#vanishing line Luke | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arabellasleopardcoat · 10 months

Text

Last Man On Earth (Aemond Targaryen x reader)

Summary: No one told King Aemond about the Song of Ice and Fire. As the daughter of Rhaenyra, you have one last mission left.

Warnings: Violence, death, mentions of sex, smut, toxic dynamics. Misuse of biblical verses

A/N: I'm about to make so many people angry.

And to the woman, the Father said:

“I will make your pains in childbearing very severe;

with painful labor you will give birth to children.

Your desire will be for your husband,

and he will rule over you.”

(The Father's Book. 4:22-26)

The letters stopped getting there on your eight and ten name day. Childishly, you waited a few more weeks, telling yourself it must be only a delay. Perhaps the war that went on, or the weather, had detained the ship that carried it. Perhaps your mother had simply forgotten. But deep down, you knew something had to have happened. Rhaenyra Targaryen was not a good woman, perhaps even not a good mother. But she had always remembered your name days.

Your brain refused to believe it, but you knew, deep in your gut, that it was not a mere delay. You had mourned too much already to deceive yourself. Luke, Jace, Joffrey, Daemon, Helaena… The time spent in the Free Cities had served you well, when it came to learning the deep pang of sadness.

First, it had been the death of Luke. Your beloved twin. Then, the loss of your home. Vanished from Dragonstone by your mother, to keep safe. After that, the separation from your half brothers, by then mere babes. It was best, not knowing where they were. If you were captured, it wouldn’t mean the end of Rhaenyra’s line.

Despite the eagerness displayed by both your mother and Daemon to get you out of the Seven Kingdoms, no one had come looking for you very hard. Every once in a while, an overzealous sell sword got lucky, and you had to relocate, yet the occasions seemed to become further and further apart. No one cared enough to keep looking for the only Targaryen unable to claim a dragon, after all these years.

But at the beginning, you had survived on a network of favors. A chain, if you will, set up by your stepfather. First, it had been that friend of his in Pentos, where you posed as his niece, a dark haired, brown-eyed thing no one actually believed came from such a man. Then, you were the daughter of a courtesan in Lys, recently reunited with your mother and with aspirations of becoming a priestess. After that, you had been the cousin of some Lord in Volantis, then a Septa in training in some forgotten convent in Myr. And so on it went. You had perfected the art of shedding names and titles as if they were an old dress. Yet you never claimed to be Valyrian.

Most would think it had been your lack of dragon, the reason for being sent away. It would even be used as an argument against Rhaenyra, in the years to come, “Isn’t she so progressive? But she sent her daughter away because deep down she knows women are not meant for war.” Others would say it was your nature, a meek and shy thing that always faded in the background when your outspoken brothers and cousins were around.

No one would ever guess the real reason. It would mean giving much credit to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the whore. She had realized, a long time ago, that war was brewing. Rhaenyra, much like you, tried lying to herself. But she knew it, deep down. So, when the time came, for her to prepare her heir, the Princess didn’t tell the secret to just Jacaerys. She told Luke and you.

An heir. A spare. A safeguard. And so, you were sent away. When the letter didn’t come, you realized your mission just started. A painfully long journey, hours in the sea. You would think, with how much you had traveled, you would have gotten your sea legs by now. But it seemed even the sea knew the truth about you.

Normally, a Princess would travel with a retinue. Or at least, if she insisted on the lack of formality, her sworn shield. You had not the funds, nor the need for it, anymore. You had left King’s Landing a girl and returned a woman. In your common cloak, and with your dark hair, no one would have ever mistaken you for a Princess.

The ship docked early in the morning, King’s Landing not yet awake. It was a merchant’s ship, filled with spices and a few other passengers. You disembarked in silence, taking in the surrounding city. It shook you to your core. These were not the streets you remembered, filled with people preparing for war. Nor were these the streets your mother talked about, when she reminisced the time when she and Daemon had fallen in love for the first time.

The city was dirty. The stench was much worse than you remembered, and quite different from other capitals you had visited. It smelt coppery and rotten, as if of old blood. At the gates, there was a head on a spike, a cloud of flies so great surrounding it that you had to bat them away to walk.

Silver hair, no eyes, the softest hint of a quirk in the mouth among the rotting flesh. The same one that you often see in the mirror. It was a head you knew well. It was your mother’s.

You tried hard not to gag, and walked past it at a breakneck speed. Careful not to stare. A woman feeling faint at the sight was expected. A woman falling to her knees and bawling her eyes out was treason.

It was hard, after that, to want to help Aegon. The pig had no redeeming qualities. He had been a bad husband to your aunt, an awful commander and a drunk. You had no doubt now he was going to be a poor King. There was, of course, the fact that he had killed your mother and not even granted her the kindness of a Valyrian funeral.

Still, you had to. You had to because the last time you had heard your mother’s voice, you had promised to. Promised that if you ever were captured, the firsts words that you would utter would be those, and not a plea to the Greens for mercy. You wiped at your eyes, harshly brushing the tears away, and put one foot in front of the other. A step. Another. Easier each time.

“This is bigger than we.” Your mother had said, the night you were to depart. Cloaked by the night, a ship was set to sail towards Pentos. Only a cargo of sheep, it declared at the port. Of sheep and a tiny princess, scared out of her mind. “No matter…” She had choked up, the death of your twin still fresh on her mind. In yours. Luke. Your other half, now gone. The possibility of losing the war, before not even a thought on your mind, now a reality. The first loss of many, even if you didn’t know it then. “Aegon’s dream. No matter who wins, in the end. You have to pass it on.”

“You will win, mother.” You had replied, brushing your own tears away. You didn’t know, that evening, that you would see her again, nearly in the same place, lifeless and empty - eyed. “You have to.”

“Oh, my dragon. My sweet dragon.” Rhaenyra had cradled your face in her hands, placing one last kiss to your forehead. “Promise me. You will help them if I die. You will tell. Because it is not about who sits on the Iron Throne now, but when the Song of Ice and Fire will come to pass.”

“Mother…” A sob broke out your throat. “Mother, I can’t. Don’t ask me to betray you like that, not when…”

“You will. You are my daughter. My only daughter. The strongest out of your siblings because you are a Targaryen, but you are also a woman. Your body was made for pain, your spirit to remain unbroken. Remind that, daughter.”

Your ship had sailed away, the figure of your mother getting smaller and smaller on the horizon. But the duty remained at the forefront of your mind for the years to come. And you intended to fulfill it. No matter what.

The state of disarray King’s Landing was in made it easy to sneak into the Keep. Among the mass of beggars and injured, no one noticed a girl making her way through the streets. You snuck in, using a passage Jace had written you about a long time ago. You got in, your presence unknown to the sleeping servants and barely awake guards.

Perhaps it was the fact that it had been Jace, who had taught you how to get in like that. Or maybe it was just a sudden fit of nostalgia. But with the sky barely pink, the Keep strangely empty, you figured there was no danger in visiting the courtyard.

The servants and the Kingsguard had not yet risen. Too early for even the lowliest of servants. Without a second thought, you lowered your hood. The space was vacant, you had dark hair and a common cloak. No one would notice you if you kept your eyes lowered.

The space looked odd, without the sparring men and the flock of admiring ladies. Still, it looked smaller than you remembered. That thought triggered a memory. Jace. Jace had said the same thing, and then he had turned and…

You walked a few steps and pressed your hand to the mark on the wall, eyes closing. A tiny sob escaped you. It was still there. So much had changed, yet the mark on the wall remained. You could picture him, clear as day, hair windswept, eyes sparkling with wonder. Slightly younger than you, sweet. Warm. Yet your hand only found cold stone.

Lost in those thoughts, you didn’t notice the light footsteps approaching you. You only did, when a familiar voice spoke, a heavy hand falling on your shoulder.

“And who…” Before you even had a chance to try to flee, your uncle, the man that you hated the most, was turning you around. Aemond. Now, nothing in your life has been easy. That was probably why you should have expected the first member of the Greens you would encounter to be him. “…Niece?”

Slowly, as not to startle him, you lifted your hands, pushing your hair back, so he could get a good look at your face. You drank him in, familiar, yet so foreign. He no longer wore the eye patch, but the sapphire eye and the scar were as prominent as ever. Responsible for the death of your twin and stepfather, and turned a formidable commander by the end of the war, having been humbled by defeat. Too many, dead by his hand.

Aemond looked startled at the sight, as if he was looking into the eyes of a ghost. His face paled, lips stretching into a tense grimace before the mask fell back into place.

“What are you doing here?”

"Uncle Aemond." You lowered your head, feeling clueless about what to say. Here’s the man you have nightmares about. Here’s the face that haunts him so. "How have you been?"

"I had better days.” Aemond took your hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow. His eye glittered dangerously, madly. “Walk with me.”

The years had done him good. That much was clear. He had now the look of a man who was used to getting his way, to never being told no. You wondered if sleep proved so elusive to him as it did to you now.

There was almost a pained expression on his face, all sharp angles, that the soft light of sunrise did nothing to light up. Aemond was skinnier than you remembered, taut muscles and dark circles under his eyes adding to his handsomeness. Your uncle had always looked otherworldly, fae like, but now, he looked barely human. Targaryens had always been closer to gods than men, Daemon had used to say. It had never resonated with you in the way it did now.

“You put me into quite the conundrum.” Aemond said, walking you towards the gardens, pace unhurried. He barely dared look at you. You figured, for him, it was more painful. Lucerys must wander his dreams in the same way it did yours, yet you had grown accustomed to seeing the face looking at you in the mirror.

For Aemond, it must be his personal haunting, seeing in you what Luke could have been, had he not cut his thread so early on. You had played that game enough. So many afternoons spent in front of a mirror, watching your reflection get further and further away from what Lucerys had been. So many, thinking that your face was blurring his.

Here’s a secret. Losing a twin is like having a severed limb. An extension of yourself you took for granted and are not, ever, getting back.

Just as you are, Aemond is gathering himself. So, you wait the silence out. You don’t notice the two guards falling into step behind you, when you pass a more transited hallway.

“What is it that you seek? Surely, you don’t intend to rally an army.” He finally asks, and it comes out wrong. Short. Clipped. But not hateful, in the way it used to be, when he crowed Lady Strong in your ear. It feels wrong. Calculated. Like a dragon playing with its food.

“No, Kepa.” You muttered, words sweet, hoping High Valyrian would soothe him. There is something in you telling you to run. Pure, raw instinct, the one we all have. When you see a predator, you run and don’t look back.

Aemond turned towards you, and raised your hood, placing it tenderly over your head. The touch a parent would give to a child. You closed your eyes, delighting in the softness of the touch. You would despise yourself for it later, thinking you had encouraged him. But right now, it has been so long since someone with your same blood touched you. Someone who shares your eyes. For a second, the familiarity makes you think of better days, when both of you were children and Jace and Aegon and him ran around these same halls.

“If you go now, I won’t chase you, little niece. Too much blood has already been spilled for me to wear the Conqueror’s crown. I do not know what prompted you to come here, but I can…” But whatever he was going to say, it was nothing more but static in your ears. You felt like one of the dolls your mother gifted you when you were a child. Head full of wool, limbs weak as if made from string.

His mouth kept moving, lips forming words in a distance. Yet you didn’t hear. Your mind could only fixate on one thing. You stumbled, feet getting tangled in the edge of your dress and cloak, or maybe you were just dizzy with shock. At your sudden move, Aemond’s grip tightened against your arm.

“Niece. Niece.” He muttered urgently, pulling you outwards with such force it would bruise. “You didn’t know, I take it.”

“I didn’t know, Ke… Your Grace.” You dropped into a hurried curtsy, pulse beating loudly in your ears. Your body felt like it was on fire. It explained the changes in him. It made sense, despite your reluctance. Aemond wore the crown well.

“What did you think, byka tolīmorghon?” Aemond chuckled, humorlessly, pulling you to your feet. “So it wasn’t defiance, but ignorance. Hardly a worse sin.”

“I thought… Aegon, or his children…” You trailed off, realizing what it actually meant. If Aegon was not wearing the crown his family had fought so hard to place on his head…

“Dead. Aegon killed your mother, but not before she gutted him like a pig.” Aemond shook his head, seemingly unaffected by the topic of discussion. “His hubris killed him, more than Rhaenyra. He dared set a dragon against a Targaryen, but didn’t count on her being the truest of them two.” Then, as if realizing what he said, he fell silent. Remembering the time he too had dared set a dragon against a Targaryen, but won.

“Experience always trumps, does it not, Your Grace?” You regretted the jab the moment it left your mouth. Aemond let go of your arm, angrily pushing you away. His hand went to his belt. You looked at the sword, hanging there, and felt the urge to retch. Dark Sister. Not only had he killed Daemon, he had taken his sword as a souvenir.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” He said, purple eye burning with anger. His frame towered over you, yet you didn’t flinch. You were the blood of the dragon, as much as he was. More so. Stronger, with an iron will. Because you were half Targaryen, but you were a Targaryen woman. “The blood of Rhaenyra lives on you, contesting my claim to the throne. Despite it, you have marched into my hands willingly. The Seven know with what purpose, byka tolīmorghon. Do you have a death wish?”

“How many dead, Kepa? How many of us left?” You needed to know. Needed because it was essential to your task. No matter how much it hurt.

“None of yours.” Aemond said, and you covered your mouth with your hand, choking back a sob. “None of mine, either. Mother and Helaena… Neither could take it. I rule over ash and bones. The great houses, diminished beyond belief. The dragons… I rue spilling your blood, niece. 'Tis the source of my conflict.”

“I came here to tell you a secret.” You blurt out, before he gets second thoughts. Your eyes keep watch of his sword arm, just because his hand is too close to his belt. It’s not because it makes it easier, not looking at him. At all.

Aemond listens to your story in silence. You tell him all you know, from the blade your mother had said still exists, to the belief your Grandfather and her had in the dream. How he needs heirs, desperately. Anyone, as long as it is his blood.

“I had suspected.” He finally says, shoulders dropping. Aemond looks exhausted. You wonder exactly how heavy the crown is on his head, how much of a burden it is to try to rebuild a country that has been through a civil war and a conquest in less than fifty years. The coffers must be empty, and he speaks of no nobles to tax. To do so on his own… You would go mad. Perhaps he is, already. Too much blood and the latent Targaryen madness, always ready to pounce. It had taken your mother, too.

But there is no one else to rule. You don’t voice those thoughts. You just stare at him, waiting to be dismissed.

“There is no written mention of it, of course. Or else either your stepfather or I would have found out. I have read every book on our history I could get my hands into. I bet Daemon did, too.” And he speaks of it so casually, too. You want to slap him. You can’t. To do so it’s treason. Instead, you curtsy at him, intent on being dismissed, even if you have to prompt him.

He glares. He does not speak a word. You risk a look at his face. Aemond is angrier than you have ever seen. And it’s nothing like it was before the war. It’s a cold thing. A quiet anger, that twists his face into something that reminds you of the portraits of Maegor the Cruel. You take a step back. Then another. Somehow, you know, he will not let you leave these gardens alive. You still try.

“You are the same as your mother.” Aemond said, quietly. You stop, dead in your tracks. “Just as irresponsible.”

“Excuse me?”

“You came here, to drop your mess in my lap, and now you intend to leave?” His hand grips at your wrist, painfully tight. Tight enough to bruise. Aemond snarls, baring his teeth.

“What do you want, Your Grace?” Your tone comes out pleading. Scared. Like a dog showing his belly to a more dominant one. You hate it. “Let me go.”

“You think I will let you leave, byka tolīmorghon?” Aemond laughs. It sounds… Ugly to hear, all twisted. It holds no humor, only disdain. For the poor, silly little girl who thought she could get away.

“Are you going to kill me?” You take another step back, shrugging off his grip. Someone unsheathes his sword. Startled, your eyes are drawn to the source of the noise. And when his guards started to approach? They are cornering you. You have one on the left and Aemond is taking the right. Your back hits the wall.

