#a very long overdue attempt at a fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyewka · 6 months

Note

idk if this is allowed but,

threesome with yeonjun and beomgyu

⭑ fetish! | c.yj & c.bg ࿐

⭑ synopsis; when a late night conversation with soju and beer transforms into the calling out of choi beomgyus historical pattern of hook up bluffs the attention eventually shifts to you and your sex endeavors.

⭑ warnings; inexperienced!reader, sort of soft dom!yj & switch!gyu, cunninglingus, gagging, throat fuck, cum eating, unsafe sex, creampie, basically all of them are drunk to some degree, iffy word choice with consent but its all definitely consensual, doll/baby petname, childhood best friends/college au

⭑ note; i don’t know how to feel about this at all and i feel like i might wake up one day and just randomly despise it with my entire being but here is a threesome fic long overdue on this blog, take it with what you will because this might just be the last time i ever attempt to challenge my skills 😭

⭑ send in a small prompt with the format of (member) + (nsfw prompt) and ill write you a small drabble!

“So what if we didn’t go all the way, I still got to eat her out. Which she loved F.Y.I.”

Yeonjun snorts, downing his drink. “Dude you’re such a loser.”

“Just say you don’t get bitches like I do.”

You don’t mean to, but that’s what breaks your nonchalance, cracking up like that was the funniest thing you’ve heard.

Like clockwork, both of their heads turn to you expectantly, as if remembering that you’re here with them and you know you just messed up. Maybe if you keep looking at your phone they’d know to leave you alone.

This has been a thing since highschool; their dumb Who Gets More Action wars that served almost no purpose but to stroke their young male egos. More times than you could count, you’re for some reason sucked in as the end all be all judge even if there were others present they could go and bother with details of their sex life.

You’re not letting that happen tonight. You will not become Simon Cowell of who fucks more.

“Hey,” Beomgyu starts nudging you with his feet, annoyingly persistent. “Hey hey, get off your phone, what are you laughing at?”

Yeonjun easily swipes your phone from your hands making you throw your head back groaning. God, to hell with him. “Give it back!” you whine. He shrugs, stuffing your phone in his pockets. Asshole.

You glare at him with murder on your mind, but all that gets you is a condescending pout thrown your way.

“Ughhh I’m going to throw up, stop with the flirting.”

You throw your plastic cup at Beomgyu’s face, and he flinches back in the most dramatic sense ever. “Bitch.” you mutter.

Yeonjun ignores Beomgyu’s comment altogether. “Everyone knows I get more bitches than you Beomgyu. That’s why she laughed. Plus, you make up shit all the time.”

“I do not.”

“You do. You lied about Yoo Jimin.” You recall, giving up on getting your phone back.

Yeonjun makes a sound of remembrance, clasping his hands together. “That was actually so funny. Yoo Jimin. You’ve lost your mind.”

Beomgyu shoots you a betrayed look, “No way you believe his propaganda! We literally had sex! Halloween 2021!”

You give him a skeptical look, brows raised. Beomgyu could fool anyone, but he can’t fool Yeonjun, let alone you. Beomgyu and Jimin? Didn’t make sense. Not on Earth at least.

“That’s one person anyway who cares.” he mutters.

“Ryujin.” You name. “She’s lesbian Gyu. Even when she was questioning she would’ve rather killed herself than let a man touch her.”

Yeonjun barks into laughter, leaning into you. “Ryujin of all people is fucking mental man.”

“Two people, still very little.” he counters.

Was that a challenge? If he wanted to play this game, you would be an expert.

“Jihyo, Miyeon—”

“I fucked Miyeon.”

“Yeah but you said she let you fuck her in the ass, which! She revealed never happened.”

He gasps in horror, face dropped, like that had to be the most offensive thing hes heard.

“I literally have proof it happened, holy shit Miyeon’s a pathological liar.” Beomgyu fumbles his phone, eyes laser focused as his thumb swipes in rapid speed. You snicker, he’s such an idiot. You know he’ll turn up empty but hes on a mission so you let him be.

“Can you pass me the beer?” you mutter lazily, feeling the alcohol hit you now, making a grabbing motion to the can far from your reach.

“Sure you want more?” Yeonjun whispers, with a similarly lazy slur to his words.

You were all clearly buzzed out, sprawled on the floor of your living room, your table pushed to the side with multiple beer cans crushed in a mess. It’s your version of heaven— a little sad maybe, but it was the perfect mix of mundane and fun to you.

“Just beer.” You reply.

He nods, grabbing it for you and instinctively twisting the cap open. Hes’ always been like that, an acts of service sort of guy. The small flex of his veins when he does it is something you silently take note of. You’re so far gone with your small crush on him.

You clear your throat, snapping yourself out of it. “Thanks. Are you gonna give me back my phone or?”

He pretends to think it over, before clicking his tongue. “Nah, later.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip from your can.

“We don’t get to hangout like this often, missed it y’know? So you can hold off your phone addiction for a bit and stop acting bratty.” he teases.

“Aye aye captain.”

He tuts at you, nudging your shoulder. “I literally cringe internally every time you say that.”

You hum, looking over at Beomgyu. Who is incredibly tense, almost frozen. “Why’d you stop scrolling?”

Maybe Yeonjun saw what you saw, Beomgyu’s face incredibly red, and eyes so weirdly fixed on his phone because he immediately scoots to him, nosy to take a look at his phone screen.

You study Yeonjun’s face. His brows slowly rise. And the only thing he says is “Damn.”

“What?” you ask, curiosity peaked. Nobody answers though, seemingly hypnotised by whatevers on Beomgyus screen.

Yeah, thats enough for your lazy ass to get up and see what they’re looking at.

…To say it’s not what you expect at all is an understatement.

The video playing has no audio, but the visual splayed out in Beomgyu’s hand is all it takes for your thighs to rub instinctively. The phone was obviously placed by the bedside, the view a little tilted, the girl with her face pressed onto the sheets as Beomgyu fucks into her mercilessly unrecognisable, the bed quite literally shaking to match his rhythm. Your face grows hot, and your throat dries, the video looks old because his hair is longer, messier, something that looked like it was from freshman year.

You’re surprised, it’s more than real. He really was going at it.

“I’m fucking her ass here.”

Holy shit. That must’ve hurt like a bitch.

“How would we know it’s Miyeon though?” Yeonjun says, eyes set on the screen.

Beomgyu forwards the video towards the end and lets it play—its the part where he picks up the phone and holds the girls head up by her hair, turning her over, capturing her face fucked out, a mix of spit and cum evidently all over, but more than that, its Miyeon’s face covered in filth.

You bite down on your lips, nervously looking at Beomgyu—who catches your stare. “What?”

You shake your head, dismissing him.

Truth is, this might’ve been the most you’ve seen from Beomgyu in this light. The light that you’ve heard plenty of, but obviously never thought you’d actually…see. Hes always been slutty, especially with him being infamous for his gross PDA on campus, but seeing it—seeing him actually fucking the light out of someone…you gulp down the lump stuck in your throat.

“You’re a freak dude.” Yeonjun says, laughing.

“But not a liar.”

“Nah you’ve yet to prove Jimins, wheres the tape?”

“You just wanna see her getting railed, touch luck bitch.” Beomgyu closes his phone making you realise you were still staring. “Hey, you good? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Beomgyu shifts his attention to you, making you nervous, shrugging his concern off.

Yeonjun speaks for you instead, a smirk plastered on his face. “She’s a virgin, basically saw something worse than a ghost.”

God, this again!

“I’m not a virgin holy shit Yeonjun!”

“I’m not a virgin holy shit Yeonjun.” He mimics annoyingly high pitched and you groan.

“I’m not. I’ve had multiple boyfriends before.”

“Three.” Beomgyu says, “You’ve had three boyfriends.”

“All very long and fruitful relationships, mind you.”

Yeonjun leans back on the couch, stretching his arms behind his back and you know this is a sign that he’s going to be a little bitch about this. “How far have you went?”

“All the way.” you glare back challengily, sipping on your beer.

“Had someone nut in your ass?”

You snap your head to Beomgyu in horror, upper lip quirked. Of course he’d be curious about that. “Damn I’m taking that as a no.”

You force a smile and flip him off rightfully. The little bitch sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation and you have half the mind to not smack him.

“Have you done it without a condom?”

You narrow your eyes at that. Yeonjun’s awfully curious, way too curious for someone whos never been curious. Seriuously, he’d be the last person to care for your sex life. Maybe Beomgyu—totally Beomgyu, but not Yeonjun.

“Is this an interrogation?”

Yeonjun shrugs.

“I—okay, I haven’t. I bet you guys haven’t either.” You immediately regret saying that, it’s obvious they’ve done something so trivial. And its even made more obvious when both of them start laughing maniacally.

Your face runs red, resorting to chugging more beer.

Beomgyu rests his head on your lap suddenly and you quirk your brow down at him. “What? Your thighs are comfortable.”

You narrow your eyes at him, skeptical of what exactly he’s trying to pull until Yeonjun’s asking you questions again after calming down from his laughing fit.

“Gotten fingered?”

“Well no shit.”

Beomgyus attention is piqued, “You have?”

“How else am I supposed to…you know..get prepped?” you say, coughing around the word.

Beomgyu snorts, “You just did the most virgin thing ever oh my god.”

“That’s why I don’t believe a single thing coming out of her mouth.”

“I’m not a virgin.” you say for the umpteenth time. When they both exchange silent looks, you clear your throat. “But, I might be a little…inexperienced. That’s it though, I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex…like twice.”

Beomgyu shoots up, making you jump in shock. “Twice?!” he shouts. He looks at you like you might’ve just led the saddest life of the entirety of human history.“And three boyfriends? The math isn’t…”

“Well one of them believed pre-marital sex would have us damned so—”

“Oh yeahh, your Christian boy Mark.” Yeonjun marvels. “That guy was a total bitch.”

Yeah, Mark. The guy you thought you’d end up marrying someday, until he decided to cheat with an anal whore as you call it. Cheating on you in broad daylight, in the apartment you shared wasn’t enough, he tried to mansplain the difference between anal virginity and vaginal virginity right after he was caught.

You shudder remembering the scene.

“A little unrelated but I always sort of thought you guys fucked.” Beomgyu starts, breaking the silence. “Like at least once.”

You sigh, he’s never letting this sexual tension bullshit thing go. If anything, Yeonjun probably saw you in the least sexual light possible. Unfortunately. “No. No we haven’t Beomgyu, we keep telling you this.”

“You” He points a finger at you, “Keep telling me this. Not him. That’s suspicious.”

Yeonjun doesn’t say anything even as both you and Beomgyu stare at him— he just mixes his soju and beer together for another shot.

You relent, speaking up. “Yeonjun tell him we haven’t fucked so he can stop insinuating that we’re freaks behind closed doors 24/7.”

Beomgyu snickers at that, still toying with the fabric of your shorts. You think it’s just out of habit.

“Yeah, we haven’t.” Yeonjun finally confirms.

You widen your eyes at Beomgyu to taunt him, getting all up on his face, nonverbally celebrating an I told you so. He just rolls his eyes at you, a dumb smile on his face.

“But I want to.”

…What.

That has both you and Beomgyu frozen, his smile slowly dropping before he turns to face Yeonjun.

Your mind works overtime trying to process whether you heard that right, did it have any hints of a joke, why couldn’t you pick up on it then? Or whether all your life you’ve read it all wrong—is it the drinks speaking or? But drunk words are sober thoughts…right? Is he just-

“Huh?” Beomgyu’s the one to ask for a clarification first.

He only shrugs, proving that none of you heard him wrong. “I wanna fuck her. I mean, you’re hot I’m not being unreasonable.”

You don’t know how to respond without sounding like an even more awkward virgin, so you stay silent, trying to make sense of it in your own head. But when you catch Beomgyu slowly nodding from your peripheral vision like what Yeonjun’s saying makes sense, you painfully nudge him.

He whines, defending himself almost immediately. “What? He’s not wrong, you’re mega hot now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut irritated, “Don’t—god, don’t ever say ‘mega hot’ again.”

Beomgyu mumbles something intelligible, something that sounded like one of his sulky protests that you just ignore as the room falls silent again. Yeonjun seems completely unbothered of the atmosphere, drinking his somaek like this was just another normal day, like he didn’t just air out something that could potentially completely flip your entire dynamic.

The tension is thick, and it suddenly feels way too hot to be here anymore but then Beomgyu speaks up again. “Do you know how to suck a dick?”

You snort, not answering as you keep your eyes on the floor.

But it’s impossible to ignore him when he keeps staring at you, almost too intensely for a question you thought was to break the tension. You look to his face, and there’s no sign of lightheartedness anywhere. He was seriously asking. “So? Do you?”

You decide to humor him, anything to get over this suffocating silence. “Sort of.”

Yeonjun chuckles, “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”

You roll your eyes, frankly irritated that he’s even speaking right now. “Sort of means I can, but I don’t know if I’m …good at it.”

He hums in understanding, nodding. “Wanna test your skills out right now?”

Your eyes bulge out, blinking rapidly as you look at Yeonjun in shock. Did he seriously just…say that? Your face grows even hotter as you stutter around a response.

But before you could even form a proper response, Beomgyu says something first, whining into his hands. “I literally cannot be the only one really fucking turned on right now.”

At his words, your eyes instinctively look down to his pants and god, he wasn’t kidding. You don’t know how you haven’t noticed until now, but the imprint of his dick building a tent in his sweatpants has you looking away like you’ve just seen the most sinful thing ever. You don’t miss the small patch of wetness at the top either. You rub your thighs together again, this time you curse your body for reacting because most of their attention was collectively on you now.

Meaning, they would inevitably notice small details.

And that they did. Yeonjun laughs, but it has laces of mean-spiritedness that has your brain frying at a faster speed. “You aren’t the only one. Our little dolls’ horny as shit too, aren’t you? Look at you rubbing your thighs for just the little bits of friction.” Yeonjun says the last part with a pout, so condescendingly, his eyes heavy lidded with what you’re sure is lust.

That gets Beomgyu’s attention, who was lost in his own dilemma, who’s close enough to touch you, to do something, and that has you more nervous than the time you had to present an unfinished slideshow to the harshest professor in your major.

Your throat is dry again, and you can’t seem to get out a word no matter how hard you try. Beomgyu licks his lips momentarily, staring at you, waiting for something, maybe a cue? You don’t know, but they’re both definitely waiting.

Beomgyu’s impatient, and shameless, if that wasn’t already obvious enough. With a rasp to his voice, he whispers, “God, I really wanna touch you right now.”

And you whisper back, like this was secret gossip you’d exchange between yourselves at recess about who was mean to who, who liked who, except this time you’re all grown up, and he’s asking to…touch you. You look behind Beomgyu, Yeonjun very much invested in what’s happening makes you on the fence. “But it’ll—it’ll get…weird. Like, between us.”

Beomgyu’s quick to counter. “No, no it won’t, I promise. Everything’s going to be the exact same. Just baby, please. Let me take care of you.”

The use of a petname again has you biting down on your lips. You search his eyes, and he looks so…desperate, the sudden switch baffling to you, so different from how you usually see him. Is this how he gets with the girls he fucks? It’s so hot, you’ve never been met with this much enthusiasm.

Your feelings heighten even more when he whispers again at your silence, “Please, I’m dying here.”

You let out a breath you were holding in, nodding, “Okay, it’s—it’s okay. You can. Touch me I mean.”

This is the absolute last thing in the world you’d ever expected, like ever. Beomgyu touching you, ministrating your breasts roughly with his big hands through your top, kneeling between your legs, kissing all over from your jaw to your neck like he hasn’t gotten action in decades. It’s like everywhere, your skin scorches, every inch—and he’s so fiery, so harsh with his squeezes and bites that you’re so unprepared for, so unprepared in fact that your eyes already brim with tears, head becoming light with too much stimulation in too little time as you feel him play with your shorts in attempt to take them off.

Suddenly, Beomgyu’s shoved off you completely, having him fall on his ass with a thud. Your eyes fly open in worry, only to be met with Yeonjun way closer to you than earlier. “Dude, calm down you’re going too fast.”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes irritably, “You know you could’ve told me that without fucking throwing me off her, right?”

“Like your ass would listen.” Yeonjun mutters, refocusing his attention to you, “Come on, get up on the couch doll, I’ll show you how its done.”

You’re hesitant. You’re okay with messing around with Beomgyu—you are because he’s the best friend that you have zero romantic feelings for, but Yeonjun? You already have this…tiny crush on him that has been fostering since the dawn of times, a light lit then dimmed for years throughout the time you’ve known him…would this not set it on a full blown out fire? Are you ready to risk getting your rocks off to find out?

Yeonjun calls your name again, snapping you out of your reverie. “If you don’t want to I’m not gonna…”

“No no, um—sorry I was just, like, thinking. Sure.” you choke out, cheeks red.

