. He's not at home as often. Though, he doesn't know if he can call it that without you there. You made it a home. Now, it's just a place he goes to every now and then.

The moment he steps outside, the winter air hits him, making him shiver. The sun is starting to set, the street lights being the main thing to illuminate the area around him. He strolls through the busy streets of Tokyo, people crowding all around him as he looks at the street attractions and stores. Somehow, they all connect back to you. Shopping malls, movie theaters, ice cream shops, cafes, there's a vivid image of you in every one. You liked a lot of things and Satoru always made sure to keep a mental note of all of them. He wonders if you still like the things you used to.

His mind is so occupied that he doesn't realize he's taken a bunch of wrong turns, ending up in a sketchy block. Strip clubs, broken down stands, barely any working street lights, making it darker than where he was previously.

He walks further down the road, eventually finding himself in front of a seedy bar. He doesn't typically go to bars as he's not much of a drinker, but he figures he'll go this time. Maybe it'll distract him.

As he walks through the door, he's immediately met with loud music blaring through his ears, making him want to walk right out and just go back to his apartment, but something's telling him to stay. He makes his way over to a stool in front of the bar counter and orders himself a glass of juice. He watches as people gamble, drink, smoke, and play games, seemingly carefree.

He wishes he could live a life without worries just for a day, but he knows that's impossible with the life that he's living. The strongest Jujutsu sorcerer whose life revolves around protecting others, but that's not even the hardest part. He's more than capable of wiping out half the universe, but this much strength isn't worth all the loneliness and suffering. He's grown accustomed to being alone, but that doesn't mean he enjoys it. It's something he has to live with whether he likes it or not.

He was beginning to get lost in his thoughts again before a woman approached him. She's beautiful, seems nice enough, so he responded when she spoke to him.

"Hey, mind if I sit down?"

Satoru shakes his head and motions for her to take a seat before turning his attention back to the glass of juice he hadn't touched, the ice beginning to melt.

The woman starts asking him questions in an attempt to get to know him better. He responds with little to no interest, only a shake, nod, dry chuckle, or a thumbs up.

"What's your name?" She scans him up and down, eyes landing on his exposed collarbone.

"Gojo." He replies, loud enough for her to hear.

"First name?"

"We aren't there yet." His harsh response makes her roll her eyes, but she decides to keep going.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I can't reveal that."

He seems like a stuck up asshole, but he can't be bothered to care. He's not even dressed formally, still in his jujutsu uniform. All he wanted was an escape from his own thoughts. This isn't helping.

"Won't you have a drink with me?"

He was about to turn down her offer, explain that he doesn't like to drink much, but he decides against it and agrees, ordering two shots for the both of them. He's felt stuck and unable to do anything for years, warped in an endless loop of misery. He'll try to let loose a little, try to put himself out there. What better way to do that than with alcohol?

The drinks eventually help him converse with the woman sitting next to him. He didn't reveal much about himself, but she was content with the fact he was no longer being dry.

"So, are you from around here?" She asks, taking a 2nd shot at getting to know him. She twirls her hair between her fingers, in an attempt to make herself look more appealing, but he pays no mind. She's looking at him as if she wanted to fuck him, which she definitely does. He's been approached countless times by women. He's not an idiot, he knows he's attractive but he always turns them down.

"Yeah, lived here my whole life." He responds, looking at her for the first time that night.

"Are you single?" She runs her fingers over his hand, but he's quick to pull away, putting his hand in his pocket. It feels wrong to be doing this. Flirting and talking to another woman in a seedy bar. It's almost as if he is in a relationship despite being single for over 7 years, but to him, you're always his #1. That wouldn't ever change.

"It's... complicated?" He responds, knowing full well it's not, but he doesn't intend to take it any further with this mystery woman.

"So what? You going through something with your girlfriend?" She asks, somewhat annoyed that he's denying her obvious advances, but she won't give up that easy. Who would pass up a chance with Satoru Gojo?

"You could say that." An insincere chuckle leaves his lips, tapping his fingers against the wood of the bar table, littered in empty beer bottles and shot glasses. He's starting to question what the fuck he's doing here.

"Let me help you take your mind off of her then. I promise you'll forget about her by the end of the night." She scoots her seat closer to him, leaning her elbow against the countertop and resting her head in her palm, nearly drinking in his appearance.

"Don't make a promise you can't keep. She's unforgettable." And he means it.

A few hours go by and the night outside only continues to grow darker as he orders more and more drinks, chugging one after the other. He can feel his head pounding, alcohol running through his body. He hates it. He hates the smell, he hates the taste, the way it makes his throat burn and chest tighten.

The woman is now practically sitting on his lap, his hand on the small of her back with her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing up his jaw. He listened to her talk as if he was interested in what she was saying, but he wasn’t, not one bit. His head has clouded with thoughts of you the entire night. If only she knew the reason he's staring at her like that is because he's thinking of you.

She leans in for a kiss before Satoru turns his head away and her lips land on his cheek, guilt and shame beginning to sink into him.

"I can't do this. I need to go." He shoves her off of him, grabs his stuff and leaves. He could hear her call out for him.

"Why are you leaving?!"

"Because you're not the one that I want!" He replies, already out the door and making his way back to where he was supposed to be in the first place: His side of the bed, leaving yours empty because he can't bring himself to sleep on it. He sure as hell won't let another woman there either.

None of these women are you. They don't look like you, smell like you, talk like you, laugh like you, feel like you. Nobody understands him like you. Nothing will ever compare to you.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk angst #satoru gojo x reader #gojo angst

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drunk-on-dk · 1 year

Text

Track 1: Hotel | Choi Seungcheol (m)

Track 1 - Hotel // Montell Fish - playlist linked here

Pairing: Heir!Choi Seungcheol x fem!reader Genre: SMUT (minors DNI), angst? w/c: ~3.1k (some change, barely proofread tbh) Summary: Old Money/Heir!Seungcheol can't help but invite you to his hotel room no matter how dangerous you are for him and his reputation.

Explicit Content - Minors DNI, Listeners 18+, NSFW Warnings Below

content warning: unprotected sex (stay protected pls); oral (male receiving); no specific pronouns used, but reader has female anatomy & wears a dress; degrading name (brat); bratty reader; dom!cheol; big dick!cheol; rough?cheol (pussy slapping, choking, makes the reader crawl); a bit of commentary on shitty businesses for the sake of minimal plot; secret hooking up lmao

a/n: lol this is the beginning of my playlist series and I just got so excited I couldn't wait to post! I hope you all enjoy it! As always, all feedback is appreciated <3

“When I met you in that hotel room

I could tell that you were so bad news

But I keep messing with ya, messing with ya

And now you messing with me, messing with me”

Seungcheol knew you were bad news when he first met you in ECON 101 his first year of university. You had plucked his pen right out of his fingertips with a devilish smirk on your lips and continued to scribble your number down on his hand without a second thought after he had been assigned as your study partner for the semester.

Admittedly, you were very attractive to Seungcheol the moment he laid eyes on you in the lecture hall. However, he soon would find out you both lived very different lifestyles. Seungcheol was the son of a successful tech business tycoon; following in his father’s footsteps and only committing to majoring in business to please the demands of said father. You, on the other hand, were a stubborn, moral driven business major who scoffed upon finding out Seungcheol was next in line for a company that didn’t seem to care about their own employees. You sure gave Seungcheol an earful about his father’s company, in which Seungcheol was already aware of the scandals and fully agreed with all that you said, but he couldn’t admit that to anyone but himself.

Unfortunately for Seungcheol, you were painstakingly intelligent, and he swore he wouldn’t have made it through economics without your consistent help. Honestly, Seungcheol claimed he wouldn’t have made it to graduation without you being by his side for the next years to come.

Both of you resented each other in a way; Seungcheol wished to live a normal life and wished that he had half the wit you did, whilst you were envious Seungcheol blissfully lived his life with ease, not needing to lift a finger to get what he wanted. You turned a blind eye to it though, admitting that Seungcheol was smart and too kind in comparison to his hard exterior, and you believed he’d make a better CEO than his father one day. Maybe you could even keep his head on straight if you stayed by his side long enough.

Even though you were tons of help to Seungcheol in university, you had caused him plenty of problems outside of classes. You became an activist of sorts, using a platform that you had built online to speak out against companies that engaged in immoral acts. One of those companies being Seungcheol’s father’s company, quickly becoming a thorn in his father’s side upon your rapidly gaining popularity.

After university, Seungcheol found you at large business events, usually catching you conversing with important people in the industry, a pretty, stray hair framing your face as you’d scribble notes down in your journal. Later he’d spot you seated in the far corner of whatever gala it was you both were attending, a glass of champagne in hand as your sharp eyes observed the crowd, only softening when you’d spot Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s father demanded he kept a low profile at these events, and you were a controversial figure. However, it was hard to stay away from you, even when he knew his father hated the impact your words had on his business and would curse him out for ever knowing you. Seungcheol somehow always found a way to chat with you, basking in your snarky comments and rants that you’d sneak in by the bar. You were such a pain in the ass for Seungcheol in many aspects, but he was inevitably drawn to you from the beginning.

Seungcheol knew he was screwed when he started routinely fucking you after these events, typically inviting you up to whatever expensive hotel he was staying in for the night. You’d chuckle condescendingly at the ridiculous penthouse, but Seungcheol knew you didn’t care all that much when your dress would suddenly pool around your feet, stripping for him after just a blink of his eye.

To Seungcheol’s dismay, the first time you two snuck away had been caught by the paparazzi, and it had ended up in a business journal, calling Seungcheol out for flirting practically with the enemy.

Not even the scolding Seungcheol received that day could keep him away from you though; he just had to be smarter from now on. He couldn’t deny you when only you knew exactly how to ease his tension after these events.

Maybe the forbidden aspect is what drew him to you as well, but Seungcheol knew damn well that he loved how much of a brat you were for him. He couldn’t lie that you turned him on every time you tore his father’s business apart, shivers running down his spine as you’d run your mouth to him all the way home, and smirking at the fact you’d even dare to say such a thing in a limo funded by his father’s business. How ironic.

You’d keep going back to him as well, knowing that your relationship with Seungcheol was not practical in the slightest, even if part of you fantasized about a life with him outside of all this business bullshit, but damn, did he give you good dick. It sure did a good job at lessening whatever stress you felt at the end of the night.

It became routine, Seungcheol would invite you to his hotel, you’d scoff at the ritzy interior, and he’d stare you down expectantly from the opposite side of the ridiculously big room.

“Are you going to be a fucking brat tonight, Y/N?” Seungcheol asks, his husky voice sending chills down your spine as you try to keep your cool. “Or will you strip and crawl to me like how I asked?”

“Bite me, Seungcheol,” you spit out, but you can’t stop your fingers from playing with the straps and zipper of your dress.

“You better watch what you ask for.” God, you love the way his voice deepened in tone, coercing you to follow his orders as he watches you with a bushy eyebrow raised expectantly, and throwing his suit jacket on the floor like it was trash.

You refuse to break eye contact with him as you strip down, loving the way his gaze would falter when your dress finally drops to the ground and soaking in the groan that escapes his lips once he notices you have no undergarments on.

Dropping teasingly to the ground, you fall to your hands and knees, continuing to keep your eyes locked on his as you slowly crawl across the room to him. Seungcheol begins to strip himself, pulling his belt off once you’ve made it halfway to him, and finally unbuttoning his pristine white shirt, revealing the fiery skin you’ve touched so many times underneath it.

Ultimately making it to Seungcheol’s feet, his thumb grabs your chin, forcing your gaze back up to his after making eye contact with the obvious bulge in his trousers. Sitting on your knees, you pull his thumb into your mouth, running your tongue around the digit and gliding your hands up his solid thighs.

“Oh,” you coo condescendingly, “did your in-staff pleat these pants for you? I’d hate to ruin the perfect ironing job, Cheol.”

This is what Seungcheol adored about you; loved that you found a way to dig into his lifestyle and had enough courage to call out how he was fed with a silver spoon every day. It’s also what enraged him, unbelieving that you still thought so lowly of him after all these years.

“God,” Seungcheol ran his free hand through his hair, flustered by your boldness and the way you continued to suck at his thumb between your words. “I think this brat needs their mouth stuffed.”

“I didn’t crawl all the way here for nothing,” you pout, pulling away from Seungcheol with a ‘pop,’ and starting to work at his pants button. Finally pulling down both his trousers and underwear, you couldn’t hold back your chuckle after coming face to face with his brooding, leaky tip. “Looks like you need help, Cheol.”

The groan that bubbled from his chest was feral as he grabs at your hair, a large hand pulling it into his grip before he lines his length up to your mouth. “Open.”

You didn’t mess with Seungcheol when he got this demanding, your lack of words being enough to egg him on as your jaw drops slack for him, wet tongue falling out eagerly as you wait for him to stuff your mouth full.

“Don’t tease me, Y/N,” he pouts, cherry-red lips matching your puffy ones while awaiting your final consent before inserting the tip of his head into your expecting mouth.

“Fill me, Cheol, ‘m hungry for your cock,” you mewl, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes as you grant him your final blessing. As much as Seungcheol was a little shit, he sure was respectful as hell, and you couldn’t deny the flutter in your heart every time.

Finally giving in upon your permission, Seungcheol shoves his length past your lips, groaning out in pleasure when his head hits the back of your throat, only gagging around him as it still took you some time to get used to his size and how rough he likes to be.

“Such a fucking pro, Y/N, such a good little brat for me.” It becomes messy so fast, immediately acclimating to Seungcheol as he uses your mouth for his own pleasure. Seungcheol becomes entranced with the way drool pools outside of your lips, his pleasure intensifying as you moan around him, tongue working at the underside of his head.

The grip he has on you drives you wild, the heat at your core becoming more prominent as he bucks into your mouth and guides your head as you thoroughly suck him off. When he pulls you off, the only thing that connects you to him was the string of saliva hanging from your swollen lips and his hardened cock.

“Going to finish so soon, Cheol? Did it feel that good?” You pout up at him, a patronizing tone enraging him as he pulls you up to eye level, a strong hand wrapped around your throat before he pulls you into a bruising kiss.