“No, you won’t walk away that easily. You are staying, niece.” Aemond pressed closer, cornering you even more. Here was a man pushed past his limits, his eye seemed to say. A sudden thought crossed your mind. He was the King. But there was no mention of a Queen.

“I… No. No, uncle. Let me go, now.” You started struggling, dread pooling in your stomach. Surely, you had misinterpreted his meaning. He could not, not when he prided himself on being a trueborn Targaryen.

Aemond merely smirked. It was clear he had noticed, by your increased panic, that you finally understood. A slap. Skin against skin, both of his hands trapping your wrists now. The sound, so loud to you, so similar to the closing of cuffs. He couldn’t. Not with how much he scoffed at your bastard, dirty blood.

“You have Targaryen’s blood. And I need a wife. Kind. Sweet. Pure.” His grip shifted, now holding both of your wrists in one hand. With the other, he pulled you close. You didn’t resist. You just looked at him, helpless. The guards, probably used to seeing much worse from their King, didn’t even flinch. “Strong. To be queen, to give me many heirs.” Aemond nuzzled the top of your hair, hands coming to grasp at your waist, hugging you against him.

“You are insane.” You tried to shrug him off, aware that if you kicked or pushed him too hard, he could have you charged with treason and put to the sword. You didn’t dare fight him in earnest and he knew it. Trapped. He had you cornered.

“Maybe. Maybe. But you are staying. And you know it.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, and you shrieked, as if your skin was crawling at his touch. It was not. You hated it. He was warm and hugging you, and you hadn’t been comforted in so long. None of the guards tried to help you. They didn’t even glance at you.

“That’s not… You can’t, Your Grace, please.”

“You could have sent a raven. Or a pageboy. Yet here you are, pretty little tolīmorghon. Mine to ruin. You will marry me.” You understood, then, what he meant to do. Aemond didn’t even like you. He was going to break you. Just as he was, shouldering the same weight you had tried to push on him.

Aemond was as tortured as he was dutiful. He wanted to drag you into his hell, too. Because it had been unfair, in his eye, that so many of your family had escaped responsibility by death. He was not giving you the chance to do the same.

“Uncle…” You begged, starting to tear up. Aemond released you, roughly. He gestured to a guard, who wordlessly slid into step besides you.

“Go change, niece. That is not proper attire for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” And with a little shove, you were made to march towards your old chambers by his guards.

The Mother blessed them and said to them,

“Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

(The Smith's book. 1:32-36)

“Your Grace.” The maid said, becoming him over. Aemond rose from his seat immediately at the sight of her. Corlys, his hand, remained unbothered and nodded in approval. He, too, felt this matter was more important. Ambition. The death of many good men.

“Ah, Margaret. Has the Queen finally worn herself out?” Aemond asked her, noticing her slightly concerned expression. He wasn’t too worried. No dragon liked chains. A bit of destruction was expected from your sudden captivity.

“Your Grace, I don't think she is fine.” The maid whispered, worriedly.

“Did she hurt herself?” Corlys asked, plainly. Aemond knew he was not truly interested in your condition. You two had no contact, since you were sent out of the Seven Kingdoms, and there was no family resemblance. He only cared that you were able to sit on the throne next to Aemond. And it was fine by him. Corlys could look out for the Velaryon last name, Aemond would look out for you.

“No, she's… sitting there.”

“Crying her eyes out?” Aemond nearly snorted at the question. It was clear your alleged grandfather didn’t know you.

“Staring blankly at the walls.” The maid answered, and at that, Aemond grew slightly concerned. You must be planning something. Better be on guard.

“It's a good sign. She has calmed down.” And as Corlys reassured the maid, Aemond left the room, walking towards your chambers. He made sure to only leave his sword behind, carrying instead a dagger. Least you got ideas. He didn’t fully trust you yet. Slowly, he opened the door, surprised by the amount of destruction you had caused in such a short amount of time.

“What a tantrum, niece.” Aemond spoke, softly, eyeing the torn curtains you had knotted together and were in the process of throwing down the window. The bed was sheetless, you had clearly used those too for your makeshift rope.

“Back off or I will jump.” You warned, still busy with your rope. Aemond shook his head.

“Now, I would say throwing down the table and chairs was overkill. You have frightened your maid.” He slowly advanced, unbuckling his belt. You glared.

“Don’t you dare!”

Aemond nearly laughed. He was the King and here were you, a tiny slip of a girl, trying to tell him what to do. Your eyes darted nervously towards the window. He knew as well what you were thinking. It was a big fall.

“Helaena jumped out of one of those.” He got even closer, and tugged the makeshift rope out of your hands. You let go of it easily, too distressed to really think. “I’ll not make the same mistake as Aegon.”

He would not. You were not escaping this. It must be fate, what else? Out of all the people, you were the secret keeper. Sister to Lucerys. The last of your line. Aemond was the last of his, too. The two last true Targaryens, out of all.

Aemond liked the symmetry of it all, he had realized. There was something about it being the death of your twin what started the war, and your marriage ending once for all the division in the Kingdoms. Life and death, both by his hands. You would eventually give him a son. He was no dreamer, but he could feel it. And when his son finally took the throne, a perfect mix of Greens and Blacks, all wounds would be healed. That would be Aemond’s legacy. Finally mending things.

It was not all, though. It was a form of penance, too. A way of never letting him forget, through the rot of it all, that it had all been his fault. In his mind’s eye, he could see you growing older, next to him. And for every line that appeared on your face or neck, Aemond would wonder if that’s how Lucerys would have looked.

Aemond moved even closer. You slapped him, uncaring of the consequences. What a fierce little thing you had grown into. Hot headed. Not very queenly. Aemond pursed his lips and shook his head, taking the slap without complaint. You were entitled to your rage, having the moral high ground. Your hands were not stained like his. But he couldn’t stand for you escaping. He needed you.

So when you tried to duck around him, Aemond pounced. It was not that he was very convinced of the dream. He had a distaste for dreamers, even if Helaena had been one. They often spoke in riddles, never saying what they meant. For all you knew, Aegon’s dream could have been a metaphor for some other event and not a great threat. But you were his path to redemption.

So many nights he had spent on his knees, at the beginning of the war. Praying for a sign, or a chance to fix things. To fix what he had broken. Along the way, he had lost faith. Perhaps the Seven didn’t listen to him, for his soul was already tainted. Perhaps, all the death around him was a punishment for all his faults. And then you showed up. His byka tolīmorghon. His little ghost.

What was he supposed to think, besides that you were the answer to his prayers? After all, he had been favored by the Gods, or so everyone said. It was the Seven, who gave him the Iron Throne. It was his godly given right to rule. Surely, your return was a sign.

You didn’t even make it to the door. Aemond grabbed you by the hair, dark strands curling around his fingers as if rings. How fitting.

You were shrieking something, but he was not really paying attention. It was probably a cry for mercy or insults. He was not too worried about it. Aemond was more concerned about restraining you, else you try to hurt yourself. You had little to lose, after all, and were stubborn enough for it. Oh, he could feel the headache starting.

He needed you. And you thought you needed him. It was easier than it looked. You two could collaborate. The Seven knew he required all the help he could get, with ruling a country that was more ashes and corpses than real people. You could not exactly get Targaryen heirs without a Targaryen husband, and apart from the lost babes, there was simply no one else around.

“Why must you vex me so, tolīmorghon?” Aemond marched you toward the vanity, dragging you by the hair. He threw everything that was on top of it away with a dismissive gesture, and slammed your chest down on it, careful not to slam your head in the process. “You always make everything difficult.”

His grip shifted, from your hair to the back of your neck, making sure to keep you down. You whimpered. The slam had clearly scared you. Good, Aemond thought. Perhaps a little fear would make you listen.

With ruthless efficiency, he had tugged your wrists behind your back, kicking your legs open without a second thought. Tying his belt around your wrists had been easier, once you started to cry. It was clear the consequences of your actions were starting to sink in and that you had no much fight left.

“Not so eloquent now, niece?” Aemond couldn’t resist but taunt, pulling you to your feet. The motions were practiced. He tried not to think from where he had acquired that knowledge.

“Fuck you, kinslayer.” You screamed. Aemond laughed. It seemed you had fight left, then. A shame the insult was not very good. The moniker didn’t hold the weight it once had, after the war. Half of the Targaryens had turned into kinslayers by the end of it.

“Oh, if you only knew.” He grabbed a handkerchief from the floor, no doubt one of the ones that had fallen from his purge of the vanity, and held it in front of your face. “Open up.” He demanded.

You glared and turned your head away. Aemond pinched at your nose. You, ridiculous little thing, held your breath until you started to go red. There were tears on your cheeks, and your lips were turning an alarming shade of purple. Aemond idly wondered if it was from the lack of air or how hard you were pressing them together.

“You do realize you either open up or you pass out, and I gag you anyway, right?” He arched an eyebrow.

You opened up, finally, spluttering and coughing. A shame he stuck the cloth inside your mouth just then.

“Now.” Aemond ordered, full of the confidence only ruling could give. “I will speak and you will listen. Do you understand?”

The cloth muffled your scream.

Women. So tiresome. Aemond rolled his eye, waiting until you tired of the dramatics. Your stubbornness was admirable, in truth. Like a carriage wreck, he couldn’t stop looking at how you worked yourself up. You were both screaming and bawling your eyes out at the same time. After a few minutes of ceaseless struggle, you slumped down, sweaty from the exertion.

“You will bathe after this, of course. I can’t have the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms walking around like that.” He finally offered, amused. “I will not hurt you, little fool. This marriage will help unite the Kingdoms again.”

You stared blankly. Aemond nodded, guessing it was a bit unfair to wait for your input.

“You see. There is still division between Blacks and Green. Were you able to produce a child, both claims would rally behind him.”

This time, you seemed slightly more frightening. Probably at the prospect of laying with him, which, fair. He had not had such a good first experience either, and it had taken him quite a long time with Alys to even try again. Aemond guessed it was likely more frightening, as a woman. It didn’t matter whether your body responded or not, it was happening anyway.

“I won’t hurt you.” He repeated, softly, and grabbed at another handkerchief to clean your face. He kneeled in front of you, despite your panicked attempts to pull back, and softly dabbed at your wet cheeks. “I think two years is a prudent time to get you to give yourself up to me. I would give you a lifetime if I could. But we are not getting any younger, and I need an heir.”

You tilted your head to the side, as if questioning. You were rather puppy-like. It reminded him of your twin even more. Aemond gave you a sad smile.

“You were insistent on getting heirs made, if I understood correctly. I think we can manage to raise children that will not slaughter each other.”

A scoff. Aemond wiped the drool from the corners of your mouth next. Quite undignified, really. Oh, if his mother was watching him from above, she would be laughing at his expense. He had had to learn the art of cooperation the hard way, but it had proved fruitful in getting his ends. Much more than all the anger he held in his youth.

“How hard can it be?”

Your glare was his only answer. Aemond knew he was slowly getting through you. Perhaps a little more kindness? Empathy? What a foreign thing. He had not exercised that much, in the last few years. Ruthlessness was what had given him the throne. But he was willing to try, to get what he wanted.

“You have a point there. Well. I will not treat you badly. I will be a kind husband to you. You will rule by my side.”

This time, your look shifted from distrust to disbelief.

“Funny thing, isn’t it? Neither of us were meant to get the throne, yet…” Aemond shook his head, and softened his tone. He knew just the words to make you budge. “I need your help, if we are going to pull this off. You must truly believe in that dream, if you risked coming here.”

A nod. He had you. Aemond tried not to smirk, knowing it could undo all his work at gaining your collaboration.

“Can I trust our agreement, then, and take the gag off?”

You nodded again. He pulled the cloth off, careful not to hurt your mouth.

“If you are good, I will untie you next.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a pious man?” It was a curious thing, that that was the first sentence you chose to say. Still, Aemond didn’t want to break the fragile trust that was forming between the two of you, and so he decided to indulge you.

“I’m not certain, anymore.” He answered, carefully. It was the truth. He had been so sure, once, that the Seven guided his steps. That the Crone lit up the right path for him to take, that the Father led him to fair decisions. It had all shattered when the Stranger had entered your lives.

Yet here you were. A gift, from the Maiden herself. A Queen, for a King who had nothing. Much like she had done for Hugor of the Hill.

“Isn’t there something on the Seven Pointed Star about this?”

“There is also something about attempting on one’s own life.” Aemond glared at you, pushing your chin up with a finger to take a good look at your eyes. He was deeply displeased by your threat, even if it was an empty one. It had rattled him, the reminder of Helaena. “Any attempts on your life will be dealt with swiftly.”

Aemond couldn’t lose anyone else. He couldn’t see Luke fall to his death again. Even if it meant locking all the windows in the Keep, and taking away all the knives. Or keeping you tied with silk ropes. Whatever that was necessary.

“You said you wouldn't hurt me.”

“Oh, it won't hurt you. Too much.” And it was the truth. He had learned quite a few interesting methods of discipline, while he traveled to different settlements during the war. Aemond was willing to practice them on you, if it meant you stayed by his side.

And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

(The Mother's book. 12: 22-23)

It was an odd feeling. Getting ready for your wedding in your mother's chambers. Much to the King's displeasure, none of your old gowns fitted you. He had offered to get you new ones, but after seeing that Aemond had kept most of the rooms in the Keep untouched, you had chosen to wear one of your mother's.

It still smelt like her. Entering the room felt like time had stopped. Everything was exactly as it had been, except there was no Rhaenyra sitting on the couch.

You opened the chest of gowns, placing it carefully on the rug. At your back, Ser Willis cleared his throat. With an annoyed noise, you stepped back.

“Do not be angry, my Queen.” The Kingsguard said, as he opened the trunk and efficiently took away all the bottles and pointy objects he could find. “The King does this with your welfare in mind.”

After the incident at your old chambers, you had been moved into Aemond's personal ones. He was never there, after all, being an insomniac and a workaholic. But his had the great advantage of being near the ground floor.

Your behavior had allowed you to graduate from bound wrists and a gag to a constant shadow. Willis Fell had been tasked with your protection from all threats on your life, including yourself.

“I didn't really mean to attempt on my life!” You said, frustrated. “And do not call me Queen, I'm a Princess in my own right.”

“To a claim that no longer exists, your Grace.” The man repeated, cheerfully. “It matters not who you were, but who you are now. If King Aemond says you are to be called Queen, then you are.”

You huffed, angrily, and ignored him, quickly picking two gowns. Aemond had demanded they were in the Blacks' colors and not the Velaryons. It had brought great displeasure to the Lord Hand. Your grandfather had wanted to see you enter the Sept in his colors. He would have to conform with handing you to Aemond.

Corlys Velaryon made you have mixed feelings. On one side, there was the fact that he had changed sides faster than one could change cloaks, after your mother was dead. On the bright side, he was the only ally you had in court. The only person willing to oppose Aemond for your sake.

It was a curious choice, on Aemond's part, to keep him so close. It was a good show of unity and forgiveness, a proof of the noble heart of the King. Or maybe it was because he had control over other, low-level threats to his throne. You had heard Rhaena and Baela had survived the war. They had already confirmed their attendance to the joyous occasion, but you were not allowed to meet them alone. You would have to wait until tonight, when the feast took place, or even tomorrow, at the wedding.

“What do you think, Ser Willis?” You showed the man two gowns, one crimson red and one black. “I do not think black is proper for a wedding, but wearing two crimson gowns seems too much. Perhaps… The black one at the feast?”

"I think this one is a bit…” The knight trailed off, and you looked at it closely. He was right. It was the dress of a matron, too dark-colored for a wedding, too grown up for you. Your mother had worn it the night that your uncle made his toast. Gods, you had all been so young. You remembered how beautiful she had looked in it. “What about the dress your mother wore for her own wedding? It is still there. I saw it.”

You lifted some dresses, searching for a light colored one. A beautiful gown of white and gold, one you had discarded because it didn’t fit the criteria Aemond had set, and its significance was lost on you. You didn’t know that had been your mother’s wedding dress. Rhaenyra at eighteen had been a petite woman. You clutched at it, wondering if it would even fit you. It could probably be adjusted, or copied.

