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lauraneedstochill · 11 months

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I was searching but not for you

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader summary: Aemond is eager to catch the thief who keeps stealing his gemstones but the person in question seems to always be one step ahead of him. words: ~ 4000 author’s note: about two months ago, I got the idea to write short stories inspired by the songs I like. this idea may totally flop, but I already wrote a few one-shots so I might as well post them somewhere. you can skip the song but I think it helps with ✨ the vibes ✨ P.S. don’t read the translation from French right away song inspo: Leagues — Walking Backwards (Spotify / YouTube)

>>> The first time it happens, it’s blindsiding — he gets a call in the middle of the night, and the words are rushed and the voice on the other end of the phone is panicking. Aemond sits up against the head of his bed, silky linen softy sliding down his chest, and the sleep is still clinging to his skin, and he can’t quite understand what’s going on. Surely, it sounds like a bad joke — someone broke into his office, someone found his safe. He’s the only one who knows the contents of the locked metal box, and he cherishes it very deeply. He doesn’t easily let go of the things he loves.

In about five minutes, his car roars through the empty streets, his heart is racing, his body fueled by the adrenaline that eats up the remnants of his sleepiness. Aemond all but runs — in the building, in the elevator, on the right floor. The security team looks so baffled, he almost wants to laugh. And then he sees it — his safe, accurately opened and seemingly not emptied. Because the uncut diamond in it didn’t take much space, and now it is, indeed, missing. There’s a note left, written in cursive so perfect, it looks as mocking as the words on it:

“A safe hidden behind a painting? Honestly, that’s just bad taste.”

His shock turns into anger in the blink of an eye.

>>> The fact that someone dared to steal from him is offensive enough, but the stolen gemstone also holds a special meaning — it’s the first one he’s ever bought with his own money, by himself, for himself. It’s not the biggest one he owns, not the rarest color or the most high-priced, but the auction it was sold at dragged for almost two hours, and the very last bidder was too persistent for his liking. Finally winning felt so good, it was addicting. Losing that very thing felt like a punch, and he hadn’t missed a single one before.

>>> He changes the locks and tightens security, but there are no leads — nothing on his cameras, and no one saw a thing. He begrudgingly tells Helaena about it when she finds a moment to check up on him in between hosting countless exhibitions in her gallery. That very gallery also stores one of his gems, so he wants to take precautions, just in case.

His sister brings him croissants and sips on matcha while listening to him, worry sawn onto her face. She reassures him she’ll be alert, she’s empathetic as ever. She then enthusiastically goes to tell him all about the new layout for the Van Gogh collection she’ll put on display next month. Her cheerful babbling gives him an hour-long reprieve from his inner torment.

On her way out, Helaena stops, her brows furrowing:

“Do you know who owned the diamond before you?”

“There were no details on the owner,” Aemond shrugs. “I only know his collection had to be auctioned for debts which definitely drove down the price.”

She gives him a heartfelt smile:

“I’ll ask around, then.”

>>> Someone steals the sapphire from her gallery precisely a week after their conversation. The gem of 150 carats is protected with armored glass and kept in a separate hall, but no alarms are triggered the night it disappears. Helaena only finds out in the morning and sends him a photo of an empty stand. When Aemond arrives at the gallery, police are already at the scene. They all wear the same confused expression.

“There’s no footage on the cameras,” his sister explains, perplexed. Then squints at him: “But they left a note.”

Aemond swallows down an annoyed grunt and spends ten minutes answering a pointless sequence of questions. Only then he gets to see the thing he’s most curious about. The piece of paper says:

“Your taste is better when it comes to gems. The exhibition looks great, by the way!”

He passes it on his way back — it’s a collection of some Swedish artist he’s never heard of. The painting closest to him is called “The Lady with the Veil”, and the woman on the canvas looks at him with a sly smile.