“You need to learn when to shut up, Y/N,” he moans into the kiss, feeling even dizzier when you roll your body against his, the warmth of your skin on his reminding him of how real you are.

“Never,” you refute, smiling against his lips before he begins to nibble down the side of your neck. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I know it all too well,” he chuckles into your neck, sucking tenderly and pulling the delicate skin between his teeth, being sure to leave a mark on you. “Seems like you still need to learn a thing or two.”

You don’t even have a chance to mutter another word before Seungcheol is diving down to your chest, drawing a gasp from you when he pulls your nipple between his teeth, sucking and nibbling harshly at the peak. You almost collapse, but his hold on you is strong enough to keep you flush against his body, a reminder of the hard erection pressed against your lower abdomen.

Finally gaining enough sense to play into Seungcheol’s game, you egg him on even more, “how will you ever teach me anything?”

This is enough to rile Seungcheol up, turning you around and bending you over the armrest of the couch next to you. Falling face first into the plush cushions, you barely have time to process the harsh slap against your pussy, legs nearly giving out as the cool air and remnants of string burn at your core.

“Will this bratty pussy take me well?” It’s Seungcheol’s turn to be arrogant, knowing he has the upper hand as he runs his pointer and middle fingers between your folds, gathering up your slick on his fingers. You know he gets a taste of you, hearing his lips smacking as he hums in approval. “As much as I’d love to get another taste, I think you need to be stuffed full elsewhere to learn a lesson. You don’t deserve my tongue tonight, Y/N.”

“Please,” you’re giving in and begging for him at this point. “Please teach me a lesson, Cheol. I’ve been a bad all night.”

“My brat,” he’s teasing from behind you, your body and inner walls instantly reacting as you feel his tip prod at your core, collecting enough of your wetness before pushing between your folds. The guttural groan he lets out has you pushing back, allowing for him to fill you until his hips encounter your ass and you’re both crooning in satisfaction, “Always know how to take me so well, like the good little thing you are. Not sure there is much of a lesson other than shutting that mouth of yours, which I can do by filling you to the brim.”

Unfortunately, he is absolutely correct, the only words escaping you are incoherent pleas as he begins to drag his cock out of you before shallowly thrusting inside of you again.

Seungcheol’s nails are digging into your hips as he slowly tries to regain his senses, the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock is already making him feel delirious. The only vice you have is the velvety fabric of the couch, your nails leaving trail lines in the luxurious fabric as you try to come to and adjust around him.

The pace he sets is immediately brutal, his hips crashing against yours as he begins to thrust in and out of you. The sound of your skin slapping against his is lewd, and a honeyed gasp is pulled from you with each snap of his hips.

You’re clenching so tightly around him he swears he could lose himself in you, a hand slapping against once your ass cheeks in frustration as your walls continue to suck him in so perfectly.

“Feel s’good, Y/N. This bratty pussy always proves to take me so well, how are you so damn tight all the time?”

You’re so breathless with your response that he barely even hears you, but he can’t hide the smirk that graces his features when you admit exactly what he wants to hear, “no one fucks me like you do, Cheol. Only you fill me so well, s’big and s’good.”

“You always know exactly what to say, huh?” He’s pulling you back up by the neck now, fingers wrapping around you like a necklace as he props one of your legs up on the armrest, allowing for better leverage to fuck up into you.

You’re moaning pathetically at this point as he bullies his cock up into you, the friction of his head dragging between your walls so delightful, just like he’s made for you, and his actions arousing you even more. Seungcheol’s lips are all over your skin, leaving trails of saliva down the back of your neck and shoulder, his hot lips sending blissful shivers through your body and coercing your head to fall back into him. His fingers run across your chest, rolling your nipples between the digits as he whispers dirty, sweet nothings into your ear.

Eventually, his fingers make their way down your torso, thick pads meeting your swollen clit and drawing an embarrassingly loud cry from you. Seungcheol continues to thrust up into you, his head contacting your cervix in the most pleasurable way and winding up the hot coil inside of you even more.

It’s devastating how familiar he is with your body at this point, knowing you’re way too fucked out to even refute any of his words, and recognizing the tell-tale sign that you’re close to finishing as your walls pulse uncontrollably around him, legs weakening but he holds your entire body weight up with ease.

“Does my brat deserve to finish?” It’s so annoying the way he bites at your ear when he edges you closer and closer to your release, thumb circling your clit in a tantalizing motion and intensifying the heat burning in your core.

“I don’t know,” you bite back a moan, sick of the games he’s playing at this point and rolling your hips back to meet each of his thrusts. Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle as you try your best to talk back, “you tell me, Cheol? Did I do well?”

“You did so well until now,” he lets out a breathy sigh, pulling his fingers away from your throbbing clit, but it becomes a strained groan as you clamp down even tighter around his length.

Pathetically, you fall back down onto the couch, your own hips chasing his motions, grinding back into him all before you’re just about slamming your ass against him with each buck of his hips.

“Fuck,” he’s moaning out, calloused hands palming your ass and meeting you with each thrust, watching where he connects with you as his cock disappears into your pussy with each desperate plunge back into you. “I take it back, you did so well. So, so, so well.”

With that final praise, you’re falling apart on his cock, walls clamping down on him like a vice and trembling and crying from beneath him, muscles shaking as you feel your arousal shatter within you. Seungcheol is following suit, unable to hold himself back when you feel this good around him, letting rope after rope of his cum fill you just how you like it.

Seungcheol falls against your body, pounding chest meeting your back while he shallowly thrusts his hips into yours, milking the rest of both your orgasms and memorizing the whimpers that come from you as you begin to feel overstimulated.

Seungcheol’s a gentleman of course, treating you to a nice, hot bath in the jacuzzi sized large enough to fit an entire group, and tucking you into the silk sheets of the pretentious hotel. Even after this luxury treatment, Seungcheol can’t avoid the snarky comments you mumble before you drift off to sleep, which is so damn endearing that he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Admittedly, it’s always disappointing when he wakes up the next morning and you aren’t there, even if Seungcheol knows it’s for the best. The note you leave with a water bottle and medication for his hangover is always enough to keep him hooked, your pretty handwriting reminding him to leave a good tip for the staff, a kiss mark of your lipstick as a signature and reminder of you.

God, you were bad news for him, but he’ll keep you around as long as he can. Even if that means just inviting you up to these damn hotel rooms for now.

#svthub #seventeen smut #svt smut #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #choi seungcheol smut

831 notes · View notes

koishiro · 9 months

Note

The lake house cont where Toji’s helping us w an*l?? Plsss💜💜

# - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 3 📍

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : the lesson’s with megumi’s dad continue but this time it seems Toji has other plans for you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : dilf!toji x non-virgin!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : short smut with the tiniest plot ever

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : pwp, cumming inside, oral (male receiving), Toji teaches reader anal, cheating (toji’s married), pet names like: sir, sweetheart, darlin’, good girl

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : this is part 3 of 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 fic but can be read as a stand-alone

Part 1 | 2 | 3

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

I had been in my final year of Jujutsu Tech when I realised just how far I could push my body’s limits.

How far Toji could push my body’s limits.

I had also realised I gained a certain infatuation to the man, affection dare I say. He would care about me like no other boy would, albeit he punished my body more times than I could count but I never complained.

I felt as if I was indebted to him after all the lessons he had taught me with his cock, all the long steamy and sleepless nights at the local lake house. A secret no knew but us, not even his wife.

And the post-sex bliss I felt after coming down from a high, wrapped up in his arms as he lay on his back with a single cigarette in his mouth balanced by his other hand, just like right now.

It was moments like this that made me feel worthy, beautiful even. After being worshipped even after being thrown about on the sheets like a broken rag doll, I still felt worthy.

Turning my head towards him as my hand drew circles across his well defined chest, nothing but a simple white blanket lay limp across the bottom half of our bodies I asked “𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘪𝘳?“

Releasing the cancerous smoke he previously held in, I could only just catch his response, “𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧’𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬“

I always sought his approval, the words that led me to strive for perfection each time, that led me to relax my throat as he pushed more of his cock further in, which trained my body to orgasm one last time for him even if I was incredibly overstimulated. It was all for him, his approval.

“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯’ 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘺 － 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵?“

Of course I was up for it, I always was. No matter what he asked of me I’d do it, just for him.

If only I could swallow my words.

Except the only thing I’ve been swallowing for the past 15 minutes has been his cock － lubing, preparing him he said.

For what I wasn’t sure, he kept it as a secret － wanting to surprise me for how good I’ve been for him.

“𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯’, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 － 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭“

his thick meat worked its way further and further down my throat, forcing me to gulp and swallow around him. That only allowed my throat to massage his cock even more, as if my body was priming itself to please him without my mind even playing an active part in it.

“𝘙𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯’．．．“ Toji grunted as he shifted his weight and stood back, waiting for me to follow his command.

“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶．．．𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦“

Even though I loathed to leave his cock so soon, the smell of sex already wafting from the man was carried with me as I climbed onto the bed and lay on my back ready for him.

Toji followed me, almost like a predator hunting down it’s prey before surprising me by setting us up in a sixty-nine position before spreading my legs apart, taking the treat that he had demanded.

I didn’t have to look to know that his cock twitched and pulsed purely from the smell of sex I gave off.

Toji loved to remind me how sweet I tasted as his tongue lashed down against my pussy as he teased my folds, his own excitement mounting more and more with every passing second.

He was in his element, eagerly lapping at my pussy, teasing his tongue over the fat nub of my clit, my lips sliding over the head of his cock. I sucked him down, pushing my head up from the pillow, though he couldn’t quite see what position I was in.

The moment dragged him in, deeper and deeper, sensing tension easing from my body, my legs spreading apart a little more to welcome his tongue into the treat of my pussy. Even though all he wanted to do was to mount and breed me over and over, to work his cock and spear every inch of his powerful cock into my wet heat, he had to ready me too, taking his time to make sure that my body was primed and prepped.

His hand started working it's way down my body until it reached my pussy as he rubs slowly up and down my wet slit before pushing his fingers into my wetness. I spread my legs further as he pushed his tongue and fingers deeper, twisting them and making me hold back a groan. My fingers dig into his back and he slips a third finger inside me, clearly searching for my g-spot. Finding my special spot, he massages it hard, so much so that I could feel my juices flowing onto his palm and he knew my need was hightening.

Parting from my cunt and resituating himself in front of me on his knees, it felt as if he was worshiping my body. “Put your hands above your head sweetheart, and leave them there. Can you do that f’me?”

As I followed his command, Toji slipped his fingers from my pussy, leaving me feeling empty and void. His fingers dripping with my juices, he reached around and rubbed them over my tight ass, feeling me squirm a little. Realising what was about to happen, I quickly closed my legs and lifted myself onto my elbows, staring at him in worry yet I’m sure he could see the mix of excitement.

"It's okay love....trust me" He whispered.

Hearing his reassuring words I closed my eyes and concentrated on giving my body to him, reminding myself this was all part of the lesson, I was being taught. I could feel Toji pushing a little harder and slowly felt his one finger entering my ass, stoping every now and again to allow my ass to adjust. When his finger was as deep inside as it could go, he stayed still for a moment before slowly pulling back, easing it from my tightness, then pushing in deep again. Slowly my body relaxed more and more as he started to pump his finger faster and harder into me, when he felt me accepting his finger with no resistance, he started to slide a second finger into my ass, making me gasp and stiffen for a moment before relaxing again. His fingers in my ass made my pussy flood with juices as I felt them running down over my ass, lubricating it and allowing him to fuck my ass with his fingers with such ease. Suddenly a third finger joined, pushing into my ass as I cried out at the sudden pressure deep inside me, at the same time I felt a sense of need I had never felt before and lifted my body from the bed trying to take more of his hand inside my stretched ass.

"ohhhhhhhh...i want you to fuck me Toji!”

Hearing my plea, Toji knew my sense of need was ripe and the passion in my soul was his for the taking. Slipping his fingers from my drenched ass he rolls onto his back, allowing me to quickly climb onto him, kissing him as my hand directs his hard cock into my dripping pussy, sucking him in. I slammed my lust filled body down hard, feeling his hard cock spreading my tight cunt wide and filling it.

His hands around my waist steadying me. I lift my body and slam it down again hard, forcing his cock deep inside me, making it pound against my cervix, my juices flowing over his cock. I reached down and dug my nails into his chest, surely leaving marks as my body fucks his cock harder and faster. Throwing my head back I cried out to him...

"Fuck me!...FUCK me hard, make me cum!”

Listening to my screams, Toji quickly put his hands on my shoulders, stopping me from riding his cock any firther and holding me still...

"I’ll cum in you love" He said, looking into my lust filled eyes.

"But I’ll cum in your tight ass"

My eyes widen at the realisation of his huge cock going into my tight little ass, it couldn't possibly fit into that tiny hole...but I trust him and knew I had come too far to back out now...besides, I needed relief so badly.

He pulled his cock from my hot cunt and runs his fingers over my slit, gathering my juices on his fingers and rubs them over my ass, making it slippery and lubricating, prepping it for his cock to enter easily. Making me bend forward, he placed the tip of his cock against my ass, holding it there for a moment then pushing up gently.

“Relax, don’t tense your body, it’ll hurt less — more pleasurable for you if you ease the tension from your body darlin’ “

I felt the tip of his cock opening my ass slowly, then gasp as it slides in further and holds it still as my ass adjusts, feeling the resistance of his massive cock easing. When he felt me relaxed again, he pushes down on my shoulders, forcing his hardness deep into my ass in one quick movement.

My hands grasp at his chest once more and a shrill scream emanates from my gaping mouth with my head tilted back as a sharp intense pain flows through my impaled body, every nerve in my body feeling the pain of my ass being stretched to the limit. Toji held me still for what seemed an eternity, then slowly starts to pull his cock from my ass, when it was almost ready to slip from my ass, he pushed me down again.

"Now sweetheart’...ride my cock, start slowly and increase as you relax...I want you to make me cum in that dirty little ass of yours"

Feeling his cock pulsing in my stinging ass, I whimpered and started slowly moving my body up and down. He reached down and found my swollen throbbing clit and began to rub it hard and fast. I began to ride a little harder as my body relaxed and my desires grow, his cock sliding in and out of me faster. Leaning back I felt my need to cum quickly taking away any traces of the earlier pain I had felt, taking his pounding cock deeper into my ass and revelling in the feeling of having something so big jammed into my ass.