“Thank you, Ser Willis.” It didn’t hurt to be polite with the man. He had been on Aegon’s side, and had been quite outspoken with his disapproval of your mother and Daemon. But he was only doing his job. Aemond was the one who had ordered you not to be left alone at any time. Sometimes, you were grateful for it. It helped ward off your loneliness. Other times, it got suffocating.

“A pleasure, my Queen. The King will not be able to keep his eye off you. A good match, you are.” He offered, smiling at you. You had learned he seemed to thrive on courtly manners.

You gave him a sad smile and passed him the dresses to carry. As you walked, you noticed it was starting to get late.

“May we ask for the maid? Margaret? I wish to change for the feast.” Your guard nodded, and repeated the order to the guard outside Aemond’s chambers.

Margaret was the one that had the duty to guard you when you were doing womanly things. It was a good system, you had to give it to Aemond. He had thought of everything. It gave time for Ser Willis to rest and eat, and it gave you slightly more privacy and a companion.

You despised his thoughtfulness. You didn’t want to like him. He had murdered your twin, after all. But your mother had murdered Aegon, even if in self-defense, and ordered the murder of one of Helaena’s kids. Children. There seemed to be no morals in any of the sides.

After your forced truce, you had seen little of Aemond. He had slowly given back your freedom, in the two weeks he had had you by his side. The planning of a royal wedding in such little time kept you busy. You never wanted Alicent, in your life, but you found yourself longing for her. It was hard, after a life of exile, to remind all the stuffy rules of courtesy in the Seven Kingdoms. Alicent had been great at even, much more than your mother and Daemon.

At first, you had been constantly on edge, as if you were waiting for the executioner’s sword to fall on your neck at any time. But the more the wedding approached, the more you realized Aemond had no devious plan to lull you into a false sense of safety and then kill you. His only devious plan was marrying you and giving you half the responsibilities of running the Red Keep.

Slowly, he had been piling them on you. The better you behaved, the more you were trusted to oversee. It was not the incentive he probably thought it was, but it kept you busy. It was you, who had to supervise the servants and manage the finances, now. You were consulted on what should be served at feasts, asked about settling arguments. Aemond’s wife in anything but name, the acting Lady of the Red Keep. Soon, noble children would be sent here, and it would be your responsibility to mind their education.

It was an adjustment. Making sure there was sufficient in the stores was hard, as it was monitoring where all the money went. It was not like being the wife of any lord because your finances impacted on those of the Kingdom. It had brought you closer to the servants, asking for advice on how to do your duty properly. And it had allowed you to learn quite a few things about Aemond.

One. He was an insomniac. He went to bed late, when you were already asleep, and left after only four hours, five at most. Aemond might be sharing your bed, but you never saw him. He disliked the dark, too. He used more candles on his nightly walks than you did in a week.

Two, he forgot to eat often. Aemond was an overall workaholic, and thought everyone was, too. Frequently, his meetings would drag on and on, and he would skip lunch. It was a comical sight, when he was with the small council. The lords, the Hand included, would flock out of the room as soon as they were dismissed. Then, in a very undignified manner, they would dilapidate the kitchen, messing up your tracking of the stores.

Third, he had taken a liking to poetry. It had greatly perplexed you, when you found that your household now included two poets. You had grown used to minding them too, and tolerating their strange ways.

Margaret entered silently, placing a bucket of water in a corner. You took your hair down and started to brush it, hurriedly. Margaret went to attend to the clothes you would wear to give you privacy to bathe. When all the painstakingly process of getting a Queen ready was done, you exited Aemond’s chambers and ran right into him.

He was already dressed for the feast, wearing a rich black doublet, the Conqueror’s crown on his head. His long silver hair was held back in a half updo, much simpler than what your father used to wear. Still, he looked regal.

“Ah, niece. I see you are ready.” Aemond offered his arm, gently. Careful not to move abruptly, less he spooked you. “Shall we?”

You take his arm, fighting the impulse to flinch in disgust. Your brother’s killer! The thought echoes around your head. But also, the last Targaryen standing. You need to get used to it, you promised your mother you would not allow the Song of Ice and Fire to ruin Westeros. Targaryens have to multiply. If it meant carrying his child, then so be it.

Aemond says nothing. He seems amused by your internal conflict. You will be his Queen, soon enough. His touch has to stop surprising you. It could be much worse. Aemond could have killed you, or kept you locked up. Instead, he has offered something very generous.

The hall looks exactly as when you left. The faces, though, are changed. Despite the houses' colors and sigils being the same, you don't recognize anyone but the Hand. There is also Tyland Lannister, who you know sits on the small council. Or you hope it's him. You were never able to tell the Lannisters apart.

Most of the crowd gasps when you and Aemond enter the hall. The dress was a statement, one that was not seen in quite a few years. Red and black, and previously worn by Rhaenyra, it made clear where you had stood.

“...So he is going through it…?”

“Look at her, the bastard daughter of that whore…”

“Wasn't he engaged to a Baratheon?”

“... Worse than Maegor, the bitch… Taxes through the skies…”

“She is his niece!”

You braved the whispers, clinging to Aemond's arm. Idly, you considered running away. Far from all this nonsense and back to the Free Cities. It was too much, hearing these people call your mother a whore and the second coming of Maegor, when her head was still on a spike, and they sat here, plump and rosy from the good life.

You knew Rhaenyra's reign had not turned out well. And that whatever her and Daemon had been up to, it had driven her mad in the end. She had executed and murdered many, and been a poor ruler, blinded by panic. But she was still your mother. A human being. A Queen. Whose head hung on the city's gates as you were made to marry her replacement.

When you finally made it to the table, Aemond pulled your chair out for you, and pressed his palm against your back. A warning. You didn't know how, but he could tell what you were thinking. He would not tolerate any kind of scene from you, he had stated. Nothing that made him look weak, or you would regret it.

“Good evening.” Aemond said, remaining standing behind your chair. It was an odd position to choose while addressing his subjects, but it was one that showed his power over you. “I thank you all for coming to witness such… Joyous occasion.” He smirked, squeezing your shoulder. You couldn't fight the slight dropping of your fake smile.

“Tomorrow, the division between the Blacks and Greens will finally be over. And it's all thanks to this wonderful woman.” Aemond took your hand and raised it to his lips. He certainly knew how to put on a show for the masses. When you were children, he had been much less charming, although he had had his moments of political savviness. The engagement to the Baratheons, for example. His taste for the dramatic, unfortunately, had always been there. Take that awful speech, for example.

His lips were cold against your skin. You shuddered.

"A toast." He said, looking directly into your eyes. The perfect picture of the dutiful fiancée. You glared, but gave him an even brighter smile. You disliked being made a show. “To my niece. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The crowd cheered. Aemond sat down next to you, prompting the servants to start serving the food. You didn't speak a word. It was the first time you ate together after two weeks of sharing the same chambers.

You poured him wine, noticing your grandfather's expectant eyes on you. The conversation on the table was stilted. The King didn't care much for noise, so the council spoke quietly and formally. None thought to include you.

"Thank you." Aemond said, and placed a few cuts of meat on your plate.”When you finish dinner, I will be expected to socialize. You are welcome, but not forced to do the same.”

“Are Rhaena and Baela here?” You looked at him, eagerly. They were the only people you were excited to see.

“We have agreed it would be best if you saw them tomorrow, after the wedding.” Corlys interjected, smoothly. Aemond grunted. Ah, how cunning of the Hand. To meet your once sisters-in-law to be after you couldn't escape.

“I understand. Well. I think I will enjoy the company of your council, Your Grace.” Your tone was polite, but firm. No room for argument. All these stuffy lords, eager to go spend money in the brothels, were now stuck in your company. It surely wasn't winning Corlys any friends.

You smirked. Aemond finished eating, and with a kiss to your crown that was all for show, departed.

At first, you made conversation with the Grand Maester, about the latest book releases and how the war had nearly killed the industry.

"Not enough people want to read, your Grace. Terrible. I do hope, when we open the Red Keep to children again, you will teach them the importance…"

"I think that's enough." Corlys said, offering you his hand. "I think you owe this old man a dance, granddaughter." And he couldn’t lose the chance to lord his relationship with you all over the rest of the lords. It would be simply too much to ask. He was still the same ambitious man he had been back then, when you didn’t really know he was not your grand sire.

"Of course." You took his hand and allowed him to lead you into a polite dance. Your grandfather was a graceful, still a handsome man. You could see what Princess Rhaenys had seen in him, once.

“I do not begrudge you, Your Grace.” Corlys said, as he twirled you.

“Begrudge me?” You asked, once he had pulled you in once again.

“You and I know your father was not going to sire children in any other way. He loved Jacaerys, Lucerys and you like you were his own.” He whispered, quickly. Your smile froze. Was he really…? “Joffrey more so, since he got to pick his name” Corlys teased and you relaxed. He was offering you his support, and you were not fool enough to refuse him. Despite not knowing his motives.

“I… You shouldn’t.”

“I know. Your future husband would have my head. But know that you are Laenor’s daughter in all the ways that matter." Corlys gave you a polite little bow, as the song ended. His parting words left you more shaken than you wanted to admit. "And that come fifty years down the line, no one will remember what you looked like, or who sired you. They will only remember your maiden name, Velaryon, and your husband’s."

You were alone in the middle of the dance floor, too stunned to even speak. So that was his motivation. The Velaryon name, on the Iron Throne. The accounts later would call you the granddaughter of the Lord Hand, much like Queen Alicent had been the daughter of Otto.

A new song started. The crowd started to dance again, pushing at you. Immediately, Ser Willis started to make his way towards you. His ever vigilant eye never lost anything. Deciding to make his job easier, you walked towards a less crowded corner, so he could reach you. But as you waited, another man approached.

“Lady Velaryon.” The man dropped into a bow, so deep it might as well be kissing the floor. A Stark, by the sigil on his cloak. Quite handsome too. He was around Aemond’s age, but looked much friendlier. You jolted your memory. Jacaerys had mentioned a Stark in his letters. "You look just like your brother."

"Cregan Stark?" You asked. At his nod, you gave him a small curtsy. “Lord Stark, pleased to meet you.”

Ser Willis, still far away, touched the shoulder of another Kingsguard. They both crept closer.

"Are you safe?" Cregan grasped your hands in his, in quite a bold move. To touch the King’s betrothed, it was an offense that could be punishable by death if Aemond so chose. And none of the people gathered in the hall would blame him for it. Daemon had killed men for much less, and so had your mother. Targaryens weren’t rational, when they thought someone to be theirs.

Cregan’s words were spoken in a hushed tone, but not enough for your guards not to hear. You gave them a nervous look.

"Yes." You answered to Cregan, hoping it was convincing enough that he wouldn’t try some foolish plan to liberate you, when in fact, you hardly needed one. Your agreement with Aemond was enough. You truly had nowhere to go, you were tired of running, and you were fulfilling your mission. It was your mother’s will. She had said at any cost. You won’t disappoint. If Cregan Stark wanted to take you away from your only purpose, he would have to drag you away, kicking and screaming.

“You don't have to marry him, my lady. The North would back you, you could have an army.” Your smile froze. Those were dangerous words, no matter how low they were muttered. Treacherous. Was everyone in this feast intent on getting killed?

“I am marrying him because it is my duty.” You squeezed his hands, hoping he would get the message. Ser Willis stepped closer to you, ready to intervene. The other guard went away, surely to look for reinforcements.

“Is it, to marry your family's killer? My lady, there is no need…”

“There is something stronger, binding the King and me.” You interrupted, firm but polite. Why didn’t he get the hint? A pair of arms snaked around your waist. So the guard had not gone looking for reinforcements, but Aemond. You relaxed into his hold, knowing he wouldn’t let Cregan Stark take you away and try to save you from yourself.

Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your hair, the cold crown he wore bumping against your head. You were not a small woman, but he had to lean down to be able to kiss you. By the look on Lord Stark’s face, it didn’t make him less intimidating in the least.

"Ah, Lord Cregan. How good it is to see you.” His voice was mocking, taunting. “What are you doing with my betrothed?”

“I… Your Grace.” The Stark flustered, helplessly looking at you to save him. You gave him a cold look, knowing that if you intervened, Aemond could take it as a show of favor towards the man. Not only would it doom him more, but it would also get you punished. You didn’t fancy walking into your wedding with bound wrists.

“Surely not convincing her to run away?”

“I…” Your eyes closed, trying not to think of the destiny of this man who tried to help you and now was going to have a bloody ending for his troubles.

“I know many men would want a wife like her.” His grip turned slightly more possessive, hands digging into the bodice of your dress. Insinuating something. Painting a nice picture for Cregan Stark. “You were recently widowed, were you not?” Dismissive. A power play. One of his favorite things.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Beautiful. Learned. Strong.” Aemond hooked his chin over your shoulder, smiling at the other man. As if you were nothing more than a prize to be won. But the nickname was too much. You lean back, and stomped on his foot. Aemond made a gurgling, pained sound. The Stark raised his eyebrows in surprise, but made no comments. He surely was thinking about how he had misread the situation.

Cregan Stark would never understand it. He was a good, honorable man. And you and Aemond were everything but. He was tainted by war, you were tainted for rolling in the mud with him. Both dishonorable, both self-interested. Both lying to yourselves, telling you were doing this for the greater good.

Targaryen blood called to each other like moths to a flame. Slowly, you stumbled into each other's arms, thinking yourselves the last man and woman on earth. You were not. If you were to have a child with any other man, those children would still be Targaryens.More so if Aemond had children with another woman. Perhaps, it would even be more useful, producing more children. Neither of you voiced it.

It was an excuse, the Song of Ice and Fire. But a useful one, for both of you.

"Worry not, wolf. I know a woman like her is enough to lead any man to insanity.” Aemond squeezed your hip, and you knew, the snide little remark was not for Cregan but for you. “I will take your words as they are, nothing more than courtly love and deep admiration for my niece.”

“Cursed is the ground because of you;

through painful toil you will eat food from it

all the days of your life.

It will produce thorns and thistles for you,

and you will eat the plants of the field.”

(The Father's book 5:12-16)

It was a strange sight. In the Velaryon’s cloak, all dark hair and eyes. It was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes, the truth of your heritage. Yet none of those who stood in the Sept dared say a word.

The good thing about being King? The truth was what he said it was. Aemond suddenly understood his father more and more. Viserys had chosen to deny the truth until the bitter end, and there was nothing that could be done about it. As long as the King protected you, bastard or not, you were safe.

Aemond wondered if you realized the amount of trust you were placing in him. Should his Hand decide to deny your heritage, it was only Aemond’s word that shielded you from being put to the sword. Still, if the choice was between you and Corlys Velaryon, Aemond already knew who he would pick.

You had not opposed him. You had not installed a maritime block on the Seven Kingdoms, making the common folk suffer from the lack of food for not declaring for Rhaenyra. You had not switched sides.

As you approached, on the arm of the same man that he was currently plotting to kill on your behalf, Aemond was a little dumbfounded by how beautiful you were. When he had first seen you, all grown up, he had thought you pretty. A sufficient distraction to curb his loneliness. Now he knew, you were not pretty. You were otherworldly.

You didn’t look anything like a true Valyrian. Your beauty was not the same as the one his cousins had. He had been foolish, thinking that your darker features put a damper on your beauty. The sun kissed skin, the enchanting eyes… It only added to your charm. It had taken him two weeks to realize it, and it was a shame. You were more than just a projection of Lucerys he could use to torture himself.

When the time came, Aemond draped his cloak over you, placing you back under the Targaryen’s red and black. He couldn’t help but give you a smug smile. You looked good on his house’s colors. Better. Like you belonged in them. It didn’t matter, that you had come out of the womb with a strong resemblance to Rhaenyra’s sworn shield. You were half Targaryen, and as far Aemond was concerned, that was the half that mattered.