Fuck it.

You situate yourself on the couch like he instructed, looking at Beomgyu for a second in semi-panic, but that horndogs too far gone to properly communicate with you through telepathy so you’re left a puddle, a little jittery as you nervously pick at the thread of the old couch, preparing yourself for whats to come.

Yeonjun smiles, slotting himself between your legs. “I’m gonna take it slow, ‘kay? Tell me if it becomes too much and I’ll stop.”

You nod, taking a deep breath then out to calm your nerves. You don’t have to help him out with pulling your shorts down, it’s like he’s so experienced that he knows how to get around it without you doing much. Which doesn’t help to make you relax…at all. He’s experienced, and you’re not. That’s a cause of a million worries running through your mind at the moment.

The air that had felt so hot earlier, feels cool now, and you shudder a little. “You’re drenched doll, that’s cute.”

Beomgyu finally sits himself next to you, hand on his crotch, slowly rubbing it out as he stares at what Yeonjun sees, craning his neck to get a good look. And you feel…so exposed, it makes your ears red with a mix of shame and arousal as you squeeze your eyes shut.

You jolt a little when you feel his tongue poking at your entrance through your panties—he’s slow as he licks up your slit, soaking your underwear more and more.

“Any of your boyfriends ever eat you out?” Beomgyu asks, hand squeezing his cock through his sweats, before having the genius idea of replacing his with yours—his warm hands resting on yours, guiding you to press down harder on his boner. As if he’s showing you—making you feel how big he is.

You shake your head to his question, and he airs out a chuckle. God, you really want to slap yourself for finding that so attractive. “Of course. Might as well be a real virgin.”

You want to retort back, you really do, because god forbid Beomgyu have the last word, but it's impossible when Yeonjun hooks his finger to push your underwear to the side because you're a goner, a goner the minute you feel his warm breath on your skin, and even worse when you feel his tongue lapping at your core, the direct contact making you gasp out a moan, jolting you awake, clearing your drunk daze.

"Yeonjun, Yeonjun shit-" you don't mean to tighten your grip on Beomgyu, but you do in response to Yeonjuns stimulation which has him hiss, bucking into your touch.

"Do that again. Harder. Touch me baby, yeah, just like that." He babbles, holding onto your wrist, groaning when you oblige, wrapping your hand on his clothed shaft and squeezing the base.

Yeonjun looks at you through lidded eyes, his hands firmly keeping your legs apart, nose brushing against your clit every so often to tease before he finally decides to flatten his tongue against it, finger prodding at your entrance at the same time, making you inexpectantly arch your back, moaning. "F-fuck Jjun!"

You could feel the smirk, the cockiness radiating off him— it oozes even, it's so evident he likes this dynamic, you so reactionary to each little thing he does.

Beomgyu helps you palm his dick before he finally relents, too horny out of his mind, shoving your hand down his pants, making you feel his hot dick, so sticky and wet, it's lewd. "'Move your hand baby, c'monnn. Good girl." He groans, trying to guide you to a speed he finds fitting.

You start getting the hang of it, your hand jerking off his dick without help even as you're practically dumbed out with Yeonjun's tongue working at your sex, trying to purposefully make you lose your mind.

“Pussy so good doll, so good.” his words muffle against your core and it sends a vibration that has your pace falter.

Suddenly, Yeonjun detaches, making you feel terribly empty, and horrible because you were sure you were close. Before you could complain, your eyes widen at him unbuttoning his jeans, dropping them to the floor to have his cock flinging out of his boxers. He gives it a couple strokes, breathing heavy as he stares at your pussy. Wet with his spit, messy. He groans, biting his lips raw and you’ve just never felt so much as a prey until now. “Gonna fill you up soon, don’t worry doll.”

“Pay attention to me too,” Beomgyu whines, kissing your neck again, the space under your earlobe, his teeth grazing against your skin, just begging to have your attention. “Unfair if it’s only him.” he breathes, kissing and kissing and kissing, until he decides to move up to your lips, taking you up a wind as you jerk his dick off faster.

His whines and mewls melt into the sloppiness of the kiss and god is it the hottest thing ever, shit.

Yeonjun basically breaks the kiss by pushing Beomgyu off of you again, and if you had half the mind to think, you would’ve caught the irritation radiating off Beomgyu at Yeonjuns constant cock blocking.

You can’t think now, not when Yeonjun’s lining his dick up with your hole, feeling his hot tip prodding and your pussy fluttering around nothing to suck him in. “Ready? Relax yourself so it’ll feel good, ‘kay?”

You nod, humming.

“Words princess.”

“I’m—I’m ready Jjunie.”

He gives you a crooked grin, fingertips digging into the plush of your hips.

You try, you really do, you try giving them both an experience but the more Yeonjun pushes himself in you, the slower your hand becomes until you finally let go, breathing heavy at the inexplicable feeling of just…fullness. When he’s flush and snug against your core, completely inside you, he relishes, he stays there, eyes fluttering closed with his face so, so close to yours.

And he whispers to you, words Beomgyu can’t possible hear even if he wishes to, and even words you could’ve missed if you weren’t so in tune with every single sense that you’re feeling right now.

“Wish he wasn’t here when I could finally have you.”

You’re driven over the edge, not even given the time to process, before he’s drilling his dick into you—in then back, slowly before he’s building up to snapping his hips, having you gasp in shock at each thrust. You let the stray tear run down, hell, at this point you’re giving all autonomy of your body to the two boys right now, you’re not in control of anything anymore.

“Tight, so tight and warm,” he groans, getting faster, “Shoulda prepped you more, huh? Fuckin’ tighter than a virgin, can barely move.” He laughs breathy.

You just nod, nod at whatever filthy shit he says, tightening your grip on the couch, squeezing your eyes shut at how the pain just bleeds into the pleasure. You’ve never had it like this with your past boyfriends, it never felt like this.

Suddenly, you feel something hot poking at your cheek which spurs you to open your eyes. Your eyes damn near almost bulge out at Beomgyu’s size, cock insistently trying to move past your lips.

“Want your mouth, please, fuck.”

Can you even take that in your mouth?

He doesn’t wait for your contemplation, that’s not Beomgyu’s thing. He does it anyway, managing to slide his dick in your mouth, not even letting you get used to it like Yeonjun had even when he’s a lot bigger, pushing all the way in. He throws his head back, groaning curses as you gag around his length, breathing restricted.

“God you’re so hot like this, princess. Taking my cock so well,” he growls, moving his hips to fuck your mouth. Your eyes water, burning as the taste of him overpowers your senses— all of that paired with Yeonjun’s rhythm getting rougher and more frantic has you lose yourself in ecstasy you don’t think you can handle.

You think you might just faint.

“Have you always been like this? So good at sucking cock, slutty throat just waiting to be stuffed with dick?” Beomgyu rambles filth, losing himself faster than Yeonjun, looking down at you with so much hunger. You return his gaze, blinking up at him innocently, as if to disagree. You’re not slutty, you aren’t.

But that seems to spur him on a completely different direction, like something snapped inside him, cursing loudly as he ruthlessly starts fucking into your mouth. Your mind clouds, dizziness setting in as you feel Yeonjun attach his lips to your nipple through your flimsy top, sucking harshly, making a mess of your shirt with his spit.

You garble around Beomgyu’s dick, trying to say something but it only comes out intelligible and like complete nonsense, it’s humiliating.

“God, you’re sucking me in so greedily, want me to fill you up with my cum so bad, huh?”

Yeonjun slaps your ass and you jolt again, snot and mascara running down your face. He starts kneeding your cheeks, snapping into you rougher, and somehow deeper, you fucking lose it. “You want it so bad, right? Say something baby, or I won’t give it to you.”

You nod, mouth still stuffed with Beomgyu’s cock, who he isn’t intent on stopping any time soon.

It’s enough for Yeonjun you guess because before you know it, you feel hot substance shoot up, filling you to the brim with his cum, still pumping it in even as your orgasm washes over you. You’re beyond overstimulated, especially when Beomgyu cums around the same time, his hot load forcing its way down your throat.

He holds your head against his abdomen, groaning the more he defills you. “Fuck if you do that I might just fall for you,” he growls, voice down octaves, fixating his eyes on how your throat gulps down his cum like it’s water at the Sahara. The taste is so strong, you start coughing up some of it out when his dick flops out of your mouth sticky, finally regaining your breath, gasping for air in large amounts, your cunt spilling Yeonjun’s seed onto the couch slowly, dribbling down to the floor to make a mess.

Beomgyu suddenly pushes Yeonjun out of the way to slot himself between your legs, kissing at your pussy.

“Beomgyu, don’t, can’t—stop, too much-” you try reasoning but he doesn’t listen, that brat. He just starts going at it, lapping at the cum spilling, his lips glistening with the wetness, alternating between kissing and licking your cunt. “‘Course you can baby, you can take it.”

You bite down hard on your lips, lightheaded as you look down at the man ravaging your pussy and cleaning you up at the same time.

To hell with that ‘nothing’s going to change’ bullshit promise, something definitely changed tonight and you can’t put your finger around what.

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #yeonjun smut #yeonjun hard hours #beomgyu hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt x reader #beomgyu hard thoughts #yeonjun hard thoughts #✶ ━━ rana ; answered

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nyrandrea · 7 months

Note

You have very good writing and I think you really do comfort fics well! So I was wondering if you could write a fic with Astarion where the Tav he is trying to seduce has like major self esteem issues. Like they kind laugh at his attempts to compliment them. But at first it seems like a joke until he realizes that Tav isn't joking about it and he tries to help them see they are beautiful. (this is one of my fav prompts to give people ngl)

Thank you so much! This is a lovely prompt and I hope I did it some justice! :)

Word Count - 2k

Enjoy!

xxx

As the storm clouds gathered ominously on the horizon, you and your party found yourselves on a desolate, rain-soaked road in the middle of nowhere. The relentless downpour had turned the earth into a sea of mud, and the wind howled like a vengeful spirit.

Your clothes were soaked through, and faces were etched with exhaustion and desperation. With each step, your boots sank into the muck, making the journey even more arduous. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a menacing reminder that you had to find shelter soon.

“Ugh, there’s probably some saying about rainbows after the storm and whatnot,” Astarion said, holding a rucksack over his head in a failing attempt to save his hair. “But I’d much rather not be out in the middle of one.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad, just think of it as a long overdue shower,” Gale said. “And the saying is ‘Don’t fear the storm, for the rainbow is never far behind!’”

“Oh yes, that’s the one,” the vampire drawled. “I’ll rest so much better now that you have enlightened me.”

Amid the pelting rain, you spotted a faint glimmer of light in the distance. With newfound hope, you quickened your pace and beckoned the others to follow. As you trudged closer, the light revealed itself to be a cozy inn, nestled among ancient trees that shielded it from the worst of the storm.

“Thank the Gods,” Karlach breathed. “If I got any more drenched, my engine would have snuffed out.”

“Wouldn’t that solve your problem, then?” Lae’zel snidely chimed in, only to hiss when you elbowed her.

The inn's windows emitted a warm, inviting glow, and the scent of wood smoke and hearty meals wafted through the air. Your tired body yearned for a meal and a warm bed, mindflayer tadpoles be damned.

“Have we got enough gold to stay here? I mean, for everyone to have a room?” Shadowheart asked.

“We should do,” you said, pulling out the team’s shared coin pouch. “I sold that egg we uh... found.”

“You mean the one we stole after we killed its mother?” Wyll asked, clear disdain lacing his voice.

“It’s not technically stealing if the target is dead,” Astarion cheerfully chimed in. “Besides, we rescued the other one, didn’t we? One good turn deserves another.”

Wyll grimaced. “Your idea of virtue is a damn twisted one.”

“Aw, you love me really,” the vampire teased back.

“Here we are!” you announced as you reached the inn's doorstep, you were greeted by the innkeeper, whose eyes twinkled with the knowledge that you had nowhere else to go for the night. After taking payment, he ushers you inside, where a crackling fireplace cast a comforting light over the room, he takes your belongings up to your rooms with the help of Wyll and a begrudging Astarion.

Finding a long wooden table in the corner of the room, the group sat together, their spirits lifted by the fact that they were safe from the fury of the storm outside, at least for one night. The innkeeper, his apron stained with years of hospitality, served you a hearty meal of roasted meats, fresh bread, and stew.

You listened to the rain's rhythmic drumming on the inn's thatched roof, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for having found refuge in this little hidden haven. With a deep, contended sigh, you tucked into your meal, savouring every bite.

At least, you were trying to.

“You better eat up,” Astarion teased, lacing his fingers together as he rested his chin upon them to watch you. “Because I plan on doing just that very soon.”

“Crap,” you mumbled between mouthfuls. “Are you hungry? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Oh, am I hungry,” he smirked. “Just not for blood.”

You almost choked, but you masked it well with a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t... flirting with you, was he? You had always been bad at picking up signals, not that you received them often.

‘Nah,’ you thought. He couldn’t be, not when there were so many other better-looking people, at this table alone, that he could choose from.

“Well, I know you’re not craving my charming banter.”

“Oh no, something far better.”

Now you really were at a loss.

“Do you... need to borrow my hair comb again?”

“I mean sex, darling.”

This time you couldn’t hide the choke, but you were more afraid of dying from embarrassment than anything else.

“What?”

The deafening silence that had befallen the table was broken by a low whistle from Karlach.

“The direct approach, I can respect that, mate.”

“Direct? I’ve been trying to drop hints for weeks now but perhaps a little more serenading is needed,” he looked you up and down with a knowing smile; he had hooked you, now it was time to reel you in.

“Darling,” Astarion began softly, his voice a gentle caress, “when I look into your eyes, I see galaxies of beauty and depth that defy description. It’s as if the universe itself painted them with the colours of a thousand sunsets.”

A faint blush tinged your cheeks as you lowered your eyes, unsure of where to look. Astarion reached out and gently lifted your chin, so your eyes met once more.

“And your smile,” he continued, “it’s like a radiant sunbeam on even the cloudiest day. It has the power to brighten my world in an instant.”

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Karlach said, fanning herself. “You’re even making me blush!”

“Careful, we wouldn’t want you burning any hotter now,” Gale smiled, though it was strained. He looked almost as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Your kindness,” Astarion went on, “it knows no bounds. You have a heart that’s more expansive than the ocean, and it’s a privilege to be the one you’ve chosen to share it with.”

“Bah!” Lae’zel practically spat. “These nonsensical attempts at beguiling are a waste of time, why waste your energy talking when you can claim and dominate each other instead?”

You were hard-pressed to agree with Lae’zel on this one. Well, except maybe for that last part.

“Alright, you can stop now,” you said.

“Not until you’re convinced,” Astarion replied, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “How about this? You are a masterpiece in a world of art,” The vampire flamboyantly declared, his gaze unwavering. “Your uniqueness, your quirks, your imperfections – they all make you the incredible person I fell in love with. You’re not just enough; you’re more than I ever dreamed of.”

You roll your eyes. “Gods, you know you don’t have to keep practising the fancy fake flattery on me, right? I know it’s all like a big joke to you but enough is enough, eh?”

Astarion finally pulls back and frowns at you, not in that puppy-pout way when he didn’t get what he wanted, but in a way that he looked genuinely offended.

“You think I’m joking?”

“I... uh,” you stutter, suddenly flustered.

“My compliments aren’t fake, darling. Decorative, perhaps, but you do know I mean every word, don’t you?”

“Pfft,” you try to wave him off nonchalantly, but your quivering voice betrays you. “No, you don’t. It’s... it’s all just a bit of fun, r-right?”

“Perhaps I should be a bit blunter then,” Astarion said, leaning forward ever so slightly, his expression serious and scarlet eyes piercing into you. “You’re... beautiful.”

You swear you could feel something just break inside you in that moment.

A tentative smile, like a fragile flower pushing through the cracks of self-doubt, graced your lips, but it wilted in the harsh light of scrutiny. A tight knot formed within your throat as everyone stared at you in anticipation. What were you supposed to say? Thank you? That you were grateful for the shower of compliments from Astarion, this... gorgeous man, because you sure as hell didn’t deserve them?

“I’m a little tired,” you suddenly say, your chair scraping the floor with a shrill screech as you quickly stand up. “Excuse me.”

Leaving their concerned calls behind you, you made your way up the stairs of the tavern and into the hallway leading to the rooms. The innkeeper had allocated them, but he’d neglected to say which one was which, so you merely picked the first door you could get your hands on.

It wasn’t until you slammed the door shut and leaned your back against it that you realised that you picked the wrong bloody one.

The room was large and luxurious, the centrepiece was an ornate, four-poster bed adorned with rich, crimson drapes that seemed to dance with the flickering candlelight and crisp, white linens, neatly turned down. An old, familiar skull-faced tome laid face up, its amethyst eyes staring ominously at the ceiling.