Feeling his cock swelling impossibly more inside me as I rode him harder, the feeling of my orgasm starting to take over my body making my ass tighten around his cock. The only sounds were skin on skin and the continuous groans and sounds of pleasure.

With a grunt Toji begins to explode into my ass, filling it with his hot cum causing me to cum harder than I had ever cum in my life...both of us crying out loudly as our bodies merged as one.

Finally letting my body flop down on Toji’s chest, I could hear his heart beating a mile a minute, his breathing coming short and sharp as he ran his fingers gently up and down my back. He let his cock slip from my ass and rolled me onto my side beside him, holding me tight to his side until my body stopped shaking from the immense pleasure.

"Did you enjoy your surprise darlin’?" Toji asked, looking into my eyes and seeing my contentment.

"How could I not" I answered with a grin and kissed him softly

Kissing the top of my head and pulling me closer, he let out a gruff chuckle,

“Something else you can check off your list”

—

Part 1 | 2 | 3

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 2: I’m sorry this took so long 😭

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juneknight · 1 year

Text

Audible || 2

Part One |

About this: most of the warnings are for the naughty fiction Steven is reading: boot riding, sexual servitude, spanking, very heavy dub-con themes. But it's fiction within fiction <3 One part left...

Shifting to make himself comfortable, he glances to you once more for your assent before cracking open the book and searching for his place.

“The Prince was a handsome man, more reminiscent of his mother than his father. His hair and eyes were dark, like pools of ink, his skin golden from the sun that shined in this kingdom all-year-round. He was clearly fit beneath the trim finery that he wore, body honed into a useful weapon that had seen him survive two separate wars. His eyes raked over my body, and it took every bit of self-control not to cover my nakedness the way I had been instructed not to. I knew he must be seeing every part of me: my breasts, my legs, the soft patch of curls at the apex of my thighs. He must have seen the tears on my lashes, the way my nipples had hardened in the cool air.

‘Turn for me,’ he demanded lowly. ‘A slow circle. Put your hands up behind your neck, I wish to see you.’”

When Steven speaks the words of the Prince, his voice lowers just a half pitch. It makes your breath catch, far too similar to the rough way his voice sometimes sounds when the two of you are making love. You cast your eyes to him, looking for any sign that he knows what he is doing to you, but his eyes are solidly on the book, flickering across the words, oblivious to the heat that is growing between your legs.

“Oh, it was shameful! Lifting my arms above my head only served to press my breasts forward fetchingly, and turning made me feel like a sow being inspected to see if she is fit for the butcher’s block. By the time I had made it in a full circle, my face felt aflame with shame, and I could not help the tears that slid down my cheeks. He grinned softly at the sight of them, as if it pleased him to see my distress.

‘Bring me a chalice of wine.’

I glanced around the room, searching for the servant—except there was no one. He intended me to bring him his wine! Never in my life had I been ordered to do such a thing, the work of servants and the lowborn. I could not even remember the last time I had poured my own cup, much less someone else’s! Except I was a Princess no more. If I intended to keep my identity a secret, I could not turn my nose up at such things.

But before I could turn to seek out the pitcher of wine on the table, the Prince had reached out and gripped my wrist in his hand. With a strength that had me crying out, he wrenched me to him and draped me across his lap so that my buttocks were facing the ceiling, the blood rushing to my head as my braid dangled towards the ground. He delivered a series of open-palmed spanks: to my arse, to the creases where it met my thighs, and to my thighs themselves. When I struggled, beginning to sob, he only spanked me harder, commanding me not to move.

At last, he had had his fill of such torment, and he pulled me up to stand before him. Though I was taller than him while he was seated, I felt so small, trembling in front of him, face wet and nose stuffed from tears.

‘Come now,’ he said. ‘Your tears only make me want to spank you more. You must never hesitate when given an order. You should have no thoughts in your mind, except obeying me. Do you understand?”

"What a jerk," you mutter. "I didn't expect he would be so cruel."

"I warned you it was shocking," Steven says with a laugh. He shows you the cover, pointing to words which aren't there. "Dead Dove, darling. Shall I go on?"

After you nod, he does, and you drift a little once again listening to him speak, swallowing hard at the words dripping from Steven’s mouth. Those firm, dominating words coming in the cadence of Steven’s voice made you fight against an instinctive need to squirm and shift. You become hyper aware of his presence: the way his chest rises and falls as he breathes, the landscape of his hands as he deftly turns the pages, calloused fingertips rasping softly across each page. The dark curls that spill over onto his forehead and the shells of his ears.

“...pressed me down onto my knees. In front of me was the bulge of his cock beneath his trousers. Before today, I had never seen a cock except as illustrations in books on anatomy, and while there had been many naked men also being prepared alongside me in the pleasure servant’s hall, I had been too shy to look at them. All of the sudden, between my thighs, I felt the nudge of his foot. It startled me, it’s presence so close to my aching core only served to remind me of how sharp my need was. When he lifted his foot, bringing the surface of his polished boot against the curls of my sex, more tears slipped from my eyes. I wanted to writhe against it, to rub my cunt along it until I reached my peak, like I was no more than an animal at his feet.

‘You will undress me. The belts and buckles can be quite intricate. I will be patient with you, but you will devote yourself to learning how to undo them and how to be graceful as you do. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my Prince.’

‘Go on then.’

But as soon as my fingers reached up to brush the buttons just beneath his throat, he lifted his foot again, nudging my cunt with it. I jolted at the zap of pleasure, my face feeling on fire with shame and arousal. Slowly, but with purpose, he began to rock the surface of his boot against me, dragging it along the lips of my cunt, parting them with its blunt force…”

“Jesus,” you mutter, laughing. Your voice sounds far too breathy to pass as unaffected.

Steven immediately looks to you, his face riddled with concern. Your face feels as hot as the Princess’s likely did, beneath his soft, worrying gaze. “Alright, love? Perhaps we should—”

“I’m alright,” you assure him. “Please go on—I have to see what happens next.”

Steven looks unsure but turns his gaze back to the book. He mutters: where was I—ah—

“...parting them with its blunt force. I knew that if he drew his foot away now, my own wetness would be visible on its surface, slicker than any polish he could have used. My hands fumbled on the buttons, and he gave a cool, low warning:

‘If you do not undress me within the next three minutes—or if you come without my permission—I will tie you soundly to the posts of the bed and let you hang there all night for my viewing, until I fall asleep. Do you understand?’

I could not help but shake, fresh tears wetting my cheeks. What would be worse, to find my release against his boot like a baseless whore, to be strung up like a tapestry at the end of his bed, looking down on his handsome sleeping figure for the rest of the night, or not receiving any pleasure at all? For a moment, I thought to disobey him, to accept the risks and grind myself against his boot until I found my pleasure. But a strange little part of me wanted badly to obey him, to see his rare smile, to see if there was any way I could coax a word of praise or fondness from his full lips.

Determined, I set about undoing the buttons…”

You let out a slow, measured breath, searching for your own inner strength just the way the Princess had—and then it all crumbles when you glance downward and see that beneath his boxers, Steven is hard. There is no denying the way his cock strains the fabric. The sight of his arousal has you groaning in the back of your throat. You shift to flop down flat on the bed by his seated figure instead of leaning against him. His words stutter at your movement, glancing away from the page to watch and ensure that you’re alright, but then it is his turn to suck in a shocked breath.

All from the sight of you slipping your hand beneath your panties. You knew you were wet, but it is a little obscene just how wet you are, your fingers sliding through the folds of your sex, slipping frictionlessly over your swollen clit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steven says. For a moment, you thought he had continued the book. His voice had dropped low and sultry the way it had when he was speaking the Prince’s lines, but a glance up at him shows that his eyes are nowhere near the pages of smut. They are focused on where your fingers move, finer motions disguised beneath the soft cotton fabric.

“Keep reading?” you ask him breathlessly.

“Keep—at a time like this?”

You laugh. Sitting up briefly, you pull your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts to him before collapsing back down against the soft comforter. There is still a burning exhaustion that tugs at your lids, but now you burn in other places. When you reach down to slip your fingers past the last bit of fabric that shields you from his gaze, he lets the book fall flat against his chest.

You halt your fingers, only the tips disappeared beneath the waistband.

“Steven—read.”

Steven sighs. He wets his lips and—with great reluctance—picks up the book. Pausing, he reaches back to the headboard again, his hand searching blindly. When he finds his reading glasses, he slips them into place. God, those glasses. The way his mouth curls tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you by putting them on.

“Where—Determined, I set about undoing the buttons. My fingers felt clumsy and as if they were not my own. I was a lady, I was certainly used to all manners of buttons and facets on my gowns, but by the way I fumbled to reveal each inch of his tan chest, you would have thought it was my first time encountering them. I tried to keep my mind in the present, my eyes set firmly upon my task, but the Prince began softly rocking his boot against me once more, and a pitiful, embarrassing sound escaped my parted lips.

He pushed my fingers away and fastened up two of my hard-earned buttons.

‘Each sound you make sets you back,’ he said, his eyes both cruel and soft at once as he took in the sight of my struggle against my own pleasure. ‘You may groan with your mouth closed, but if you part your lips, I will gag you soundly. Nod if you understand.’

I nodded immediately.

‘Two minutes,’ he reminded me. I set myself to my task once more, this time with a bit more dexterity. Button after button fell away beneath my hands, even as the Prince’s soft leather boot stroked at my aching cunt, even when he drew it back to let the gently-curved tip of it drag over my swollen clit. I was trembling everywhere except for my hands now, tugging his shirt free from his trousers before turning to the little fastens at his cuffs.

With dread, I felt my end approaching. Never before had I been so fearful of my own pleasure! And I do mean fearful of it, and not just of the Prince’s consequences. What did it mean if I let myself find release like this, making a spectacle of myself? What would my family think, or any of the lords and ladies of my own kingdom? Even the commoners would find me shameful! But my body did not seem to mind at all the circumstances of my pleasure.

‘Half a minute,’ he laughed. My fingers had gone still for a moment, lost in pleasure and shame all at once. Thirty seconds, and he was still more than half dressed! I knew then what my fate was to be; tied to the bedposts until dawn, tormented by the handsome Prince. What difference did it make, then, if I let myself find release, except that perhaps I might be a fraction less uncomfortable in my bondage.

So I took up the task again, but half-heartedly, instead beginning to work my hips against the pressure of his boot, trying to keep my motions subtle. It seemed to be working, for the Prince did not stop me, and I am sure that he would have if he suspected I was pleasuring myself. With more than ten seconds to spare, I felt my release build within me.

And just as it broke over me, just as my cunt gave the first exquisite clench, the Prince withdrew his boot and pushed me off of my knees onto my bottom and further, my elbows colliding with the cold stone floor. I cried out, though the little fall had not hurt me. Fast as a snake, he kneeled down between my thighs and spread them, spread them so far apart that the muscles ached, that I felt the cool air of the room on my burning cunt.

‘I see you have no manners,’ the Prince said wryly as I writhed and wept, my cunt clenching and unclenching, feeling so very empty. The brief crest of pleasure was ruined, I felt only an unsatisfying burn in my sex, my clit still hard as one of the rubies that encrusted the broach that had held the Prince’s jacket together at his throat, my juices dripping from my entrance and smeared along my trembling thighs.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe, fingers working yourself over. Already you feel your own end approaching, and there is no cruel Prince to stop you from letting it crest, your breath stuttering and then stopping altogether as your body tenses, holds the tension for an immeasurable moment. You cry out, strumming with soft, rapid strokes over your clit, making sure to wring every bit of pleasure from your peak. By the time your body begins to soften, breaths slowing, you realize that long ago Steven had stopped reading.

Glancing to him, you see the book laying abandoned on his trim chest. One of his hands is down massaging the bulge in his boxers, his touch revealing the shape of his hard length beneath the fabric. He looks desperate, voice rough like the Prince’s when he says: “You drive me mad. You know that?”

You feel butterflies in your belly. Withdrawing your hand from your panties, you roll onto your knees and offer him the wet, pruning fingers. His mouth opens, sweet and pliant as you rest them on his tongue, his eyes going half-lidded as he sucks them clean of your slick.

“You would make a perfect pleasure servant,” you tease him. He huffs a laugh around your fingers. “How about a reward, hm? A reward for such a good boy.”

He groans now, looking as cross as he does aroused. When you pull your digits free, he says: “No teasing, love. My cock is so bloody hard, it hurts.”

“Can I suck it?”

“Can you—what, like I’d ever say no?”

#steven grant x reader

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inmyheadimobsessed · 2 years

Text

All Up In Your Mind

pairing: shuri ✘ black!fem!reader

summary: you think shuri doesn't notice you.

contains: fluff

word count: 600+

divider by: @firefly-graphics

note: hii! this is my first fic on tumblr. i've been reading here for years though. like the rest of the world, i am obsessed with shuri and she is the love of my life. so i decided to write about it. just something cute and light for my first post. i hope you enjoy <3

When she kissed you, it shook the ground beneath your feet. You had not anticipated it. Sure it was a secret desire of yours, being alone with the Princess, having her all to yourself. The lab was always so crowded during the day, everyone running tests for whatever experiment they were working on, calculations for an invention they were tinkering with.

And Shuri, she was always the busiest. Always in her own mind, so far removed from the world buzzing on around her, and the people in it. So far removed from you. And you never envisioned her carving out time to see you, let alone kiss you. It knocked you back, shook your foundation to its very core.

A rattled heartbeat roared awake inside your sternum to revel in this unfamiliar, filling feeling. It yearned for more, starvation quelled by the delicate movements of her mouth. The kiss consumed you wholly. Shuri’s lips were the softest you’d ever known, they danced across your own gracefully, performing like a prima ballerina. Her tattooed hands were gentle when caressing your jaw, she made sure she took her time with you. Warm fingers electrified you, fanning the crackling furnace growing from within.