Velaryons. What a joke. Who wanted Velaryons, when they were too ambitious for their own good? When they were unable to bring children into the world safely? No, he decided. You made the perfect Queen because you were not a Velaryon. You had performed every task he had set for you perfectly. Born to rule.

The wedding passed in a blur. It felt as if he barely blinked and suddenly, you were both saying your vows and were being hand fasted together.

“Wife.” You turned towards him, all wide dark eyes. Slightly scared. He leaned down, and whispered in your ear, to warn you. “I’m going to kiss you, then we will retire for the night.”

“But Rhaena and Baela…” You started to protest, but Aemond leaned down and kissed you. It was only a peck, a brush of the lips. It was enough to quiet you. You shyly looked down, the image of a sweet maiden. The lords clapped, politely.

There would be no Rhaena and Baela. He was already thinking of a way to take Corlys out of the equation in case he ever became an obstacle. It would do not good, if you were too attached to the girls, and he had to kill their grandfather.

“You can see them tomorrow, tolīmorghon.” Aemond took your tiny hand in his. You were cold and sweaty in his grasp. Anxious. He nearly smirked. You would grow out of it, he was sure. Aemond was already ruining you, and you didn’t even realize, too worried by the others. He had seen how you didn’t jump to Cregan’s aid.

“But… The guests… The feast…”

“I will keep my promise, if that is what worries you.” Aemond tucked a soft strand of hair behind your ear. Careful, careful, to sound teasing and not like he resented it. “But since I do not get to bed my wife, I want to at least get to spend the night with her.”

“You have been spending the nights with me.” You muttered to him. He almost laughed. Clueless thing that you were, to think your nights were spent with him.

Aemond started leading you away from the guests, and towards his chambers. He was eagerly awaiting to watch you sleep. A thing he missed from before the war was the ability to get a full night of sleep, but Aemond betted watching you do it would be nice. Your face held still childlike innocence, and most probably perpetually would. It was that damn combination, of Harwin’s puppy eyes and being shielded from war. Asleep, you would surely look like an angel.

He liked your purity, compared to other ladies of the realm. You had known of the horrors of war, but you hadn’t actually seen it. Sometimes, he thought he had chosen to keep you because of it. You didn’t know what kind of monster Aemond really was. How much blood stained his hands.

You knew he had killed Lucerys, you knew he had taken Harrenhall. You didn’t know he had executed all the men there, children and elderly included. You knew he had killed Daemon, you didn’t know exactly how many times he had stabbed him, until both Caraxes and Vhagar were both plunging to their deaths. You knew he was a killer. You didn’t know sometimes he didn’t regret it.

“I have spent nights with you?” He asked, amused. Most women would be terrified to share his bed. Not you, apparently, if you had thought Aemond was sleeping by your side already and had made no fuzz.

“Where are you sleeping, then?” You opened the door to his chambers, already used to the creaking hinges. As if those had been your chambers your whole life. “I thought…”

“I have been sleeping on my study.” So you went to bed every night and fell asleep thinking he would later join you? It was cute. Perhaps keeping you would be easier than he thought. Aemond was halfway there already. “It wouldn’t have been proper, otherwise.”

“And you are all about property.” He ignored your taunt, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The satisfaction he felt was too high to be bothered. Not only did he had you already, but you had slowly started to trust him.

You wanted to stay. The state of his rooms showed it. He was a tidy man, and liked to keep his rooms the same way. Still, there was something enchanting about the way you had taken possession of the place during the past two weeks. Your gown, placed over the bed, surely by your maid. A few books on the left side of the bed, that were definitely not his. A tiny pair of slippers just next to the fire.

Aemond nudged you towards the armchair. You sat down without complaint, looking at him with curious dark eyes. He kneeled in front of you and helped take off your shoes, placing the slippers on your feet instead. The skin of your ankles was soft and vulnerable. He gave it a gentle rub before sitting back on his haunches.

“I brought you here because I have something to tell you.” Still on his knees, worshiping another effigy. Aemond liked the parallels of it. So many nights, spent asking for forgiveness at a Sept. More nights, he would spend at your feet, begging for atonement to his own personal goddess.

“Why are you on your knees?” You asked, looking down at him, eyes so sweet and pure, not even the Maiden herself could compare. How many nights, would it take? How much time, until you became a sinner like himself? “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Aemond cleared his throat. He looked up at you, suddenly feeling fear choking him. Expiation was not an easy thing. The High Septon himself had said, before spluttering some nonsense about how if he wore the Crown, it was by the grace of the Seven and their favor. Not because he had been the last one standing in a pit of gladiators fighting to death. Not because he had been the only one not to drown in the rivers of blood that followed.

The thought of ruining your innocence, turning you like him, was a thought that warmed him and filled him with dread. After it, Aemond would never be alone again. You would be just like him, broken, ruined, dirty. You would never leave his side because you would understand there was no other place for you but by his side. And just as he did, you would love him and hate him in equal amounts.

But you were so pure. Filled with good intentions and loyalty. Sweet. A balm to his wounds. It would be lost when you turned like him. The one good thing he had found for himself, broken beyond repair.

The silence went on and on. Aemond finally broke it, by speaking in a tone so soft, you might not even be able to hear. Confessing.

“I didn’t kill Luke on purpose. It was…”

A twitch of your mouth. The Maiden come to life, growing impatient. Eyes cold, as if they could erase him from existence.

You would not like this truth. It had all been for nothing. The death of your twin, the war… It was never meant to happen. A foolish mistake. If he had truly meant to kill the boy, perhaps this mess would make some sense. Frame it as a war between bitter enemies, and not family, with combatants that were barely out of childhood.

Or children themselves. Like Lucerys and you had been.

“It was an accident. I lost control of Vhagar. I shouldn’t have, and I despise myself for it, every day. I wish I had never…”

Never chased after him. Never set Vhagar on the smaller dragon. Because back then, he had not been a bad man. That morning, Aemond had been happy. Celebrating an engagement that brought honor to his house. He had not rolled out of bed thinking of killing a child. How few hours of innocence he had left.

No one had told Lucerys how few hours of life he had left, either.

A sob. Aemond can’t tell if he voiced all of that, but by your horrified look, he has. It feels like being stabbed in the eye all over again. Worse than Daemon nearly taking his head off.

It takes him a while to recognize the feeling that curls around his stomach, makes him want to throw up, as your gentle hand presses over his head, prompting him to rest it on your lap.

As you said the words he so craved to hear, he finally got it.

“I forgive you.” But could you, really, when you didn't know what you were forgiving him for?

Shame. It’s shame, the feeling in his stomach. He had not felt it in a long time.

Shame, for what he had done to wear this dammed crown. Shame, for killing Luke. Shame, for what he was about to do to you.

The months go by. You start sleeping on the same bed. Rigid. Side by side, as if children. Slowly, your bodies start to curl against each other. Aemond, always awake before you do, wonders if you realize. He moves away before you wake, but your body always seems to search for him when you sleep.

It’s a cold marriage. One of duty, or so the rest of Westeros thinks. Even the Lord Hand is fooled by it. Aemond has heard the maids whisper about it, about the poor, pretty Queen, trapped into marriage to a monster. Wasting her beauty and sweetness on a man who doesn’t see her.

As a team, you work well. Outside your chambers, your relationships and interactions are extremely polite. The Seven Kingdoms have never been more prosperous than under your combined rule. Aemond is pleased with his legacy. Give it a few more years, if he doesn’t ruin anything, and he will go down in history not as a kinslayer but as the bringer of the golden age of Westeros. The arts prosper, the people are educated and well-fed, the crime rate is low.

“What a dreadfully boring marriage.”

“Duty. Only that. I would go mad, if my husband never touched me.”

“Do you think the King is like Ser Laenor?”

Aemond doesn’t mind, if they think his marriage is colder than the North beyond the Wall. He knows the truth.

There are nights, where you wake up desperate, a scream in your throat. Sometimes, you scream at him, you say you hate him. In others, you sob yourself into a meltdown, saying you hate yourself.

It’s always the same, on nights like that. He holds you in his arms, until you stop fighting. Overcome by hysterics, it’s you who searches for his mouth. You kiss him.

Aemond holds you down. You fight, you push and pull, like the waves lapping at the shore. Your nightgown rides up, his pants and shirt come off. He chases your sadness away with steady rolls of the hips, until all that is left is you and him, and not the ghosts of your past.

You break down gloriously, beneath him. Clawing at his back, wanting to make him hurt as you hurt. Sometimes, Aemond needs to hurt, too.

Sometimes it’s him, who wakes up screaming.

You fight. You scream. The guards knock on the door, concerned about what you are doing to each other, thinking one of you finally snapped and attempted murder. Like beasts, you roll around on the floor, clothes ripping, hair being pulled, skin bitten.

You ride him, sometimes. Your delicate hands turn into cuffs, keeping him pinned down. You sob your way through it, until Aemond cannot tell if it’s over stimulation or sadness. It’s sick. You two act like cats in heat. It’s the best sex he had ever had.

No matter who was the instigator, the next morning you slip out of bed, embarrassed by your behavior. Cold. You avoid his eyes, his mere presence makes you flinch. But despite your sudden turn into the most proper woman in the realm, Aemond knows the truth.

You are ruined. Just like him.

Hugor and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.

(The Smith's book. 2:14-15)

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut

623 notes · View notes

bloatedandalone04 · 4 months

Text

Dating Luke Reiter would include;

Warnings: descriptions of smut, smut, fluff, spoilers for vanishing on 7th street, swearing, kinks galore, mentions of alcohol, badly written headcanons

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

➪This man is kinky af- you all see the handcuffs - so it should come as no surprise that your sex life with Luke is thriving at all times.

➪He usually starts his day by going down on you until he’s nearly late for his segment, or with really slow morning sex - he saves his energy for when he comes home and really gets into it.

➪And by ‘into it’, I mean into it.

➪He’ll have you gripping the sheets as he gets you off with his tongue and fingers before giving you the real thing.

➪And he doesn’t just stop at that.

➪Since he goes on air in the mornings and sometimes afternoons, he has all night to spend with you.

➪Aka he has all night to have you squirming under him, or sometimes on top of him if he feels like letting you take control.

➪Let’s be real; Luke is a dom with an attitude.

➪While he doesn’t degrade you or anything like that, he does mock and tease the fuck out of you.

➪And he has definitely used those cuffs on you more than once.

➪He’d lock your wrists to the headboard and have his way with you, getting you off in all the ways that had you a crying mess for him.

➪Other kinks...this man is very into marking.

➪Whether it’s you leaving red scratches down his back and chest, or it’s him covering your neck and thighs with love bites.

➪He is also lowkey into public sex.

➪By that I mean he has fucked you against the side of countless bar walls after having a bit too much to drink, leading him to take you by the hand and guide you into the alleyway beside the bar so you can find relief in one another.

➪He overstimulates you quite often, with just one orgasm not being enough to satisfy his libido.

➪Mans sex drive is high all the time.

➪He just wants you constantly.

➪In other words, you two have very kinky, very hot sex on the regular.

➪Now; pet names.

➪He calls you baby, pretty girl and even sexy more than he calls you by your actual name.

➪“C’mere, sexy,” has been the lead in line to many nights spent in bed together, and you shamelessly admit that.

➪He’s a secret softie for you and will often come home with a bouquet of your favorite flowers or even a new necklace.

➪While he’s not one of those guys that feel the need to get you something that has his initials on it, he does like to spoil you with gifts you can wear that shows everyone that you’re taken by him.

➪You were together for just under two years before he decides it’s about time he puts a ring on it, and then you are married literal months later.

➪You’re one of those couples that have a big, blown-out wedding picture on the wall above your bed - one that was of him with his arms wrapped around you and a smile that looked more like a smirk on his lips while you looked like something straight out of heaven.

➪He is simply obsessed with you and could not imagine being with anyone else.

➪Since his job requires him to be on TV everyday, you watch every single segment of his; either live, on YouTube later or in real life on the odd days he takes you to work with him.

➪Either way you’re his biggest fan.

➪Whenever he’s not at work, he wants to be with you all the time.

➪He’ll go literally anywhere with you; to the store, the bank, the fucking mall he hates going to, you name it.

➪Since you live close to both your places of work, neither of you have a car and walk everywhere.

➪And you know damn well he has his hand locked with yours or his arm draped over your shoulder whenever you two are walking together.

➪Luke is a sarcastic piece of work, and this has gotten him in trouble quite a few times.

➪Though not often, some of those times are with you, which leads to heated arguments.

➪Your relationship isn’t toxic or problematic by any means, but when you two argue, you a r g u e.

➪He has a temper and has lost it on you more times than he likes to admit, but thankfully you’re understanding of it.

➪Still; he’ll sometimes lash out and leave to go walk it off or get drunk, just to come back home to you hours later to apologize.

➪His coworkers hate you since you had taken the hottest man they had ever seen off the market - something that you take great pride in.

➪Seriously, on the odd day when you go with him to work, the women there will glare at you until you go home.

➪As if they had a chance with him in the first place.

➪Luke was yours from the second he saw you, and that was why he swiftly married you.

➪You don’t get jealous often, since Luke has you under his arm whenever he’s not on air and shows you off to all the channel seven news men.

➪Though it is a rare occurrence, Luke will sometimes take you into the break room or a nearby supply closet just so he can fuck you and make the women even more envious of you.

➪The jealous stares they give you after the two of you walk out with messy hair and crooked clothing was so worth it.

➪There’s that public sex kink again.

➪Luke, on the other hand, didn’t get jealous at all.

➪He knew you were 100% his, so he didn’t feel the need to waste his time getting jealous over guys who would never be able to give you all of the things he did.

➪He will, however, guide you into deep kisses whenever he sees that another guy can’t seem to take his eyes off you.

➪That usually does the trick as the guys quickly leave before Luke could pull away from the kiss.

➪Now, when things start to go to hell one morning; Luke springs into action immediately.

➪You’re, without a doubt, his top priority and he does everything he possibly can to keep you out of the shadows.

➪After seeing someone literally vanish in front of him, he was terrified of the thought of you receiving the same fate, so he makes sure you have a working flashlight and batteries on you at all times as he tries to figure out how the fuck the two of you are getting out of the situation.

➪That’s without mentioning that he literally won’t leave your side, and he resorts to keeping his hand locked firmly in yours with a light source on him at all times.

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen edit #hayden christensen gif #hayden christensen icons #hayden christensen blurb #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen smut #luke reiter smut #luke reiter imagine #luke reiter x reader #luke reiter imagines #luke reiter #vanishing on 7th street

166 notes · View notes

lex-the-flex · 3 months

Text

Here With Me

Luke Skywalker x reader

Summary: Acting on instinct, Luke Skywalker has to let go of control, even if it means saving someone he loves.

Word Count: 970

Warning(s): HEAVY ANGST, descriptions of torture, injuries, and mentions of the Dark Side, Luke unleashing literal hell + tampering with pure rage, action and violence, (only the destruction of Dark Troopers) MEGA FLUFF, Luke being a dutiful Jedi Master, and love is powerful than the Dark Side.

A/N: Got this idea from @winterinspace and I LOVE IT! I can totally see Luke doing this for anyone he cares about. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

Tears formed in your eyes as you let out a scream like no other. Your vocal cords strained from the effort while the rest of your body went numb to the pain. Your face remained drenched in sweat and the lingering taste of iron coated your tongue.

Even through gritted teeth, you refused to give the Empire what they wanted. You wouldn't spill the information on where you last saw Luke Skywalker -- or where he was going.

To the Dark Troopers, you were just toying with them, allowing them to make a fool of themselves. However, you truly didn't know where Luke was. One night he suddenly vanished from the Rebellion without any warning and you were put on the front line, much to Leia's dismay.

"Alright, R2. I'm here." He informed the droid.

Waking from the quick meditative nap, Luke's eyes adjusted to the vast darkness of space, praying that the compass' intention was true. Otherwise, he'd lose you forever.