It seemed that someone got first dibs on the rooms, and it didn’t take a genius to work out who.

‘Shit,’ you curse to yourself, scrambling for the doorknob. ‘Maybe I can get out before he-’

As soon as you open the door, Astarion is already right there, his hand raised into a fist.

“Knock-knock?” he says, giving you a tentative smile.

“S-sorry, must have gotten a little mixed-up.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” his tone is too soft for your liking, as if he feared offending you in any way.

“Right, well,” you strain a smile and edge around him to get to the hallway. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” he catches you by the arm. “Come back in, won’t you?”

You squint at him suspiciously.

“To talk, darling. Nothing else, not if you don’t want to.”

Gods know that you wanted to, you were just... surprised that he did.

As you re-enter the room, you notice a small, antique writing desk nestled by a leaded glass window. A vase of freshly picked wildflowers graced the wooden surface, infusing the room with their sweet fragrance.

Astarion caught your stare. “Ah, unfortunately I have run out of perfume to mask my er... musk. So, I had to improvise.”

“It’s nice,” you remark, the tight knot in your throat making it hard to speak.

“Well, I should hope so. They are your favourite after all, are they not?”

A surge of guilt jabbed through your chest, you had occasionally stopped on the road to admire the flowers; their colours, their scent was intoxicating to you. Had he been observing you even back then?

You didn’t know what to say, words were always tempered by hesitation, their resonance dulled by the fear of judgment. Each sentence was punctuated by apologies, as if you believed your very existence owed the world an explanation. Confidence always remained just beyond your reach, an oasis in the desert of your own mind.

Astarion sat on the bed and patted the empty spot next to him; you silently took the invitation.

“I would like to... apologise for earlier. Making you uncomfortable was never my intent, I...” he paused, his eyes flickering over you. “I just wasn’t sure how much clearer I could make it to you.”

“That you... like me?”

“Like you?” Astarion took your hands and squeezed them. “I adore you. Everything about you, all that you do is... nothing short of breathtaking.”

Tears welled in your eyes and spilled over your cheeks like the gentlest rain, your trembling shoulders burdened by the weight of your emotions

“I’m sorry if you don’t hear this enough but... I wish to change that. You really are, truly, beautiful.”

The tears flowed freely then, your sobs echoing in the stillness of the night. Astarion gathered you in his arms, a silent pillar of support. His hand, cool and reassuring, gently cradled your trembling one, his thumb grazing back and forth over your knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his words a gentle caress. “Let it out, darling.”

Astarion’s presence felt like a sanctuary, a safe haven in the storm of emotions. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or rushed advice. Instead, he listened, letting you pour your bottled emotions out, allowing it to find solace in his quiet understanding.

With each tear that fell, Astarion’s touch remained steady, unwavering.

As the night wore on, you found yourself nestled into his side as you lay together on top of the covers, your head tucked into his shoulder while he stared up at the ceiling. He turns his head briefly to kiss your forehead, and in that sacred space, amid the tears and whispered sorrows, you found solace, strength, and perhaps the willingness to accept that, in your own way, you are beautiful.

xxx

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

Request - Astarion tries to rescue you from kidnappers

#astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #fanfiction #request

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave

summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She's smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn't. (or, alternatively: "No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now.")

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +

warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he's clearly in love with.

author's note: I'm working on 3 fics at the moment, and it's taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er) for starters. I'm a bit more comfortable with sharing this one because I feel like it's actually more of my style (wow, that sounds kinda pretentious). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn't add anything to the story). also, I don't think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don't care ;)

Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He's been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn't very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.

Aemond's never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He's used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he's some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that's approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won't be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He's never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.

The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He's been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.

His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it's a topic he never brings up, it's a humiliating secret that's just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn't withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it'd always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.

He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn't get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can't bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it's the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.

All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what's going on.

"Aemond," she approaches him, whispering. "What's wrong? Is it the headache again?"

Aemond doesn't want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain."

"I don't think we have time to fuss over me," he declines with a pain-stained voice. "I was under the impression that we're expecting someone to join us today."

Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.

"Please don't tell me you require motivation," Aegon's voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.

"Undoubtedly you've interacted with women before," he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond's suffering. "Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won't run away."

Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

"Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself," her voice is tinged with irritation. "Just for one evening. Can you do that?"

Aegon's body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.

"As you wish, mother," he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.

Aemond is exhausted, anxiety's bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she's approaching the entrance.

When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It's not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn't seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won't let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she's used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.

"Someone is about to get a piece of cake," Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.

"Someone needs to shut up," Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn't even tasted yet. Aemond can't help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.

The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She's seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:

"You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I'm surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience?"

When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to Y/N, astonished by his own reaction. It's not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It's just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they're surrounded with.

"I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve," he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can't steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.

Aemond asks about her family, letting Y/N lead the conversation. She's easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would've really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That's until she abruptly stops.

"Are you feeling alright?" she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion.

"I apologize if I'm not exactly the best at keeping you company. It's been a long day," he knows he should've come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.

She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then Y/N moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It's obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he's the reason their conversation was cut short, but Y/N doesn't make a big deal out of it.

"We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested," she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.

Aemond seriously doubts that he'll get any rest as his head feels like it's gripped in an iron vise again.

The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he's almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it's the nausea, he doesn't know nor does he care. He's been handling this for years, he can survive another day.

Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to the King's Landing for a man she's never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there's only so much he can do without draining himself completely.

He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He's passing by Helaena's chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it's not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She's reading to them, and it's a tale they've heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn't need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N's shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.

"You are an impatient little thing," Y/N giggles.

"That she is," Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.

"Pardon me, I didn't hear you coming in," she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. "Your sister was kind enough to keep me company."

"I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven't left her side ever since," Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.

"Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?" Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.

"Make sure to be on time for dinner," his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.

It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. Y/N mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she's telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.

When they walk into the library, Y/N pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she'll ever be impressed by him.

"This is where you study?" she's admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative "hmm".

"How many of these have you read?"

"Quiet a few," he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.

"I wonder what are your preferred subjects."

"History and philosophy," he doesn't mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he's had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady's man.

"Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?" when Y/N glances at him, there's a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she's actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.

"I'm afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all," Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.

"Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time," she presses the matter further but does so very gently. "Name just a couple."

He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don't stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She's never too pushy with her questions, she's making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn't dare to leave Y/N hanging for the second day in a row.

The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.

"I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting," she says, almost whispering, when they're seated.

"You did not, no need to fret," Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can't curb the pain that's spilling out of him, he thinks.

Food is tasteless in his mouth. Y/N is sitting on his right, and Aemond's body can't adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He's so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.

Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother's gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it.

He regrets it the very next day.

When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They're rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That's why, when Aemond opens his eye, he's startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.

"I did knock but got no response," she gives him a look that's a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he's unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.

Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must've had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks:

"The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago."

He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance:

"There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal."

Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what's expected of him, it's about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn't want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.

"The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other," Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. "It seems like you're getting along quite well?"

"I could think of no better woman than Y/N," Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn't say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.

Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn't know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.

"Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you'd be happy to know," Alicent gives him a lax smile. "I shall let you go back to sleep," she adds and leaves.

Aemond knows he'll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N's chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.

To his surprise, Y/N is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can't find her in the library and she isn't in Helaena's chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He's lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.

"I've been looking for you," she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they're only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.

"We must've passed each other, because I've been looking for you, too," he confesses. Y/N seems very pleased with herself though he isn't sure why.

"I think the weather calls for a walk," she blithely suggests. "Would you like to accompany me?" — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond's looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes Y/N's hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they've done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn't. The feeling of holding someone's hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.

By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He's blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can't help but think that Y/N was the reason for that.

"Your mother came to me this morning," she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. "I assume she talked to you, too?"

"She did," Aemond confirms. "Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?"

"Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses," Y/N mimics a man's voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there, too. "Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech".

"He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience," the prince chuckles and she laughs. Aemond holds a pause and then adds:

"Forgive me if I'm being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you."

"It was not," she slows her steps. "I know what's expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I'm being honest...," she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. "I am glad that it's you," Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. "We'll make a pretty good team. Wouldn't you agree?"

Aemond lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at Y/N.

"It seems so," he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There's a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.

"But I shall give you a warning," Y/N says with a mischievous grin. "My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won't shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two".

"Can any of them outdrink Aegon?" he jokes, and Y/N bursts into laughter.

Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she's listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it's almost intimidating. But there's a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.

He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can't tell if Y/N senses that something is wrong but she's the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.

On the way back they're greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. Y/N lightly squeezes Aemond's hand.

"Tomorrow is a big day then," — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won't be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

"There is still time for you to plan an escape," Aemond jests half-heartedly.

Y/N looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head:

"Only if you're planning one. We are in this together, remember?" her thumb brushes over his. "It's all about teamwork."

Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn't want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.

When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It's the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn't grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They've tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that's known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.

But he should make an effort.

Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.

For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother's words — "I thought you'd be happy to know". Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.

But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there's more to life than what he's been through so far.

While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider Y/N his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.

And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep.

He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.

He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn't ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.

He doesn't get a chance to see Y/N throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.

The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots Y/N the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It's hard not to.

The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N's hand.

But right when they're standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, Y/N lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That's when it dawns on him that she's well aware of the attention but she doesn't really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it's just the two of them.

That feeling doesn't go away.

Usually, he's not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can't tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he's getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn't remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?

Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.

"Aemond, you've been dancing," she can't hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.

"Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion," Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.

"It is, indeed," she doesn't let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:

"I can assure you, this isn't a cause for your distress."

But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn't see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.

Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn't alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.

He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on Y/N's face is unreadable. She's oblivious to Aemond's presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he'll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.

"... It's not too late to change that, don't you think," Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.

"It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser", when Y/N talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.

"Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn't of a frivolous kind," he's circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.

"I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation," she recapitulates.

Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at Y/N and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it's not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She's looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.

But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.

"I can be very persuasive," his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. "I think you should appreciate the attention while I'm this generous and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he's not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she's still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.

"I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you're forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it," her voice doesn't lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she's not afraid of anything.

Y/N lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He's frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.

"You didn't... You did not just do that," there's a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.

"Did what, ser?" her tone is laced with coldness.

The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.

"You will not get away with this," he scowls, nettled.

"You're telling me that you're considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe," Y/N seems unfazed.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:

"You, insidious wre...!"

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man:

"I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed," Y/N flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.

"Shouldn't she watch hers? She's talking to a lord," Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.

"And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?"

"It was a... a simple misunderstanding," his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.

"And what was the matter in question?" Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.

"I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal," the man fakes a smile. "Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly".

"You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time," Aemond looks down on him. "Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?"

"I shall rejoin the celebration then," ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.

Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to Y/N. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can't stop himself from asking:

"Did he harm you?"

"He didn't get a chance," she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn't sure how.

"Dare I say we've got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.

"I'll escort you to your chambers," the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds: "I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist."

Y/N doesn't move an inch.

"...You are not mad at me?" she's looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.

"I'm thinking about cutting his arm off," he says under his breath, but she catches it.

"Aemond, there's no need!" Y/N gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

"I will have to disagree," he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond's hand — finally — clings to her again.

"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me," Y/N confesses.

"And I don't want you to get hurt," his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Y/N's cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.

"I think I... I was the one who did some damage," she complains.

"You must imagine my surprise," Aemond drawls, teasing.

"Oh, Gods," a quiet groan leaves her mouth. "That was not very ladylike of me."

Y/N covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.

"You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of," he enunciates each word. "He only sets an example of unseemly behavior."

"I'm afraid I wasn't too far off," Y/N remarks, her voice relenting.

"Hmm, you're certainly not to be truffled with," he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.

"May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?" Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:

"My father taught me that," her tone is surprisingly impish.

"And how did you manage to talk him into it?"

"Talking didn't help much, actually," Y/N grins. "And then I broke my brother's nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm."

"How old were you?"

"Nine," she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can't hold back the laugh.

Y/N joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other's company. But then her smile wilts.

"There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren't very nice back then," she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.

"What did they do?"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It's just um," she's looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn't any. "It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean."

Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.

While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, Y/N spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.

"Is it the headache?" her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn't know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that. Y/N is quick to clear up his confusion:

"I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn't ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive," she explains coyly.

"By asking about my health?" he finds his voice again. "I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions."

"We've only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you're allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone," she kindly points out.

A day. Up until now the only person who's known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.

"Did the ointment help?" she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on Y/N's face tells him otherwise.

"That was your doing?" he can't hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.

"I've been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required," she informs him.

"And what kind of witchcraft is it?"

"It is not," she playfully elbows him. "It was something my grandfather taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain," Y/N has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.

"After her death, he wouldn't let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret," her smile is bittersweet. "Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again."

Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would've done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.

"I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first," Y/N reveals.

"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester's face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.

"I shamelessly boosted his ego," she wrinkles her nose. "Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill."

"But I wasn't just that," Aemond cordially protests.

They already reached her chambers but he doesn't want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she's been a saving grace for him, but he's somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.

"It was way more than that and I...," never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I must admit, you exceeded my expectations," Aemond breathes out.

It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.

"I am glad to be of service, my prince," she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.

He didn't register the moment Y/N came a bit closer, but she isn't shying away from shortening the distance. There's something enamoring about her trusting nature but that's not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...

Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would've been disrespectful and naive. He's mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.

But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at Y/N, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.

"I shall bid you goodnight," her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.

As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends.

Lucerys's name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond's routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.

She's never nosy or clingy; he's the one seeking her company at all times. She's an early riser, too, and they're always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and Y/N can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.

She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it's all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.

When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she's terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives Y/N enough confidence to pat Vhagar's snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.

They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can't help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.

For a while, he's oblivious to how inseparable they've become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister's chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — "You two seem joined at the hip!", it startles him. But that moment doesn't turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.

"I will steal her away from time to time," Helaena says, as cheery as ever.

"Bold of you to assume I will let you," he chuckles, his gaze not leaving Y/N.

"I think she’ll have the last word," his sister retorts with a cunning smile.

Aemond doesn't think twice before admitting:

"She will never say no."

"My point exactly."

The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He doesn't want to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. Y/N asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that's when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn't want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn't like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven't been on good terms ever since.

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks:

"Must you really go?"

He ponders before answering with a sigh:

"It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect."

"I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you," she frowns.

"It would be a little too late for an apology," Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.

"I still think you deserve one," she says like it's the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.

"I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me," and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.

She bestows him with her softest smile:

"I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting."

Aemond doesn't know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn't involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that's what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.

"Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!" Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.

"I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him."

"I didn't say I want to switch places," he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.

"Although switching places with you sounds tempting," he sneers.

"And why would you ever want that?" Aemond raised his brow questioningly.

"You've got yourself a pretty wife-to-be," Aegon chants and whistles.

"Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged," Aemond deadpans.

" 'tis won't be necessary," Aegon's quick to object. "Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession," his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.

Aemond lightly chuckles:

"You'll get no argument from me."

Leaving Y/N is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.

When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.

She's standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they're both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that's not what motivates her. Instead, she's an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.

Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar's carcass away.

"You had a successful hunt, dear prince," when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.

"As usual," Aemond answers indifferently. "Never took you for a hunter."

"I cannot appreciate cruelty," Lannister forces out. "And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear's grip. So I am here merely to control my brother's primal impulses."

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

"Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him," the prince mutters.

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint.

"I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother's sympathy toward your..."

"You should not," Aemond cuts him off. "Would be better to address his manners but it's the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves," with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.

Except she isn't there.

The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.

Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he's never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would've been burned to a pulp as of right now.

Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it's already too late as Y/N is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.

"...What am I missing exactly?" she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn't care.

"You've been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing," she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.

"Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion," her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland's scared tone.

"But what are your accomplishments?" the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. "Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. He, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.

Y/N looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.

"You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above," Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she's seen enough.

"The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you're clearly lacking," Y/N casts Jason a disdainful glance. "So from where I am standing, it looks like I'm the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms."

When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn't surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.

"I would like it if we left earlier, my prince."

"As you wish," Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.

Disregarding everyone's attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond's ire.

"Give me just a second," he can't help himself.

Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn't let him make a sound.

"That was the second time your brother couldn't hold his tongue," Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. "If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time."

"Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like..."

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

"I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like."

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.

"Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore," Aemond says, sitting next to her.

"I sure hope so," she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.

"Y/N, whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture," way more than he cares to admit, "but there's no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me," Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:

"I will."

She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.

"No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now," she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.

Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

He runs out of luck so fast, he must've jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. Y/N notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.

"Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?" she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.

When Y/N finds out, she looks devastated.