Shuri smelled of fresh cocoa butter, vanilla, and something else you were unable to identify. Floral maybe, but it was magnificent all the same. Her scent was so enamoring, so unique to her, and it always left you dazed. It wafted up your nose, intent set on coating your senses. The kiss, her scent, her presence, it left you intoxicated. Your head swam at the feeling, growing lighter and lighter until you felt tethered to the air. It was so much; too much.

The day began to fade outside the giant windows of her lab, and the city lulled in response. Shuri pecked your lips once, twice, three times before breaking the kiss completely. Hunger drove her as much as it did you. She cupped your burning cheeks in her palms before slowly dragging them down your neck. Your hands snaked around her waist hesitantly, tugging her into you. Feeling her warmth spill out on you brought forth a low gasp from your throat. Shuri’s face turned curious then and yours burned like the sun.

The rapid pounding in your chest mirrored the ceremonial drumming of the River Tribe. You knew she was aware of it, Griot was most certainly aware of it. Each thump coaxing you into averting her demanding gaze. You tried, and you failed.

“Eyes on me.” Shuri smirked at you with those perfect kiss swollen lips. “You are shaking,”

You huffed dramatically, then gave her a soft smirk of your own. “Sorry. That was…”

“It was. For me, too.” Dazzling brown eyes, illuminated by the sinking Wakandan sun drank you in. The most gorgeous sunset you’d probably ever witness, but your eyes only saw her. There would always be more sunsets, there was only one Shuri. She was all you needed to see. Her existence lit you up the same way the blazing ball in the sky would.

“I did not think you even noticed me most days.” Your braids fell into your face as your eyes found your shoes.

Her finger lifted your chin with nimble ease, “I notice everything there is to notice about you. You're a constant on my mind. I just, I don't know… I can't–” She bit her lip and shook her head, searching for words that refused to come. You could tell her mind was clogged with emotions just as yours was.

You smiled at this, it was truly a sight to see, “Princess Shuri, of the most powerful nation in the world, super genius, and the Black Panther, rendered speechless. By little ole me? Wow.”

“You are in my head, sthandwa.” Her blush consumed her features, beautiful and beaming. She overwhelmed you in the most serene way.

She reached for your hands that still sat around her hips, pulling your knuckles to her lips. Shuri ghosted them over your ever trembling fingers, eyes boring into you all the while. “And I don't think I want you out.”

#shuri #shuri x black!reader #lyricswriting #shuri x reader #shuri x f!reader #shuri x fem!reader #wakanda forever #black panther #letitia wright #myworks #mcu fic #marvel fic #namor #fluff #shuri x black!fem reader #marvel #mcu #shuri x y/n #letitia wright fanfic

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neaverse · 2 months

Note

i am here asking for your favorite fics (i can tell you have good taste<3) 🫶

hi bella!!! thank you for the ask<33

okay so i read a lot. When i say a lot i mean a lot. The amount of fanfiction i’ve consumed in the last three years is probably unhealthy, but what can i say really? I don’t have much going on in my life🤷🏼‍♀️

so going into this, i contemplated how i should categorise my favourites. Current favs? Fav fics per ship? In the end, i decided to simply compile a list of fics that i still think about weeks and months (if not years) after i first read them. Fics that punched me in the gut, fics that made me question my whole existence. I could probably go on forever with this list but i’ve narrowed it down to 10 to make the job a little bit easier for both me and you hahaha!

In no particular order:

The World Is A Violent Sky by anonymous

Harry Potter wants to die; Draco Malfoy wants to live — a story of life and death, everything in between and beyond — in the form of scatters of love and hurt like freckles of stars forming into constellations.

Crimson Rivers by bizarrestars

Regulus Black was fifteen the first time his name was called at a reaping. He's twenty-five when it happens to him again. A lot has changed in that time, and one of them is that he's ready to do whatever it takes to make it home. Nothing or no one will stop him, not even James Potter. James Potter has no plans to stop Regulus Black from making it home. In fact, his plans revolve around the opposite. He has his reasons, but he's made his choice to get Regulus out of the arena, even knowing it'll be the last thing he ever does. Sirius Black was sixteen when he volunteered to take his little brother's place in the arena. At twenty-six, without the option to do it again, he has no choice but to be a mentor to his brother and best friend, knowing that only one of them can make it back out. Two names called, a mentor on the verge of falling apart, and more secrets and grief between all of them than they know how to handle. None of them are prepared for what comes next, or how far they'll go to make it through.

Harry Potter and the Welcome to the World of Grey by @sobsicles

When Harry fails to keep his anger at bay and Voldemort possesses his mind, the events that follow lead him down a long road to realizing the world isn't as black and white as it seems. Chaos, hilarity, and tragedy ensue with a Dark Lord being honest all the time, a rival becoming something else, and a world demanding to be saved. Featuring frightened Death Eaters, deep conversations with a monster, Pureblood traditions being ridiculous, and the fight to do the right thing with no true options. Harry's life just gets more and more bizarre with each passing moment.

Art Heist, Baby! by @otrtbs

When James Potter answers a mysterious ad in his local coffee shop, the last thing he expects is to be thrown into a world of white collar crime, but how can he resist when the mastermind behind the operation has dark hair and brooding eyes and promises wealth beyond James' wildest imagination? He would do anything for that boy named after a star, including stealing millions of dollars of fine art.

Orion in the Sky by space_wingding

Draco Malfoy owns a bookshop in the Lake District. He’s also cursed. Enter: Harry Potter.

Berlin Angel by @de-sire-blog

Berlin is absolutely miserable in February. Or it’s just Sirius. Alternatively: A story of how Remus Lupin stepped into Sirius’ life, flashed his trademark grin, and reminded him that life is a beautiful thing meant to be enjoyed. No risk, no fun!

Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I’m Leaving Without You) by firethesound

Living with Draco was difficult; living without him is unbearable. But if there’s one thing Harry learned from the war, it’s that even when one life ends, the rest of the world goes right on living.

Dear Reader by @calamitoustide

never take advice from someone who's falling apart Regulus has been quite obsessed with this anonymous advice blogger Helios and becomes concerned when they begin to post cryptically to an unspecified “Reader” At the same time, he’s starting Uni and has to deal with his brother being back in his life and a certain boy he won’t leave him alone.

Starvin’ darlin’ by @showinalittlelife

The man suddenly drops the knife, he sighs like all his dreams have been crushed. “Oh, dear, I can’t eat you! You’re rotting! What a shame, thought I’d found a looker too,” he whines miserably. The thoughts in Evan’s mind are racing too fast for him to make any sense of them. He has so many questions—too many questions that are probably better left off unanswered, but before he can think properly, he opens his mouth and speaks. “You think I’m a looker?” or: Barty is a cannibal, Evan is dying and they go on a little road trip!

Running on Air by eleventy7

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

#mail 💌#Bella tag<33 #I had a really hard time sticking with only 10 tho #there are sooo many amazing fics and writers out there #wish I could include everyone in this list🥺#jegulus #wolfstar #drarry #rosekiller #marauders #regulus black #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #harry potter #harry james potter #draco malfoy

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purecantarella · 2 years

Text

✨purecantarella's kinktober✨

—was this planned? no, nothing i ever do is planned HAHAHAH but this is a rough concept of what i have planned this month. i will do my best to follow it but they won't be as in depth as the smut i usually write but i will try!! this will be my first time participating in kinktober actually and i am starting late :"")

day 2 : Praise Kink w/ Im Nayeon — your girlfriend and you are having a nice night in after their promotions for their song when you figure out one of her secrets.

day 3 : Mutual Masterbation w/ Shin Yuna — college!yuna doesn't want to admit it, but she needs help with certain things and as irritating as she finds you, you have all the answers.

day 4 : Restraints w/ Kim Jennie — your girlfriend has a bad habit of leaving all sorts of marks on you before a big comeback and you've found a solution to you problem.

day 5 : Breath Play w/ Park Jihyo — jihyo's vocals are amazing on their own, but you can't help but nitpick at certain things about it...like her breathing techniques.

day 6 : Wet Dreams w/ Miyou Mina — mina's been repressing just how attractive she thinks her member's girlfriend is. just might manifest it's way in more ways than one

day 7 : Threesome w/ Moon Byuli and Ahn Hwasa — a horny hwasa and competitive moonbyul raise you a wager.

day 8 : Phone Sex w/ Hwang Yeji — a secret relationship in the midst of heavy and demanding promotions can really make someone miss their incredibly attractive and sexy girlfriend.

day 9 : Break — i needed some time to recuperate yall

day 10 : Food Play w/ Hirai Momo — an indoor picnic for your 3rd year anniversary sounded lovely, strawberries, cream, chocolate, and most of all, Momo

day 11 : Corruption w/ Kim Dahyun —Dahyun never learned too much about sex nor did she want to...not until she met you of course.

day 12 : Marking w/ Minatozaki Sana — you loathed how much people looked at your girlfriend, but you'd never known what Minatozaki Sana looked like jealous.

day 13 : First Time || Love Making w/ Choi Lia — summer romance with Lia turns serious and you want to make sure that she remembers you forever with a romantic night under the stars.

day 14 : Office Quickies w/ Kim Jisoo — her employees are working her last nerve, then you show up giving her the chance to blow off some steam.

day 15 : Breeding w/ Park Rosé — rosé often talked about having kids with you, but you just supposed she didn't know what the idea did to you.

day 16 : Ab Riding w/ Kang Seulgi — seulgi preparing and performing for her latest comeback with the girls has left you in a rut, but backstage with those chiseled abs exposed? you're only human.

day 17 : Public Sex w/ Son Seungwan — wendy was always the type to lose control when you two were intimate, so you want to see just how far she can control herself

Day 18 : Break pt 2 — i'm prolly gonna be drained from this and midterms, so im gonna need this vv badly (prolly will post shit today anyway tho so this is kinda a wildcard)

Day 19 : Impact Play w/ Bae Irene — your perfect little girlfriend just needed to be knocked off her high horse for being a spoiled

Day 20 : Role Play w/ Lisa Manoban — lisa wants to show you her new routine but she wants to add a little spice to it.

Day 21 : Size Kink w/ Son Chaeyoung — teasing goes a little too far and you remind Chaeyoung just who you are.

Day 22 : Humiliation w/ Chou Tzuyu

Day 23 : Thigh Riding w/ Shin Ryujin

Day 24 : Temperature Play w/ Lee Chaeryeong

Day 25 : Body Worship w/ Yoo Jeongyeon

Day 26 : Edging w/ Kim Solar

Day 27 : Dirty Talk w/ Moon Byuli

Day 28 : Shower Sex w/ Park Jihyo

Day 29 : Strip Tease w/ Kim Jennie

Day 30 : Brat Taming w/ Shin Yuna

Day 31 : Daddy Kink w/ Shin Ryujin

—i got shy writing this list since i am sharing a room with my brother's girlfriend 😭 also this is an incomplete list but i hope you're all excited!! i will see you lovelies tomorrow!! keep safe everyone!! - r

#blackpink smut #itzy smut #twice smut #mamamoo smut #(maybe)#red velvet smut #kinktober 2022 #purecantarella

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que-serra-serra · 1 year

Text

[Serennedy] Second Chances

Written for @serennedyshipweek23 day 2: Protecting one another. I went for a rewrite of the elevator + Krauser scene, hope you enjoy <3 Rated T | 3.8k words | ao3 link

“What do you mean, you were researching the Plaga!?” Leon demanded.

“I’m not sure how there’s any room for misunderstanding in that statement,” Luis said with an infuriating smirk. “Do you not have research in America? See, it is when dashing scientists such as myself—”

“Why the hell were you working for them!?” Leon interrupted the attempt at deflecting. “For once in your life, fucking be straight with me!”

Luis laughed, a mocking sound without any humor. “Be straight with you? Oh, amigo, you should have considered that before you shoved your dick down my throat.”

“For fuck’s sake, Luis!” Leon slammed his fist on the wall above Luis’ head with a bang.

The noise startled both men, and they quieted as the old elevator rattled and shook, the noise echoing through the mines. Thankfully, the elevator car kept moving up.

Finally, Luis sighed. “Look, I don't know what to tell you. I came back to this village to get away from my past mistakes, and only got roped into another disaster instead. It's my fault that Las Plagas evolved this far. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes. No.” Leon groaned and pushed off the wall, away from Luis. “I don’t know.”

That was a lie: Leon knew exactly what he wanted to hear. He wanted Luis to laugh at the accusations and say that he had nothing to do with the parasite. That he regretted his time at Umbrella and had changed after it, and was now just an unfortunate bystander who hadn’t spent the last few days lying in Leon’s face.

Of course, Leon’s life was never that simple.

“You know, you aren’t making this very easy,” Luis said.

“You’re the one who lied to me,” Leon shot back. “If you wanted easy, you should’ve been honest from the start.”

Luis snorted. “You would not have hesitated to shoot me on sight if you knew the full extent of my actions.”

“Then why even tell me now?” Leon snapped.

When Luis’ reply didn’t come immediately, Leon turned back to look at the man and saw an uncharacteristically somber expression on his face.

“Maybe I'm tired of living a shitty life,” Luis simply said.

Leon knew he should push more. He should yell at Luis and probably arrest him for putting countless lives in danger; God knows Luis seemed to think he deserved it.

“Why did you leave Umbrella?” Leon asked instead.

“Oh, we are returning to sin number one?” Luis said, then sighed. “I was young and reckless and Umbrella had unlimited resources and no pesky ethical code to follow. And so, my team researched parasites: what could possibly go wrong, right?” Luis’ mouth quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. “After an entire city was infected with Umbrella's cannibal virus and a bioweapon I helped create was set loose to wreak havoc, well, let's just say burying my head in the sand was no longer an option.”

No. No no no no—

“Raccoon City,” Leon breathed. “That was you.”

Luis winced. “Not all of it, technically, but… yes. Some of that blood is on my hands.”

Leon’s head was spinning. One of the few friends he'd made in the years following the worst night of his life, someone he’d even started entertaining the thought of building something with once this was all over, also had a hand in the incident that broke Leon in the first place.

Leon really should have known as soon as Hunnigan said the words Umbrella scientist.

“But I thought…” Leon said, desperate to make sense of everything. “What about the Birkins?”