On the X-Wing's computer, the coordinates for the suspected planet appeared, and they only made Luke's demeanor remain the same: get you and get out, no matter the cost.

Descending through the planet's atmosphere, a distinct series of embers began to light up beneath Luke's icy blue eyes, fueling the man with a strong fury. Jumping down from the ship's ladder, he hit the ground with such a strong force, it caused the ground to crack below him.

Unzipping the orange jumpsuit, his raven-like robes escaped from the plastic zipper, revealing his Mastery to no one but the mountainside. Unsheathing the dark cloak from the storage shelf, the piece of

fabric flowed in the cool breeze once Luke draped it over his shoulders. Unhooking the silver and gold lightsaber at his hip, Luke headed down the mountain with a single command.

"Stay here, R2. I'll be right back."

****

The facility's nature surrounded the halls with an eerie silence, it nearly caught Luke off guard. He expected to have gone through at least a great majority of the base with half of its inhabitants on the floor. Quietly shaking those thoughts from his head, Luke knew he couldn’t go that route; to the Dark Side. As did his Father all those years ago. But now, he had no choice.

Ducking in a hidden alcove, Luke patiently sat against the wall. Stalling his breathing, he focused with the Force, surrendering to its blissfulness in a daze.

In and out.

Concentrating, his dark brow fluttered and scrunched together just as the vision of you filled the darkness behind his eyelids. You were all alone in a cell, shaking from the pain with cuts and bruises all over your exposed skin. Barely hugging your legs, your head sat on your cut up knees, hoping to find some solace in this place.

'You are not alone in this fight, Y/N. I'm here for you.'

Lifting your head to his declaration, your eyes welled with tears at the sight of two Dark Troopers standing at the cell's door.

'Luke, no...'

"No, please don't--" You pleaded, but it was too late.

Suddenly, a painful scream left the pits of your lungs once a taser was shoved into your side. Luke unconsciously balled his fists together, remembering a similar pain he left, where the Emperor himself left the young man hideously scarred. The pain you endured mirrored his own and Luke swore never again.

Opening his eyes to the empty hallway, his once calm and passionate soul-piercing eyes shifted within seconds. While they remained blue, all he saw was red. Something buried deep inside his chest, his heart had finally snapped.

And everyone in this facility had to pay.

Rounding the corner to the prison block, Luke ignited his green plasma blade, not even caring who was on the other side. HIs anger rose up in an untamed fury whilst a wave of adrenaline coursed through his veins. The two droids rounded you up by the wrists and drug you to the middle of prison, ready to strike again.

Luke marched through the hallway with heavy steps, instantly blocking the rain of blaster fire that was impending down on him. Working his way past each of the Troopers, Luke pulled, shoved, and deflected every single shot, punch, and kick that would slow him down. With each defeated sound and whimper that left your chapped lips was more than enough to fuel his angry attacks.

Moving swiftly down the hall, Luke slammed his lightsaber down on the remaining Dark Trooper who laid on the floor. Hitting the cold and dark metal again and again, the hot plasma beam cut through the machine like butter, making a cold and heartbreaking memory creep into the back of his mind.

'You will not take her from me!'

Entering the main section of the prison, Luke was greeted with the sight of the two Troopers repeatedly pounding their mechanical hands and butt ends of their blasters into your broken skin. Then, in a flash, the pain stopped, and you were greeted by the sight of the Dark Troopers crunched into tiny pieces on the floor.

Gazing up at Luke, his breath remained as frigid gasps once he realized what he had done. Seeing the utter fear in your e/c eyes brought him back to the world, making him understand that he tampered with the Dark Side. His fury and rage fueled him like no other, allowing him to part his enemies like the ocean. And you were his saving grace.

Feeling tears well up in his eyes, he calmly walked over to you, and gently picked you up without a word. Silently carrying your sore and nearly broken body, Luke's heart began to heal and mend itself back together, leaving behind an unspoken wake of destruction in his path.

taglist ~

@dreamliners

@midnightepiphany

@maybeimart

@nonbinary-tatooine

@kaleidoscope1967eyes

@dailydragon08

@eveningserenityyy

@sonofthedunes

@wicked0clouds

@tearsleftt

@thereallchristine

@partofmejustwantstosleep

@xxx-aurora-swirls

@remusstefon

@annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

@0paperairplane0

@kethamine

@pantaeudaimonia

@acupnoodle

@flawroses

@xplore-the-unknwn

@tatooineknights

@myevilmouse

@edwxrdkenway

@gabbasposts

@garagesesh

@bsxcrxts

@maybe-if-youd-listen

@shions-new-blog-of-stuff

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #star wars luke #star wars luke skywalker #luke skywalker #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x you #luke skywalker x y/n #luke skywalker mandalorian #luke skywalker bobf #luke skywalker book of boba fett #mark hamill #graham hamilton

160 notes · View notes

thedecadenceofwar · 9 months

Text

Elle Argent as Jesus Christ: Heartstopper art analysis.

Yesterday, I made this post where I wordlessly compared Elle's art piece for the Lambert School to the painting that draws her attention at the Louvre, Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus, a depiction of Jesus breaking bread for his disciples after his crucifixion and subsequent rising.

Elle's perspective on the painting / a full view of the painting (source)

The first thing I noticed that helped me draw the connection between these two paintings was their composition, the basic triangular lines that guide the eye in each painting; from Jesus and Elle in the center to the innkeeper and Tao at the top.

Heartstopper also clearly wanted us to make some connection between Elle and this Caravaggio: they focus on her face before they show us the painting, so we wonder what exactly it is she's seeing, which increases its narrative importance. I assumed she recognized herself in a painting; she did, but not in the way I expected.

The National Gallery (see above source) has this to say about the Caravaggio:

On the third day after the Crucifixion two of Jesus’s disciples were walking to Emmaus when they met the resurrected Christ. They failed to recognise him, but that evening at supper he ‘... took bread, and blessed it, and brake and gave to them. And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight’ (Luke 24: 30–31). Painted at the height of Caravaggio’s fame, this is among his most impressive domestic religious pictures. He brilliantly captures the dramatic climax of the story, the moment when the disciples suddenly see what has been in front of them all along. Their actions convey their astonishment: one is about to leap out of his chair while the other throws out his arms in a gesture of disbelief. The stark lighting underlines the dramatic intensity of the scene. Typically for Caravaggio, he has shown the disciples as ordinary working men, with bearded, lined faces and ragged clothes, in contrast to the youthful beardless Christ, who seems to have come from a different world.

Jesus, in the story, opens the eyes of his disciples in more ways than one (I pulled my Bible out for this!). First, in the scene depicted in the painting, the disciples do not know that this man is Jesus until he blesses the bread and breaks it for them, revealing himself as Christ. Second is the context in which Jesus comes to share dinner with his disciples: they meet him on the road during the day before, and he interprets the Old Testament for them: (stay with me I promise we'll leave the Biblical stuff and get back to the gay stuff soon)

Luke 24:13-16 Now on that same day two of [the disciples] were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. Luke 24:25-27 Then he said to them, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

If Safe Space is an exact analogue to Supper at Emmaus, then Elle takes the position of Jesus, and she draws from the story of Christ's crucifixion and rising a trans metaphor.

Death does not always mean death. For example, in the world of tarot, the card of Death does not signify literal Death, but a transformation: that the idea of death is a catalyst for change. If you're trans or non-binary, you understand the idea of the person you were being dead; that's why they call it a deadname. For me, the girl I was is dead. The person I am now, a living, breathing, non-binary person, is alive.

Jesus died and lived again; the boy Elle was died and the girl Elle is lived. Elle takes the spot of Jesus. Elle is risen.

There's another half to this metaphor: of the disciples that don't recognize Jesus. See where I'm going with this? At first, after Jesus had undergone his transformation, the disciples do not recognize him; literally "Their eyes were kept from recognizing him." The fault is not on them – it is another stronger force that maintains their blindness. But Jesus stays with them, despite the fact that they don't know who he is, and he talks to them about the scriptures.

We don't know much about Elle, pre-transition. But we know that Elle, Tao, and Charlie, at least, were friends before Elle's transition, and she had to come out to them at some point. So, in essence, she is Jesus on the road to Emmaus; unrecognized, a stranger, until she reveals herself for who she is.

She takes the moment Jesus tells his disciples who he is and shows what happens when Elle stays. We don't all have the luxury of being the Son of God, who can just pop away at a moment's notice after coming back from the dead (which is what he does, in the story: once the disciples have their eyes opened, he leaves). But this is Elle, out, resurrected, staying.

"So. There've been a lot of changes in my life over the last couple years. But with this piece I guess I wanted to capture a place that holds a lot of happy memories. Even in the darker times. Somewhere I always felt safe."

Safe Space comes after the moment of realization, after Elle comes out, after her friends' eyes are opened. But implied in its source and its inspiration is the moment of truth, the moment of coming out. There's been a lot of that, this season, coming out. There's people that want to and are scared, and people that refuse to and walk away. We never had to go on that journey with Elle. But she's telling us about it, now. She's telling us that it was glorious, that it was godly, that it was religious, that she died and was resurrected.

Before I leave, I want to touch on Tao's importance in this piece. The disciples in Supper are the two men that are seated; the man standing is the innkeeper, who is not quite a part of Jesus' world. Interesting, that Charlie and Isaac, the two people of Elle's group who are part of the queer community, take the place of the two disciples, and Tao, the token straight friend, is standing in the place of the innkeeper; not a follower of Jesus but a witness to the miracle of his resurrection anyway. They are all different people in this painting; different identities, different lives, different loves. But they were all there to witness Elle revealing herself in her resurrection. Tao, afraid of being left alone, is brought into this inner sanctum of Elle's world. Into her safe space.

#heartstopper #heartstopper spoilers #heartstopper analysis #heartstopper meta #elle argent #tao xu #charlie spring #isaac henderson #heartstopper season 2 #my stuff #i am absolutely in love with this analysis #and i hope that everyone else likes it too!!!#userbarrow #userelletao

243 notes · View notes

blakeswritingimagines · 1 month

Text

Sweet Nothings

Quinn Hughes:

"As the evening sky turns into a velvet blanket of stars, my breath hitches at the sight of your mesmerizing beauty. The moonlight highlights your stunning features, making you glow like an angel. I yearn to explore your curves, tracing them with my fingers and my lips. Every gentle touch ignites a spark of desire, leaving me longing for more."

Jack Hughes:

"You're the sweetest, most irresistible person I've ever met. Your gorgeous smile radiates like the sun, and your eyes are like starlight in the night sky. Your soft touch and warm embrace make me feel safe, and your loving words fill my heart with joy. You complete me, body and soul, and I can't imagine life without your presence by my side. I love you."

Luke Hughes:

"You're all I can think about. You occupy my every thought. Your warmth and kindness are unlike anything I've ever felt before, and I want to keep discovering more about you every day. I want to take care of you and make you happy, and I want you to return the favor. Together, let's create an atmosphere of love, trust, support, and commitment. There's no limit to how special we can make this connection."

Nico Hischier:

"I could gaze into your eyes forever, never tiring of their beauty. The sound of your voice is like music to my ears, making my heart sing. Your tender touch comforts my soul, as we connect on a deeper level. All I want to do is spend time with you, feeling your presence in every minute. Your essence is a sweet balm to my heart, providing much-needed solace in a chaotic world. I am lost in your warm embrace, finding peace and serenity in your arms."

Timo Meier:

"Your soulful eyes lure me in, just like a siren at sea. The scent of the ocean caresses my face, like a warm summer breeze. As we share an intimate glance, I feel a spark of electricity between us. Your touch is like honey to my soul, sending shivers down my spine. All my worries and troubles melt away, as you take me in."

John Marino:

"You are the most captivating person I've ever seen. I could stare at your face for hours and not get bored. Your smile could brighten the darkest of days. Your presence is like a warm embrace, providing a feeling of comfort and joy."

Kirby Dach:

"Your beautiful face, framed by your silky hair and eyes that sparkle with mischief, is like a masterpiece to behold. I can't help but stare, as I take in every inch of your stunning figure. Every curve, every line, and every feature is like poetry to me. As I gaze upon you and drink you in, all thoughts of the world around me vanish. I can only see you, and I feel completely captivated by you."

Juraj Slafkovsky:

"I could stare into your eyes forever, lost in their depths of beauty. Your soft lips beckon me, like a moth to a flame. As we come together, our bodies meld together, as one. Our bodies are intertwined, a dance of love and desire. With each movement, the waves of passion crash upon us, carrying us away into ecstasy."

Arber Xhekaj:

"You are like a warm ray of sunlight on a cold winter’s day. Your love and affection radiate from within, making me feel warm and safe. As we lie in each other’s arms, I feel my heart beating faster and faster. Our bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, fitting perfectly right where they belong. I long for your touch, your love, and your embrace. The world seems to melt away, as we are caught up in the moment. Our bodies connected, our minds intertwined, and our souls bonded."

Cole Caufield:

"Your presence is like a warm blanket, enveloping me with comfort and safety. You make me feel protected and loved, like we're living in our own little world. You have a way of making me feel at peace with the world. My life feels so much better now that you're in it. I want to show you all the affection and love you deserve, and I'm willing to go above and beyond to make you happy. Together we explore new possibilities and create memories that will last a lifetime. There's no limit to what we can achieve together."

Trevor Zegras:

"There's something magical about us. When we're together, it's like we're in our own little world. I feel so safe when I'm in your arms, and no matter what the day holds, I know I can count on you to make me feel loved and appreciated. With you by my side, I could take on anything life throws at us. I'm so glad I found you."

Jamie Drysdale:

"Your smile is as bright as the sun. Your eyes are as mesmerizing as the stars on a clear night sky. Your touch is as soft as a feather, and when we're together, there's no other place I would rather be. I want to cherish every moment with you and make sure to never take our time together for granted. There's nothing else in this world that compares to the feeling of being with you. You complete me."

#quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #nico hischier x reader #timo meier x reader #john marino x reader #kirby dach x reader #juraj slafkovsky x reader #arber xhekaj x reader #cole caufield x reader #trevor zegras x reader #jamie drysdale x reader #nhl

73 notes · View notes

babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

LABYRINTH — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem! reader

summary: y/n goes through the 3 stages of falling in love with her best friend; realization, fear, and relief. based on the 3 “i’m falling in love” lines in Labyrinth by Taylor Swift.

notes: most of this was written when i was sleep deprived and it’s not proofread, so i apologize in advance! i’m still still trying to decide if i like writing in 1st pov or 3rd pov more tbh.

gif not mine.

REALIZATION

i felt like my fingertips may freeze off. and the longer i sat in the glass seat in Prudential Center, the colder they got. i’d been to too many of Jack’s games to count, but it never failed that i always forget how cold it really was sitting directly by the ice.

“i’m freezing my tits off.” i looked over to Luke Hughes, who occupied the seat next to me.

“Luke, you don’t have tits to freeze off.”

“what are you talking about? mine are bigger than yours, eh?” he jokes. i let loose a mock gasp and hit his arm.

“how rude!”

with two minutes left in the third period, i was grateful the game would be over soon. i was less grateful, however, that it was looking like the Devils would be breaking their six game win streak tonight. they’re currently down by one, with the Panthers having four goals against the Devils three.

i had my eyes glued to the puck, mumbling to whatever higher entity would listen, praying for a last minute game tying goal. luck was on our side tonight because with ten seconds left on the clock, Dougie managed to slap shot the puck straight past the head of Bobrovsky and into the net. i shot to my feet, clutching onto Luke’s arm as he stood beside me, both of us with wide eyes and our jaws dropped open.

we settled back in our seats a few minutes later to watch the additional five minutes of overtime, both of us hunched closer to the glass, my hands fidgeting in anxiety. i watched as Jack, Nico, and Dougie skated to the center of the ice for puck drop. Dougie gains possession of the puck quickly, skating it into the Panthers zone before dropping it back to Nico, who tries for a one-shot, which is knocked away by Bobrovsky. Jack gains control of the rebound puck and makes quick work of snapping it into the goal.