"It must steep for a few hours, I can't make it right away," her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.

"There is another way that I know of," she slowly suggests. "But you will need to lie down."

"Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in," Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.

She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.

"Close your eye," she asks calmly and he obliges.

Aemond senses that Y/N leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.

"It was probably all the noise that caused this," she presumes.

"Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil," Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.

"He is pissed I didn't choose him," she laughs quietly.

"Choose him?" her words peak his interest. "You had a choice in the matter?"

"My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn't like," her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.

"May I ask what was your decision process?" Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.

"I've heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten," he can't see her smile but he can hear it. "That was impressive enough."

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes:

"That can't be the only thing you've heard."

"I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors," she notes imperturbably.

"I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm..."

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

"I decided I would be the judge of that," Y/N says firmly.

"And what is your verdict?" he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.

She doesn't think for a second:

"All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn't a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you."

Aemond shouldn't take it to heart but that's precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.

Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn't breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.

She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. Y/N removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.

"What do you see?" he exhales.

"Nothing scary, that's for sure," Y/N's gaze doesn't leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.

"Nothing I don't admire," her voice is a little above a whisper.

"Nothing I wouldn't love."

His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.

Y/N lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it's almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It's her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what's left of his eyelid.

When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.

He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it's on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn't want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.

She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.

"I must admit," she tries to catch her breath, she can't stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, "you exceeded my expectations."

Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.

"It's all about teamwork, as I've heard," he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they're kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He's lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.

His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.

Turns out, letting her in doesn't make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

> the title is a quote from Hozier's song

>> I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can't help but mention the extensive research that @ adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept.

>>> I have a playlist for Aemond 🎵 I didn't add any music in this fic BUT I've listened to "Mr Sandman" a lot, especially the instrumental version (I didn't mention it earlier in case you don't like listening to music while reading). 💕 my masterlist

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baurbiediv · 11 months

Text

we’ll be alright

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

summary: following the aftermath of you and jj’s upsetting breakup, he’s determined to set everything straight and have you back by his side, but what you feel isn’t the same way jj feels, but he’s not ready to let you go, not yet.

pairing: jj maybank x ex!gf reader

warning(s): language, mention of cheating, jj still being very painfully stupid and painfully in love with reader, fluff if you squint, takes place in s3 (switched some things around for the usual outer banks theme)

authors note: long overdue & possibly the longest fic i’ve ever written?? + it’s been a bittersweet road down this ‘hate to be lame’ series, i’m so glad you all enjoyed it as much as i did, without further ado, let’s wrap this thang up!!

authors note ²: italics represent flashbacks, bolded italics represent emphasized words, somewhat based off fine line by harry styles

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

the humid wind of the outer banks had been blowing softly against your skin, the faint light of the setting sun could be seen vividly as you sat on the creaky old porch steps of the chateau.

the entirety of the pogues had been teetering on the edge of completely falling apart, with john b and sarah’s relationship was on the rocks, then you and jj being no longer together.

the entire friend group was crashing down on each other, you’d grown distant from them when it was first revealed that you’d parted ways with the blond boy.

nobody would’ve ever seen it coming, the two of you tried immensely to salvage what remnants of your relationship that was left, but it didn’t work.

ultimately, you both split your ways. for a while the pogues had no clue what was going on, they thought you needed some time for yourself for personal reasons, until, jj had told them the truth.

“i hate to tell you guys like this, but me and y/n are uh .. we’re not together anymore. it was kind of a ‘mutual’ agreement between the both of us.” jj said, twirling his thumbs around each other, he couldn’t bring himself to see the looks on his friends faces, the gut wrenching sensation of silence was heavy and thick in the air.

“wait, jayj, you’re being serious?” sarah asked him as she leaned against the old wooden door of the porch, she thought it was some sick joke at first, but the look jj gave her, the hint of worry became very obvious on her face.

jj just simply nodded, “come on, you guys have been through so much, we can’t lose y/n and we can’t lose you either jj.” pope now replied, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder in an attempt to console him.

“no, pope, you don’t understand how badly i fucked this up.” jj spoke up as he moved away from his friend, john b was past worried at this point.

“enough of these cryptic ass messages jj, what did you do?” john b pressed him, knowing this was obviously a fragile subject for his friend to be talking about.

cleo noticed the change in jj’s physical appearance, he sat upright from his previous slouched position.

“i cheated on y/n .. with kiara.” he spoke lowly, kiara’s figure caved in as she looked down at the porch floor.

the looks on the rest of the pogues faces just as similar to the others.

“wow jj, way to go.” cleo clapped sarcastically, pope and kiara both shot her a glare.

“look i don’t know why you’re giving me that look, you’re just as guilty kiara. you knew that was wrong.” cleo bit back at the two before crossing her arms.

“with the way he keeps looking, his eyes might just literally fall out of his face.” cleo said as she peeked back at the boy who’d been playing volleyball past however many minutes.

you simply shrugged, not wanting to mention anything about the boy you’d had past relations with. it wasn’t that jj was a bad guy, he just made one really bad mistake that caused him to lose the thing that he loved the most; you.

at some point in time, you’d thought about forgiving him, but at what cost? on that exact night, jj and kiara had known exactly what they were doing.

“i know it still feels weird for you to be around them, you’ll come around eventually.” she added before slinging an arm around your shoulders, you smiled at the gesture.

“i know i know, it’s a bittersweet feeling when it comes to him. he treated me well, but he kissed my alleged best friend and she couldn’t even tell me.” you exhaled, cleo nodded.

“i get it girl, trust me, it’s not something easy to get over, but i know you well enough to see you get over this like it’s nothing.” cleo chimed in, she was right, no matter how much your heart yearned for him deep down, you couldn’t put yourself in a position to be where you once were.

“thank you cleo, i really do mean it. thank you for not letting me go crazy.” you laughed as you looked over at her.

“if i let you go crazy, then we all go crazy,” she cheesed, “now come here!” she said before engulfing you in a tight and comforting hug.

the two of you pulled away from the hug and walked back to the makeshift volleyball net that john b and pope had made.

“hey! we got dibs next!” cleo yelled to everyone else, john b and sarah smiled seeing the both of you come into view.

“y’all ready to get your asses beat?” sarah spoke as the ball rested between her arm and her side. cleo and you gave each other a look before turning your gazes back over to sarah.

“when was the last time you beat this duo in volleyball?” you spoke up, pope smiled as he chimed in, “literally never.”

you clapped at his words as you and cleo walked up to the net, “heads we serve, tails you serve!” sarah smiled, pope pulled out a coin from his pocket as he flipped it, heads.

“oh come on that’s gotta be rigged in someway.” you said out loud groaning and throwing your hands up in the air. sarah shook her head, “don’t hate the ref! hate the game!”

the blonde said as she laughed and tossed the ball back to john b, who was ready to serve the ball. you watched as the ball was tossed up into the air and made it’s way to your side, you set the ball up as cleo spiked it, which smacked john b directly in his eye.

your hands clamped over your mouth and so did cleo’s as you looked at each other in an attempt to stifle your laughter, pope’s giggling could be heard loudly and so could sarah’s.

the brunet boys body laid on the ground dramatically, you and pope collectively sent a look so each other as you helped john b up off the ground and helped him into the chateau.

you could feel jj’s eyes burning a hole in your back but you refused to acknowledge it as you focused on your best friends attention.

“has anyone ever told you how dramatic you are john b?” you yelled from the kitchen finding him an ice pack, the question was followed by a groan and ‘no but thanks for telling me.’

you patted his shoulder before leaving the house with pope, “that was a nasty spike cleo.”

“hey hey, maybe if he put his hands up he wouldn’t have gotten hit!”

the next morning rolled around, you woke up on the couch next to sarah, you couldn’t recognize the feeling of the light blue fuzzy blanket or where it had come from but you were thankful for it as the light morning breeze had flown in through the slightly cracked window.

the sound of the fridge door closing snapped you out of your thoughts, to your dismay it was one of the last people to wanted to talk to, jj.

his bedhead was very prominent, yet the only thing you could focus on the way his sharktooth necklace that rested oh-so delicately on his chest.

you remembered the fabricated lie he told you about how he got it when you first met him.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” he said without looking your way. you rolled your eyes before sitting up and rubbing the sleep away from your eyes, “please shut up, you cheat-“, john b emerged from his room at almost the perfect time, cutting you off.

“please put your claws away, it’s boat day and i don’t want to hear you two bickering all day.” he mumbled, walking past jj.

you smacked your lips together, “well he started it! -“, john b turned towards you, “and i don’t wanna hear it.”

jj snickered behind his friend as the brunet turned to his friend, “cut it out jj.” the blond threw his hands up to his sides as if he was the innocent one.

you got up from your spot on the couch as you made your rounds to wake everyone up and to your surprise it was easy. you walked out the chateau and down the old porch steps with sarah and cleo laughing about who knows what. john b & pope followed behind with kie and jj.

“you know you wouldn’t be able to ignore her forever. right?” pope said loud enough for only for the four of them to hear which made both kie and jj stop in their tracks and turn around.

“look i know but it’s gonna take some time for me to y’know, say something..”kie mumbled, kicking the dirt. john b looked at jj for an answer, to which he got no reply.

“jj, y/n really loved you and you loved her, and for you to sit here and not say anything is kinda crazy considering you cried day and night when you lost her.”

this had the boy shaking his head and shoving his finger into his friends chest. “you don’t get to bring that up jb. it’s not your place and you know that.”

the stomach churning feeling of guilt and broken trust was heavy in between the four of them. “guys let’s go!” you yelled out from the dock already loaded up on the hms pogue, you waved to the others.

“think about what was said.” pope spoke up before leaving to the boat.

boat days were truthfully some of the best days you’d had. being out on the water with the some of the people you love loved. the sound of your screams and laughter along with the sounds of sarah, john b, cleo, and pope’s laughter could be heard throughout the marsh.

jj’s eyes followed your every move, it’s almost as if he was jealous of the way your smile shined brightly when you weren’t around him, his heart crumbled at almost the way you looked when you weren’t smiling his way.

the boy didn’t know why he was acting like this, he felt himself spiraling. being in love with someone was never a thing that crossed his until he met you.

a hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts, he looked over to see a concerned kiara, “you okay?” she said, almost in a whisper.

the boy shrugged as he turned back around and rubbed his hands across his face.

“you can’t act like you hate her forever j. pope and jb were right, and i know it’s hypocritical of me to say that.” she said, the boy sighed deeply and kiara frowned, “you can act mad all you want but you know deep down that you still love that girl. we all know it, i’ve got my rounds of apologizing to do and so do you. so get to it.”

the brunette girl said before patting his shoulder and jumping out of the boat into the water to join everyone else.

“this is gonna be a long night.” he groaned.

the group all piled into the cat’s ass as you prepared for a night of what is hoped to be filled with fun. just about everyone had been on their 2nd or 3rd drink of the night and it had been made clear that someone would wake up with a real bad hangover the next morning.

you sat with sarah while giggling over the boys who huddled together and where swaying side to side. “what are the odds that pope’s the drunkest right now? 1 through 5.” cleo says holding up cups of fruit punch and hands them out, kiara right by her side.

“4.” you blurt out.

“3.” sarah says, taking a sip from her cup.

kiara laughs as pope turns around, his leg poked out to the side and his hands right on his hips, following a look of ‘i did not just hear that’. you looked at the boy, but you couldn’t tell if he was actually offended or just simply being dramatic.

the boys made their way over to the cat’s ass and they all slip in with no ease. you were mid conversation with sarah before you felt splashes of water and an arm brush against your back.

obviously, you’d had your back turned to the foreign body but you already knew who it was. sarah could see the visible change in your face when she recognized who it was.

“hi y/nnnnn.” the boy slurred as he rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist. the water from the hot tub now going cold.

you send sarah a look of help, her lips spread into a thin line as she mouthed you a ‘good luck’, knowing she’d have to deal with john b. everyone had left the cat’s ass at this point, just leaving just you and jj.

knowing you couldn’t ignore him forever, you put on your big girl panties and suck it up. “hi jj.” you said, you had felt like your mind was truly running a mile a minute.

it would short circuit as you thought of the multitude of things that could come out of his mouth in this exact moment.

“has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” he murmurs before the tip of his nose lightly digs into your shoulder.

drunk words are sober thoughts, or so they say.

“yeah i have actually, by this blond kid, i know pretty well.” you sigh as jj huffs somewhat very loudly. your eyebrow raised at the sudden change of the boy’s mood, “can he fight?” jj questioned.

the laugh that erupted from your mouth was unexpected and loud, you quickly put your hands up in defense. “woah maybank,” you said before standing up and setting your drink down, “time to wind down now.”

you leaned down slightly to help the boy out of the hot tub, his arms reached up to grab at your waist once again just to pull you down into his lap, his grip on you tight and keeping you grounded in his lap.

“don’t leave.” he whispers, your hands wrapped lazily around his neck, you felt guilty.

you told yourself many times you’d stay away from this for the benefit of your own good.

his head leaned further into your chest, your hand planting itself in his hair, smoothly running your nails across his scalp lightly.

“i’m not leaving j, i promise,” you sighed and placed your chin on the top of his. “now, let’s get you in the house and to bed, safely.” you said, making sure to put emphasis on safely.

the worst thing that could happen now would be one of the pogues spotting you and jj going into his room. by the looks of it, the living room lights had been turned off, which meant that it was lights out, everyone was asleep.

jj followed behind you languidly, his heavy footsteps quieter than usual. getting past the front door was the easiest part, getting him to the bedroom was the more difficult task of this all.

the creaky floor boards made your presence well known had anyone in the house been up. jj looked over his shoulder, kiara on one end of the couch fast asleep, pope & cleo asleep together on the other end of the couch, wrapped up in that same stupid light blue fuzzy blanket.

your footsteps hurried their way to jj’s bedroom, you closed the door. you had to forcibly sit the blond down on the bed, after quietly arguing with him over you staying in the room, you knew full and well you’d be out the room the minute he was out cold.

you’d walked into the bathroom and grabbed a clean rag, you ran some warm water under it and brought it back to jj. he was sprawled out on the bed, one hand on his chest and the other out and to the side of him.

you sat down next to him and wiped his face, he immediately moved his head. you obnoxiously rolled your eyes and grabbed his face, causing you to now turn your body.

“it’s not even cold!” you whisper shouted and continued to wipe his face as quick as you could before he started whining again. his hand lazily made its way to your thigh, his hands on his rough, just like they had been when you first got together.

you set the towel aside on the nightstand, your hands softly cupped jj’s face and your thumb softly moved back and forth over his cheek, you noticed as we that had been slowly healing for quite some time now, it wasn’t the time to ask, nor was it your place.

the feeling of his hand was still very real and warm on your thigh, every minute that passes by almost feels too good to be true.

“y’know i’m sorry, right?” he says as his eyes look directly yours, this was probably the first time you’d gotten anywhere close to an apology from jj, and it could be the last one and you’d much rather get this apology now than when he is when he’ll be sober.

“i know you are j, i know.” you tell him but he slightly shakes his head.

“no, seriously y/n, i fucked up big time, you know it, i know it, and so does the whole group.” he finally admits, to him it feels like a weights been lifted off his shoulders.

“i really wanna make things right with you, can we, y’know try again? me and you?” he questioned and you smiled.

“i’ll think about it j, until then please get some sleep, yeah?” you momentarily hesitated before pressing a soft kiss against his lips as his hands inch his way back to your hips.

you softly pull away before sitting up, “goodnight maybank.”

“g’night y/l/n.”

you smiled and got up to leave the room, closing the room behind you, what a night.

“you’ve got to be fucking serious right?” you nearly scream, you’ve never wanted to pummel your fists into someone’s face more.

john b waiting to hold you back at any moment. “y/n, it’s not really that big of a deal!” kiara yelled back at you. to make things clear, it was that big of a deal, you thought that after the moment you and jj had last night, he’d stick to his words.

“you’re real untrustworthy kiara, that was real grimy of you.” the words came out of your mouth not giving a second thought.

so let’s do a quick little run down; last night kiara snuck in his room just hours after she’d made sure you were asleep, turns out, they had actually fucked.

only way you found that out was the poorly covered burgundy mark right on her neck, it hadn’t been that difficult to put the clues together.

you looked at jj and shoved your hands into his chest, causing him to stumble back a little. “thank you for showing me that it costs you nothing to do better jj.” the disheveled blond clearly didn’t think this ‘elaborate plan’ would’ve actually worked, it was the stupidest fucking fool-proofed plan known ever.

you shoved him again, “do you get off to making me look stupid? is that fucking it?” you spat, jj groaned, and in an attempt to stop you from shoving him.