>>> The third time can take the prize for being the most ridiculous one. He made the purchase only two days ago — a pink diamond of exceptional purity, and the transfer is arranged in the strictest secrecy. He gives instructions, he hires two guards for the ride; he’s counting minutes. Aemond has a lurking suspicion that something is off when the delivery is 15 minutes late. But then the courier finally walks in, hands him the box locked with a digital code, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation. The second he opens it, his mouth falls slack.

“Are you kidding me?!” he roars — the box is empty, with only a pink ribbon left inside.

The courier shrivels at the sound and apologizes profusely. And then admits that they made a stop on their way. He says they went down the wrong route — because of some glitch in his GPS — and ended up at the wrong house. It took the man a couple of minutes to realize his mistake and come back to the truck. He has no explanation for why he thought that taking both guards with him was in any way a good idea, but he swears that the driver never left the vehicle.

To add to Aemond’s anguish, the two policemen sent to his place seem to be positively stupid. Not only do they not understand the concept of digital locks, but they also don’t grasp the gravity of the situation. One of them scribbles something in his notebook, then scratches his head with a pen, then asks:

“Are you sure it’s not just a case of miscommunication?”

Aemond is sure that he’s never been this close to strangling a law enforcement officer. He gives the cops a tight-lipped smile and sends them away, and he is still left with no information to get things off the ground. He’s also a little bitter that there was no note this time.

He’s staring at the empty box with a brooding frown when he feels his phone vibrating. It’s a text from his sister:

“There are rumors that the man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer. His identity was sealed by court order :( But maybe this will be of use? xx”

Aemond rereads the message, then ponders for a minute. That may explain all the technical malfunctions that he suspects were not accidental. It also gives him an idea.

>>> He orders his security team to look through all the street cameras along the route. Buff guys crash at his office, dragging in every monitor they can find, and strain their eyes to catch anything. Aegon volunteers to help although he mostly spends his time roaming around the room with a bottle of beer, leaving his fingerprints on every glassy surface.

Just as Aemond has hoped, they find the person of interest at the first stop the courier made. Except the video gives them no clue who they are looking at. The men watch as someone — wearing all black, their face covered — quietly sneaks to the truck, opens it and gets in, squirreling through the gap between the back doors. They do that with such ease, Aemond won’t be surprised to see them using a magic wand. The driver spends that time singing along to some rap song blasting in the car.

Aegon notices the strained silence and gets closer, then focuses on the footage. And then he starts cracking with laughter.

“Hey, it’s a woman!” he exclaims. “I know one when I see one!”

All the security guys lean toward the cameras and watch the recording again, following her movements and tilting their heads to the left in unison like some hypnotized owls.

“Well, that does look... like a female body,” one of them mumbles, others humming in agreement, eyes still glued to the screens.

Aemond feels the secondhand embarrassment creeping in and quietly growls, facepalming. He catches Aegon’s gaze, and his brother chuckles, his eyes crinkled.

“Man, you must’ve really fucked up for her to go after you like that,” Aegon whispers with a grin. “Is it bad that I’m kinda rooting for her now?”

Aemond can’t think of a single person who would want to cross him, let alone a woman. He’s not one to fool around or break hearts, and his own stays closed, and no one ever made it flutter. Incomprehension stirs up his thoughts the way a storm does the sea.

“So what’s your plan?” Aegon’s voice brings him back to reality.

“I’ll tell you when I have one,” Aemond sighs. “What I definitely don’t plan on doing is buy another diamond,” he swirls the phone in his hand like he always does when he’s agitated.

Aegon finishes his beer, then looks at the screens again.

“But you still have enough gemstones,” he drawls.

“Enough for what?” Aemond raises a brow at him.

“To get her interest,” his brother smirks. “Don’t you think?”

Aemond lets Aegon’s words sink in until he grasps the meaning behind them, and the suggestion leaves a hint of a smile on his lips. He instantly dials his sister:

“Hel, can you do me a favor? I want to hold an exhibition. It’s gonna be the most expensive one you’ve ever had.”