Luis looked up in surprise. “The Birkins' pet project was the G-strain, not the regular T-virus or NE-alpha parasite. But you sure know a lot of very classified information.”

“Because I was there,” Leon said. He swallowed. “My first and last day as a cop, at Raccoon City PD. Conveniently located right above a secret Umbrella research facility.”

Luis stared at him wide-eyed. “And that's why they have you working for the government. Anyone who had seen the events would need to be kept under control, especially if they knew about the lab.”

Leon blinked; he knew Luis was a scientist, but it still caught him off guard how quickly he’d deduced the right conclusion.

Luis' face fell as the realization set in. ”That's what's wrong with you. You wanted to be a policeman to help people, yet you were forced into being a killing machine. They didn't give you an option, eh?”

That's what's wrong with you. The words cut deep, at the dark place inside Leon that he thought he’d buried six years ago.

“Is death an option?” Leon weakly joked.

“Oh, mi amor—ehm, amigo,” Luis quickly corrected himself.

But Leon had caught the slip-up, and it was like the metaphorical knife lodged deep inside twisted in the wound. He hadn’t known how much he'd miss the ridiculous Spanish pet names before they were taken away from him.

“I know you probably won't believe me, but I am sorry,” Luis said. “If not directly responsible, I still played a part in the two worst events of your life.”

Leon nodded. He wondered what it said about him that his first instinct—after wanting to throw a predictable punch—was to say you're also one of the best things to happen in my life, so it evens out.

The elevator ground to a halt, then, their destination reached. They were finally close to the surface, yet Leon still felt like he was suffocating—not from the stale air of the mines, but from the thick tension between them.

“I wish you’d told me all this before we…” Leon trailed off.

Luis smiled that sad smile again. “I'll add it to my long list of regrets.”

Leon watched Luis sigh and walk out of the elevator, straightening his shoulders and forcing a spring into his step.

“No matter, we have a princess to rescue!” Luis said, his voice that familiar mix of humor and teasing, like he was happy to pretend their conversation never happened.

Luckily for him, Leon didn’t like leaving things unfinished.

“Luis, wait.”

Before Luis could react, Leon grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him against a wall of crates next to the elevator. For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, the tension crackling between them.

And then, when Luis didn’t protest, Leon leaned in and unceremoniously shoved his tongue down Luis’ throat.

Luis immediately moaned into the kiss and grabbed Leon’s shoulder straps to pull him closer, and that reassured Leon more than any empty promises could. After everything that had happened, Luis still trusted him with this; he let Leon manhandle him against the splintering crates and allowed Leon’s lips and tongue to take whatever he wanted.

Even if everything else had been a lie, there was no faking the attraction between them: the way Luis melted under his touch, the way Leon’s heart beat frantically in his chest, and the way they desperately clung to each other was all so very real.

Luis’ hands slid up to wrap around Leon’s neck and a teasing tongue caressed Leon’s own, coaxing a deep groan out of the agent. Impatient hands pulled Leon closer and when he obliged, Luis sighed happily into the kiss, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

And that was the gist of it, wasn’t it? Luis had had plenty of opportunities to escape the cult while Leon mowed down ganados with gunfire and explosives. Yet he’d stayed right by Leon’s side, adamant on helping him and Ashley escape this rotten village.

Conflicting emotions raged within Leon and he stamped them down in favor of slanting his mouth against Luis' to deepen the kiss further, hands moving down from Luis’ shoulders to grip his narrow waist over the leather jacket. When Luis hummed in approval and arched into him, Leon wanted nothing more than to rut against him until they both forgot what they’d even been arguing about in the first place.

Unfortunately, they had more important things to get to than making out while Leon suffered an internal moral dilemma. When Leon reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, both men were panting for breath and Luis was blinking rapidly, like he could scarcely believe that had happened.

“I have to say, that was not what I was expecting,” Luis said.

Leon hesitated; there was so much he still wanted to talk about, but this was neither the time nor the place. The Plaga was raging inside Leon, slowly killing him, and Ashley couldn't be faring any better.

“I don't know what you expect me to do with all that information,” Leon said. “I’m… still pretty pissed off—”

“Understandable.”

“But I don't hate you. Even though I probably should.” Leon sighed. “I just… I've lost too many people.” He gripped Luis' jacket tight over his waist, hopefully conveying the meaning of I can't lose you too.

Luis laughed, the sound fake and ugly. “Oh amigo, there is no future for me. Even if I somehow make it out of this shithole, there are now two governments who want me out of the picture. And I doubt anyone will believe that I only wanted to help people, since not even you—"

Luis closed his eyes and took a breath and Leon resisted the urge to shake him, to force the whole story out of Luis and beg him to at least try to make Leon understand his past decisions.

When Luis opened his eyes and looked at Leon, his gaze was hollow. Leon had seen that look many times before; like a soldier who knew he would not be returning from the war, but who wanted to make every bullet count nonetheless.

"My story is one of hubris, and it does not have a happy ending," Luis said with bone-chilling certainty. "Best case scenario, I'll be behind bars for the rest of my life. Worst case—”

“No,” Leon said, hands balling into fists by Luis’ sides. “I won't let that happen. I'll get you out, you and Ashley, and—and I'll vouch for you, and the president…”

“Ha!” A bark of laughter came from behind them and Leon startled and stepped back. “Oh rookie, just as dumb as the day they brought you in.”

Leon recognized that voice, but there was no way…

"Who's there!?" Leon called, positioning himself in front of Luis. "Show yourself!"

In a blur of movement, none other than Major Krauser, Leon's mentor of four years and presumed dead for two, jumped down from a support beam overhead and landed neatly on his feet.

“You really think the government cares about one soldier? Or even a dozen?” Krauser said. “We’re expendable to them. You think good ol' POTUS would ever care what you have to say? Don’t make me laugh.”

For a brief moment, Leon considered that he was dreaming or having some sort of Plaga-induced hallucination. Even if Krauser was somehow miraculously alive, there was no reason for him to be here, in some rural Spanish village and crashing Leon’s solo mission.

“Cat got your tongue, rookie?” Krauser grinned, showing teeth. “Or did you lose it down your whore's throat?”

“Oye, rude,” Luis muttered. “This whore has a name, you know.”

Luis’ voice pulled Leon back to the present. Clearly this wasn't a hallucination if the Spaniard was sassing Krauser back.

“Major,” Leon said as levelly as he could manage. “What's going on? You were declared KIA two years ago."

“Fucking hell, you really are clueless,” Krauser sneered. “Four years of training with the best and you're still just a blue-eyed little kid. I should've offed you when I had the chance; would've been easy to make it look like an accident.”

The puzzle pieces started clicking into place in Leon’s head: blacked-out documents and the fact that Krauser's body had never been found. Modern military weapons scattered around an old Spanish village. Ashley’s kidnapping under the nose of some of the best agents in the world.

It had all been Krauser.

“I’m doing you a favor, really.” Krauser grinned, shifting his posture in an all-too familiar way. “Putting a weak, useless animal out of its misery.”

Just as Krauser surged forward, Leon reached for his gun—only he was too slow. In one lightning-quick move, Krauser’s knife was pressed to Leon’s throat and an arm restrained him from behind.

“Leon!” Luis yelled, pulling his pistol.

“Rookie mistake,'' Krauser ground out in Leon's ear, backing up and using him as a human shield. “A knife is always faster.”

“Luis, run!” Leon grit out, struggling against the hold. “I’ve got this!”

“I wouldn't do that,” Krauser said, now addressing Luis. “Unless you wanna see the pretty boy's throat slit.”

Leon felt the tip of the knife break skin and a drop of blood run down his throat. Luis’ grip faltered on his pistol, but he was making no move to escape.

“What are you doing? Go! Get the hell out of here!” Leon yelled.

After the conversation they'd just had, there was no telling what Luis would do. Men prepared to be sent to the gallows rarely made rational decisions, especially when the lives of their friends were concerned.

“What do you want, yanqui?” Luis' voice was surprisingly calm as he addressed Krauser.

“Just recovering stolen goods,” Krauser spat. “Hand over the amber.”

“Major, you don't have to do this!” Leon tried. “Snap out of it! If it's the parasite—”

“Shut up, brat!” Krauser elbowed Leon sharply in the spine and he bit back a pained grunt.

“Okay!” Luis said. He reached into his jacket and held something in his hand: a test tube glimmering with orange. “You want this, yes? I give it to you, and he goes unharmed.”

“Smart boy.” Krauser was smirking. “See, Leon? Smart boys know when they're outmatched.”

“Respectfully, Major, fuck you!” Leon kicked at Krauser, but only managed to hit his knee pad.

“Then here,” Luis said. He rolled over the tube, until it stopped at Krauser’s combat boots.

Without warning, Leon was thrown across the room and made impact with the cliff wall next to the elevator they’d just arrived in. He cursed as his shoulder took the brunt of the hit but quickly scrambled to right himself on the rocky floor.

“That's it, alright,” Krauser said, clinking his knife against the test tube now in his hands. Then he grinned, in a pure sadistic glee that made the hairs on Leon’s neck stand up. “Good thing our deal was only for his life.”

In one fluid move Leon had seen countless times before, Krauser threw his knife with impossible speed, and Leon only needed to see a shimmer of metal to know that it was heading straight for Luis' jugular.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The knife sailed through the air, too fast for Leon to warn Luis or throw himself in the way, and soon it would land in Luis' throat with a sickening squelch—

A shot rang out and with a clang of metal meeting metal, the knife embedded itself into a nearby crate instead.

Stunned silent, Leon stared at Luis: still with his pistol in hand, eyes wide in shock. Abruptly, Leon remembered their time at the shooting gallery and how good of a shot Luis actually was. Since he’d already had his pistol drawn, he must have acted purely on reflex to deflect the knife.

Leon looked back at Krauser while reaching for his own combat knife, anticipating a follow-up attack, but the former Major was already gone.

Knowing the immediate danger was over, Leon allowed himself to sag back against the cave wall in relief.

“Well, that was something,” Luis said, walking closer while glancing over his shoulder, pistol still in hand. “Are you alright, cariño?”

The casual endearment was like a warm caress after being dunked in ice water. Leon barked out a somewhat hysterical laugh, giddy with adrenaline and the pure absurdity of the situation,

“Yeah,” Leon said once he'd composed himself, meeting Luis' quizzical gaze. “I'm okay.”

Luis raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you didn't hit your head too hard on the stone?"

"I'm sure," Leon said. “Just processing all the shit that went down."

“Fair enough.” Luis sat himself down next to Leon, then turned to him with a grin. “Did you see that shot!?”

Luis gestured at Krauser’s knife with a trembling hand and his smile had a manic edge to it. It looked like Leon wasn't the only one dealing with adrenaline jitters.

Leon smiled. “It was a nice shot.”

“Oh, a compliment? And a smile?” Luis teased. “I'll never let you live this down, Prince Charming.”

Leon huffed a dry chuckle, reveling in the familiar banter. “Don't get too used to it.”

“I, ehm.” Instead of a witty retort, Luis took a few pointed breaths, making Leon snap back to attention. “I actually think that you pulling me back to kiss me stupid just saved me from certain death,” Luis eventually said.

He had a point: Krauser had clearly been lying in ambush for them. He could have easily killed Leon had he wanted to, yet it was obvious that Luis and the tube—the amber?—had been his target.

“I need a smoke,” Luis announced.

Leon watched Luis’ trembling fingers procure a cigarette and then fumble with the lighter, dropping it on the ground with a soft curse.

Leon grabbed the lighter before Luis could. Even if he didn’t normally approve of smoking, a near-death encounter surely warranted an exception.

“Let me,” Leon murmured.

Luis nodded and leaned in. Leon flicked the lighter and held the flame steady, and soon Luis was dragging his first shaky inhale of nicotine.

“That’s better,” Luis said. “Much better.”

Leon placed the lighter back in Luis' still trembling hand and closed his fingers around it. He stamped down on the worry over seeing the man so obviously rattled: Luis being shaky with adrenaline was infinitely better than his throat gurgling as he choked on his own blood.

“I’m glad you're okay,” Leon said.

Luis grinned around his cigarette. “Come now, I can't leave my Sancho to save the princess alone. That would make a terrible story.”

Despite his attempted nonchalance, Luis intertwined their fingers around the lighter and squeezed, hard enough to almost hurt. Leon squeezed back; a silent I'm here. We're alright.

“The story needs its Don Quixote,” Leon agreed.

Luis laughed, and even if it was a little forced, it seemed like he was returning to himself.

“And here I thought my references were flying right over your head,” Luis teased.

“Maybe there's more to me than just the trauma,” Leon said.

Luis smiled fondly. “Mi vida, you are so much more than a handsome face and great ass…kicking skills.”

Luis winked and Leon huffed a laugh before getting to his feet.

“Come on,” Leon said, extending a hand. “Smoke break's over.”

Luis sighed but took the offered hand and let Leon pull him up. “Mierda, I nearly died and two minutes is all the break I get? You wound me, querido.”

Leon hesitated. “You could wait with the merchant—”

“Psht, I was only joking." Luis waved off the concern. “I have to protect my squire from the giants.”

The sentiment made Leon smile. Luis arched an eyebrow in response, before pointedly snuffing out his cigarette on the rock and looking up through his lashes.

Not able to resist the obvious invitation, Leon leaned in—

And his communicator rang. Fantastic.

“Leon,” Ada's voice came through. “Still in one piece? Good.”

Of course she'd cracked his comms frequency. Of course she was checking in now, when Leon had fought through hell and back and been double-crossed more times than he cared to remember.

“What the hell, Ada!?” Leon snapped.

Both Luis startling next to him and the tense silence from the other end spoke volumes of how uncharacteristic it was for Leon to lose his temper like this. At least with her.

“You're working with Krauser!? He's delusional, Ada—whatever your employer's claiming, he's fucking lost it. He even tried to kill Luis!” Leon said.

Ada was silent for a beat, then calmly asked, “What?”

Luis' chin came to rest on Leon's shoulder, speaking into the earpiece. “Holá, bonita,” Luis said. “A little bump in the road: the former Major just tried to murder me, but he settled for the Plaga sample. Since he has the amber, I assume this means our deal is over.”