“will you please just listen to me. i can explain.” his hands grabbed your arms and this only pisses you off even more.

you did your best and fought to get out his grip, “i don’t want to listen to or hear another word that comes out of your mouth because everything that comes out is a lie.” you felt like you could physically feel your throat start to close up, the dam in your eyes broke and the tears flooded like there was no tomorrow.

john b couldn’t stand there and watch one of his best friends break down like this, so he gestured over sarah and cleo as they took you to the twinkie and got you inside.

sarah hopped into the driver’s seat as she pulled off, you should’ve known better than to trust what jj says. yet here you stand, the same place you stood when he first broke your trust, it was way too good to be true.

the love gods were definitely not on your side and wouldn’t be on your side any time soon, what did you even do for them to not like you? who knows.

you don’t know when the van tatted moving but you sure were notified when it came to a screeching halt as you were launched into the back of the passenger seat face first, the loud thud made your impact known, hearing gasps from the two girls who sat in front of you, they quickly turned around as they saw you laid out on the twinkie floor.

“y/n, holy shit! are you okay?!” sarah said as she got out and rushed over to the other side and opened the door. you groaned and sat up, rubbing your face, a poor attempt to get rid of the pain, which only made it worse.

you looked up at cleo and sarah who were giving you a ‘ouch’ kind of look, “how bad is it?” you sighed.

“bad.” they both replied.

you walked along the streets of the mainland, holding a bag of frozen peas to the side of your face.

“y/n i’m really really sorry.” sarah said, the guilt wavering in her voice.

you laughed, “sarah, i promise you it’s okay. it’s probably gotta be the highlight of my day!” if cleo and sarah hadn’t known you as well as they did, then they’d definitely thought that you were insane.

you saw the looks on their faces, “guys please don’t. you’re doing that thing you guys do when you know what i’m thinking about.” you frowned and sat on a nearby bench, dropping the peas into your lap.

the girls plopping down on either side of you, “i feel so incredibly stupid.” you spoke as tears dropped down onto the fabric of your jeans.

both girls hugged you, words would’ve never been wrong express how thankful you are for them.

“you’re an incredibly strong girl y/n, you don’t need him to be happy. your first job is to prioritize yourself over anyone else’s needs.”

sarah told you, you nodded as cleo’s hand came up to your face and wiped your tears away, “we wouldn’t sit here and tell you it’s true if it wasn’t.” cleo told you and you nodded.

“what would i do without you guys.” you said you pulled them into a tight hug.

“you know we got your back forever girl.” cleo says.

once you made it back to the chateau, the three of you got out the twinkie uncontrollably like a bunch of kids. in the distance you could smell the bonfire, “guys oh my god i could really go for some s’mores right now!” sarah said as she patted her belly which made you and cleo both laugh at the same time as the three of you walked over to the billowing smoke and found john b and pope sitting on a log.

“what’s going on here?” cleo asked, the boys turned around, looking like they’d been through it all.

“my god what the hell happened to you guys? where’s kiara and jj?” sarah asked, examining jb’s face for any bruises, only to find a small scratch just above his eyebrow.

you mentally rolled your eyes at the slight mention of both kiara and jj’s names, you quite honestly wanted nothing to do with them.

if timing couldn’t have been any worse, the roaring sound of a bike engine catches everyone’s attention forcing them to completely turn around in unison, who else to make an entrance like that other than the infamous jj.

“oh you’ve seriously got to be fucking kidding me.” pope groans in annoyance and throws his hands up in the air before getting up. jj takes his helmet off before tossing it to the ground and getting off his bike, turning the engine off.

jj eagerly makes his way to where you all are and stops in his tracks, he was messing with his knuckles or possibly punched something or someone, his knuckles were battered and bloody.

“and where the hell have you been!” pope exclaimed, seeing pope this angry was something out of the ordinary for you. the blond was at a lost for words, this time he look like he’d truly been hurt by someone or something.

“let me tell you something about yourself man, i get it none of us are perfect, but the way you flipped out on me and jb? not cool man, not fucking cool. and you know it too.”

pope said, you could feel the anger radiating off of him. you could visibly observe how much of a nervous wreck jj was in this moment. “hold on pope, something’s off, real off.” you spoke up, not sure if you should speak behalf.

“what’s going on with you jj?” you said, his eyes were full of worry. he knows that he’s messed up and he himself isn’t sure if his friends, the people he needs and loves the most will ever forgive him.

“i got into some shit with my dad a-and we fought-“ the slam of a car door grabbed everyone’s attention and whipped towards the sound, it was kiara, hopping out her car and towards the rest of you.

before anything else she saw jj’s face as her face dropped. her hands came up to his face, the rest of you watched in confusion, you rolled as you walked away, refusing to see the couple in front of you.

your life truly couldn’t have gotten worse in those last few minutes.

your legs dangled over the dock as you watched the moonlight hit the water. looking out, you could barely see anything within 20 feet of you.

the wind carried a cold breeze that brought goosebumps across your arms. suddenly you heard footsteps to the side of you, jj.

you groaned out loud and got up, “no! please y/n, sit, please.” he begged, you shook your head and put a hand in front of you, he could see that you were tired, physically and emotionally.

“i don’t want another apology from you jj, every time you promise me something it goes way left. the other night sealed it all, no one else took care of you but me. why do you keep doing this to me? what did i do? you hurt me on levels no one could ever imagine.”

the feeling before you cry all too familiar, the sudden lump in your throat and the salty tears that overflow your waterline.

“y/n, please-“ he tried to hold your hand but you pulled away.

“you never loved me, you enjoyed being seen with me. i’ve seen the way you look at kiara, i really hope that you treat her the way you should treat someone.” you looked at him and he was the one shaking his head.

“you gotta believe me when i say i’m trying y/n, you know what i’m going through. it’s tough for me and i’m trying to manage my life around it, i couldn’t image my life without you in it.” he said as he grabbed both of your hands, the hands you found your solace in, now feeling unfamiliar to you.

you inhaled deeply, your breath shaky and tears uncontrollable, “i want to believe that jj, i really do. i can’t continue to put myself in a position where i continue to be hurt over and over again. be with someone who will be able to love you unconditionally.”

the tremble in your voice was painfully clear and heartbreaking to not only you, but jj.

you smiled as jj’s thumb lightly swiped across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear, your eyes were watery beyond relief, and so were his.

you would’ve given this boy the world, had he only given you the chance to. providing the best for each other was the only way that you and jj could have a healthy relationship with each other.

you took a deep breath and slipped away from his touch, you smiled at him before walking away to prevent any more tears that would slip out.

jj watched as you walked away from the dock and into the chateau, yet of course, he’d eventually find himself crying.

of course you’d still be around, he just wouldn’t get the chance to hold you on the colder nights, falling down a rabbit hole of endless deep conversations. he would never be able to fall in love with you all over again.

he didn’t expect for any of this to happen, the only one that he ever really loved. the girl he thought he would spend the rest of his life with, the memories and all the love they’d given each other, slipping right through his fingers.

the world was crashing down on the two, they knew that they would be better off without each other.

oh how they wished time could rewind and they could redo everything, but this was the best for them.

it would forever be y/n & jj.

“we’ll be alright.”

#jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction

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gay-dorito-dust · 9 months

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A very, very long overdue Part 2 of this fic

This chapter is primary within Ken’s perspective so don’t expect much plot development.

Taglist: @jokersgrf @momos-peaches @redbatty-koolaidman

It took a lot out of Ken to come to terms that his plastic heart had been singing a different name, the name of his best friend, whilst he was in complete disregard of it’s beautiful symphony and heartfelt lyrics of how stuck on you he secretly was; to the point where even as he was with stereotypical Barbie, the supposed girl of his dreams, his heart would sing just that little bit louder so that it would be significantly hard for him to hear her sweet words over the sound of the birdsong of his secretly yearning heart.

Ken had been conditioned into believing that Barbie is who he was made for, and that if he felt anything for anyone else other then her was considered a defect. Yet now with his head finally clear of the fog, the blonde beach boy was left with a singular question that had kept him from ever daring to push the boundaries of your relationship;

Did you like, like him like that? Or is your relationship strictly platonic and will never be borderline anything else?

After all Ken didn’t want his failed attempts with Barbie to be repeated with you because being rejected by Barbie was something he was more then willing to accept, but to be rejected by you? The one person who has always been there by his side, recognising him as a person and not an accessory, always inviting him over to stay at your house, encouraging him with your warm words that comforted him on those dark days where he didn’t think he was Kenough; That was something else entirely that he doesn’t think his plastic heart could handle. To not have you be in his life was blasphemous and he wasn’t willing to be the reason you left, especially not after having been glued to your side for as long as he could remember, that you’ve became a pivotal part of him that he doesn’t know what he’d do without.

You were his heart, his spirit and there was no one in BarbieLand who knew him better then you did. Which is why he was so hesitant to cross that line of friend to boyfriend, despite how sweet sounding and tempting being your boyfriend would be, because if you ever catch on that he was up to something, what was Ken meant to say in response? That he finally realised that the person he wanted this whole time was standing right in front of him? That you’ve been tormenting his mind ever since he decided to listen to his heart -which was you by the way- just incase he failed to mention it.

What. Was. Ken. Meant. To. Do.

If only you were here to help guide his mind, to guide him down the path he should take but he knew that you’d tell him that he’s the maker of his own sorry and shouldn’t have to wait for someone to tell him what to do, and how he should trust himself more in decision making because despite how well you could read him, he was the only one with the power to make those big decisions in life, he’s the one who should willingly take the plunge rather then wait for someone to push him off the ledge because life is all about making mistakes and learning from them whilst also being willing to take the first step into big ventures.

Gosh you were so smart, brilliant, amazing, talented, awesome and just overall so…you. Ken could just hope that he was Kenough for you…and he hopes that what he had in mind would defiantly win you over.

#barbie #barbie imagine #barbie imagines #ken x you #ken x reader #ken x y/n #ken fic #Ken fluff #Spotify #ken imagine #Ken imagines

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booksandabeer · 10 months

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Stucky Recs: Road Trips!

Well, well, well. Look at that! After only three months of constant whining about having no time to do it, I've finally managed to put together a new rec list! Yay.

The theme of this list was requested by multiple people and really, who doesn't love a good road trip story, right? And let me tell you, there are so many good ones, this post could've been twice as long. I'm actually already hoarding fics in my little folder to do a part two later this year.

But for now, please enjoy my effusive ramblings about the following 10 Road Trip fics + 1 Rail Trip fic:

🚗 you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all by biblionerd07 | T, 15K

Author's summary: Steve and Bucky aren't really much of a Steve and Bucky anymore these days. Steve's sure it's because Bucky doesn't see himself as the same guy who used to love Steve. In a desperate attempt to prove him wrong, Steve begs Bucky to go on a road trip together, the way they used to dream about, and does his best to remind Bucky of who he is.

A post-CW canon divergent fic that's in a lot of ways very soft, but with just enough of an edge to keep things interesting and the reader uncertain as to how everything will play out in it. This starts with a somewhat disaffected Bucky who has not (yet) regained all of his memories and a Steve who, in his desperation to reconnect with him, tries so hard but ends up saying and doing all the wrong things. As they travel around the country, they both find ways to let go and to unlearn and relearn each other. Features moments of heart melting yet tongue-in-cheek sappiness (so the absolute best kind of sappiness) and a fun background Sam/T'Challa pairing.

🚗 a black sky prickled with small lights by emilywithoutY | M, 26K

Author's summary: There's this: The July heat. A wide open road. An obnoxious country song on the radio. Bucky in the driver’s seat.

Or: Two hundred-year-old men and their Great American Road Trip

The ultimate, unashamed Steve-and-Bucky-visit-the-Grand-Canyon wish-fulfillment fantasy—and I mean that in the best possible way. The summer road trip vibes are impeccable. This is technically the third part in the Litanies series, but it absolutely works as a standalone. However, if you ask me whether you should read the entire series, the answer is obviously a resounding yes. It's not only one of the best EG-Fix-Its I've read but also comes with an additional fun and sexy twist on how to get these two to finally get their heads out of their asses. Anyway, in this installment, they have already done that and now they get to enjoy the road, their freedom, and most of all, each other. Includes: healing along the way, long overdue conversations, and the attempt to reconcile the joy of finally having all that time with the bittersweet reality of having all that time.

🚗 Blue Moon by what_alchemy | E, 15K

Author's summary: "Now are you gonna run away with me or not, Rogers?”

God, this story (this author, really)! I’ve read this fic so many times I’ve lost count. It features one of my favorite post-WS characterizations of Bucky. One where he's still—somehow after everything—a romantic at heart, but also clear-eyed and unsentimental enough about certain things to not shy away from laying out some uncomfortable truths for Steve and the reader alike (there’s one line in particular that is seared into my brain and every time I read it I personally feel so called out). Steve may be a bit more cautious and softer about it, but oh, he gives back just as good. Nobody is handling anyone with kid gloves here. A story about learning how to be together (again), defining one's very own version of 'Happy Ever After', and about being very much in love, and also very horny for each other.

🚗 Not Language but a Map (The Grammar of Sensation) by dorian_burberrycanary | E, 20K

Author's summary: Steve has never felt right running away from a fight, even if the fight is with unanswered questions. But it’s not running if it’s a road trip and the oldest, thorniest unanswered question is along for the ride.

If you follow my blog you will probably already know that I am head over heels in love with this entire EG-Fix-It Series. This third story is finished, but Steve & Bucky's road trip continues in part 4, which is currently being posted (updates weekly). I believe this fic can be read as a standalone but, really, why would you deprive yourself of even a single word of this absolutely magnificent series? Every word, every detail, every narrative choice feels deliberate and well thought out. It's a masterclass in subtle storytelling and yet so rich in its themes, characterizations and descriptions of people, places, and food. This fic will make you hungry in so many different ways. A lot happens between the lines which may require some patience at times, but when the emotional payoff hits—it really, really hits. I cannot recommend this enough. Spectacular all around.

🚗 where the days are longer by endofadream | E, 13K

Author's summary: And maybe that’s what they’re running from. Those ghosts. That minefield. The suffocating pressure to live up to who they used to be when who they used to be has now become stale, recycled words in textbooks and museums and clickbait online articles.

They fuck off to the coast, trying to put as many miles between them and D.C. as possible. New York is loud and claustrophobic at the best of times, but California has the open skies and roads that make Steve ease a little more into his skin.

I have such an immense fondness for this story. There are some very minor problems with shifting POV in the first chapter, but please don't let this deter you from giving this story a chance—it's got so much heart. This is a slow and meandering piece that can be best summed up as: Steve and Bucky being so very much in love. Set in some undefined period post-CATWS, in a world where the events of Civil War never happened, Steve and Bucky decide they’re tired of fighting and conforming to what everyone else wants them to be and just get in a car and drive all the way to California. There, they start figuring out how to live in the future while also accepting that they can never quite leave the past behind, and that time, indifferent to the tragedies of (not quite) mortal men, will inevitably keep marching on—whether they want it to or not. To quote directly from the story itself: They’re both men out of time, so they make their own.

🚗 Lightning in a Bottle by odetteandodile | E, 63K

Author's summary: The problem, Steve thinks, isn’t so much his motorcycle giving up the ghost on a lonely stretch of highway through a lonely stretch of the country. He doesn’t mind stretching his legs or the prospect of hitchhiking.The problem is the roiling black blanket of storm clouds slowly spreading itself over the landscape headed his direction…

Steve Rogers is looking to hitch on a highway abandoned by everyone smart enough to avoid a looming storm. Bucky Barnes is the professional storm chaser who offers him a ride. It gets more complicated from there.

This AU offers an intriguing twist on the The Road Trip as a genre, Shrunkyclunks as a trope, and modern!Bucky as a character—it's an electric ride from start to finish—in more ways than one… *wiggles eyebrows* ...yeah ok, I’ll see myself out. It was either this or something about 'chasing all kinds of storms together' and I just couldn’t resist. Anyway, this story is a clever and unique take on canon events (not just limited to the CA movies!) and I don’t really want to give too much away and spoil all the fun, so I’ll just say this: If you are in the mood for a thrilling sci-fi/adventure/romance hybrid-story with beautiful evocative writing, characters that actually act like the smart, competent grown-ups they supposedly are, sex scenes that are both hot and emotional, and a touch of spy/mission fic to go along with a free crash course in weather phenomena—this is the fic for you!

🚗 The Only Familiar Thing by brideofquiet | E, 39K

Author's summary: Steve takes a breath, steels himself, and asks, “Where are we going, Buck?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one driving, Steve.”

And before Steve can protest, Bucky gives him that broad, toothy grin again. The worry pitted in his stomach ebbs, and he decides—what the hell? Why not? Steve pulls his helmet on and swings a leg over the bike. Bucky settles in behind him, and he cranks the engine to life.