Luke and i once again raise to our feet, cheering for his brother and my best friend. Jack skates around the glass bordering the ice, arms up in the air in celebration before skidding to a stop in front of us. our eyes lock and he lifts his hand against the glass. heart fluttering, i place my hand directly against the glass to match his and he mutters out two words.

“for you.”

a low simmering arises in my gut and i feel my heart skip a beat, or three, as he skates away to hug his teammates. what was that? am i having heart palpitations? should i be going to see a doctor?

i catch Jack’s eye once more as Nico taps his helmet and he flashes a smile my way. in return, my heart flips again. my mind whirls through thoughts faster than a hummingbirds wings before settling on the only real explanation.

uh oh, i’m falling in love.

now i meet Luke’s gaze and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, though his reason for it, i’m not too sure. i’ve been friends with all of the Hughes brothers since elementary school, it’s not as though he should suspect anything between Jack and i.

FEAR

it’s been 2 months since i came to the realization that i was falling in love with Jack, and now i’m leaned against the doorway leading into his bedroom, watching him pack for a roadie. the heart fluttering and stomach butterflies have long since vanished, leading me to believe that my traitorous heart got the memo that he and i will never be more than best friends.

“you’re sure you don’t wanna bring a friend out to the game? you can bring Luke if he can get away from UMich for a weekend.” Jack’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts and i give a slight shake of my head to clear my thoughts.

“i don’t know, i’ll let you know. i already talked to Luke but he said he has his own games this weekend. maybe i can find someone to come out with me, but you know i’ll be there regardless.”

“i would be sorely disappointed if you weren’t there. you know how happy it makes me to see you in the crowd.”

and as if a flip switched, the heart flutters were back.

“i’m your biggest fan Jacky, of course i’ll be there. no matter if i have to go alone or not.” i moved my way fully into the bedroom and picked up his messily packed bag, flipping it over and scattering the clothes on his bed before idly folding them and placing them right back into the duffel bag.

“you know you don’t don’t need to fold my clothes, right? i can do it myself.” Jack folds his arms and hits me with a half smile.

“obviously not, you still pack like a teenage boy. you’re gonna end up with wrinkles in all your shirts.” i roll my eyes and sit on the edge of the bed as i continue to fold.

“you love me.” he retorts, finally joining into the folding. my heart skips a beat once again, and i know that he doesn’t mean it in the way that i do, but my hopeless romantic side doesn’t seem to understand that.

after dropping Jack off at Prudential Center to catch the bus to the airport with the rest of his teammates, i’m laid in bed on the phone with my friend, Emma.

“the game is on Saturday, if you wanted to fly out with me. Jack is willing to pay for your flight so that i won’t be alone. but if not, that’s cool. i can go on my own.”

“yeah, i can go! although, i’ve gotta say; you’re really sure this guy is JUST your best friend? i mean, what “just friend” is willing to pay for someone to fly out to one of his games JUST so you won’t be alone?”

“that’s just the kind of person Jack is. he’s exceptionally sweet. and he has this protective nature. he doesn’t like the idea of me going to games alone because he knows how people can be. he’s so thoughtful and always prepared to help in any way he can.” i can feel the smile gracing my lips but no matter how much i try, i can’t will it away. i always get happy talking about my best friend.

“you’re in love with him.” Emma singsongs and i can hear her smirk through the phone. “i can tell by your voice. you get the same airy lilt that my sister gets when she talks about her husband. like you would do anything for him. like he hung the moon in the sky just for you.”

“he’s my best friend, Em. i’ve known him since i was an awkward little girl with lopsided pigtails and gap teeth. obviously i would do anything for him. just being his friend makes me immensely happy.”

“but you want to be MORE than friends. you can’t fool me. i’ve been where you are right now. you love him, but you don’t think he feels the same way. but i can tell you right now that any guy that would go through the lengths that he does to make sure you feel happy and safe, definitely loves you in more than a friend way.”

oh no, i’m falling in love again.

my sigh is loud and clear. rolling onto my side, i place my phone on speaker on-top of the pillow next to me.

“you need to tell him how you feel. or better yet, just kiss him.” Emma speaks again.

“it’s not necessarily just that i don’t think he feels the same way, although i do think that observation is wildly inaccurate. it’s the fact that it could ruin everything if i made a move and i was wrong. he’s my best friend and i can’t afford to lose him.”

RELIEF

the off season has officially arrived, and the thought of having Jack to myself for a few months has me more excited than i’d care to admit. we arrived at the Hughes lake house yesterday, meeting Luke who was already here, and Quinn and Trevor both arrived this morning.

We were all sat outside around a fire now, the guys all drinking beers and reminiscing on past summers spent here.

“oh, remember when Jack was dating that Stacey girl that was renting that house down the street a few summers ago? god she was awful.” Trevor’s voice was a few octaves higher than needed, due to the alcohol in his system, but it mattered little to the others because Quinn and Luke laughed along with him.

“oh c’mon you guys, she wasn’t that bad!” i could spot the red tinge to Jack’s cheeks from my spot beside him, the firelight sharing an orange glow to admire him in.

“uh dude, yeah she was! she was so jealous of y/n that she pushed her off the boat!” my eyes get wide and i start shaking my head at Trevor, dragging my hand in front of my neck in a stop motion, but he just kept talking. “and don’t you remember all those nasty things she said about her? girl was just plain awful!”

i look back up to Jack just in time to see the frown that takes place. he looks towards me with furrowed eyebrows.

“wait what? why did you never tell me any of this?”

“oh shit did you not know?” Quinn’s laughter cuts off and he looks genuinely concerned. “y/n, i thought you told him when you told us.”

i shake my head and avert my gaze down to my feet but Jack has other plans. grabbing ahold of my chin, he moves my head to look towards him again.

“i didn’t say anything because i didn’t wanna ruin your relationship or sound like a jealous bitch. and you guys eventually called it quits anyways, so what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is that you didn’t tell me sooner, y/n. the big deal is that i would’ve tossed her to the curb immediately if you had told me she was acting that way. YOU wouldn’t’ve been the one ruining the relationship, SHE would’ve.” his voice is sharp and kind of daunting, contradicting his soft gaze pointed on me. i can see the worry in his eyes and know his next words before he says them. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine, Jack. it was a long time ago. can we please just forget about it?” i sigh and muster up a smile before turning back towards the fire. “do you guys remember the time we saran-wrapped Luke to his bed while he slept?”

“YOU WERE IN ON THAT?! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!” Luke’s words make the other three guys all burst out in laughter.

“who’s idea did you think it was, Moosey?” Quinn is hunched over in laughter at the memory and i’ve slowly started scooting forward in my seat in preparation for what i know will come next.

“oh i’m gonna get you for that!” Luke shoots to his feet and that’s all it takes for me to set off like a race horse.

i can hear his footsteps not far behind me, chasing me into the house. i shut the back door behind me, in order to save me a few precious seconds and i run straight into the living room, leaping behind the couch and settling into a hiding spot between the sofa and the wall. i can hear Luke bound into the room before he moves onto the next room, but then i also hear the footfall of the other three coming in from outside as well. no longer than ten seconds pass before Jack’s head pops up above me, a large grin spread across his face.

“hello there.” the shock makes me jump and i laugh and poke his nose.

“shhh, don’t let him find me.” Jack pretends to think, nodding his head and tapping his chin with an index finger before-

“LUKE! SHE’S HIDING BEHIND THE SOFA!”

i let out an incredulous gasp and pop back up into a standing position, ready to run once more, but Jack wraps his arms around my midsection, keeping me planted in the spot.

“i thought you were my best friend! how could you betray me like this?! our friendship may never recover! i don’t think we can ever be friends again after this!” my mockery and jokes come to an abrupt pause when he takes a seat on the couch, pulling me down to fall into his lap. i can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and i look away, hoping he can’t see my blush from this angle.

“you can’t get rid of me that easily. we’re soulmates, y/n, remember?” and cue the butterflies once more. “you said that when we were 10. i didn’t really understand it at the time, but now i think you might’ve been right.”

oh, i’m falling in love.

i can feel his breath fanning my ear, and i peek over my shoulder to look at his face. our eyes lock and i know my entire face must be red and spotted from my blushing, but the look in his eyes makes me feel like the most beautiful girl alive right now.

his eyes flicker down to my lips once. twice. and one final third time, before he starts to lean in. and with a mind of their own, my lips follow until they graze his. the kiss is light at first, nothing more than a peck, before he finally captures my lips with his. his arms loosen around my middle and his hands trail to settle onto my hips, turning me mid-kiss to fit better on his lap. i pull back, leaning my forehead against his, and a wide and breathtaking smile graces his lips.

“i’m falling in love with you, y/n. i think i have been for the past eleven years.”

#jack hughes imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #nhl imagine #babydollmarauders #faithlynn’s writings <3 #new jersey devils

932 notes · View notes

albiongraves · 1 year

Text

Benoit Blanc Voice: Darth Vaduh... Darth Vaduh. See, I knew there was a reason that name compelled me so. Especially with the question of Luke's parentage bein' so recently... Inquired about.

If you'd be so kind to puhmit me a moment, I'd like to elaborate and, ah.. take yuh on a ride down the rails my train of thought has rolled along.

Now, Darth Vaduh... if yuh look at the name as German, admittedly bastardized German at that, it comes out tuh somethin' akin to 'Dark Fathuh.'

And if yuh know your Galactic hist'ruh, which I do, this Skywalkuh kid ain't the FUHST force-powered crack pilot with that name.

If you'll follow my line a' thought a touch fuhthuh, the LAST crack pilot Skywalkuh vanished JUST before the appearance of this Darth Vaduh, this... Dark Fathuh. And the vereh yeuh he disappeared just so happens to intersect with the vereh yeuh of Luke's birth.

..Now, I may be in a... A Galaxy fah fah away... But I do believe two plus two still equals foah.

Which begs the question.

Why would Ol' Ben Kenobi tell our boy Luke that his fathuh was killed... By the very man his fathuh had become? That is, of course, provided my... Hypothetical is correct. And I do believe time will prove that it is.

#benoit blanc #knives out #glass onion #star wars

427 notes · View notes

dracowars · 1 year

Note

hii! could i request a luke skywalker and reader (if you write for him) where they "rescue" grogu together and one of the dark troopers hurt her and he heals her and dotes over her?? just really cute? maybe she falls asleep on him and he carries her to her bed and she asks him to stay, they wake up cuddling and maybe a confession too??? totally fine if you dont write forhim but thanks!!!

counting on you | luke skywalker

pairing: luke x jedi!reader

word count: 2,5k

summary: where luke and y/n rescue grogu, but y/n gets hurt

a/n: i hope it's alright that i changed it up a bit, i went with the flow~ and thank you for always providing me with star wars requests <33

warnings: angst, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, force healing

universe: star wars

A spooky stillness reigns on the giant light cruiser, even the dark troopers pause for a moment. Even though you sneak around, the droids’ sensors pick up your presence with ease. The silence vanishes just as quickly as it appeared as the troopers line up their blasters and start firing at you.

Your years of training have specialized you for these kinds of moments, which is why it is not difficult for you to take out the droids one by one with a targeted and well-considered movement of your glowing blade. You decapitate one of them, the heavy head banging on the hard floor, while another one sneaks up on you from behind. As a result of its actions, a green lightsaber is rammed through its upper body from behind in the next second. The red light behind the lifeless eyes extinguishes and the droid collapses, smoke emanating from the inside.

Quickly, you raise your own lightsaber in front of your body, allowing you to deflect the blaster fire from the dark troopers who have not yet fallen. Again and again, you block their attacks and direct the dangerous projectiles in the other direction. Shortly, you catch a glimpse of one of the surveillance cameras mounted in the upper corner of the ceiling before it is destroyed by a deflected shot.

You know you are being watched.

Together and as a team, it does not take long until you have fought your way through the entire cruiser, through almost all enemy troops, and are now close to your final destination. The Force that called you here is incredibly strong, even stronger than you expected. And you can clearly feel it.

“Y/N!”, your name echoes through the battle as you pound one of the troopers against the wall with a flying ammo box, crushing it motionless. “This way.”

Disposing of your last opponent by severing its mechanical arms and legs, you extinguish your lightsaber blade and follow Luke into an elevator, adjusting the hood of your cloak that has slightly slipped during combat. You stand closely next to him, breathing heavily and trying to control your breathing, while the fight did not bother Luke at all. Which is pretty unfair considering how many dark troopers he took out on his own.

“Did you count?”, is the only thing Luke asks you, his gaze fixed ahead, his hand on the hilt of his lightsaber. Nodding, you answer his question, and a small smile pulls at the corner of your lips. You can’t fully reply, however, when the elevator abruptly stops on the selected floor and the doors hiss open.

As if in slow motion, Luke steps out first, the green blade already lit again, and faces the crowd of dark troopers who have just been waiting for the both of you. Immediately, Luke deflects and dodges each trooper’s blaster shots, severing the first of them in two. Startled, you take a step back all of a sudden, not knowing exactly what made you do it, the adrenaline dulling all your senses.

Moving quickly, closely behind Luke, you also take out a dark trooper who has gotten a little to close for your liking. You use the Force to pull one of them towards you, but do not manage to pull him as close as you originally intended, which surprises you once again. Luke does not realize, however, as he swipes his green lightsaber across the trooper from top to the bottom. The next one he pushes backwards with a boost of the Force.

Thrilled and exhausted, you watch as he effectively crushes the very last enemy with the Force in a matter of seconds with a tiny flick of his hand, an action that only makes you realize just how powerful Luke really is.

You still have a lot to learn.

Now, you stand alone in front of the locked blast door that protects those you came here for. A deep indentation in the door indicates that you got here just in time.

As you stagger, preparing to open the thick door with your lightsaber, it already hisses to the side on its own, opening up a view of the bridge. The sliding doors reveal, even though blurry, a group of the most diverse inhabitants of the galaxy: bounty hunters, Mandalorians, Imperials, and…

“Are you Jedi?”, the Mandalorian in shining silver armor asks after you have removed your hoods and revealed your faces upon entering.

“We are”, Luke replies calmly, his eyes shifting to the left toward the small green figure hiding behind the back of a chair. You watch as Luke reaches out to the Force-sensitive child and asks him to come along. His words ring in your head from afar, as if he weren’t standing right next to you.

You can tell from the Mandalorian’s movement that they are still talking, but their conversation is drowned out by a loud and uncomfortable beeping in your ear. When a sudden rush of pain shoots through you all of a sudden, you wince and take another step back, as if something invisible hit you out of nowhere.

Instinctively, your hand grabs your side and when it comes into contact with your skin you can’t help but cry out in pain. The moment you look down at yourself and there is dark blood all over your hand, your blood, the realization hits you roughly.

You weren’t hit by something invisible. Unnoticedly, you were hit by a blaster shot, one that neither Luke nor you were able to deflect after stepping out of the elevator. This also explains why you staggered all of a sudden, why you were suddenly unconcentrated and could no longer properly recognize the figures in front of you, why you are now on the fastest way to the hard, cold ground.

If it weren’t for Luke, who catches you in one swift movement and slowly slides you to the ground, his hands tightly wrapped around your body, you would have hit your head. You do not want to seem weak, especially not in front of him, which is probably why you have been subconsciously suppressing the pain all along. However, you are wounded more severely than you thought, at least judging by the expression on Luke’s face after he took a closer look at your bleeding wound.

Perplexed and no longer able to fully comprehend what is happening around you, your vision only gets clear for short intervals. At first, you recognize several silhouettes looking at you, including the tiny green creature, while the next moment you hear R2-D2’s worried squeak. Then you are blinded by a bright light before feeling severe pain that suddenly vanishes again and then, out of nowhere, an X-Wing appears in front of you. Before you know it, you are in the endless vastness of space and then you slip into pure darkness.