“Murder—” Ada said. “Leon, put Serra on the line.”

Leon obediently handed his earpiece over, trying to ignore how easily he was going along with her request.

Luis put some distance between them and listened to Ada while nodding along whatever she was saying. Then, “Do not yell at me!” Luis exclaimed, gesticulating wildly even though Ada couldn't see him. “He would have killed us both! And trust me, I am very interested in curing our prince, but I can't do that while dead, hm?”

With that, Luis held the communicator out to Leon with a sardonic smile. “It's for you.”

"A bump in the road, huh?” Leon said, placing the device in his ear.

"Krauser is nothing but a means to an end that forgot his place," Ada said even more icily than usual, and Leon could hear the distinct cock of a gun. "Your girl is being held at the clocktower."

With that, the line cut out as Ada disappeared in her typical fashion. At least she'd provided them with new intel.

Luis nudged Leon's side and smirked. “Women, eh?”

Leon snorted. “Don't let her hear you say that.”

“She seems awfully fond of you,” Luis said. “For a heartless mercenary, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, jury says I've got shitty taste in women.” Leon paused, then added, “And men, apparently.”

Luis' smile widened into a grin, not seeming to take any offense. “And boy, does that work in my favor.” He clapped a hand on Leon’s shoulder. “Now come, Sancho, the princess awaits!”

“Not so fast,” Leon said, brushing off the hand. “You can tell me all about your little deal with Ada while we walk.”

“Ah, mierda.” Luis scratched his neck, smiling sheepishly. “You see, when I was planning my escape and had no idea that I would find a very strong, very beautiful American agent to protect me—”

Leon rolled his eyes and nudged Luis to make him start walking, already strapping in for a long and needlessly complicated story.

And if Leon stayed much closer to Luis than before and silently vowed to protect him better, well, that was nobody's business but his own.

#serennedy #luis serra #leon kennedy #re4make #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #resident evil fanfiction #que fic #serennedy ship week

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months

Note

I've been thinking back out of the mc who got stuck in twisted wonderland and was wondering what kind of job they had before entering that world. The jobs that I thought were possible were a soldier, cop, spy, assassin for hire, or a wrestler. Why do I think of these choices, you may ask? Because of the gym teacher they have. I would imagine at least a soldier has to go through those kinds of exercises.

Note: Individual interpretations of Yuu or Yuusonas may have different backgrounds and skillsets. It is possible for those Yuusonas to have such jobs as what the asker suggests; however, I am not discussing Yuusonas here since they can be so varied. I am ONLY discussing the standard in-game Yuu.

Well 😅 just because your gym teacher (Vargas) is rough on you and/or you can keep up with his exercise drills (it’s not clear if game Yuu can) doesn’t mean they’re fit or that they had a job that required them to be physically fit. (Look at his other students, this is also not true of the rest of them; Jack can deal with Vargas’s demands but is just a normal student and not a super secret killer for hire on the side. Epel tries to do as Vargas says but isn’t any bulkier for it.) That’s making a lot of assumptions about Yuu that doesn’t apply to how they’re generally presented in the game. This take could work for an individual Yuusona, but it’s not the case for the standard Yuu we know of.

Game Yuu is alluded to be an average 16 year old (because they count as a first year together with Grim and are presented as roughly this age in other mediums). Azul comments in book 3 that Yuu has no remarkable traits worth taking for himself. This is also indirectly demonstrated by the fact that game Yuu doesn’t seem to fight in OB battles or be involved in physical events in general (they didn’t go sledding in Harveston, they were a scorekeeper and not an actual participant in Vargas’s Camp). The main exception I can think of is Beans Day, but even then Yuu was not said to particularly excel there. You would think that if they were that physically capable, they would be more willing to help their friends fight (as was the case with Yuuken and Yuuka from the manga adaptations).

It’s therefore far more likely they had a typical job a teenager might have in their original world (if they had a job at all). You know the type. Minimum wage jobs, usually retail or food service related. No normal teenager is already a cop, spy, or assassin at that age. Maybe a wrestler or soldier if their school had a club like that/offered it as a P.E. activity or if their school had a military training program, but if that’s the case then they wouldn’t be proficient at it as a high school freshman (and certainly not to a professional/formally hirable degree).

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Azul Ashengrotto #Jack Howl #Epel Felmier #Yuu #Ashton Vargas #notes from the writing raven #question

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shaarlslec · 2 years

Text

friends

part 2 & part 3 here lovelies;

pairing: charles leclerc x reader (ft. pierre gasly x reader);

summary: Charles sees paparazzi pictures taken with you and a very drunk Pierre and that does not do him good although the three of you have claimed to be just friends.

words: 5000 ish

warnings: mentions of alcohol

masterlist

The three of you grew up together loving racing. You, loving to build the cars as your father’s apprentice and them loving to try the cars that you and your dad were designing.

When Charles got the spot for Ferrari, he took you and your father with him as two of his most trusted engineers, and quite drifted you apart from the young driver at Toro Rosso as you spend most of your time in the Ferrari garage. Since you got the job and Charles the seat, your friendship trio had its lows more than highs, but you still managed to keep being friends with both at and outside the circuits at parties, events, and secret getaways far away from the media.

It has always been Y/N, Charles and Pierre and you could not paint a picture of the future when that was not the case.

Your friendship with the two young hot boiled driven studs was challenging at times, especially when they fought over silly things or needed girl advice.

You loved every single piece of it.

When you were younger it felt like you had two brothers to protect you from all of the bad in the world, and sometimes two children to take care of for the rest of your life. You have been loving it since the day you met at the karting circuit and later when you witnessed their greatness through all phases of getting into Formula 1.

However, your favourite phase of them all must have been your teenager years when the dream of winning the world championship was further down the line for both.

You dearly loved the times where you three were young, unexperienced, and anxious about everything and all at once and that was because you seemed to be the most grounded one out of the pack, and the boys managed to hold on into that since then and never questioned your pieces of advice.

They often called you the mom of the group and you took your job very seriously without realising the amount of pressure you were putting on yourself to always take care of the two boys and solve their problems, even their girl problems. As it has always been said, boys mature later than girls and you three represented the living example of the saying.

“Yes, you are right, we need to follow the three days rule.” Pierre spoke, anxiously tapping his foot underneath the table and watching his best friend across it after stealing a glare from you who was seated in between the two boys, “You are a genius, Charles.”

You let out a soft laugh as you followed Pierre’s glare, you knew exactly why they were anxious about this time. They met two of their fans at the end of the race and the girls managed to slip their numbers into one of their hands, leaving the boys with the chance to text them. They both took the chance, and now that the exchange of messages between them and the two girls were successful, they needed a plan to invite the girls to hang out. You were even more unexperienced as them, having only the two boys standing in front of you to text or call at the sweet age of sixteen. And yet, somehow, they were both searching for answers on your face with their confused glares.

“Exactly! We need to keep them waiting for three days and then they will for sure want to go on dates with us.” Charles happily nodded, taking a quick look at you as well, “Right?” He then pleaded towards you with those puppy eyes of his, craving for you to approve him and his three-day rule.

You listened carefully before rolling your eyes and taking a deep breath in, “The three days rule means that you will not reply to any of your girls for three days straight and then expect them to say yes to you inviting them out?” You questioned, taking both of their phones from the table, and demanding them to unlock them with a sharp look.

“You dumb boys.” You spoke, searching first for Charles’ messages and then Pierre’s, “No girl likes to be left on read for three whole days, you are trying to play the hard-to-get card?” You questioned, already replying to the girls you knew they liked but were too afraid to ask out.

“You are both handsome drivers, and within five years you will both be in Formula 1, use that to pick up girls if you think that your own individual charms are not enough.” You spoke, pressing send to both messages, “You are charming enough to not need stupid rules.” You assured them, placing the phones back facing the table and lifting your glare to meet their scared ones, “Trust me boys, you will do just great.” You spoke, grabbing both of their arms across the table for a soft stroke, “It is their loss if they say no to you.”

“You are right.” Pierre nodded and took the phone with the other hand from the table to wait for his girl’s answer to your reply.

“You are always right.” Charles affirmed, placing his other hand on yours, “Thank you.”

That is when the phase “Y/N is always right” started and was carried on through the years, and after they successfully went on dates with the said girls you became the one to dictate their love life as well, always, always, always asking for your advice. You enjoyed it for a bit, you liked to be in control and yet things went downhill once you noticed that them asking for your advice when it came to girls begun to bother you even so slightly and especially when Charles required them from you.

Being the mom of the group meant that you had to treat them the same as if they were your actual children, always having to love them in the same way and always having to cheer for them with the same energy. It was rough for you to do so, especially when they raced against each other. For most of your friendship you managed to keep a balance between the three of you although you stroked Leclerc’s hand a little bit tighter, laughed at his jokes a little bit more, screamed his name in the paddock a little bit louder and loved him a little bit different.

You could not remember when all of that started, maybe it was when for the first time Charles cried in your arms when he got his heart broken by his first girlfriend or maybe it was for the first time when you noticed that he looks with a type of tenderness that it was not shown to anyone else – not even when he looked at Pierre. Whenever it was, Charles Leclerc’s friendship with you was alternated by feelings that you were not able to understand fully at the age of sixteen, while yours and Pierre’s reminded the same.

You felt guilty when it came to Pierre, but somehow you knew that he was aware of you adoration towards Leclerc whereas Charles was as dull as a man can be when crushed on by a girl that follows him everywhere. Pierre noticed the way you looked at his best friend, the way your hand went around his shoulders at parties and the way you shily reciprocated Charles smiles.

It was oddly weird for him at first, but as years went by and Leclerc played the dumb card while you were crushing all over him, Pierre found himself really excited about the idea of his two best friends getting together. And yet, none of you made a move towards the goal. You never confessed to Leclerc, you always considered that there was still enough time.

As mentioned, you were young and unexperienced when it came to more than friendship with boys. You stood quiet and silent next to him waiting for the right time to confess with Pierre watching you closely falling every time. The first time when you figured out that Pierre was aware of the situation was when he popped up that question towards you.

“Don’t you think that now is an appropriate time to tell Charles that you are in love with him?” Pierre asked after Charles’ won the GP3 Series championship when you were both nineteen.

Your eyes widened at the hearing of Pierre’s words. You tried to deny, but your mumbling gave you away, “I just do—d” You stumbled, and Pierre stopped you by softly pressing one of his fingers on your lips.

“Leclerc might be foolish, but I am not.” Pierre spoke, watching his best friend lifting the trophy in the air on the podium above your heads, “Just be sure to tell him, he will not figure it out on his own.”

You gulped once Pierre’s finger was off your mouth, “You are not mad?” You asked him, looking up at the Frenchman whose eyes went down on you and your trembling lip still exhausted by the boy’s touch.

Pierre’s head tilted towards you, “Why would I be mad?” He then asked, “Do you want me to want you to pick me?” He then asked, and you could swear that the entire crowd celebrating Charles went silent once the words were out of your friend’s mouth.

Sultry.

That was Pierre’s tone whenever he leaned towards somebody’s ear to whisper sweet nothings, and you knew pretty much all his manoeuvres. You taught him half of them, and the other half were practiced on you before other girls to perfection them.

You were in love with Charles, but you could not deny the urge to jump at Pierre’s neck every single time when he would use that flirty tone of his. You witnessed Pierre going from that shy sixteen-year-old boy that had no clue how to flirt to this mastermind of a pick-up artist. You got used to the way in which Pierre would accidentally slip one of the lines used with other girls with you, and every single time you would convince yourself that he was just joking with you.

You chuckled then at Pierre’s words, watching the man’s blue eyes staring back at you and that sharp jawline inches from yours.

“You are doing it again, aren’t you?” You spoke, battling your eyelashes at Pierre as a return of the flirt, “Practicing on me.”

You locked eyes for a while, Pierre not being sure what to answer and you not being sure how to continue. It was one of your inside jokes that Charles was unaware about. You two learning how to flirt from the other. It was fun when you were kids, not knowing nor understanding exactly what physical attraction between two people meant, but as you grew older, and you passed the age of eighteen it became even more dangerous to play with fire when Charles was not looking.

But at that time, Charles was looking from above. The man searched for his best friends’ faces in the crowd and did nothing but to display a huge ass smile once he caught you two next to each other. Pierre took a step back in the crowd and nodded as he started to clap his hands even harder for his best friend once their glares met, throwing you an “If you say so, then yes.”

Pierre kept asking you the same thing years in a row: when Leclerc won the Formula 2 Championship, when he got his seat in F1, when he got transferred at Ferrari, every time a milestone was achieved. Your answers were the same, but the flirt that you thought to be innocent between you and the Frenchmen only got more intense as years went by and as you denied your feelings for the Monegasque.

In your defence, you never told Pierre that he was right.

You never confessed to him that you were into Charles, you were only mumbling and bumbling your answers, Pierre figure it out on his own and used every chance he had to tease you about it. You knew that you were not able to hold all inside your aching chest forever but what you did not know is that you were about to pour out all your feelings towards Charles in front of Pierre during that night at the Monaco party.

You went to the famous Monaco party after the disaster that was the grand prix for Charles ending up in P4. You went to one of Charles’ most frequented clubs with most of the people from the Ferrari team that were there to celebrate the podium of Carlos Sainz. You celebrated with them as well, and Charles gave his all to be joyful and supportive of his team-mate as he always is. You caught the man’s glare staring at the floor lost in the intricate thoughts running into his mind. You knew Charles, you knew that face and you also somehow knew that it was your duty to take Charles’ mind out of the events during the day. You wanted nothing more than to know him happy, that man deserved all the happiness in the world.

“Come on now,” You spoke as you made your way through the crowd until you reached his torso, grabbing your friend by his shoulders with one of your arms, “Dance with me Percival.” You spoke, facing him now as you turned on your heel to glimpse at him from above.

Charles smiled when laid eyes on you as if the worries inside the man’s mind vanished once your voice reached his ears, “Oh no, not this again.” He then spoke, placing one of his palms on your back to accommodate you in the man’s personal space and to protect you from getting touched by others passing by your back, “Can you stop calling me Percival?” The man spoke, leaning towards your ear to make his words harshly heard as he dropped an octave in his tone, “When will all this teasing stop?” He then asked, somehow snuggling you at his chest even tighter in the process.