A Post-CATWS fic, in which Bucky has returned to Steve after being on the run for a while. They are together, share an apartment in Brooklyn, and Bucky has regained most of his memories—so yay! All good, right? Well, things are going…uh...let's say they're going. See, Steve and Bucky are still very much in love—the thing is, they're pretty good at the being in love part but pretty awful at the talking about it (and everything else that matters) part. So much so that they accidentally on purpose non-communicate and out-stubborn each other into going on a road trip, where things will eventually—inevitably—come to a head. Throughout the trip, the tension between them builds and builds until finally they have to admit that sometimes being partners, lovers, best friends, and knowing someone better than anybody else in the world, still doesn't mean that you can *actually* read their mind. Sometimes you gotta use your words. The author skillfully manages to create a story that treats its characters and their conflict seriously, while also infusing it with a healthy dose of humor and romance to always keep the readers on the right side of 'frustrated' (i. e. invested, not irritated).

🚗 old college try by kafkian | E, 19K

Author's summary: Bucky wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling like stealing: Steve Rogers, Captain America, the hope of a nation tucked into Bucky’s right hand. It’s the heist of the century.

In which Bucky Barnes remembers himself, Steve, and what it means to be selfish – not necessarily in that order.

Another old favorite of mine. Set post-CACW, this fic starts with a recently defrosted Bucky and a somewhat unmoored Steve in Wakanda, as they try to figure out what to do next: Keep fighting the never-ending wars of other people or run away, see the world, and retire to a quiet life? Well, since this is a road trip fic, I think you can guess which option they go for. It's a beautifully written story about Steve and Bucky's journey across continents and decades, and their ultimate arrival in a life that they never dared to hope they could have one day. This was written in 2016, so right between the fanfic avalanche caused by TWS and the frenzy of EG-Fix-Its. Re-reading this for the first time in quite a while made me realize that—aside from being a fantastic story in its own right—it's also an interesting commentary on popular Stucky fics that came before it (you can see clear influences but also some gentle rebuttals to popular fanon of the time) as well as very much a product of its time. And I don't mean that in a negative or disrespectful way at all, but simply, that it also serves as a fandom artifact; a text that reveals and reacts to certain trends, shifting attitudes, and developments in Stucky fanfiction over the years. Either way it's definitely well worth a read.

🚗 The Long Way: A Stucky Fancomic by BeaArthurPendragon, LittleWolf82 | T

Authors' summary: After Thanos is defeated, Steve doesn't stay in the past. This is the story of where he and Bucky go next.

A little something different here: a road trip fancomic! And oh, it's only one of my favorite fic writers teaming up with one of my favorite artists—what's not to love? This is an EG-Fix-It that simply ignores the last five minutes that Ruined It All and instead tells the story of what could've or should've happened to Steve and Bucky after EG. A story that is infinitely kinder and truer to these characters. Sweetly told and beautifully drawn—an absolutely wonderful collaboration.

🚗 i need a forest fire by tomorrowsrain | T, 65K

Author's summary: In which Tony Stark makes a reckless decision, becomes a wanted fugitive, goes on the run with the former Winter Soldier, and learns how to forgive. For his part, Bucky Barnes is just trying to hold himself together. AU, post-Civil War.

This is the only fic on this rec list that does not have Bucky and Steve going on a journey but instead it's Bucky and...Tony. WAIT! Hey, come back! I know that for a lot of Steve and/or Bucky fans the idea of reading a 65K fic that heavily features Tony Stark does not really sound like an enticing prospect. BUT! Hear me out. This is a fic that runs with one of the core concepts of fix-it fanfiction, which is: What if these characters actually talked to each other for a change? And yes, it gets messy and complicated and often painful—nothing is glossed over and no one is let off the hook easy. What you get here is a fantastically written story that is simultaneously an intimate & slow character study of both Bucky and Tony, a grand sweeping road trip fic with a thrilling plot that will have you on the edge of your seat (there is a moment in this where I really thought it was all over), AND a decade spanning tale of epic love. If you're worried that there is too little Stucky or Steve in this, don't be. Even before he shows up around the halfway mark of the fic, Steve is very much present the entire time. It's incredible what the author pulls off here. This is one of my all-time favorite fics. I love it a totally not normal amount.

🚂 Will There be Any Freight Trains in Heaven? by phoenixflight | E, 56K

Author's summary: It's summer of 1934, a quarter of all Americans are unemployed, and record numbers of migrant workers are hopping freight trains to seek their fortune out west. What are two boys from Brooklyn to do?

Or, Steve and Bucky ride the rails, become socialists, and fall in love, in no particular order.

This story is a bit of an outlier on this list because not only is it the only fic that's set in the pre-war period, it's also not strictly a road trip fic, but a rail trip fic. Usually the road trips in these stories are either (1) a last ditch effort at saving a friendship/relationship, (2) a way of finding oneself and/or making peace with one's past, or (3) the 'we survived all this and here we are together in the future, so let's go and actually see some of that world we fought so hard to save' victory lap. The impetus for travel in this fic, however, is born out of sheer necessity. It's the height of the Great Depression and Steve and Bucky are really poor and really desperate—so desperate even that they're willing to leave behind Brooklyn, their families, and their lives as they know it to go look for work in the West. This is not a fic that's always easy to read, circumstances are dire, attitudes are, ahem, authentic to the period, and the nostalgia-tinted glasses about the good old days before the war will get firmly knocked off your face. It's also a story that will show you time and time again that sometimes you will find kindness, love and almost overwhelming humanity in the places you least expect it. And listen, if period accuracy and a very political Steve Rogers do not convince you, let me tell you that there's also a lot of pining in this. So. Much. Pining.

Ok. This was fun.

Next up: Short fics under 10K

#stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky fic #stucky rec list #steve x bucky #steve x bucky fic rec #stevebucky fic rec #stevebucky #my recs

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marchtooctober · 4 months

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Long time no fic!

This one's long overdue. Sorry 🙏 💦

But as for the fic itself, I'm not sorry and you're welcome.

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For Two

"I did it for my mission. For my country and the peace of people. What you did wasn't so different from what I did." He firmly said and swallowed hard.

"I know. Maybe I did worse." Thorn Princess said in a shaky voice, stifling her sobs.

Instead of bickering, they should be escaping to a safer ground. If only there's a place to run off to. There was nowhere to run and this moment between them is the only chance for demanding answers to the questions that they've been keeping for so long. She continued.

"Did you love me at all?"

Twilight held his aching side that took a gunshot from the enemy. It reached deep and he is losing blood. Though his strength is fading, he held up his hand and reached out for her face. He wanted to do so much more. To hold her tight and say he'll set things right. But he knows that there's no turning back. So Twilight took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

"Do you hate me?"

Thorn Princess was taken aback. Her tears trickled down from her face to Twilight's hand.

Silence ensued between them, both unwilling to answer. Twilight wanted to tell her everything but all he could do was stare right out the window of the dangerous place they're in. An amusement park can be seen. The faint colorful lights are the only thing giving life to his eyes. It was one of the rare moments, him wishing that he was just an ordinary person with the right to live a life. As his mind continued to wander, he thought out loud.

"Perhaps, in another world, we're up high riding the ferris wheel over there." He said.

"What are you saying? You're not making sense." Thorn Princess replied, still sobbing.

Thorn Princess attempted to raise him up. But she was fairly beaten too and only left with enough strength to save herself. Twilight shook his head, stopping her.

"If I was just a plain clumsy guy, would you love me?" He asked.

"I... Why are you asking me that? You should stop talking. You're bleeding too much. We need to get out of here."

"Imagine, we're just normal people. You're still working at the city hall and... and I'm a real doctor. Who knows? We might be lovers or maybe just friends... It's fine either way."

"Please... Loid..."

"You're still calling me that despite everything?"

Twilight could not keep himself from chuckling. He could feel his time running out.

"If we ever meet again, I hope I can finally be someone worthy for you." He said as his own tears flow.

Thorn Princess held his hand close to her.

The both of them are desperately wishing for the time to stop and let them be just a little bit longer. Just when they thought they were granted that very wish, a presence draws closer until it finally comes into vision as an armed enemy. Reflexes took over Thorn Princess and threw the last dagger. Severely exhausted, she wasn't able to hit deep to kill off the enemy with a single move. In frustration, she pulled out one of her earrings. The wounded figure was quick enough to draw out a gun and aim for them.

"Yor!"

With every last of his strength, Twilight shielded Thorn Princess who finally killed the enemy with a hit to the head. Not far off, more footsteps echoed.

"Loid? Loid? No..."

She held Twilight in her arms. Tears streamed down once more. Twilight smiled softly.

"Let's ride the ferris wheel next time, okay? Now go..." He said and weakly took out a grenade from his pocket.

One dies, the other must live on.

With his other hand, he gave his WISE pin to Thorn Princess.

"I love you."

Thorn Princess knew that it's over for the both of them. There was nothing left to do but give a kiss of farewell. She took the pin and jumped over the window. Not long after came the explosion, killing Twilight and his unfulfilled dream.

Just as the sun sets on his life, it rises for another person.

*blaring alarm

Beneath the blankets emerged a man with weary eyes and aching back. He groaned at what reminded him of another tiring day ahead. His hand reached out to turn off the alarm clock by swinging his arm to throw it out. But he realized shortly the silly thing he was about to do and laughed at himself.

"Now, why would I throw this? It's not a grenade..."

But aside from the hazy state of mind, there is a weirdly exceuciating feeling in his chest. He felt like he just woke up from a nightmare he could not remember. But he shook off the absurd thoughts.

A normal guy who lives in a suburban apartment, doing the same routine before heading to his work at the hospital as a doctor. Loid Forger.

If there's anything that lets him get through his mundane life, it's the interactions with his neighbor.

It's been about three years since he moved to the complex which is conveniently near to his work. Three years since he met her.

"Good morning, Loid." Came from outside as soon as the elevator opened.

Right in front of him is Yor Briar, standing against the light, making her glow like a morning angel. The neighbor who always seem to come around whenever Loid is in some kind of pinch. At first he didn't think much of it but by and by, he started to enjoy her company. She'd chance upon him when he's late for work or when something trivial stresses him out. Loid would always ease more whenever Yor helps him.

"Looks like you're running late today."

"Well... yeah. It's the second time this month." Loid replied as he got off the elevator and approached her.

"I guess you overslept this time. Why don't you get a new alarm?" Yor suggested.

"No. Actually, I..."

Loid couldn't tell that the real reason was that he was still trying to remember the dream he just had. He spent too much time thinking that he spent almost thirty minutes eating breakfast. He changed the topic to keep it off his mind.

"Maybe... How about you? You haven't left yet. Having a day off?" He asked.

"No. Today's a half day so I'll be at the city hall in the afternoon. I just came back from the courier and dropped something for Yuri."

"Your brother must miss you very much."

"There's still a month before he takes a leave. He'll stay over for a week so I hope you'd come over and chat with him again." Yor said.

Loid isn't sure if he should accept the offer at all. Is it okay for Yor to invite an outsider like him? Besides, Loid knows that Yuri hates his guts.

"I don't think he'd be fine with that. He wants to spend time with you not me." Loid jokingly said.

"I'm sorry about my brother. He's just shy, not a bad kid at all. I'm sure he'll warm up to you." Yor replied.

"I hope he does."

Loid wondered if they are close enough for such a connection to be established.

"Well then, I'll be going up. Take care! Have a nice day!"

"You too. Bye."

Yor waved at him before lining up for the elevator. Loid smiled contentedly. Yor's words work like spell. In an instant, he felt better despite the fact that he's on the rush and late for a meeting. He thought only of her as he took the cab ride.

It's been three years but still, Loid does not know what is their relationship. Neighbors? That's given. Are they friends? More or less. He doesn't want to ask Yor about it because he thought it's rude. Weirdly enough, they get to know more of each other through odd circumstances. Like when Loid would chance upon Yor's drunk state or when they happen to be going home together. Neighbors or friends, he knows that she is much more than that.

In short, Loid Forger likes Yor Briar a great deal.

"Doctor Forger! Thanks for helping me at the meeting. I knew you're such a competent one. I'll be counting on you again next time." Said the director to him.

"Of course, Sir." Replied Loid, though he wished not to be tapped again for troublesome favors.

For the rest of the day, it was just as usual. Running consultations and diagnosis, occasional chatting with colleagues, and running menial tasks for his superiors. And as hours fly by, he's getting more and more elated and hoped to run into Yor after he's done for the day.

As soon as he stepped out the hospital, he walked hastily by the main road for a better chance on meeting Yor in front of the station. But she was not around when Loid finally passed by. Unsurprised but disappointed, he continued on his way. He was doing so mindlessly that he ended up taking a detour towards direction of town square where sparkling lights are peeking.

"Wha- How did I end up here?"

Noise of excitement and fun invaded his ears. It was unusually more crowded than usual. Taking a proper look around him, there's an ongoing bazaar, the one talked about by the nurses a while ago. Since he was already there, he decided to roam.

He saw unique items and imported products left and right. It took him a few minutes till he had his fill and headed for the exit. But suddenly, right around the corner, a familiar whiff of rosy scent alerted Loid. He hurriedly took the turn and saw Yor walking along the row of pop-up stalls.

"Yor?" He called out.

"Loid? You're shopping too?"

"No, I just stopped by. I heard from my workmates. Today's the last day, right? Then the bazaar will move again somewhere else."

"We ended early so I took my time to shop."

"What did you buy?" Loid asked.

"Oh, I bought... food and some housewares. I also bought a succulent plant. I think it will look good by the window." Yor said contentedly.

"That's nice. Are you still shopping around?" Loid asked.

"No. This is the last one. Just a bunch of kitchen knives."

The stall owner handed out the purchase. Loid carried Yor's shopped items.

"Just a second madame." Said the owner, dug his hands in a drawer and pulled out a ticket.

"Ticket for the ferris wheel."

"What is this for, Sir?" Asked Yor, a bit surprised.

"For buying my craft. Each item's got a freebie. Crocheted towels for cheap items, tickets for pricey ones. I ran out of cafe coupons so I'm giving you that."

"Oh... Thank you, sir."

"But you gotta use it right now because the ticket expires today. Actually, take this too. It's the last ticket. Ride it with your boyfriend if you're both fine with heights."

"No! He's not my..."

Yor and Loid exchanged glances, a bit warm in the cheeks despite the chilly air. They were rather speechless when they walked away. It took a while before silence was finally broken by Yor.

"So... How about we use these? It will be a waste if we don't ride the ferris wheel."

Loid laughed awkwardly and nodded.

"Good point. And besides, it's free." He added.

They walked a little bit further until the line for the ride is within sight.

"Actually, it's fine. You might want to ride with one of your friends instead." Loid suddenly said.

"What? Wait!"

"I won't go with you."

"Come now, Loid. You can't share a ride with me? Don't say you're actually afraid of heights?" Yor asked.

"N-No! It's not that. Fine. I'll ride with you."

They are getting nearer and nearer the front. Loid knows that now is not the time to chicken out. Being alone with Yor while high up above is already beyond his expectations. This is not the same as the usual elevator ride. What more could he ask for?

"Please watch your steps, thank you." Said the employee, letting them in.

The door closed and the two of them sat in silence. Although Loid told himself to calm down, his heart wouldn't. It's beating crazier than ever.

"Look! We're rising! I can almost see the main road."

"Right, just a little longer we might get to see the rest of the town."

Opposite him, Yor leaned and looked outside. But Loid could not care less about the scenic view. He tried to strain his eyes away but all he could see is the one in front of him. And as the gentle rays filled the space, it kindled warm fuzzy feelings in Loid. And in his eyes, Yor glows while everything else blurs. Time halts, that moment becomes theirs alone, as if the cabin itself confines them away from the rest of the world.

Higher they rose, taking Loid's breath away until he could no longer bear the tugging in his chest. Along with the breath of relief comes along a string of words he never knew he'd say.

"I like you."

Time flowed again. Yor slowly turned her head, giving him a confused look. Loid can never take back this sudden confession and so he continued charging head on.

"I like you since long before I can remember. When I first moved in, I thought you were just the usual... nosy neighbor and... I used to be upset when I leave a bad impression on you. But believe me, I enjoy your company. And even though you hit me when you're drunk, it's fun listening to your ramblings. I don't mind if you hit me a hundred times."

"Hey! Why would I?"

Loid took deep breaths. He was fidgety and adjusted his scarf over and over. His eyes were everywhere except on Yor.

"But how do I put it? There's nothing really great about me... That's why I'm holding back. I can't just chase after you and scare you."

Loid then casted his eyes down. He was breathing heavily.

"This is so unlikely of me, don't you think? Telling you my feelings without warning. I- I'm very sorry... This is so embarrassing."

Loid doesn't know how he was able to say those words at all. Was it courage? Confidence? No. A plain and clumsy guy like him never had those. He felt like he's suddenly possessed by something, forcing him to shoulder someone else's hope and live that person's dream.