When you can open your eyes properly for the first time after what feels like hours of being unconscious, even though your head is still constantly buzzing, it takes you a moment to find your way back to the here and now. A brown wall made of some kind of fabric reveals in front of you and you realize that you are lying on a makeshift bamboo bed, your jedi robe on top of you, turned into a blanket. Outside of what appears to be a tent you hear the soft cracking of a fire that casts eerie shadows on the tent wall. Unable to hear any other sounds, you quickly want to get up and search for Luke as the fear coursing through you due to his absence is quickly replaced by pain.

Groaning, you touch the familiar spot, where you were hit by blaster fire not too long ago, with your hand. Now, there is a large bacta patch attached to your skin, covering and protecting the wound. Slowly but surely acquainting yourself with your new immobility, you crawl to the entrance of the makeshift tent and pull the fabric that works as a door aside.

The light of the flames blinds you for a brief moment, but at the same time greets you with a pleasant warmth immediately.

“Y/N! You are awake”, Luke says, visibly glad as he quickly gets up from his cross-legged position next to the fire and rushes to you, dropping to the ground next to you while putting a safe arm around your shoulders. His other hand he places on your cheek and his eyes search your face for cluses as to how you are doing.

“I- Where are we?”, you ask in amazement, not being able to clearly see where you are even when you take a look at your surroundings. All you can recognize is that you are hidden in some forest in the galaxy. Your train of thought is interrupted, however, when a childlike cooing sounds next to you. You are shocked to find that the little green creature has come along this journey with you.

“May I introduce you, this is Grogu”, Luke introduces the two of you, and Grogu coos at the mention of his name, ears pricked. “Grogu, this is Y/N.”

Grogu’s little green hand touches your leg, seemingly his own way of greeting you, causing you to briefly giggle. You have to stop yourself, however, as the excruciating pain washes over you once more.

“I don’t know how it happened! I deflected all the shots, but this one must have escaped me and got you straight”, Luke chatters away, the guilt clearly written on his face. “The medical bay on this damn cruiser had hardly any equipment, so I could only put a bacta patch on the wound. I hope-”

“Luke”, you interrupt him gently, putting your hand on the side of his face now in order to force him to look directly at you. “It’s fine, I’m fine. It only hurts a little when I move. Or breathe.”

Luke immediately takes a breath in, ready to interject once more, presumably to tell you to lie down, but this time he remains silent as you pull his face towards you and bring your lips together in a gentle kiss. You don’t know what exactly made you do it, maybe it is the adrenaline that is still rushing through your veins, or it just felt right in that exact moment, here and now. Whatever it was, here you are, kissing Luke Skywalker and he seems to agree, actually deepening the kiss while leaning his torso more over your body, running his hand down the sides of your body, the side that is not injured. Wait a minute..

With a sudden jerk you promptly move away from Luke and look down at yourself, startled, examining the bacta patch that is still in place. However, the painful tug you felt when moving suddenly disappeared. Puzzled and not quite understanding what happened, Luke also looks at your wound, immediately grabbing your hand when you start to remove the patch, trying to prevent you from doing so.

“Y/N-”

“Wait, wait. It.. doesn’t hurt anymore”, you brush him off and he lets you remove the patch. Together you draw in a sharp breath at the same time as the bacta patch reveals your shining skin, no traces of a wound left. As if it never even existed.

“What..”, both of you start, when Grogu, who has settled down right next to you in the meantime, answers with a coo, stretching out one of his tiny hands. At that exact moment the realization what this little guy apparently tries to tell you dawns upon you, and apparently also on Luke.

“No, no. That is absolutely impossible”, Luke immediately denies what you are both trying to comprehend at that moment, examining his own hands closely with wide eyes. He tries to understand that he healed you and did it with nothing but the Force itself.

“The sacred jedi texts say that-”

“Of course I just magically healed you with the Force and he tells me it’s what he always does”, Luke murmurs softly under his breath, causing you to look at him, placing Grogu on your lap while your heartbeat picks up again when you lock eyes with Luke. Questioningly, you stare at him, although you know exactly what he means. “I suppose now I will never have the courage to-”

“This is incredible!”, you yelp with delight, taking Grogu by surprise as the next moment he is stumbling backwards, R2 next to him beeping at you reproachfully as the protective brother he is. Happy and completely pain-free, you grab the little one and hold him in your arms so that he examines you with his huge eyes. Even though you know he can’t answer you or you wouldn’t understand since you don’t know how Luke is able to communicate with him, you smile at the little creature that reminds you of an old master while Luke still has to process the situation.

Which is more than fine with you, because that way he will not notice how fast your heart is beating after you have just kissed him out of nowhere.

“Courage for what?”, you interrupt him now, actually curious, but still a bit shy and reserved. The hope that he is triggering inside of you scares you. You weren’t even this scared when facing the dark troopers as you are in this moment. And Luke feels exactly the same.

“I- Well-”, Luke begins, but when he finds himself at a loss for the right words, he is the one leaning in and joining your lips in a soft kiss that you did not see coming at all. He gently moves his lips against yours and if you did not know better, you feel him smile against you every now and then.

Only when he breaks the kiss do you dare to take a deep breath in, although his face is still incredibly close in front of yours. His beautiful shining eyes light up at the sight of you, saying so much more than words ever could. Never again can you imagine living without that feeling inside of you, that mutual feeling of being loved feels so intoxicating.

R2-D2, who is currently talking to the child, does not seem to be bothered by the renewed awkward silence between the two of you. Rather, he takes this as an opportunity to beep even louder and tell one of his great stories.

“I-”, you try to start another conversation with Luke, who is still looking at you with so much affection that you could melt right there and then. Pulling yourself together, however, you slowly continue, emphasizing every single word: “By the way, I have eliminated fifteen dark troopers.”

There is a brief silence, and it almost looks as if Luke has stopped breathing for a second. But then he snorts loudly, and his beautiful laugh rings out to you. You can’t help but join his laughter until he abruptly stops and looks at you with all seriousness, his hand on your cheek and his thumb caressing your bottom lip.

“I got twenty-five.”

449 notes · View notes

catanisgorgeous · 1 year

Text

Teddy Bears

Tags: Solomon/Reader, Established Relationship, Confessions, Kissing, Domestic Fluff, Babysitting, Childcare Magic (gone wrong

Summary: Solomon messed up again: but this time he messed up with Luke. He needs your help (no, not like Dora the Explorer) to control the pack of Teddy bears walking around the Purgatory Hall right now… and to control Luke who keeps making it worse. Well thank Diavolo you used to be a babysitter back in the Mortal Realm.

Luke: *bear emoji* *SOS emoji* *crying emoji* PLJSE CXME

You stared at your phone, unable to make head or tail of the text. It sounded like Luke had encountered a bear and wanted help but… what the hell—

So you called his guardian.

“Hello? Oh it’s you, MC!”

“Hey there Simeon! Erm, I think you’ve hit speakerphone…”

“What’s that? Something I should turn off? Can you hear me?”

“Yes yes, I can. Never mind that, erm, is everything alright? Luke just sent me a chaotic text…”

“He did? Does he do that often with you?”

“No...?”

“Oh… well I’m out, meeting here at the Castle, Solomon’s with him so I’m sure he’s alright.”

You bit your cheek, hearing the rustle of paper. Meeting at the castle… forget Diavolo and Barbatos, Lucifer was definitely there. Whatever turmoil Luke was in, if Solomon was with him, it definitely wasn't alright. And maybe it wasn’t too smart to say anything dangerous with both a protective Simeon and a murderous Lucifer on the line…

“Oh he just sent another text apologising, apparently it was a dare Solomon gave haha,” you lied, laughing nervously. “Sorry for bothering you guys! I’ll go now.”

Without waiting for a response, you cut the call and dashed outside, shouting an “I’ll be right back, don’t tell Lucifer!” to an inquisitive Asmodeus downstairs.

Solomon hadn’t answered the phone yet by the time you reached the Purgatory Hall. You banged loudly on the door when the handle didn’t budge. You could hear the sorcerer swearing terribly from this far… terrible way to look after a child no matter what was going on. “SOLOMON! Open up, it’s me, MC!”

“MC?” Bang— Crash— Thud— Solomon stumbled to the door, undoing the dozen different locks and pulling it open to find you there in all your messy, disheveled, ran-down-the-street-to-help glamour. “Thank goodness you’re here! Come in quick, watch your step, and don’t dare touch any of them.”

“Any of wh—“ your words got cut off as you walked in on a colony of teddy bears. Adorable and fluffy stuffed bear cubs, each with a ribbon of one of five different colours around their neck. How cute—

Except they were alive.

What the— “Solomon what the hell did you do?”

The bears were walking all over the place, checking out the television and radio remote controls, the switches and paintings on the walls, the ancient aesthetic lampshades at almost every corner… crawling all over the cushioned armchairs, two climbing the curtains and one dangling from the freaking chandelier!

This is why nobody leaves a child with a crackhead sorcerer.

One of the teddies walked right up to you, scrutinising the visitor.

“Don’t touch,” Solomon ordered.

“Relax, I heard the first time. But why, do they go rabid?” You laughed.

“No…”

Apparently your laugh was beautiful to hear because the teddy stepped closer and tapped your thigh (the highest it could reach). The instant it did, the teddy burst into a cloud of glitter that cleared up in seconds to reveal TWO teddy bears.

“...they multiply.”

“Clearly,” you shook your head. “I am so not walking through this mess, Solomon.” He nodded, grabbed your hand and whisked you away. The teddy closest to your feet gaped in awe as you and your sorcerer partner vanished into thin air, reappearing with a crack, right outside the kitchen.

“…warn me next time,” you clutched your stomach, finally understanding why Harry Potter from the books whined about Apparition.

“You asked for it,” Solomon grinned. “Literally. So you see—”

“Just sum up the problem at hand in less than five sentences.”

“O…kay…”

“That’s one.”

“…” He sighed and took a deep breath. “Luke wanted me to show him a 'fun spell' of mine,” he opened three fingers on his hand and folded one. “I don’t know much childcare magic and only remembered this and a cupcake juggling one.” Two. “I assumed the five-favourite-teddies-brought-to-life one will be less messy. There, satisfied?” He asked, showing his closed fist.

“Well you assumed wrong. All of this,” you swung your hands around the house. “Started from one teddy?”

“Yes. And they answer to the same names as their origins too. Like…” he pointed to the one hanging from the chandelier that just fell. “There were five. Red bowtie was Strawberry, Pink was Peach, Purple was Grape, Yellow was Lemon, Orange was—“

“Orange.”

“Tangie,” Solomon shook his white mane. “For Tangerine.”

“Same difference.”

"So now… if I called out: Tangie!”

Every last orange-bowtie bear in the mansion turned to look at them, black beady eyes staring. In curiosity, but given the sheer NUMBER of black beady eyes, it appeared murderous to you. Solomon chuckled at your stiff face and pulled you close by the waist, dragged you into the kitchen and shut the door.

“That’s just such a bigtime mess, Sol…”

“I know, love,” he sighed and pulled out two chairs for you both.

“Why the hell Tangie though?”

“Short for tangerine.”

“…why not just name him Orange?”

“That’s your problem right now?”

“My problem is why angels are so confusing, and sorcerers so reckless. You could have tested it out, then gotten rid of— wait why don’t you just explode them with some spell?!”

He laughed at the way your face lit up with the suggestion, glowing with pride at your 'ingenuity'. “Actually, I tried that. But one bear exploded into dust and Luke won’t let me anywhere near the rest.”

“He’s mad at you?”

“Absolutely furious. Insists on not 'killing the poor teddies'.”

“But you know… he did call me for help.”

“Wait he called you?”

“MC?!?!” A younger voice squeaked behind you. “MC YOU CAME!”

“I’m here, Luke,” you opened your arms wide and he ran into them, wrapping his hands around your neck and wailing on your chest. “Goodness, what on earth shook you up this bad?”

Solomon sat beside you, open-mouthed at Luke’s childlike open show of emotion… he only did that with Simeon.

Or so he had believed.

“MC, there’s so many bears it’s scary! A-and they broke things! They b-broke Simeon’s favourite antique tea-set… Simeon’s going to hate me!”

“More like he’s going to hate Solomon, this dude’s the one who did it,” you jabbed your boyfriend harshly on the shoulder, earning an “Ow!”

“No, I’m the one who asked for it…”

“Oh? So Solomon’s not to blame?”

Luke shook his head against your neck. “Don’t yell at him. It’s my fault for asking something tricky.”

You glanced over his golden hair at the man beside you who had claimed the boy to be angry with him just a moment ago. You cocked an eyebrow, smirking.

He looked rightfully flabbergasted.

“All right then. Let’s do this. Before you came, I was reminding Sol here of a spell from a while back. That spell should help to get rid of them all—“

“Get rid of them?!” Luke’s eyes widened in terror.

“In the sense of making them leave. The spell teleports them to somewhere far away where they can be safe.” You stroked Luke's head, pulling him closer. “So why don’t you and I stay in here with the door safely closed, until Solomon does his magic? You can do it, right Sol?” You glanced at the man, waving your hand subtly, signalling ‘Explode them’ and ‘clean up the dust so he won’t realise’.

“A-Ah! Right. Certainly,” Solomon jumped to his feet and rushed outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

The walls were perfectly soundproof: Simeon probably had it done that way to block Solomon’s kitchen bombs. You gently pulled Luke off your neck and placed him on a chair, brushing down his crumpled clothes and fixing his hair.

He watched you silently, big blue eyes staring into your soul. “You’re really kind.”

Your hand stilled in his hair. You looked down at him, barely hiding the surprise written all over your face. “Who knew little Luke was capable of compliments too?”

“Hmph,” he crossed his arms with a pout. His face softened again. “I’m serious. You… You really like Solomon?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you love him?”

“I— What is this supposed to be, an investigation from the little brother before permitting marriage or something?”

“I’m not the little brother! I just want to know. Simeon always says Solomon could never be with someone unless they’re ridiculously patient and kind. The exact opposite of him,” Luke rolled his eyes. “I think you fit the picture. And I think Simeon would agree.”

You hardly registered the big, warm smile on your face, but you saw Luke reflecting it. “Perhaps so…” You shrugged. “I don’t know about that but to answer your question: yes, I do.”

“Have you told him yet? Or are you and Solomon as ignorant idiots as those mean demons are?”

“Erm… second, probably.”

Luke stifled a laugh, not ready to let down his proud armour that much yet, and pushed himself off the chair onto his feet. “There you go! You gave me teddies, I gave you this. We’re even now.” He grinned at the door, waved to you and marched out the kitchen into a clean and empty room (at last).

You were on your feet, spinning around to find Solomon leaning on the doorframe, presenting one of his smuggest smiles yet. “Well. I knew it wouldn’t be too hard to get that from you but never in my wildest dreams…”

“Would you have thought Luke would have to do it for you,” you rolled your eyes, mimicking Luke a minute ago. “What now, you’re going to take me off on a trip to celebrate?”

“Honeymoon so fast, love?” Solomon tsked, beaming wider when you flushed scarlet. “Actually, I’d have preferred a trip to my room but your nanny called.”

“…Lucifer.”

“Yep. Super mad. Wants you home right away.”

“That man has to ruin every perfect moment.”

“Not necessarily,” he strode closer, pulling you into what you would later call his sweetest kiss yet. Nothing too soft, nothing too harsh, sweetly sucking on your lips, tongue tracing the lipgloss. Your hands were in his silver hair and his were on your waist, and all of a sudden your knees hit wood and buckled into a soft tower of blankets. He pulled away for a breath, letting you look around to find he had brought you straight to your room.

The door threw itself open: Lucifer had probably sensed the intrusion on his mansion. His mouth was wide open, ready to yell your soul apart, but his “WHAT WERE YOU THI—“ skidded to a halt when he saw Solomon standing by your bed, his hair a horrifying mess, beads of sweat gleaming on his neck and forehead.

The mission to explode a hundred thousand teddy bears had been exhausting, indeed: but Lucifer didn’t know that. All he could think of was… other reasons.

“Despicable,” he muttered, slamming the door shut.