“Show-off,” Aegon mutters, rolling his eyes.

>>> The gallery is located at the end of the central street, overlooking a small canal with charming tour boats, with blossoming cherry trees planted along the way. Aemond plans everything down to the last detail — every camera’s placement, every guard’s position, he learns all the ins and outs of the building. The day before the event, his nerves are on edge, his mind restless, and he makes an irrational decision to stop by the gallery to take a quick look around. He warps between halls and examines the stands — all while answering countless calls he’s been bombarded with since someone leaked the story of his misfortunes to the press.

He’s looking at the layout of the upper floor, flipping through the pages, his smartphone pressed up against his ear when he rounds the corner — and suddenly crashes into someone. The phone slips out, papers scatter around, and he instinctively puts out a hand, and it rests upon another body, their skin warm against his fingers. He hears a surprised voice:

“Oh, excusez-moi!” and then it gets softer. “Je ne m’attendais pas à ce que tu sois là *.”

When Aemond glances down, he is left speechless.

A woman is looking at him, her parted lips curled up in a light smile, her features gentle, face expression amused. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes, an alluring gleam of mystery he is instantly drawn to solve. She’s only wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and yet he thinks he’s never seen a sight so pretty. His hand stays on her waist, his thumb sneaked under the white material. He wants to keep it there.

She shamelessly studies his face until her gaze grazes his lips — curiously, intrigued — then she looks up.

“I am horribly clumsy, my apologies,” she finally says, her voice low and dulcet, and hands Aemond his phone and a couple of papers. He completely missed the moment when she somehow managed to catch all that.

“Makes two of us,” he utters, reluctantly removing his palm from the bend of her waistline. The touch of her hand compensates for it — their fingers brush, but it’s fleeting and it leaves him wanting more.

She helps him pick the rest of his papers off the floor, not giving him a chance to protest. She’s nimble and smiley, he is tacit and stunned.

“The preparations for the exhibit seem quite extensive,” she remarks, looking around, standing carelessly close to him but not close enough. “You put in a lot of work,” she casts a glance at him, and Aemond’s cheeks heat up.

“I had a lot of help,” he modestly brushes off the compliment, but his eye never leaves her face, and he doesn’t want to leave, either. There is no explanation for this feeling, for this need, for how flustered and tongue-tied he is.

“I should let you get back to it, then,” she takes a step back, moving out of his reach, and he can’t find a reason to make her stay for a bit longer.

“Do you plan on coming?” Aemond asks, and in any other case, he would’ve found the desperation in his voice to be embarrassing. Right now, he couldn’t care less.

She turns to look at him and holds his gaze for a good few seconds. She isn’t smiling but there’s laughter in her eyes when she says:

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” and then walks out.

His phone buzzes again, a string of unread notifications popping up on the screen. But it’s the girl with a velvety voice that hooks his attention like nothing else. He didn’t think to question what she was doing in the gallery.

>>> The exhibition is a bit too crowded, and Aemond scurries between the halls and watches the gemstones like a hawk, looking out for anyone suspicious. He tries to persuade himself it’s the only reason he peers into the crowd; it’s not. He also can’t help but wait for a certain person, for a very specific face to show up.

But minutes pass by and soon turn into an hour and then into two, and he almost gives up.

He stares blankly at one of the gems — Colombian emerald, a hundred carats of the purest green, — he was ecstatic to get his hands on it, and yet right now it looks dull, and it brings him no joy. He sees a gleam of the same color out of the corner of his eye and disregards it at first, but then he casts his gaze to the side, and his breathing hitches.

She did come, and when he sees her, his heart not only skips a bit but does a full-on salto.

Her dress is brighter than any emerald — the material flows, following every curve of her body, with a coyly slit up to the middle of her thigh. The waves of her hairdo fall to one side, and his eye trails her collarbones, the line of her neck, and moves up to her lips that are blooming red, radiant like rubies. She is so beautiful, all the gemstones pale in comparison, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

She goes straight to Aemond as if there are no other people in the gallery — she maneuvers between them but only looks at him, a familiar smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“It’s safe to say your efforts paid off,” she gestures at the crowd when she’s at arm’s reach. “I think congratulations are in order,” the words flow from her lips like honey.

