#mental health fic

[btsydtrash]

Life Goes On [6]

CEO Namjoon x Au Pair YN

Namjoon has been married for years. He has twins, a happy life, a beautiful wife, a wonderful home. But, why, after nearly a decade of building, is his seemingly perfect life crumbling around him?

Masterlist  /  i don’t have a tag list  /  find me on twitter  /  word count: 2.9k

AN: sorry it’s been so long my loves hh! but i’m back!

(angst / smut / fluff)

tw: ableism, nosey grandparents

Chapter 6 ‘Sore’

The expectation of failure was tangible.

Namjoon could smell it, even over the strong smell of coffee that he didn’t think he would be able to stomach. Areum’s parents stare at him from across their neat living room set, an impenetrable bubble of silence enveloping the three adults while the twins were visible through the bay windows leading to their expansive yard, screaming and laughing with their toys and the family butler.

The butler that Namjoon’s company was able to provide them with.

After hearing about the affair, Namjoon had presumed that Areum’s parents would expect him to turn up at their door, trembling under the weight of suddenly having two expectant, needy children pressing down on his shoulders.

He almost wonders if they were hoping he would be panicking, that he would be crazy out of his mind with grief and pain, so that he would be more than happy to hand his kids over to them. Something that he would rather die than do.

They had always been the nosey type, in the way most well-off parents were, but it had never been enough for him to complain. At least, never aloud.

He didn’t think he could complain, truthfully. Areum was very clear on how much her parents meant to her, how important their approval was for her, and even if she didn’t mention it outright, the tightness in her jaw or the tension in her shoulders would tell him that something he did in front of them had edged a touch too close to unbecoming. Uncouth. Slovenly.

Namjoon didn’t come from money, not like Areum had, even though some bad business decisions had left her side of the family in a bit of a financial pickle some years ago. They had relied a lot of Namjoon at that time, when his company had finally started making big money and he was able to hoist them into a life of actual luxury.

And the thing that bothered him the most was that her parents weren’t totally incorrect.

He was struggling, but he learned quickly that that was part of being a single-parent.

Single-parent, he repeats in his head. How was he supposed to get used to the way that sounded in his head?

Areum’s mother, a delicate-looking woman in her early fifties, with lightly permed hair and elegant age-lines framing her familiar, almond-shaped eyes looks out at the twins with a wistful uptick of her lips and she says, to the point, “We just feel as though taking the twins for a couple of months might ease the load while things… settle down.”

Namjoon tenses up for a moment, his grip on the handle of the cup tightening until his skin whitens.

Areum’s father clears his throat, awkwardly, before he adjusts his glasses on the tip of his nose. “We don’t mean to imply you can’t take care of them. We just feel this might be a better environment for them right now.”

His wife continues, “You understand our position, right, Namjoon? As their grandparents, we only want what’s best for them and their safety.”

His blood runs cold and he turns his head towards the couple, fire burning in his eyes as he repeats, his voice low but the warning clear as day, “Safety?”

She jolts back, as if she didn’t realize the implication of what she just said. “N-Not that you are a danger to them. It’s more about their emotional well-being.”

He echoes, brow raising, “Emotional well-being?”

She nods, taking another sip of green tea, as if that were going to soothe the combination of blows she had just delivered to his shattering ego and sense of self.

Namjoon puts the cup on the coaster and glances away, biting down on his lower lip in anger. He knows he shouldn’t - he knows it will only make the situation worse, and he should just nod and let them vent their frustrations in their passive-aggressive way so he can leave as soon as possible and get the sticky feeling of their judgement off his body, but he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

He spits, angrily, “And, whose fault might that be?”

Areum’s father splutters, surprise coloring his tone, “What do you mean?”

Namjoon cocks his head to the side and asks, barely holding back his sneer of disgust, “If Areum hadn’t slept with whatever shmuck she found herself in bed with for all those months, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

His mother-in-law coughs, shocked, and exclaims, “Namjoon!”

“Don’t use that language in our home.”

Namjoon scoffs, chest tight. “It’s the truth though, isn’t it? Areum cheated on me and left her children to go prance around, living out a fantasy of happiness, avoiding her real responsibilities and the people who needed her. Leaving me would have been fine. Leaving them is unforgivable.”