Solomon burst into laughter, flopping onto your bed and rolling around guffawing. “Imagine mistaking a teddy bear battle for that!”

You lay down next to him, watching the happy patterns his accidental magic drew on the ceiling. He's happy. Thanks to me. You smiled. “You’re such an airhead.” You punched his shoulder.

“Now I know you do love me for it.”

He was happy, and you couldn’t possibly be happier. “Maybe.”

273 notes · View notes

omegaversereloaded · 2 months

Note

look up luke from garo vanishing line i think u would liek him

Darkish skin...... long curly hair........ it seems you may be correct

21 notes · View notes

bellysoupset · 9 months

Text

Part 3 of Concussed Vince, the final part at least for now!

-----

He was going to vomit.

Vince moaned, feeling like his head was swimming and let it roll on the pillow, pressing his eyes closed. Every second since he had woken up, five minutes before, had been hell.

"Oh hey," Leo's voice cut through the mind fog, relief dripping from it, "you're finally awake."

"Hhhgn..." Vince groaned, unsure if he should be opening his mouth or not. He squeezed the bed under him to ground the world and forced his eyes open, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, "what- What happened...?"

"You had a concussion, after all," Leo shrugged, but despite his casual tone, he looked very serious, "the paramedics brought you in, uhm... I don't know yesterday? I'm not sure anymore."

Vince frowned, "I've been unconscious a whole day?"

"Yeah," Leo yawned in his hand, "something like that... Jon's in the clinic tonight, I'm gonna ask a nurse to let him know you're awake. Luke and Bell are in the cafeteria and Wendy is driving back from NY, she should be here soon."

"You called my girlfriend?" Vince whined, "not cool man..."

Leo glared at him, blue eyes sparkling with anger and Vin recoiled. He hadn't seen Leo pissed often, but he knew he didn't want to be on the blonde's bad side.

"You scared the crap out of us, Vince," he said in a way that ended all conversation, "how are you feeling?"

"Pukey," Vince admitted, "but I don't think I have anything to throw up."

"Probably not," Leo snorted, but reached across the room to grab a silver emesis basin, which he planted on Vince's lap, "they want to keep you here until the end of the week."

"Fuck no, I have-"

"It's non negotiable," Leo said harshly and Vince cringed. He could tell whatever had happened had scared the hell out of his friends to have Leo, the sweetest of them, be this curt.

"Okay..." Vince grimaced, then reached to rub his hand over his face, only to feel his shoulder pull. He sucked in a gasp and squeezed his eyes shut, as a hot wave of pain echoed through his shoulder and up his neck, down to his stomach... His belly cramped and he let out a whimper.

"What is it?" Leo's sternness vanished as if it had never been there, worry taking it's place, "Vin?"

"Gon'besick," he groaned, unable to hold the basin with the pain all over his shoulder and side, instead just hanging over it. He heard Leo curse, then move forward to hold the emesis bowl right under his chin.

"What's wrong?" Leo's voice sounded distant, as if Vince was underwater and he tried to take a deep breath, only find it cut short. Another one and his mouth pooled with saliva. Far away he heard Leo say something else, but the buzzing in his ears was too loud.

The next breath stopped in his throat, then he coughed and hot, bitter, bile rushed up, splattering in the bin. Vince coughed again, the nausea fading, but the pain not quite and he could hear Leo speaking still.

"-know, he just turned really white out of nowhere-"

Vince blinked quickly, realizing one of his eyes had started to leak tears. His nose burned too and he could only breathe in that horrible bitter smell.

"I got him," Lucas' voice caused Vince to snap his head, which was a mistake because his head swam a little more. He burped up another dribble of bright yellow bile in the basin and groaned as it scratched his throat.

Vince felt his best friend's hand in the middle of his back, steadying him, while the other had replaced Leo's on the basin, holding it up. Lucas had a deep crease between his eyebrows and he looked much older than usual, he hadn't clean shaved as his usual and the dark shadow of a beard colored his chin, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Here, blow your nose," Luke said, then held a wad of tissue paper to Vince's nose and he couldn't do more than blow, despite how childish he felt having Luke clean him up like that, "take a small sip of water."

He obeyed without thinking, sighing in relief when the refreshing liquid pushed back down the nauseous feeling and the acid in his throat, "everything hurts."

"Yeah, you're concussed all the way to Tuesday," Leo teased lightly, "no shit."

Vince looked up tiredly. While Lucas had taken Leo's spot by the bed, the blonde had circled it and was sitting at Vince's foot, a soft smile on that didn't quite reach his eyes. It made Vin's heart sink, that so many people were worried about him.

"I'm fine now," he reassured them, or rather, tried to. It came out raspy and weak and Leo rolled his eyes, while Luke let out a scoff and squeezed his good shoulder.

"Good to see you awake, bro," he said and Vince leaned into his touch, shoulders dropping in resignation and exhaustion. Lucas eyed the bowl, "water staying down?"

"Think so," Vince nodded, then winced as it made his brain rattle around his skull, "...I'm already tired, how's that possible?"

"Well, you need rest," Luke shrugged, taking the bowl and putting it away to be collected, "Jon said you broke your ribs."

"Just one," Vince yawned, only for Leo to cringe.

"Yeah, uh- Not anymore."

"Excuse me?"

"You finished breaking the other one with all the heaving and- and-... Apparently you had a seizure in the CT Scan room...?"

"You're joking?" Vince gasped, while Lucas only looked more furious.

"And apparently, you had already had a seizure?" Lucas' raised his eyebrows, "Jonah said so."

"Whatever happened to patient confidentiality?" Vince scoffed, cheeks blushing, "it was fine, it was because of a silly infection I had... Almost a year ago, it was before I even started dating Wen..."

Leo rolled his eyes, "well, they're keeping you here to watch over you. They're worried this might turn into post traumatic epilepsy."

Vince looked up, meeting Lucas' worried gaze, "I'm fine," he stressed, "I swear, I'm fine, it's not fucking epilepsy-"

"Vince," Luke glared at him, "there's no world where you walk out of this hospital before the end of the week, it doesn't matter how much you bitch about it."

Vince's mouth snapped shut and he sulked, sinking into the pillows, "this is unfair and the hospital bill is going to cost a fortune and for what? I slept off worse concussions bef-"

"Stop worrying about the hospital bill," Lucas sighed, "I took care of it-"

"You did what!?"

Leo flinched at the tone of Vince's voice and shot up, glaring at his friends, "I told you he wouldn't like this," he whispered to Lucas, grabbing his coat, "I'm gonna- Uh- Yeah, go anywhere but here."

He slipped off the room just as he heard Lucas say defensively, "it's my money and I do whatever the fuck I want with it and if I want-"

Leo grimaced in sympathy with Vince. He knew he wouldn't like if someone footed his own hospital bill, no matter how good their intentions or how much money they had to spare. Regardless, right now he was removed from the situation enough to know this had been a good thing.

He found Bella at the end of the waiting room lounge. She too looked sleepless, bone tired just like the rest of them. Leo sat down next to her, "hi."

"Hey kid," Bell smiled and Leo rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe that even Bella called him that, "how is he?"

"Awake and bitching," Leo yawned, leaning his head back and massaging his temples, "Luke stayed with him..."

Bella nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I just got out of the phone with his mom."

"Oh?" Leo refused to open his eyes, exhausted "and?"

"She was distraught, to say the least. His parents want him back home."

"Yeah, Vin is gonna love that," he answered sarcastically, "are they coming over?"

"I think just his mom or both his parents, but not his sisters," he could hear clearly Bella's defeat, "it's going to be a mess."

"Uhm," Leo sighed, thinking back on Jonah, panicking at the elevator, "he can stay with us, we wouldn't mind."

"I don't think Wendy is gonna like that, or Mrs. Monacelli or-"

"Got it," Leo chuckled, opening his eyes, "well, the offer stands. I'm gonna go get a coffee and find my boyfriend. Do you need anything Bells?"

"No," she shook her head, tired, "I think I'm just gonna nap until Luke gets back."

"Okay, suit yourself," Leo patted her knee, getting up in a jump.

He found the coffee machine on the first floor and Jonah just finishing up a handful of papers in the second one, leaning over nurse station's desk.

"Got you a coffee," Leo said, planting the cup in front of him and Jonah huffed, without looking up.

"Only authorized personal is allowed in here, Wagner."

"Uh-hum," Leo rolled his eyes, unbothered by Jon's bitchiness, "you might wanna know Vin is awake."

Jonah's head snapped up, "he is?"

"Yeah," Leo bit down an amused smile, "and not happy. About any of this."

Jonah let out a scoff, barely masking his relieved sigh and turned his attention back to the papers, "I'm guessing Luke's in there babying him to hell and back?"

"Of course," Leo took a sip of his coffee, "apparently Vince's mom wants him to go home."

"Bumfuck nowhere home?" Jonah paused, almost messing up his signature on the release papers of a patient, "the semester starts back up in two weeks, this is nonsense."

"Do you wanna be the one to tell his mom that?" Leo poked his side, "take a break, go see him."

"I can't just take breaks," Jonah shook his head in denial and Leo raised a judgmental eyebrow.

"You can't avoid him," Leo scoffed, "c'mon. I know it were some stressful forty eight hours and they took your feelings for a spin, but Vin doesn't know all that. You can't avoid him, go at least check up on him."

"Lawyer and a therapist? I really lucked out," Jonah said sarcastically, "you should go home. You look horrible."

"Thanks, babe, I'm flattered," Leo scratched at his cheeks and then winced, because yeah, he did have more than a five o'clock now and he was sure his dark circles were so deep they looked like bruises. his complexion was pale to begin with, so by now he probably looked like a Tim Burton character.

"Seriously," Jonah looked up, then opened a small smile, "I'll go see him. Now you go home, because seeing your face is making me antsy."

"I can't go home ye-"

"Wendy will be here in two hours. Lucas isn't gonna leave Vince's side even if I call security on him," Jon moved closer, smoothing a hand over Leo's wrinkled hoodie, "go home. Get some sleep, take your meds, eat something."

"Pot calling the kettle," Leo sighed, but nodded, leaning in to steal a quick kiss, much to Jonah's displeasure since he was very against PDA in the hospital, "promise me you'll go over talk with him?"

"I promise."

"And that you'll call me if something happens?"

"I prom-"

"No, I'm serious," Leo squeezed his white coat, "promise you'll call me, even if I can't do anything about it."

"I promise Leo," Jonah nodded, "get out of here."

Jon watched Leo leave, then meticulously finished all the paperwork, before taking his fifteen minutes break. He wasn't sure why he felt anxious about seeing Vince, of all people, but alas.

He knocked out of politeness, but didn't wait for an answer, opening the private room's door. Vince was glaring at a wall, clearly sulking and Lucas had taken the spot Leo had occupied until then, on the armchair next to the bed. He too was pouting, but clearly refusing to leave no matter how pissed off.

"Hi, Vin."

"Hey..." Vince opened a small smile, frown diminishing, "Leo told me what happened, I'm sorry I scared the fuck out of you in the middle of the night."

Lucas scoffed at that and Jonah caught his eye, exchanging a small smile, "yeah, sounded like a cat dying in my guest room," Jonah teased, stepping closer, "how are you feeling?"

"Amazing," Vince lied through his teeth, "ready to go home."

Jonah stared at him, then back at Lucas and said, "would you give us a minute?"

Luke's eyebrows shot up, so did Vince's, but he nodded, getting up, "I'm gonna go find Bells, be back in a bit."

As soon as he shut the door, Vince's frown burrowed further, "...Am I in trouble?"

"You're a fucking idiot," Jonah blurted out, cringing at his own words. Way to go, he thought bitterly, as Vince's eyes widened.

"Uhm... Is this about the seizure? Because, like I keep saying, it had nothing to do with head trau-"

"Why wouldn't I care?" Jonah glared at him, leaving Vince's mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, "you're one of my best friends in the whole world and that's counting Leo, who's my boyfriend, and Atwood, who I hate-"

"You don't hate Luke," Vince rolled his eyes, then snapped his mouth shut as Jonah continued.

"And you got fucking run over and thought I'd be okay with you bleeding to death in the dorms!? What if- What if I hadn't checked up on you that night!? What then? What if you had no one-"

"Yeah, but you did-"

"It's not the point!" Jonah exclaimed, "the point is you're stupid for thinking I don't care about you! What? Do I need to follow you around like a lost puppy like Luke so you realize you're my best friend and I love you? You're an idiot-"

"Ah," Vince's frown cleared up, "it's about that? Jon, of course I know-"

"Do you!?" Jonah glared at him, "because it doesn't seem like you do. You're not my boyfriend's friend who I tolerate or Wendy's boyfriend who I just kind of like, you're my friend and you almost fucking died, Vin-"

"Aw, man," Vince sighed, pushing himself up and promptly cradling his head with his good hand, "I never thought that... Well, okay, I never thought you felt this deeply, but I- I've always counted you as one of my best friends, I just didn't know it was the opposite way around too..."

"You're so fucking stupid," Jonah rolled his eyes, swallowing the knot in his throat, ignoring the burning in his eyes, "bloody donkey."

"Okay, no need to spend your british flattery on me," Vince snorted, "c'mere. Stop yelling at me, my head hurts."

Unwillingly, Jonah stepped closer, feeling his whole face burn with embarrassment and the overwhelming breakdown he had bottled up until then, "what?"

"Give me a hug."

"I'm not a toddler," Jonah scoffed, pulling back as he felt Vince grab his coat, "we don't need to hug it out-"

"Give me a fucking hug," Vince yanked at his coat and Jonah let out a yelp, because he was not expecting the force of the yank. He had been under the erroneous impression that Vince was feeling poorly enough to be weak.

He crumpled down and had to brace against the metal headboard of the hospital bed in order not to crush Vince's wounded side, being pulled into a one armed hug.

"I'm sorry," Vince mumbled, face squished in his shoulder and Jonah glared at the white wall in front of him, whole body fighting not to melt into the hug and squeeze his friend like he wanted to.

"...Don't tell anyone," Jonah sighed, hugging him back gingerly and quickly pulling back, his face burning. This was more emotional vulnerability he had shown since confessing to Leo. He cleared his throat, "how's your head?"

"Throbbing and your yelling didn't help," Vince teased him, rubbing his temple, "Lucas' didn't either."

"Why was Atwood yelling?"

"Trying to force me to accept charity," Vin rolled his eyes, "don't even say anything, I know you agree with him."

Jonah bit down a smile, "for once, yeah, I do. It's not charity, the health system of this country is broken and Lucas has money to burn and he loves you."

"Yeah yeah, loads of people love me, so I heard," Vince's cheeks were pink, "you guys startled the living crap out of my girlfriend and Luke says my ma is coming over? What the fuck is wrong with you people, it's just a scrat-"

"Okay," Jonah shook his head, sitting on the edge of the bed, "you know it wasn't just a scratch, Vin. I saw you the other day, you were scared too."

"... But they cleared me out..." Vince sighed, leaning back against the pillows, "it just doesn't feel right to mobilize all these people for something small."

"Oh trust me, you giant mammoth, you're anything but small. My back is still killing me from carrying your ass out of the tub," Jonah snapped at him, "they're all coming because they love you. Grow up, some of us would kill to have so many people on our corner."

"I hope you don't mean you, because you better know all these people would be just as worried if it was you instead of me," Vince winced lightly, "my mother is going to throw a fit so huge my nonno will be able to hear all the way from Sicily."

"Good," Jonah nodded, "she's going to try and take you back to Bumfuck, Nowhe-"

"Doveport!?"

"Yeah, that," Jon agreed, "so just know, you're welcome in our guest room for as long as you like."

Vince blushed, but nodded, lightly, "are you sure?"

"Only if you stop being a stubborn idiot and follow doctor orders," Jonah reprimanded, only to receive a wide smile in return.

"But what's the fun in that?"

#okay NOW i think is the end #at least for now #sickfic #emetophilia #emeto fic #concussion #vince monacelli #mywriting

53 notes · View notes