Your excuse for being so close in a public place was the loud music bombing your ears, you could not have a normal talk standing one in front of the other at a decent distance with the music resounding that loud in the club. You enjoyed the closeness, and so did Charles. You returned the smile and reached the man’s back of the neck with one hand while the other rested on the edges of his unbuttoned white shirt, “Never, I enjoy Percival more than Charles.”

Charles’ head shook a little in a mocking disappointment as he knew exactly what you were referring about. You called him Percival only when he got drunk and somehow gained this unknown confidence on the dancefloor, “You and I both know that I suck at dancing.” Percival laughed, clumsily swirling you in a tiny pirouette just for his hands to lay on the curves of your hips when you faced him again, “Pierre texted that he will be soon here too, you will have the change to dance with someone on your calibre.”

“You and I both know that I suck at dancing too.” You spoke, inches away from the man’s face, “Pierre outdances us by far.”

Charles denied with that little smile still sprung on his face that made your insides shiver as well as your spine underneath the man’s touch on the fabric covering your skin, “That is just not true.” He then replied, slowly guiding your body on the song’s rhythm as his fingers jabbed more in the white silk of the dress you were wearing, “See? You are doing great.” Your friend spoke as he took his time to look at you from head to toes, doing a rapid scan of your body in that dress without even realizing that his lips were dry and chest heavy as it rose in a sight, “I need a drink, do you want something?” He swiftly spoke, searching for your eyes again after they seemed for an eternity locked on your body.

You nodded; you were in need for a drink as well. Leclerc’s eyes on you always left your neck dry and your heart throbbing. You danced with him as well as with the other people in the Ferrari team for the next hour or so after he bought you the promised drink that turned in more than just one glass. You and Charles made a pact when you got hired at Ferrari to not let people in your relationship and not to accuse him of favours when it came to your family position in the team. Therefore, few people knew that you and Charles were close friends and you had to keep it that way although it was hard for both of you to keep hands off the other especially after shots went down to your necks as if the liquids inside the glasses were merely water.

Once you joined the group on the dance floor, Leclerc loosen up a little. He danced more, he laughed more, he drank more and shouted the songs’ lyrics louder. You enjoyed seeing him having fun and not think about what happened on the track, but you also took the responsibility to take care of him as you always do. Thus, at every two other questionable shots, you forced him to drink actual water. Leclerc listened; Charles always listened of you.

“Good boy.” You spoke, handing him yet another bottle of water, “What about seating down for a while?” You spoke, titling your head to the booth few steps away from the dance floor as you grabbed the man hands into yours, “My feet are killing me!”

Charles’ fingers tingled as you touched them, and he decided that it was for the best to cup your fingers in between his. Leclerc wanted to be in control with at least that, with the way he held your hand in a crowded room where no one noticed that you were that close. You smiled and stroked Charles’ fingers with yours as his grip got tighter around your fingers, “I am not going anywhere, Charles.” You assured him as you looked over your shoulder, “Just the booth.”

Your voice resounded not only to Charles’ ears but also to a couple of your co-workers who were also in need for a break. Through the noise they could only understand the word “booth” and took it as an invite to follow you and Charles. You sighed once seated down next to him, watching the people from the team cramming over the table as well. You exchanged few glances with Charles, foolish of you to believe that you were going to be left alone in a crowded club in Monaco where everyone knew who he was. Soon enough not only the people from your team joined you two but also people who recognised the driver and who noticed him getting away from the dance floor to a quieter place where they could ask him questions and take pictures with him.

With all the fuss going around the table, with all the glances exchanged between the team members, topics loudly discussed around the GP, and drinks heavily being passed around, your hand was still in Charles’ underneath the table resting on one of the man’s thighs and no one seemed to notice. You would be lying not to admit that you were enjoying Charles attention on you when everyone at the table tried to get his.

“Are you okay?” Charles leaned to whisper after he noticed your cheeks turning red underneath the purple hues of the club.

You nodded, “Yes, too many shots.” You lied, touching your burning face that you caught him staring at with the back of your hand.

“Do you want to go and get some air?” Charles spoke, fully facing you now and focusing all his attention on you and only you. Oh crap, he was beautiful. With his hair all ruffled from the heat and his sleepy drunken eyes watching yours, with that white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal part of his chest and those soft looking trembling lips waiting for you to say yes, always waiting for you to say yes to his pleadings.

“Sure we ca—”

Your sentence was cut short as you were startled by two arms that were not Leclerc’s embracing you from the back. You quickly turned and spotted Pierre in all his drunkenness reaching for the seat next to you.

“Oh my sweet, sweet friends, I have been looking for you on the dance floor!” He confessed, tightly squeezing you in, “Hello mate.” He then spoke, reaching for Charles’ hand to shake.

Leclerc’s hand slipped from yours into Pierre’s but then failed to return into yours which was now left empty on the man’s tight still. You gulped and removed your hand from the man’s body, childishly clasping both of your hands in your lap and switching your glare from Charles to Pierre, then back to Charles only to be stolen away by Pierre taking your face in both of your hands.

“You look beautiful.” Pierre almost shouted after a few moments of simply staring at your face, “You grew up so fast, I cannot believe my eyes.” The Frenchman then spoke, and you could sense that he already had reached his limit of how-many-shots-are-too-many-shoots, “Isn’t she beautiful Charles?!” Pierre asked, still cupping your face into his giant hands, “Did he tell you that you look amazing tonight, or do I have to fight him for not complimenting you again?” Pierre spoke, but now leaning towards you for only your ears to hear the question.

“Ok, ok.” You spoke as you shook your head, touching the wrists of Pierre with both of your hands to release yourself from the trap, “Thank you Pierre, but I cannot feel my face.”

The truth was that you could feel your face and your face was burning. First, because you stood right in between the most handsome men you knew and second, because Pierre was drunk enough to already tease you about Charles and you were pretty much aware of the fact that if you kept the two together for yet another hour or so, Pierre would spill the beans on your little crush on his best friend. Pierre almost told Charles twice when they were drunk that he figured out your feelings for Leclerc, and you were still not ready to tell Charles.

“She indeed is.” Charles replied once your glance went away from Pierre and back to Charles, “Sorry for not saying anything by now.” He then apologised, signalling that Pierre was not exactly quiet when he asked you the before question, “You are stunning, you always are stunning.” Leclerc muttered without taking his eyes out of you not even for a split of a second while complimenting you.

You shily smiled, mimicking a short “thank you” towards Charles, your neck being too dry now for your mouth to utter the words in loud voice.

“Y/N is always right, Y/N is always stunning.” Pierre yelled in the space between you and Charles, basically getting on top of you in the process of reaching Charles’ ears to catch his best friend’s attention, “That is the best you can do, mate? Agreeing with me?” He then huffed, “You know that she deserves more than that, right?” Pierre added, his tone switching from that funny type of a drunk voice to a raspier demanding one, “You need to step up your game, my friend.” He then spoke, patting Charles’ chest with one of his palms.

You rolled your eyes and pushed Pierre out of you by placing both of your hands on the man’s fully bare chest now noticing that Pierre shirt was fully unbuttoned from up to down, “Thank you again Pierre.” You gently spoke, seating Pierre back next to you, “You look like you had more than enough to drink.” You spoke, fully facing the Frenchman now, “Let’s get out to get some air friend.”

Pierre stubbornly pouted, “You are changing the subject, switch places with me I need to talk with Charles.”

Your eyebrow twitched towards Pierre, “No Pierre, we are going out.” You spoke, roughly grabbing the man’s wrist and shortly looking over your shoulder to a confused Charles Leclerc watching the banter between the two of you while still processing Pierre’s last words, “I will take him out for a bit, you will be alright by yourself?” You asked, catching Charles’ look on you.

“I—” Charles shuttered, “I do not want to play games with you.” He then replied, “I never played games with you.” Charles continued still being confused by what Pierre was trying to say and why was he so aggressive towards him when it came to a mere compliment which was not even about him to begin with.

You nodded, “I know darling, I know it very well.” You assured him, “Don’t mind Pierre, you know how he is when drunk.” You then tried to clarify as you rose from your seat, “We will be back in a moment.” You said as you carefully placed your other palm on Charles shoulder for support as with the other you were dragging Pierre out from the booth, “Drink water!” You shouted as you leave towards Charles direction, “And you,” You emphasised watching a wombling Pierre following you, “What am I going to do with you?”

“What the actual fuck was that?” You spoke once getting out of the club and letting go of the man’s wrist, “Why were you giving him an attitude for?”

Pierre’s eyes widened in surprise, “I thought you would be happy that you got complimented by him.”

You rolled your eyes again at him and stopped your steps where the lights faded and not many people passed to adopt a defensive pose in front of your barely functioning friend, “I don’t need your help to get compliments from men Pierre.”

“Not just any men, but Charles.” He replied to you, taking a few steps towards you in the darkness, “Drop the act, Y/N.” Pierre demanded while stretching the back of his neck, “I know that random compliments from random ass men do not mean shit to you, but you are delighted when Charles does it.”

You crossed your arms at your chest, sustaining your weight on only one of your feet, “I did not ask for your help, Pierre.” You spoke as your arms felt around your body, you knew that you could not get mad at Pierre or return the attitude, you knew that he would use one of his charms and you will be laughing about this argument tomorrow, you knew that his intentions were nothing but good when it came to you and Charles.

“I am sorry.” You apologised first, “I am getting all worked up for nothing.”

Pierre let out a sigh and leaned on the wall behind him, “Tell him what you feel before it is too late or try to get over it, there is no easy way out if you keep it for yourself for eternity.”

You watched your now very much hurt feet as you listened to Pierre, “Easier said than done.” You spoke, taking a full breath of fresh air inside your lungs before daring to look up at him and take two steps towards the Frenchmen.

“You will get a cold.” You spoke as you faced a leaned on the wall Pierre and started to button up your friend’s shirt, “Do I even want to know why you came to the party barely naked and already drunk?” You inquired, slowly yet surely wanting to change the focus of attention from you to him.

Pierre chuckled as he clenched your hands on the shirt with both of his, “Mom, I will not get a cold and it is basically summer in Monaco!” The child spoke, almost yelling the last three words.

“Oh shut up, you will wake the entire town.” You sarcastically replied, getting your hands from underneath his and stubbornly continuing to button him up, “There you go, better right?” You spoke, smoothing the shirt with both of your palms as you were happily smiling, “You look handsome too.” You spoke, throwing a cheeky wink into Pierre’s direction, “You grew up so fast, I cannot believe my eyes!” You added with mockery into your tone.

Your friend’s eyes did not go from you the entire time you were arranging the man’s shirt fact that helped him reach to a conclusion, “You do really behave like a mom, and somehow like a child at the same time.” Pierre spoke, leaning down the wall until his bottom reached the ground concrete floor.

“Oh my god child, get up.” You spoke, “We can go over there to se-”

Then, again for the tenth time that evening, Pierre cut you off from talking as the man reached for your wrist and pulled you down with him. You rolled your eyes as you leaned your back on the wall, squatting down in your heels as you used Pierre arm as a pillar cupping it into both of yours.

“You will be a great mom.” Pierre spoke, glaring back at you who was now struggling in finding a comfortable position to seat in against the wall but being unsuccessful to do so just because Pierre was too stubborn to get up.

You sighed, “Do you think so?”

“I know so.” Pierre assured you, leaning his head on your already unstable shabby shoulder to find comfort in the closeness of your bodies, “Charles knows it too.”

“Knows what?”

“That you will be a great mom, Charles told me the last time when we met only the two of us.” He then explained, catching your reaction with only one of his eyes opened.

You gasped, “You are meeting behind my back?” You sarcastically inquired, gently pinching the man’s cheeks as a form of little punishment, “He did?” You then asked, watching Pierre carefully to catch if he was lying or not – you always figured out when he was not telling you the truth.

Pierre nodded, “Yes, we often talk about how you take care of us and yet never let us take care of you.”

“That is because you screw up more often than me.”

“You know that you can let us take care of you once in a while, right?”

You chuckled, “I know, and I will let you know when that will be the case.” You hardly managed to speak as you lost your balance because your feet were unable to sustain you in the squatted position.

Pierre huffed and then stretched his legs forward, “Such a liar!” He then spoke, covering your waist from the back with one arm, “You are not even letting me know now.” He argued, fully opening his eyes to see the excruciating pain on your face due to the hurting of your feet, “Sit down.” Pierre demanded, signalling you straight to his lap as his grip went even tighter around you ready to slam you down on him.

“On your lap? Now? Here?” You anxiously asked as you shook your head, “No way.”

“Oh come on now Y/N.” Pierre pleaded, “It is dark, no one is watching us, you are clearly in pain and I need five more minutes here before going in again.” Your friend argued, “I will not say a word to Charles.”

You were not ready to cave in but Pierre used your hesitation to get an answer from you and used both of his arms to seat you down on his lap, and when the pain from your legs went away as you were not using them anymore you were glad that Pierre offered to do it.

“I think you might be right.” You confessed to Pierre while getting more comfortable into your new seat, “I should tell Charles how I feel or get over it before it is too late.”

Pierre spoke nothing but agreed with a nod. You stood there in silence for a while seated in your friend’s lap. You thought of Charles, and weirdly enough Pierre did that too. And yet, your thoughts about Charles Leclerc in that moment were far from being the same. You were thinking about how to and if you should confess to him, while Pierre was thinking about how Charles was screwing everything up without even knowing and how you were right there seated on his lap but no move from him would make you even consider him instead of his best friend. It was frustrating for Pierre for so many years, cheering for you two while never joking in his flirts with you.

And just like that, as you both were lost in your own thoughts regarding Charles Leclerc, no one of you was even aware of the camera that has been taking pictures with you two drunkenly arguing, laughing and seating down outside the party from across the street since the very first step you took out of the club when the man holding the camera chanceful spotted the Alpha Tauri driver Pierre Gasly getting out from the club with a beautiful new women he has not been spotted yet.