He blinks a few times, then comes to his senses and finds his voice.

“Thank you,” he musters in response. “I suspect the gems are to blame,” he remarks and tries to put on his usual cold self-restraint. She isn’t having any of it.

“With so many of them, I can’t decide what to look at first,” she comes closer, boldly and unabashed, and he’s enveloped in her perfume, in the warmth of her gaze. He takes the hint.

“I can give you a tour,” he offers, and her smile grows wider. Then her eyes glide over the emerald, and she taps on the protective glass:

“This one seems rather pricey.”

“It was,” Aemond agrees, clasping hands behind his back, very pleased with himself. “Comes from the Muzo mines, a square octagon-cut 100.2-carat emerald.”

“The shape does help to convey the color depth of the stone,” she hums with satisfaction, but her eyes are on Aemond again. Seeing his questioning look, she adds: “The cut of a gem is what determines its value, isn’t it?”

He only manages to nod because her thigh brushes his, and he doesn’t even pretend to pay attention to the gemstone. Neither does she, taking him by the arm:

“So, what’s next on our tour?”

>>> He guides her from one display to the other, and they move further away from the crowd, into smaller halls, less noisy and dimly lit, the gemstones being the only bright spot in each room. She asks questions, and their conversation flows, but he quickly notes that she knows more than she’s letting on.

“You seem well-versed on the topic yourself,” Aemond assumes as they take a stop in front of yet another stand. The yellow diamond on it catches the light and sparkles like a little sun.

“My father held a great appreciation for gemstones of all sorts,” she reveals, with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I guess I’ve learned a thing or two from him.”

“Are you a collector too?”

She softly laughs, and her gaze turns playful:

“I value the rare beauty of them but... I think I find the buying process more exciting. It’s all about the chase,” she murmurs, leaning into him just a bit.

She’s mesmerizing, she’s a charade, and he’s captivated beyond understanding. But before he can say anything else, a loud noise shatters the silence between them — the fire alarm goes off. А monotone voice on the speaker orders everyone to leave the building.

“That’s odd,” Aemond mumbles, more to himself. He hears people’s voices in the distance and gently takes her by the hand. “We should go too.”

“Maybe it’s a false alarm?” she doesn’t move. “I am sure the security will turn it off in a minute. With how well this place is guarded, you have nothing to worry about, right?”

It dawns on Aemond that he didn’t think once about the safety of the gemstones in the last hour, and it’s just as concerning as the unexpected evacuation. To add to his worry, the overhead lighting goes off.

“We should wait for the emergency generator to kick in,” she suggests, not bothered in the slightest. He should find it weird, but he can only think of how close she is, how the faint light from the display contours her face.

“Um, it will take — ”

“About three minutes,” she finishes up for him. “We just need to find a way to pass the time.”

“I think I’ve told you all there is to know about the collection,” Aemond lightly chuckles. “Unless you got any other ideas?”

“Well, I don’t usually do that but...,” she says quietly, looking up at him as her hand lies on his shoulder, then slowly moves to his neck.

“Do what?” he is caught off guard, he can’t concentrate on anything other than the movement of her palm. “Do you want to —”

“You talk too much,” she interrupts him with a smile, her finger tugging at the collar of his shirt, and then her lips cover his, and the words die down on his tongue, and all the sounds disappear.

Her lips are rubies but they feel like silk, intoxicating like wine, and before he can think it over, he kisses her back, and he can’t think of anything else, and his hands find her waist so easily he wishes to never keep them away. She allows him to lead this time, to set the pace, his fingers tugging her closer, his mouth fervid — and he’s insatiable, and he wants to leave her as breathless as he is. He succeeds in that.