As if words were not enough, Loid kneeled on one knee and took Yor's hand in his. He swallowed hard and stared right into Yor's eyes that reflects the past and their possible future together.

"But even so, everything I said is true."

"Loid..."

"I've never been this sure. And I know it's a selfish wish but I want to prove myself to you. I'll wait until you accept me, reject me. I want to hear it from you."

Loid looked down once again, overwhelmed by his own emotions. But judgement is yet to pass.

Acceptance or Rejection? His heart is at Yor's mercy.

He dared to look up and saw Yor smiling gently at him.

"You caught me off-guard." She said.

"I'm very sorry! I promise I'll wait! I'm not forcing you." Replied Loid in a panic.

"I like you too."

Loid was stunned.

"What?" Was all he could say.

Yor gave her an answer too strong to be doubted. Yor's hands reached out for Loid's face. She dived down and let her lips land softly on his.

"I like you for many reasons, if you only knew. We're already this far. I don't want to keep you hanging like a dying man."

"I'm not complaining."

Loid is far from dying. He is alive and drunk with blissfulness. So happy that Loid can't help but kiss Yor's hands and lips. Wanting to make sure that it's not a dream.

He felt like it's too good to be true and realized how the free tickets were actually worth so much more. As if someone paid a hefty price for them. But either way, Loid will treasure this life-changing ride for always.

▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎

Lol obviously this is inspired by that ferris wheel scene from the movie. Ughhh i wish it comes to my country real quick huhu

#spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #loiyor #sxf fanfic #sxf #twilight #thorn princess #twiyor #banzaiiii #i was supposed to post this last year but I'm way too slow #I'll post this on ao3 later too #i gotta feed the dogs first

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soft--dragon · 1 year

Text

A Moment Of Peace

This is all just fluff, literally no plot, just fluff

Word Count: 1,857

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

THIS IS ALL PLATONIC, DON'T YOU DARE BRING SHIPPING INTO THIS YA NASTIES

Tommy sighs blissfully, tightening his hold on the warm figure underneath him and nuzzles into the soft sweater against his cheek. A soft, fond laugh flutters his curls, soon followed by a hand carding gently through the golden hair. Tommy immediately lets out a content hum, pressing up into the contact before settling back down into Wilbur’s chest, his smile etched permanently into his cheeks.

This was what he’d been craving, what he'd needed. After weeks of vlogging, and editing, and seemingly endless work, he’d been given the opportunity to relax. Well, ‘given’ is kind of the wrong word. It was more Wilbur barging into his flat without warning to kidnap him and forcefully take care of him. Not that Tommy was complaining of course. He’d willingly let the musician steal him away from his work any day, and besides, he needed the break. He was sure his eyes were going to turn into squares with how long he’d been staring at his computer screen.

As well as Tommy's own relentless hard work, Wilbur has been over doing it himself too. The Lovejoy tour took a lot out of him, and he was well overdue for a break. His band mates had put their foot down when Wilbur just about smashed into a door frame from stumbling around in his exhaustion. Ash was similarly tired after getting back from New York and having to jump straight into the Lovejoy gigs. The musicians all agreed they needed some time to recoup, and Wilbur's immediate go-to was his little brother. They hadn't seen each other in weeks, the world was without the Crime Boys and Wilbur wouldn't stand for it a minute longer. Air-go, kidnapping the blonde and bringing him back to his own flat for take out and cuddles.

It was a great relaxation combo.

Wilbur’s hand smooths over his unruly curls once more, earning a pleased noise from the boy when he scratches at the scalp too. The brunette holding him so tenderly breathes out a quiet huff, fondness crinkling his eyes and softening his brow. “Sunshine,” Wilbur murmurs quietly, thumb brushing along Tommy’s forehead, soothing the small wrinkles building there. “My sunshine.”

Tommy mumbles incoherently, nudging his cheek further into Wilbur’s sweater in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “...’hush, Wil,” he murmurs, pretending there isn’t a soft, pink flush slowly warming his face. “‘M trying to sleep.”

Wilbur chuckles, warm and rich and loving. The arm still wrapped around Tommy’s waist tightens for a moment, Wilbur’s other hand cupping the boy’s jaw and holding it there, an endeared smile lifting the man’s lips when Tommy leans into it fully. “Sweet boy,” he whispers, unable to help himself. Tommy groans into his chest, a shy grin lifting his lips as he lightly bats at Wilbur’s arm.

“Stoooop,” he grumbles light-heartedly, “soft motherfucker.”

Wilbur coos, hand still cradling Tommy’s face easing it to lift up towards him. ”Awww, you’re blushing, Toms,” quietly murmurs Wilbur, heart melted to goo at Tommy’s red face and flustered smile. “It’s really cute bubs, very endearing- wha- hey. Hey, no, you’re not allowed to hide. Let me see you-” A startled, fond laugh mingles in Wilbur’s words as Tommy wrenches his face from Wilbur’s gentle grasp and shoves it into his sweater, ears burning brightly.

“Tommyyyy~” Wilbur coos, giggles blending into the fond murmur. “Stop hiding sweetheart, let me see your smile.”

“Get fucked.” Tommy’s flustered grumble rises into the air, laced with enjoyment and thinly veiled shyness. “Actually die. Bastard.”

Wilbur pouts, despite Tommy not being able to see it. “But Toms,” he says, - he does not whine, not at all - “This is my Tommy Time, T.T if you will, I had to wait weeks for this.”

“And you’ve got me, now shut up, you’re annoying.”

“You wound me brother.”

“Good. Perish.”

“Hey-”

Tommy takes a fistful of Wilbur’s jumper, burrowing impossibly closer into his chest and lets out a long breath, his smile unable to be hidden even if he tries. Wilbur's antics were amusing no matter how tired he was. “You’re such a dramatic piece of shit. Why are you like this?”

Wilbur scoffs, but it sounds unbearably fond. His hands are gently sliding underneath Tommy’s jaw to cup his face once more, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, temples, and brow and melting the boy into goo. Wilbur presses a kiss to the crown of Tommy’s hair, then gently knocks the bridge of nose into his forehead. With a voice like velvet, he answers Tommy's light-hearted jab.

“I’ve missed you.”

The admittance was easy. It was always easy. Though the reaction his soft words bring forth is an adorable surprise. Tommy’s fading flush returns, and he presses his head against Wilbur’s like a cat, having to lean up a fraction to achieve it.

“I’ve missed you too.” The words were just as genuine as his older brother’s, and Tommy meant it with all of his heart. Wilbur makes a content noise, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in the comfortable warmth of his surrogate sibling.

He huffs a soft laugh as a thought crosses his mind. “I’m glad you did. I was afraid Ash would replace me as a big brother while you were in New York.”

“Well, I never said that didn't happen- hEHEhehey!” Tommy is thrown into a fit of breathy giggles as Wilbur’s fingers slip under his jumper in an instant to skitter gently at his bare sides.

Wilbur grins softly, tickling the boy with a feather-light touch that has him giggling up a storm. “Please, go on Tommy, don’t let me stop you. What were you saying?”

“Yohou're a pehetty bastard-” Tommy presses out, his hand in Wilbur’s jumper tightens as the sensations crawl over his sensitive midsection. "Aehehey-! Alrihight, alrihight! S-Stophit!"

"Say I'm your older brother and Ash isn't," challenges Wilbur with a mischievous giggle.

Tommy squirms the best he can in his limited space, weighed down by Wilbur's arms and his own tiredness. "Eheat shihit ahand dihie!"

He only falls into louder giggles as Wilbur attacks his ribs gently, the touch similar to the feeling of a spider scuttling around. "Say it Tommy, or your ticklish belly is next~" he coos, nails gliding over the grooves and spaces between Tommy's ribs in an unguessable pattern.

Tommy whines and kicks the arm of the couch as he tries to get a hold of his tumbling giggles, which as you can guess, was not going as planned. “I-Ihihihi- yohohou bihihitch- dohohon’t-”

“Come on, Tommy boy,” repeats Wilbur with a snicker, nimble fingers gently pinching and scritching along his tender ribs in a way that has Tommy writhing and giggling madly. “Come on~ I can do this all day, you know.”

“Wil- WihiHIHIlbuhuhuhur!” Tommy’s voice gave in to a squeal, his body contorting to hide his soft stomach which has now fallen victim to Wilbur’s wiggling nails as promised. His eyes squeeze shut and his laughter jumps higher in octaves as one of his most ticklish spots is being attacked. “Plehehease- Wihihihil ihihit’s sohoho bahahad!”

Wilbur giggles, though he does slow his fingers down to simply tracing around the sensitive skin, a small scratch appearing here or there to keep Tommy on his toes. The boy giggles, high pitched and mirthful, as the attack persists on his stomach.

"Yohohou're suhuhuch aha dihick," he gasps, grinning up at Wilbur with wet lashes.

Wilbur hums in agreement, priding himself on his gremlin nature. "I'm not hearing you admit it," he pesters for the hell of it, smirking down at the blonde.

Tommy lightly smacks his arm, shoulders bouncing with his lingering giggling. "Y-Yohou're- yohou're mihiy fahavorite brother," Tommy gasps out, managing to stick a hand behind him to hold Wilbur's wrist, not pushing him away, just hanging on. "Ash ihis stihill my brohother though, I wohon't say he ihisn't."

The gentle barrage ceases entirely, per the agreement. Tommy breaths out a grateful sigh, mirth on the edge of his voice as he playfully mutters, "Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill me one of these days with those attacks."

Wilbur didn't respond.

Tommy lifted his head to look at Wilbur and his eyebrows shot up to his receding hairline. "..Will?"

Wilbur was staring at Tommy with stars in his eyes, dewy tears clinging to the edges of his lashes.

Tommy startled into sitting up on his elbows, worriedly taking in Wilbur's shell shocked expression. "Are you okay? What's wro-"

Tommy choked on his words when Wilbur yanked him into his chest once more, hugging him with such ferocity Tommy swore he felt his ribs creak in warning.

"W-Wil, Wilbur-"

Wilbur eases up on the tight hug and kisses Tommy's forehead instead, bringing him back under his chin and nuzzling into the soft hair almost as if he was afraid Tommy would disappear if he didn't hang on. "You're my favourite too," he murmurs, "I love you buddy. I love you so much."

Tommy stares into Wilbur's jumper then burrows the best he can into the soft fabric, heart squeezing in affection. Silence cloaks the room for a while before Tommy's shaking voice breaks it.

"Asshole."

Wilbur laughs loudly, throwing his head back in his mirth and hugging Tommy close, legs coming up to entangle with the boy's own. Tommy tries to hug him tighter than he already is in turn.

"I love you too," he grumbles. "You're a prick for making me cry."

"Almost making you cry," Wilbur corrects, smirking at Tommy who glares back, tear track free.

"I'll cry at you in spite. Watch me."

"Consider me terrified," Wilbur concedes lightly, patting Tommy's head. "My worst nightmare; Tommyinnit spite crying at me."

"You'd better believe it, bitch."

Wilbur snickers, prodding Tommy's side and getting a sharp yelp. "Settle child."

"Says the dickhead who keeps poking me, you know my soft spot is my sides."

"Older bother privileges. Deal with it."

"Absolutely fucking not-"

Tommy quickly scribbles into Wilbur's upper ribs causing the man to screech loudly and scramble to sit up, wrenching away Tommy's hands the best he could.

"Tohohommy!"

"Younger brother privileges bitch!" Tommy crows loudly, grinning widely as he takes Wilbur apart. This spot is known to him and a few select others, secretly kept as it breaks the man down faster than side poking.

True to that statement, Wilbur was in fits of breathy cackles, trying to squirm away while Tommy was entangled with him.

"StoHOhoop- Tohohommy plehehease-"

"Nope! Revenge!"

"Ihihi'll- I'll shohow yohou revehehenge yohou gahangly fuhucker-"

"Oh, like hell you will." Tommy's fingers dive into Wilbur's hips, squeezing mercilessly and delighting in the scream Wilbur lets out.

"FUHUCK TOHOM!"

"Yeah, bitch! Laugh it up!"

Wilbur's shrieks of laughter bounce through the house, brought on by his little brother intent on revenge. No doubt Tommy would get a taste of his own medicine as soon as Wilbur could find an escape route. Getting away scot free for this kind of treason? Yeah right, not under Wilbur's roof.

In their defence, they'd missed one another, and they needed to make up for lost time of driving each other mad.

It's what brothers do after all.

#my fanfic #switch!tommy #switch!wilbur #mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #fanfic

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 10 months

Text

Collected - a Magnus Archives fic

Jon floated for a thousand years as the pupil of the Eye - by choice, a place he ran, after Martin's death undid him.

Now, he finds himself pulled from that hell and into a new, weird world - one in which many versions of the people he knew are trying to make a new life.

And who is behind this, apparently? Jurgen Leitner.

Jon barely feels like a person again, and trusts nothing but Martin. This is, perhaps, wise.

Spoilers for the whole show. This is post-MAG 200.

Part two of the Magnus Monsterverse AU.

AO3

--------

I stared at myself in the small mirror, but no matter how hard I looked, I still felt unfamiliar.

I looked like someone related to me, perhaps—someone who had made a lot of pilgrimages, or lived entirely on vegetables, or inspired some ridiculous motion picture about a holy man or tapasvi.

I thought this insult of a film might star Kevin Costner or Dustin Hoffman, aping whatever culture seemed most “exotic” at the box office. Then I remembered that these actors had been dead for nearly a thousand years, had only been popular in my childhood, and likely existed nowhere now beyond my memory.

Our memory. The Eye was, after all, here.

They were all here. Multidimensional, evidently, though Martin didn’t really want to explain.

The man in the mirror looked mournfully back at me. His beard was nearly trimmed, more white than black. His hair…

It had always been thick, but I’d never let it grow beyond a student-appropriate scruff, and certainly kept it short when in the workplace. Well, centuries floating as the Pupil of the Eye had taken care of that.

It was long and very thick. More than a little wavy, heavily streaked with white. It made me look like an entirely different person.

Why had Sasha not cut it? The aesthetic, she’d said.

I had no idea what that meant until I did, knowledge dropped into me, and now I felt very silly. I wasn’t some… young and stylish thing, but whatever.

I was an entirely different person. Sasha told me my body was far from human now. It looked human—if I concentrated, keeping my many eyes closed—but it was not. Evidently, it swung back and forth between being hundreds of eyeballs in a man-shaped sack, or some kind of light beams which defied all attempts to study it. Fiber optics came to mind—knowledge transmitted via light.

Honestly, both descriptions were horrifying. Or they should have been. I… found them more baffling than anything else. For heaven’s sake, how was I producing saliva? How did my tongue articulate? How was I capable of erection?

Careful, Sims. That way danger lies.

The Eye wanted to tell me—to show me what it had done—but if I let it commune that clearly with me again, I might have trouble coming back to myself.

It’d had enough time monopolizing Playground Jon. My turn was overdue.

I fisted my hair (which felt neither like eyeballs, nor light). Martin liked it. So. I would not cut it off. Brushed and kept it would be.

“You okay in there?” Sasha called from the other room.

“Not at all, I’m afraid,” I called back, and walked out to join her.

She smiled. Sasha James looked largely like she had, but somewhere around the time I died at Ny-Ålesund in her world, she’d fallen in with the Flesh.

She was half a foot taller than she’d been when I knew her.

She’d somehow gone on to end the world for the Flesh, too, and had not elaborated how. I could know, but that felt like violation, so I kept that door shut.

There were many doors to keep shut, these days.

“Feeling up for it?” she said.

I knew what she was asking: was I ready to meet my benefactor?

I was not. I still felt as though I were pretending to be a person. It had taken me two weeks just to be able to keep all my extra eyes closed. “Must I do this?” I drawled. “Is it really necessary?”

“Yep.”

“What if I faked an illness?”

“Mm,” she said, and tapped her chin with one sharp, purple fingernail. “That’d be quite the feat, considering you’re immune to pretty much everything now.”

She would know.

I sighed. “I could pretend to madness. Earn a few more days.”

“Martin’s willing to go with you,” she said.

I may not have a heart anymore, but something in my chest still ached. Such an offer cost him.

After he killed my counterpart, the Lonely had him for fifteen years. By the time Tim and Manuela opened a shocking door of fire and crackling sound above his wine-dark sea, Martin had drifted so long in cold, crushing silence that he couldn’t remember how to talk.

He struggled, now, to accept a world with people. Struggled not to loathe everyone and everything. Except me. And I don’t know how I held a sweet place in his heart after what I did.

If he was willing to do this, then I would go through with it. “All right.”

“Come on. You look fine.”