You were fully unaware of what a scandal those pictures will rise the next couple of days not just in the F1 press but also in your group of the little three happy friends.

Neither of you would have anticipated Charles’ reactions to them.

#f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x y/n #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #fic: friends

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humanpurposes · 3 months

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(Teaser) It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

A/n: I feel bad that it's been forever since this series had an update, and I'm just feeling silly today so I thought I'd share a lil something of what I've been working on (to hopefully motivate me to finish the chapter lmao).

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the ancient stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at his laptop and they check over some details for next week’s event.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planninging this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to every individual and family in Westeros who thinks they are even slightly important that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens.

There can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

His eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan in the main ballroom. Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease, and he has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it: a glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in the office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and grab some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

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thelikesoffinn · 6 months

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Hello! I keep browsing the tavstarion tag and asks from you blog keep coming up, and every time they do I enjoy the hells out of reading them. All the Astarion asks got me thinking though, and as I'm in the process of writing a fic, I figured I'd ask your thoughts (out of curiosity).

First thing's first: I understand Astarion's trauma responses are very... prickly, for lack of a better word. My question is how you think he would deal with a Tav who has a very people-pleasing response. For example, focusing entirely on anyone else's problems and completely neglecting their own, or only being able to say "no" when in such acute distress that they physically cannot give any more.

The second part (because I am guessing his response, based on how he's reacted in-game and also from reading your analyses) is how he might react to learning that that people-pleasing response is because of trauma they went through, either in their teens or young adulthood. How might that recontextualize some of his earlier assumptions? Do you think he would have any mixed feelings?

I wanted to write a Tav that's internal and solitary, who thinks they're "over" the trauma that happened to them. I thought the dynamic of someone who's been coping for years and has distance in comparison to Astarion who literally only just got out of his situation was interesting.

Hiya dear!

I'm happy you like the asks, haha, although I must admit hearing that they're very noticeable amongst the Tavstarion things is making me self conscious! 🫠

When it comes to people pleasing - or fawning, as it's also called - I think we can all sort of guess how Astarion would react. The boy isn't secretive about his displeasure regarding all things "noble" and I'm sure that, at first, the respect he holds for your Tav will be very low.

The thing is: When we see someone whose initial response is to fawn, we don't automatically default to trauma. Most people are far more likely to just view them as a really good and kind person or, especially in work settings, as a suck up. It takes time to realise that, hey, maybe Jeff from accounting actually just can't say no.

I don't think it will be different with Astarion. (In fact, out of all the companions, Wyll might actually be the most likely to notice that your Tav is having a hard time saying no.)

Depending on your Tav's general attitude, Astarion might default them to yet another kind hearted do-gooder that runs around the world with childish naïveté and that? That is a sitting duck.

To act 1 Astarion, kindness relates to weakness.

And weakness is something he can exploit easily.

As we all know, Astarion craves safety, which is why he latches onto Tav to begin with. And if Tav's someone who others listen to AND who seems easy to manipulate? Fuck yeah. That's an in if he's ever seen one.

If Tav is prone to saying yes to anything and prone to avoiding conflict, he won't even need to do much to get them to do his bidding. The right words, some puppy dog eyes and a hint at what he wants done, and they'll go and do it without protest. Add a couple of compliments, and he'll have them wrapped around his finger. That is exactly what he needs to be safe, and he'll not be shy of making use of it.

And I think it would be somewhat amusing to him, to see Tav try that hard to make everyone happy because he, quite plainly, doesn't get it. He doesn't understand why someone would care that much about others because to him, his own survival and happiness is what matters the most. Everyone else be damned if necessary.

(Just a tad bit presumptuous, seeing as he himself tends to salute and follow orders at the cost of his own personal boundaries if the person he deems the leader demands it - i.e. the Araj Oblodra bite - but let's let the poor guy have his delusions.)

Once he grows closer to Tav, his former amusement will likely quickly turn to frustration. In Act 3, we learn that Astarion is extremely loyal and, apparently, rather protective.

Part of why he insists on ascending for so long is not just for him - he wants to be able to protect Tav, and he thinks his spawn self is not enough to accomplish that. (This is highlighted by the fact that romanced Astarion is much more insistent on ascending than one you're only friendly with.)

Tav is important to him. They're his person and watching them bend over backwards for everybody and their mothers prostitute before thinking of themselves is probably not going to sit well with him.

He doesn't care about other people, but he cares about them, so he wants them taken care of.

BUT Astarion is not versed in the art of caring for others, not the best at communicating - he's trying, we can see that over the course of the game, but it'a process that takes time - and he is very prone to frustration, so I wouldn't be surprised to see his worry mostly expressed through sniding remarks, sarcasm and arguments.

Once he realises WHY Tav is the way they are...well, that is a bit difficult to pinpoint down, because it has a lot to do with his own mental state at the time. How he views himself and his trauma will reflect on how he views them.

An act 1 Astarion who is still very raw, very afraid and very much in pain might be somewhat disgusted and deny the very obvious similarities between the two of them.

Tav was hurt. People had hurt them and yet they're still trying to appease everyone. They're always doing whatever anyone asks of them without hesistation, even when they clearly shouldn't. How much of a pushover can one person be? Don't they have any self respect? It's pathetic.

It sounds cruel - it is cruel - but, in th end, he's not truly talking to Tav here. He probably sees part of himself, the part that jumped when Cazador said so, the part that listened to every order just so that he wouldn't have to suffer. He sees the part of him that grovelled, the part that gave up.

The part he hates the most.

(Fun fact: My least favourite state of healing to work with, because clients can actually be really difficult during that time.)

A more stable Astarion, however, could actually reevaluate a lot of Tavs behaviour. He might see them less as a naive child and more for what they are: Someone, who's trying to live.

They don't want to get hurt again, so they try to not offend anyone. They'd rather be stressed and tired and overworked than suffering again. They're not uselessly kind, they're not stupidly selfless - they're scared.

What he does with his body, they do with acts of service. They're protecting themselves in the only way they know how.

That realisation could somewhat mellow him and, most prominently, it can give him a sense of community.

It's a bit difficult to explain, but people who have experienced abuse and are now in the process of healing might start to experience a sense of community with those who had similar fates. Not in the sense of: "Let me bare my soul and dump my trauma onto you now - so when I was 12, my dad..." but in a very specific, comfortable way.

It creates a sense of understanding, if you will.

It means that the other person understands, even when you don't say anything. You don't need to fight; to explain yourself - they understand. They might not understand all of you, but they understand enough not to let it cloud their judgement. You'll be alright and they understand.

So Astarion won't need to tell Tav every little thing, he won't need to explain every reaction, every misbehaviour, every slip up. He won't need to fight for his right to be quiet, sad, angry or sulky.

He won't need to explain because even if he doesn't, they'll know that he has his reasons, and they'll be there when he's ready to talk.

Anyway! Those two options are really just a few of all the reactions he could potentially have, because, as I said, it's so hugely dependant on where he is mentally and how he views Tav, himself, his past, etc... It's really difficult to narrow down properly.

The dynamic you have chosen is really, really bursting with potential - both for drama and healing - and I hope it's as fun and rewarding to write as I imagine! ✨️

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin

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lololollywrites · 6 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag, @discordantwords!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? I have 10 as of now (7 for Sherlock and 3 for Harry Potter, though the HP fics were either begun or completed in 2012 (first posted on ff.net)... in other words, before I knew about JK's raging transphobia. I finally finished a HP WIP in 2020 that I had abandoned years ago, after my resulting disillusionment, because I decided that my work didn't deserve to be in vain. I'm so glad I did!

2. What's your total A03 word count? 168,333

3. What fandoms do you write for? On AO3, just BBC Sherlock and HP, though I have Smallville, Supernatural, and even a Gilmore Girls fic on my ff.net account (the earliest of them written in 2006) that I will NOT be linking here. 😂

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? (Since I've only been posting Sherlock fics on AO3 since September 2021, there's not a ton of variation between these):

The Waning of Withdrawal

Of Sweat, Sociopathy, Scars, and Secrets

Never Been Better

Pressure Points

Genius is a Star Whose Light (is Soon to Sink in Endless Night); I think I may change the title soon since it's so unwieldy)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes! Mainly because I love when authors reply to mine - it acknowledges my gratitude and can open a line of communication. Plus, I just get so excited by every single comment notification that I need to squee and send hearts to the sender.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? None of my Sherlock fics have angsty endings, though that was my original goal for Never Been Better. It originally ended with Chapter 1, but I added two more chapters upon popular demand to fix things. :) It's a classic Sherlock-leaves-John's-wedding-early fic, so I'd intended to explore what may have happened within canon as sort of a missing scene/character exploration. Ultimately, however, I decided to throw a bone to poor Sherlock and disregard canon events.

However, my Harry Potter fic The Burn of the Phoenix, which I migrated to AO3 in 2020 after it's huge reception on ff.net back in 2012 (it's a 13k-word oneshot with 273 reviews and 951 favorites, though I'd definitely not write it the same way today), is definitely angsty. The end is hopeful, but ultimately... I killed Harry Potter. So. 😂 The ending, as it doesn't miraculously entail Harry coming back to life, can certainly be considered angsty as well. The entire fic is from Dudley's perspective as he learns of Harry's death (an alternate version of canon) and attends his funeral.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? As described above, all of my fics have happy endings! Though I'd say the one that's most unabashedly happy with minimal lingering pain and turmoil is Cold Inside. Genius comes close, but Sherlock is horrifically injured even despite happy news that comes in the last chapter so there's still an uphill battle ahead.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, though I did get a very direct comment on The Waning of Withdrawal - the first time I ever wrote smut - that said the following (the "At all" was particularly harsh):

"I loved the fic and the way you formed everything with the comforting,and the understanding,the guilt and stuff and angst in the main part of the fic but I'm not a huge fan of how much detail went into their love part and stuff.. Not saying it's bad! I'm sure some people absolutely love it but I'm personally not a huge fan of the sex scene. At all."

(Luckily, two other commenters jumped in to my defense!) It seems innocuous enough, but I'd included an A/N that said it was my first time writing a love scene, despite it being brief, so "please go easy on me". The rating and tags were appropriate, too, so it seemed a bit out of the blue. That one little comment knocked my confidence for a while and made it impossible for me to re-read the fic without cringing.

9. Do you write smut? Just two of my Sherlock fics so far are rated E for smut. The Waning of Withdrawal, as described above, and Cold Inside, which has a lengthy sex scene in Chapter 4. It was so much harder than I thought to write - there's nothing quite like meticulously editing writing comprised of graphic depictions of anal sex, haha.

10. Do you write crossovers? No, nor do I usually enjoy them. I really admire the creativity, but tend to prefer fics that are plausible and in-canon; it's just a preference (with exceptions, of course!) That being said, crossovers that could happen between comparable universes - such as Sherlock and Hannibal - really appeal to me in theory.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I'd be so thrilled!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, nor do I have a beta. I'm sure it could improve my work, but I feel horrifically self conscious during any editing process that involves another person. It's something I need to work on!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John and Arthur & Merlin are pretty neck-in-neck. I don't have many Merlin bookmarks, as it was my prior obsession before Sherlock, but I've been delving more into the Merlin fandom lately. Writing for it just seems harder for me - accounting for historical accuracy (though the show isn't historically accurate at all, it's just an entirely different universe) and the bounds of Merlin's magic would be tricky. Maybe one day.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? HAHAHAHAHA so... I did use to write more than one fic at once, waaaay back in the day, but have long since learned my lesson. I refuse to have true WIPs anymore - I only develop one idea at a time - and don't even publish a story until it's complete or almost complete (and fully outlined). Why? Well, there's one WIP I will NEVER finish. It's a Supernatural fic on ff.net with 6 chapters (out of a planned minimum of 10), first published in March of 2007 and last updated in February of 2008. Ooops.

It most recently received a review in 2015, which reads as follows: "WOW! ...update any time soon?...PLEASE...k"

Yeah. So. Never again for me.

16. What are your writing strengths? Based on the comments I receive, I think my strengths are characterization and dialogue. Oddly enough, these are two of my insecurities, but I think that my hyperfixation on both (knowing that I need to consciously work on them) has led to vast improvement.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I often have a difficult time coming up with the initial premise, and am not nearly as creative as many of the writers out there I admire. Ideas usually come without me trying - such as late at night or in the shower - so I jot them down whenever that happens. That's all that seems to work for me. FTH was great in that it took a bit of the burden off and allowed me to elicit prompts from bidders instead.

I also struggle to weave incredibly complex stories. I don't think I'll ever be one of those writers who can write 100k-plus fics full of twists and turns. My plots tend to be more narrow, focused, and immediate.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? As cool as this is - and I may be able to do this with Spanish, as it was my university minor - I wouldn't want dialogue to read as clunky or unnatural to a native speaker or to impede the flow of the prose (I'd want to add translations when possible in parentheses so as not to discourage readers who are not bilingual, unless the dialogue is short and can be translated in an end note).

In Genius, I have excerpts here and there in Serbian, but I ultimately use English to express longer Serbian dialogue (between <brackets> rather than "quotation marks" to indicate the difference in language being spoken and with the acknowledgement that translations are never 1-1. For me, this also helped preserve Sherlock's personality and ensure it could shine through.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Smallville! Way back in 2006. It was terrible; I killed Clark in an alternate version of S5's Hidden. I'm not sure what used to be the appeal of character death to me. You'd never catch me writing it now.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? It's hard to choose, but I have two answers for different reasons. The fic I'm most proud of writing is Genius. I worked SO, SO hard on the story outline, plot, and the symbolism and clues thrown in throughout. It's my longest and most complex story so far at 51K words, too.

The story I believe to be my best is Never Been Better; specifically, its first chapter. I don't think I've since written a more in-character version of Sherlock or a starker portrayal of his emotions.

I also have a huge soft spot for my Harry Potter fic The Truth at Last, which is the first fic I ever posted to AO3. It marks a huge improvement in my writing from when I first started it in 2012, as I was able to return to it in 2019/20 with a more mature perspective.

I'll tag anyone who hasn't yet been tagged and would like to join! (Sorry for the lack of creativity there - I'm always afraid I'll forget someone).

#20 questions for fic writers #my fics #AO3

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