When they part, the light is already on.

“I didn’t mean to take your attention away from your precious stones,” she breathes out.

“I think I got a hold of another one,” Aemond trails for her lips, but she laughs against his mouth.

“I meant actual gems.”

“I can recognize a real gem from a fake one,” he retorts and brushes away a strand of her hair that fell loose.

“Can you?” she throws him a cunning look and bites her lower lip. “Oh, Aemond,” she then gets quiet, almost hesitant, her gaze hinting at something unsaid, something important. “You should’ve let me make the last bid,” she whispers all of a sudden.

He stares at her in confusion, and there’s a ringing concern in the back of his head, a nascent hunch. Simultaneously, another realization kicks in:

“You never told me your name,” Aemond finally grasps.

“And you never told me yours, you just assumed I knew it,” she’s not offended, she is very much enjoying it. “I did,” she traces the contour of his jaw with her index finger.

He’s about to say something else when they hear hurried footsteps approaching.

“Mr. Targaryen, we were hoping you would — Oh,” the guard falls silent upon seeing them. The man reads the room and gets clearly abashed but Aemond doesn’t.

“I would what?” he asks, unfazed, not removing his hand from her waist.

“I just wanted to inform you it was a false alarm, but we are going through the cameras to look for any suspicious activity,” the guard explains, then holds a pause. “Maybe you would want to join us?”

Aemond looks at her, his face expression apologetic, but she doesn’t make an issue out of it.

“You should go,” she encourages. “Make sure that everything is fine.”

He doesn’t want to but he has to, they both know that. What he doesn’t know is why he feels the need to make promises to the woman he’s only met twice.

“It will only be a couple of minutes,” his hand glides down and captures hers.

“Take your time,” her thumb careless his palm, and then she lets him go. He feels her gaze on him on the way out.

>>> Aemond walks through the empty halls and corridors, catching a glimpse of Helaena and Aegon standing outside with all the guests, his brother’s hand draped over her shoulder, both laughing at something. He’s glad that everyone is safe — he is also glad that Aegon won’t get a chance to tease him. Aemond is pretty sure there’s a red hue left on his lips but he only thinks of it when he walks into the security room, and it’s too late to wipe it off.

“Anything caught your attention?” he nonchalantly asks the guards that are watching the security footage.

“Nothing so far,” one of them informs. “The evacuation went without complications, took us about seven minutes — started with the green hall, all according to the plan,” he proudly states. Aemond absentmindedly nods.

“And what was it with the light?”

“Oh, that,” the man frowns. “Something set off the emergency reboot of the system. All our guys were outside, so we sent one of the security men who stayed back at the site to check the generator.”

That string of words bothers Aemond.

“Stayed at the site — you mean, in one of the halls?” he guesses. “Which one was it?”

“The green one, it’s closest to the basement,” the guard tells him without a second thought.

Aemond thinks of the floor plan, then counts the minutes in his head. Then he realizes:

“So the emerald remained unguarded the longest.”

>>> He’s the first one to run out of the room — and the first one to reach the green hall, his heart racing. But, despite his worst fears, the gem is still there. Untouched, big, green, dull.

... Dull.

Aemond watches it silently, and the gears in his head start turning faster. He comes up to the stand, eye fixed on the emerald.

“Take it out,” he asks, his tone commanding. “Now.”

A member of the staff gets the gem from under the glass cover, and Aemond takes the emerald in his hand, then turns his phone’s flashlight on. Under direct light, the jewel radiates a rainbow of colors, bright and iridescent. Just like plain glass. To prove his theory further, he drags the bezel of his platinum watch over the stone’s surface — and it leaves a very evident scratch.

Someone gasps behind his back, and there’s no need to say it out loud. Still, he does:

“It’s fake,” Aemond concludes.

The invited jewelry expert holds a hand to his heart.

“But it’s not possible! Not possible,” he muses. “The cameras were on for the duration of the day, we’ve got the footage right here!”