I looked down. Green button-down; jeans. Ankle boots. None of it I picked out, but as I still looked human outwardly, going naked was neither comfortable for anyone, nor practical for me. “Should I look scary instead? Go all eyes,” I said, glancing up at her.

She wore the extra inches she’d given herself quite well. “Don’t think it matters. Jurgen’s seen it all.”

“I doubt that.” My tone was dry.

“Well, he did say you’re the first you he’s met.”

I’d been warned there were multiple versions of us out there. “How the hell does that even work, anyway? Are there multiple versions of… all of us here?”

“Some of us.”

“How is it determined who is brought here?”

“I’m not part of that process,” she said. “You’ll have to ask him.”

The Eye offered to tell me. No. I may be unable to avoid things like the colloquial definition of the aesthetic being dropped into my head, but I could refuse the bigger ones.

I’d had no choice in that before, neither when I was still human, nor during the apocalypse, I wasn’t yet certain if this were a new skill I possessed, or something to do with the place I now found myself in.

With my benefactor.

Jurgen Leitner. I was still struggling with this.

My Leitner (a dubious epithet) had been brutally murdered by a lead pipe. I had never met this one. “How many of the others has he met?”

“That’s a lovely question to ask him!” She beamed.

I sighed. “You’re being awful about all of this, you know.”

“It’s not my job to answer questions. It is my job to prod you into being a better version of yourself,” she said. “Actually, I think it kind of always was?”

“Ha-ha,” I allowed, and we walked out the door to Martin’s smiling face, and the moment I saw him, all my stresses ceased to matter.

It was something of a grim apartment block—a gray courtyard-rectangle, framed by two building-rectangles, which were comprised of even smaller flat-rectangles that formed our homes. Each flat was precisely two and a half rooms: a bedroom, a sort of general space for whatever else, and a closet-sized bathroom.

I had a trunk at the foot of my bed with gifted clothes.

There was no kitchen. I didn’t need to eat. Neither, evidently, did anyone else in the place.

We could eat. There was a communal kitchen in the bottom floor of the west building—a conscious choice, so Sasha told me, because it encouraged us to spend at least a little bit of time together.

A week ago, after I left the hospital, I grew curious enough to wander down there and found Jane Prentiss sitting by the refrigerator, staring into a teacup filled with cockroaches.

I fled, and had yet to return.

“You look so good,” said Martin, kissing my cheek.

I leaned in. I would never forget the hollowness of his death—the loss, the tearing, hopeless horror. I would never take his affection, his love, for granted. “You always do.”

“And when I don’t, nobody will ever know,” Martin grinned. He was fully visible today, so he knew how good he looked; a light jumper, comfortable jeans, boots like mine. His curly hair was frost-kissed, the red and white both glinting in the sun.

Laugh lines around his eyes, above his freckles. Eyes that some days were less green, gone almost colorless; but on those days, he also didn’t bother to be fully visible.

Except to me.

“I’m never going to get used to this,” I said, running my fingers through his curls. “Alive. You. Here. I…” Damned throat tightness. (And how did that even work, anyway? What, were the eyeballs constricting? Pupils exhibiting tension dysphonia?)

“Me, neither—and you’re welcome to butter me up more, but we’re still going to meet some people today,” said Martin, because his choice to be social included forcing it upon me.

“Do I have to?” I said. “You know, it could make me late for Leitner. Better skip this bit.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned in and kissed me.

Mm. Alright. Anything he asked would do.

“Don’t be a coward,” he said.

“I am a coward,” I said. “Apparently, that’s half my appeal.”

He held me close, and his impossible heartbeat echoed my own. Right here, right now, I felt like a person. I remembered how. I knew what it was like, and I melted in his arms.

“Come on,” he murmured against my head. “Nobody’s going to hurt you—and we’re… we’re sort of family, now. All of us. We all share kind of a big thing, you know?”

“We all ended the world,” I whisper.

“Yes.”

I swallowed. (Did I have an eyeball instead of an Adam’s Apple? Precisely what was constricting?) “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

He shrugged. “Who would? Come on, or we actually will be late for Leitner.” With his hand in mine, he led me into the communal dining hall.

I’d hardly gotten a good look at it the first time. It was your basic cafeteria: tables and chairs, a sort of kitchen area behind a wide, white counter. Checkered floor tiles. Awful lighting.

This time, Mike Crew was in there, along with Oliver Banks, seated at a little square table with tea.

Both of them stared at me.

I stared back.

The Eye tried to give me their stories.

I resisted. “We all just live here?” I blurted.

“Smooth,” said Martin, waving at them. “Hi.”

Mike looked Martin up and down as though he were made of chocolate.

Martin ignored it.

So that happened.

“Wow,” said Oliver, smiling at me. “That’s a good look for you.”

“What?” I managed like an idiot.

Mike sipped his tea. The cup sparked, as if it were secretly made of electrostatic particles. “Huh,” he said. “I killed you in my timeline.”

This was going splendidly. “When I came to see you?” I guessed.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Cop followed you. Didn’t appreciate it too much, so.” He made a swooping motion with his hand. “Off you both went.”

“Daisy, too?” I said.

“Was that her name?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t sound less stiff.

He didn’t care. “Cool.”

“I didn’t kill you,” Oliver said, and looked sad. “I just didn’t manage to wake you.”

“The coma?” I guessed.

“You chose to stay human.”

Dear lord. “What happened after that?”

Oliver sighed. “The Archivist’s death somehow… empowered me? I don’t honestly know. There was a lot of manipulation from others, and… it was really a mess. I didn’t actually mean to end anything.”

Oh, gods. “I’m so sorry. I know what that’s like. To be used.”

“I meant to do it,” said Mike, chipper and friendly. “We all fell forever in the sky. It was honestly lovely until there wasn’t anyone else left to tumble.”

My swallow was audible. (And just how did my eye-filled throat replicate the sound of a pharynx gulping?)

“What’s on offer?” said Martin, as though none of this were awkward.

Mike looked at his tea. “Green, I think?”

“Silver needle,” said Oliver.

“Not bad,” said Martin. “I don’t see any baked goods. Jack’s not been by today?”

“No, and don’t ask about him,” said Mike. “They’re on the outs again.”

Martin sighed. “I’m not the type of person to say this, normally, but if they’d just fuck already…”

Both the other men laughed.

I didn’t. I stared at him.

“Agnes,” he said.

“Jack Barnabas?”

“Yeah.”

“How is he—he wasn’t an avatar of anything! How did—”

“He’s just here, for some re-”

“Did he end the world, too?” I blurted. “What did he do, boil the world in coffee?”

Mike laughed. “Nikola said you were funny.”

Right, no one mentioned that. “Nikola. She’s here. Like Jane Prentiss.”

“Not like Jane. Imprisoned,” said Martin. “She's not loose.”

“Why the hell is Jane loose?”

“Because she behaves. She doesn’t attack anyone, and she’s got a job handling rubbish dumps.”

I stared at him. “She hated me.”

“She hated the Archives. I have no idea if she’ll hate you now,” said Martin. “There are no Archives here.”

The Archives were the Eye. I am pretty much all eyes. I rubbed my face.

“Cheer up,” said Mike. “Sit down. Have a cuppa. You’ll feel better.”

Come to think of it, Mike wasn’t such a hero, either. “So we all ended the world, by choice or otherwise, and now we’re playing… Game On?”

Mike laughed. It was such a friendly laugh from a sociopath. “Game On? That’s a blast from the past. You watched that show?”

“My grandmother approved of it, for some reason,” I muttered, looking down.

“Martin, you were right,” said Mike chummily. “He’s adorable.”

“Told you,” said Martin.

I was made of eyes, had been removed from my floating, emotionless hell for all of a month, and this was the conversation? “I… I’m not.”

“Would you look at that expression?” said Mike brightly. “Like someone walked over his grave.”

Suddenly, I felt watched.

This… this was a test?

I knew it was.

From whom? Why? Leitner, maybe. I didn’t dare reach for more information, reach into the Eye when I don’t yet know if I could do that and return. But this—whether any of them knew it—was a test. I was just coming out of my cocoon, and here was a man who’d hurt me, lightly flirting with my lover.

A man who sounded nice, but was not. A man who behaved amicably, yet had not cared when his parents died due to his mistake with the Corruption.

He wasn’t being aggressive, but still pressing buttons as if to trigger a response.

Who the hell was watching this? What, was I going to be “imprisoned” like Nikola if I did this wrong?

That was a leap, logically. All I knew was this was a test—possibly without the consent of anyone here—and I did not know why yet. I would not live in paranoia again.

(Let me show you whispered the One who’d had me for damn near a thousand years, and I shuddered.)

“Jon?” said Martin.

“It’s a lot,” I said, going for the truth. I somehow doubt floating in facts for a millennia made me any better of a liar. “I don’t… are we even on different sides, anymore?”

“Sides?” said Mike. “Sure. I’m on the ‘let’s don’t die’ side. You?”

Oliver looked sad. “Sorry, Jon. It is a lot. But you have time to figure it out.”

And suddenly, I wanted a test of my own—to see how they’d react to questions. “But why is this happening? What is the point of it all? What, are we all just being… collected, or something?”

“Damned if I know,” said Mike, and toasted me with his tea. “But I, for one, am grateful to be here. Wasn’t fun, toward the end. I was all that was left.”

I got it, suddenly. “Your god fed on you.”

A crack appeared in his cheer. “My god fed on me. I… I’m still Vast. But I can’t forget that. I can’t just let it go.” He looked down.

Oliver put his arm around Mike’s shoulders. “We’ve all got a lot to process, still.”

The Eye dropped a meme into my head. Vulnerability? In MY sociopath? It’s more likely than you think!

Stop that, I thought at It.

“Text me if Jack brings anything by, okay?” said Martin. “Come on, Jon. Time to meet our benefactor.”

Oliver perked up. “Oh! Good. You’ll like him.”

Mike shrugged. “He’s not awful.” He kept his eyes down; Oliver’s arm stayed around his shoulder.

I didn’t know how to read that after the look Mike had given Martin. Blast it all, what was this drama? This was worse than secondary.

I let Martin lead me away.

The gray rectangles opened onto a lovely street I had not yet seen. It was quiet; a park bloomed across the way, bright with bird-speak and pretty flowers. A few red post-boxes and yellow fire hydrants fit the spring weather and the early bloom.

London, but not one I knew.

There were no cars. I couldn’t hear any, at least. More buildings like ours stretched down the street on this side; there were no shops.

We stopped at the curb and waited.

I couldn’t wait, though, any longer. “Jane Prentiss. Nikola Orsinov. Explain.”

“I’d really rather let Leitner do it,” said Martin.

“But—”

“I hate… all of this. I don’t want to think about so many people. It hurts, Jon.”

I dropped that like a hot potato. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He took a deep breath and, instead of a potato, dropped a bomb: “It was thoughts of you that fueled me, you know.”

“Wh… what?” I managed, and at that moment, a car came around the far corner.

It was the first one I’d seen here; expensive and black, rather large, but silent—like someone took a Bentley and refitted it to be electric. It pulled without a sound to a stop in front of us and waited, windows tinted.

“Absolutely haunted,” I proclaimed.

Martin laughed and opened the back door.

Maybe it was haunted. The quarter glass was tinted, too, and whoever was behind it never spoke.

“What’s he like?” I said, soft.

Martin shrugged. “If Mick Jagger and Neo from The Matrix had a baby,” he began.

“Stop.” I raised my hands. “Dear lord, Martin, you’re going to summon something.”

He laughed again, then leaned forward and took my hands between his eyes. Tears glistened on his lashes. “I forgot to laugh until you came back. I mean… I’d do it. For people. Because I… I’m trying, Jon. I’m trying so hard.” He stopped to swallow around the roughness in his voice. “But you’re the only one I don't have to try for. I’m tired.”

Don’t panic, I told myself, because I didn’t think I had the power to save him. Don’t panic, I told myself, because I wasn’t even comfortable in my own skin yet, and here if I failed, I might drag him down with me. Don’t panic,I told myself, because this was Martin, and I would do anything to keep him safe.

I brought his hands to my lips and kissed them. “I don’t know what I can do for you. I’m just… I’m just me. Whatever that is anymore. I don’t know. But whatever I am, all that I am, Martin… I’m yours.”

He met my eyes. His own had gone silver with dark gray radial streaks and an eerie limbal ring of blue.

I took a breath and held it, unable to move. I’d never seen anything so beautiful.

So… so horrible, what was I thinking? What was this? Was he in pain? Was he slipping away? Was—

He leaned in, gripped the back of my head, and kissed me with warm breath and warm lips and nary a hint of mist or fading, and I clutched his shoulders and pulled him in for more.

“Silly,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m fine. I saw that look, Jonathan Sims. You got all spooked.”

“I know you’re fine,” I lied, clinging.

“I’m not a ghost, either,” he said.

I was still laughing when the car pulled to a stop and the door was opened by a surprise.

Jared Hopworth bent down nearly double to peer into the back seat, chauffeur cap jaunty on his head, elephantine suit straining at his shoulders. “Come on, lovebirds,” he said. “You ain’t the only job I got today, so move it.”

I gawked at him.

Martin dragged me out of the back. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Jared gave Martin the same look Mike had.

Maybe I had gone mad, after all. Maybe this was entirely my subconscious inventing a world, revolving around the fact that Martin was desirable, even to me (which was something), and so it only made sense that all the characters with speaking parts would want him.

Or maybe I was just jealous, and had never been good at reading people, anyway.

Jared drove off, the vehicle silent.

Ahead of us rose a ridiculous building that could’ve gone head-to-head with the Magnus Institute, but instead of Victorian academia, this one was a gods-damned church.

It rose in ridiculous splendor, its doorways a pointed arches, its enormous rose window portraying some strange-looking knight battling a hydra. Ornately carved flowers and fluting patterned the building’s facade.

“Why are we meeting in a church?” I said.

“I think it’ll make more sense when you meet him,” said Martin. “He’s, um. Dramatic?”

“Wonderful.”

He smiled and opened the heavy door for me. It was unlocked.

The inside of the gothic church was… a gothic church. Flying buttresses. Vaulted ceilings. The pews had been removed, replaced with desks and filing cabinets; boxes of files lined the walls.

Then I caught a glimpse of another Martin and damn near fell over my own feet.

Another—

Another Martin?

Another—

“Steady,” said Martin. “That one’s… that one was never yours.”

“What?” I said, staring at the other Martin.

The other Martin looked spooked and skedaddled. A door slammed.

Everybody else here looked at us.

There were… there were people I did not know, and I was deeply glad of that. But there were also people I did.

Two Jude Perrys, for one, sitting side by side, with wildly different hairstyles. A Melanie, with both her eyes; one, two, three Georgies, who seemed to be focused on some sort of project building a tower from tarot cards.

I couldn’t move. Are we all just being collected? I’d asked Mike, and for one dizzying moment, wondered if I were right.

“I thought Sasha warned you,” Martin whispered.

“Not… really,” I managed.

Another door opened, and all heads turned away from me and toward the other end. “Well, well, well!” boomed a voice I knew—a voice like Christopher Lee’s, a voice with weight and wealth and the wide confidence of a man who rarely hears a no.

It looked like Jurgen Leitner—if Leitner came wrapped in black leather, wearing a pair of green-lensed spectacles (small and round lenses, very trendy, I supposed), numerous rings that sparked with some power tickling the back of my senses, and a gods-damned sword strapped to his hip.

Right. That cinched it. I had definitely gone mad.

“Come on, come on,” he said, gesturing. “Come along, now—nobody’s going to bite you, Jon. May I call you Jon?”

“Please,” I said, years of training in social norms finally coming to use as the parts of my brain in charge of voluntary behavior seemed to have stalled. (The image of a skull full of eyes rolling back in an Edwardian fainting spell did not help at all.)

“Come on, now. Come on!” He held open the door back there—another deep, pointed-arch affair—and beamed.

There were smiles among some of the people here. They still watched me; wary, to a one, and far too many with baggage, but no one yet seemed inclined to attack me, or anything.

All three Georgies looked sad, which was awful.

Martin tugged my arm.

Right. For him, I would do this, and not turn around and run away down the street as fast as I could and hide in the bushes and hope to die a quiet, eye-rolling death where I could harm no one and no one could harm me.

Leitner was taller than I remembered, but then, I’d not been in a good place when we met. “There you are,” he said with great satisfaction, and stepped aside for us to enter his office.

“I think I’m in shock, just so you know,” I informed him as I stepped inside.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” he said with great cheer, and closed the door behind us.

------

Notes:

Looks like this monsterverse AU is go. Oh, boy, what have I gotten myself into?

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #magnus pod #the magnus archives fic #magnus pod fic #mike crew #jonathan sims #oliver banks #the archivist #tma spoilers #martin blackwood #sasha james #jmart #jonmartin #teaholding #monster!jon #monster!martin #magnus monsterverse

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