They were on today, but not the day before, Aemond notes. He drags out all the pieces of information he can think of — coincidences, memories, words:

“The man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer,”

“My father held a great appreciation for the gemstones,”

“The preparations seem extensive,”

“It’s all about the chase,”

“You should’ve let me make the last bid,”

— and the puzzle comes together.

“God damn it,” he says under his breath, closing his eye.

And then, while everyone looks clueless, Aemond lets out a laugh. There is no anger in it — if anything, he feels relieved. For him, the chase has gotten quite tiresome. But oh so worth it, he thinks.

“You can put it back and invite everyone in,” Aemond gives the emerald to the expert who seems doubtful.

“But what of its authenticity?”

“Well, just don’t let anyone take it out and put it under a flashlight,” Aemond sneers. Then he turns to the guards: “Can you show me the yellow hall?”

When he sees the place empty, he rushes out without another word.

>>> The sunset spreads over the sky, flooding it with orange and crimson, and Aemond searches for her in the crowd and in the street but to avail at first. His eye roves over the mass of faces, bodies, vehicles passing by — and then falls on the other side of the canal. He recognizes her in a heartbeat.

She changed back into jeans and a t-shirt, with a leather jacket thrown over, a black motorbike parked next to her. The wind ruffles waves of her hair and the hem of her shirt, and Aemond wishes he could sneak his hands under it again. He doesn’t know if she sees him in the side mirror or if she feels his gaze — he hopes it’s the latter — but she turns to him, and their eyes meet.

She flashes him a smile that lits up her whole face and then turns into laughter. Aemond can’t hear her but he remembers the sound of it, and the corners of his mouth tilt up. It feels like there’s no distance separating them, no people, and no channel of water strewn with fallen cherry blossoms. She taps at the pocket of her jacket and points at him — he looks down at his suit and in a second he catches on to what she means. Aemond puts a hand in his pocket and finds a piece of paper inside. It’s small and gently folded, it’s the same cursive he’ll recognize anywhere:

“Didn’t get a chance to tell you last time — you really should invest in a better security system. Makes me wonder how good is the one you have at home. Maybe I should check it out.

Until next time, Y/N.”

When he looks up, she’s already left, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

He doesn’t know if it’s a challenge or a date.

But he can’t wait to see her again. * “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

✧ the original dress in all its glory ✧ “The Lady with the Veil” 💕 another fic where the girl makes the first step 🔞 another fic with a green dress

💚 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

179 notes · View notes

merge-conflict · 3 months

Text

safe harbor

Happy Valentine's Day~

(2k words. All fluff. Goro x Valentine)

Goro ascends the rickety elevator with his heart in his throat, feeling a flutter of anticipation settle into the empty place it’s left in his chest. The sensation is unusual. He’s faced down death with less anxiety, been confident in every step in his dance with fate, but now he’s venturing into uncharted territory in a foreign land. Second chances don’t come around often for soldiers like him.

He exits the elevator into a sudden gust of wind. It never gets cold in Night City, but this evening there’s a touch of chill in the air which is exacerbated by being a few hundred meters high in an unfinished building, and he’s glad he took the time to pack the food he’s carrying in an insulated bag. He’s still a few minutes early, and V often loses track of time. If she shows up at all.

As he reflexively scans the area, it turns out his worry on that front is unfounded. He recognizes her in his thermal vision, huddled up against one of the naked support beams, surrounded by a pocket of warmer air. Her interface is running quiet, invisible to passive scans and the network of beacons that Arasaka has placed around the city. They’re flouting rules which at the very least could get them censured, and at worst might put an ocean between them. Saburo’s moods in these recent months have been understandably severe, and it does not take much imagination to wonder how he would react if he knew how attached Goro is to a foreigner– especially one who had borne witness to his death.

V has made a windbreak from scavenged cardboard and tarp, lashed together to the beam with plastic twine. It’s sturdier than he would have expected, shifting only slightly under another gust of wind, which slips over the curved edge and across the top. She’s sitting on one end of an unrolled sleeping mat facing not the industrial park across the street but the light and fury of downtown across the water. For the holiday all of the advertisements scrolling into the sky are a mix of red and pink, saturated with romance and heartbreak alike.

“I know you don’t like it,” she says, not turning to look at him. “But I never get tired of looking at it.”

“It is enough to know that it brings you happiness,” he says, and wants to kick himself. Surely he’s doing this all wrong, blundering into insult and unhappy memories. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Just finished putting this up,” she says, and pats the mat for emphasis. “You’re not the only one who can make plans, you know.”

She finally turns to look up at him, and the laughter dancing in her gray eyes banishes the remnants of his anxiety. He’s helpless to the smile that overtakes him, but there’s no one here to watch them, and so he can see enjoy seeing her answering smile and the frisson it sparks down his spine. When he sits down he has the pleasure of feeling her press in close, her hand on his thigh and her lips soft against his own.

“You looked so relieved,” she says, leaning so her forehead is pressed against his. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand your message?”

“No, I…feared that you might be angry at me for choosing this place. It is dirtier than I remember.” And it is nothing compared to places he would take her, if he could. The food in here is disappointing at its best and a travesty at its worst, but there are a few places high enough above the stink and grime of the streets, where it is possible with the proper decor and lighting to imagine the buildings outside belong to a different city. “And much colder.”

“Used to sneak out like this all the time, when I was younger. Scope out little forgotten spots, hole up for a night with some friends, drinking and getting high and…well–“ She squeezes his leg and he can hear her smile. “You get the idea. We can keep each other warm.”

He hums his agreement. “Also, good food will help.”

“Oh?” V’s interest moves for the first time to the bag by his side. “Is that what you’ve brought?”

“Mm. I hope you are hungry.”

She squeezes his leg again, this time kissing his cheek. “Starving.”

“It is only onigiri,” he tells her, as he opens the bag, carefully pulling out the containers without disturbing the sake. “But it is made correctly, not with sawdust or plastic, like the ones I have eaten here.” And the perfect hearty food for an outing such as this, in the dark and the cold. Their romance had been born here, out of anger and judgment into comfort and understanding.

“Ah–“ Valentine’s hand snakes out before he can stop her, hands occupied with both the container and the lid. She selects one of the umeboshi onigiri, bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply. “They’re still warm!” Before he can chastise her for her manners she’s already taken a bite, and he forgives her upon seeing the genuine surprise and satisfaction on her face. “This is exactly what I needed.”

By the time they finish eating their fill, and one and a half bottles of sake, Goro finds himself enveloped by V. His back is tucked against her chest, her arms folding around his hips, legs framing his own. They so rarely have an opportunity to be alone and unobserved that the contact itself is another feast. Her hands are never still, but they are gentle, soothing– except for where they stir up warmer feelings, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and skating over his belt buckle. A much sweeter anticipation than the one that had brought him here.

“You must tell me…” he says, breaking a comfortable silence. Outside their small shelter the wind gusts again, and he wonders– if their lives had aligned differently would he have been part of her youthful escapades? “Since this is my first Valentine’s day here, is this–“

“Making dinner?” V interrupts, and he can feel her breathy laughter. Her tone is indulgent, and he knows by the way his heart leaps at the sound that the sake has done its work. “Taking me to the place we first kissed? I’ve never been much for the holiday, but this is perfect.”

“You do not like it?” he asks, feeling the warmth of her chuckle against the back of his ear. “I thought…because of your name–“ He stops suddenly, realizing with a rush of embarrassment that of course her long relationship with Abernathy would be the backdrop of any memories of such a romantic holiday. Memories that it would be better not to disturb.

“Not particularly,” she says, so gentle he knows she has correctly guessed the trajectory of his thoughts. “I know it’s not the same in Japan, but did you…” She trails off, and he takes some small comfort in the fact he is not the only one on uncertain ground.

“It is different,” he agrees. “The sweets I received…I used to hoard them. On gray days I would sit and eat until I became sick.” He can control his urges now, but he remembers the pile of wrappers, the sickly sweet of sugar and the gluttony which still could never satisfy his hunger. The admission is perhaps inappropriate for this night, but she has a way of loosening his tongue.

V hums thoughtfully, kissing the side of his neck. He can only feel the light pressure, but the gesture still makes him relax. “What about any special sweets? Chocolate?”

“Something so expensive?” he asks, incredulously. “I received some handmade sweets in my youth, but not…” He has the sudden feeling he’s going to say something foolish again, so he shuts his mouth. At his back he feels V pull away, but before he can kick himself she pulls something out from under her discarded jacket, which she slides into his lap before settling back down around him.

“I debated whether to buy you some,” she says, as he picks up the small heart-shaped box. “I mean I wanted to, but I…” She pauses, her voice losing some of her confidence. He thinks he can understand her distress– in Japan it is still women who buy the sweets for Valentine’s day, just as in Night City it is still usually the men who plan the romantic evening. Two separate but uncomfortably gendered expectations for someone who prefers to call herself thief. “Anyway, I stole them instead. Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Stole them?” he repeats, carefully opening the box to reveal several chocolates nestled in the packaging inside. Even cheap chocolate can be costly, but he can tell by the texture and the smell that these are not cheap, waxy imitations but the real thing. No doubt special ordered for the holiday, making them prohibitively expensive. “From who?”

V chuckles darkly into his shoulder. “Who do you think?”

That means Abernathy, of course, and he wonders if they were a gift to or from her husband. If V had stolen them from anyone else he would have been irritated, but her ex-lover who cast her aside and remains an unfortunate fixture in her professional duties is a different matter. These chocolates are the least she is owed. Thief, indeed.

“Does that mean you like them?” V prompts, the idle twist of her fingers in the fabric of his shirt betraying her anxiety. “I made you something too.”

Before he can answer her she is up on her feet, rummaging through what he assumed had been a discarded box and pulling out a single rose. In his low-light vision it is the same bland blue as everything around them, but with the flick of her fingers the petals bloom into color: deep reds brushed with orange and purples, shedding light on V’s mismatched hands and her small hopeful smile as she drops to a crouch to hand it to him.

“You made this?” he asks softly, brushing his thumb over the outside petals. They’re made of fabric which is stiff enough to keep its shape, yet surprisingly soft despite being able to generate such vibrant light. Under his touch the petals grow brighter, dimming as he releases them, admiring the delicate work that has gone into shaping the stem and the leaves. “It is beautiful.”

V’s smile grows wide, and she covers it with her hand, turning her head away. “I’d have bought you the real thing, but I missed the deadline for orders.”

“It will last much longer,” he says, consumed by the feeling rising in his chest. “Thank you.”

She clears her throat. “You’re welcome.”

He tugs her closer by her collar, pulling her into a gentle, lingering kiss. When they break he finds himself mesmerized by the sight of her face lit softly with the red light of the rose, coloring her nose and cheekbones, making her deep-set eyes glow from the under the shadow of her brow. She leans into his hand when he cups her cheek, eyes darting away from his, mouth curving into a smile.

“Will you be my Valentine?” he asks lowly, restraining laughter as he watches her expression screw up in embarrassment.

“You’re supposed to ask that before the date,” she admonishes, and then takes in a deep breath before leaning in to kiss him again. “But the answer is yes. Always.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #day de valentine #goro takemura #heart-thief valentine #gorov #goro takemura x v #non-binary v #cyberpunk 2077 fic #my fic #asldkjfjls writing goro as being nervous and slightly buzzed was extremely fun #'oda is a perfectionist' he says. well who did he learn it from bud?#uhhh definitely had this finished and completed before today so if you see obvious errors or weird wording no you didn't :3

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