He slams his hand down on the table and jabs a finger in their direction. “And if you think for even a moment I was going to hand my kids over to you, you have another thing coming. For the sake of our future relationship, I’m going to forget what was said today. But if I hear anything like this again, please understand me when I say this: I will ruin you both.”

His father-in-law asks, voice trembling, “Is that a threat?”

Namjoon scoffs. “A threat would be me pulling financial support out from underneath you and leaving you ass-out without a penny to your name. You do remember that you signed over majority ownership of your little yachting business to me and my company, don’t you? If I pull support, you might have three, maybe four months, in this big, fancy house before you might have to… down-size.”

He stands up, adjusting the lapel of his suit-jacket and says, “I hope we understand each other.”

Namjoon leaves the room, a ball of fire raging in his chest, and the need to see and touch his kids overwhelming his sense. “Minjae, Minseo. We’re going home.”

“Oh but daddy, we just started playing,” the twins complain in unison.

Namjoon feels his frustration tick. “Now.”

“Daddy.”

“Now.”

The two jerk in surprise, not used to their dad using such a stern tone with them, before they hurriedly rush off back into the house to say goodbye to their grandparents.

Namjoon exhales, his shoulders dropping in anguish. “Fuck…”

The twins are hugging their grandfather’s legs when Namjoon walks back into the delicately-decorated foyer, and Minseo is sniffing. He had teared up a little, which only serves to make Namjoon feel worse. He ushers the two into the backseat of the car, clipping them into their car-seats. Both of his children seem to be occupying themselves with their hands so as to avoid looking at him as he does so, which makes him sigh.

“MJ, Mimi, look at me,” he says, extra soft.

They twitch, hearing him, but their feelings were still hurt so they ignore him.

“Look at daddy,” he says, once more, reaching for their hands.

The twins look up at him, Minseo, defiant as usual huffs and turns her face away, but Minjae, poor, gentle Minjae, blinks up at him with tear-stained lashes, and Namjoon takes a moment to press kisses to their foreheads.

“Daddy’s sorry for yelling,” he says, honestly. He looks between them and murmurs, quietly, “It won’t happen again, okay?”

Minseo sniffs, still not believing his words. She says, “Daddy’s been a big meanie.”

He nods, understanding, and he agrees, “The biggest meanie.”

Minjae retorts. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Namjoon agrees. “I’m sorry.”

Minjae reaches for his dad’s face, tentatively. “You promise?”

He nods, throat thick with emotion. He looks up, trying to blink back the tears, and he feels another hand briefly caress his cheek. He looks down to see Minseo struggling to reach for him. “Don’t cry, Daddy.”

Namjoon feels the urge to do just that well up even stronger than before. He uses his sleeve to wipe his eyes before he nods. “I won’t. Shall we go get ice-cream and visit Uncle Jin? Daddy doesn’t want to go to work today.”

The twins shriek in unison, happiness replacing the sadness that had befallen them moments ago, in the way that only children could, and he moves to the front seat.

Determinedly, he avoids looking back at the house as he pulls out of the driveway, the weight on his chest easing the further he moves from the house.

He turns on the CD player, allowing ‘PinkFong’s Top 40 Hits’ to play through his expensive speaker system and the twins lose their minds, jigging and dancing in the backseat. He shoots them a couple of fond glances in the rear-view mirror, watching their feet kick up as the repetitive, childish music sets a funky groove through their toddler bodies.

He gets them the ice-cream he promised them, of course. A scoop and a half of strawberry for Minseo and caramel cookie dough scoop for Minjae, and he took a couple of bites of both, much to their annoyance. He cleans them up with wipes in the baby bag in the trunk of his car, and they drive off to Jin’s place, where he spends the next few hours ranting and raving until he is red in the face while his babies sleep off their food-induced coma.

“And then, and then they had the nerve to suggest I couldn’t care for them, because it wasn’t safe. Safe, Jin. Can you believe that? Do they think I would hurt my kids?”

Jin stays quiet for most of his monologue, his expression pinching at points in barely restrained anger and disgust over their behavior. The two men were sitting in Jin’s den - a private area filled with all his favorite things like scotch, a wall of aged books in foreign languages and a pool table, where he hosted his friends a few times a month.

His wife had her own little cubby-area on the other side of the bottom floor of their luxury apartment. Namjoon had always thought of building a den in his home but he had never wanted to make his wife feel as if he wanted there to be a distinction between them, as if he were trying to make space where there didn’t need to be.

He bites his bottom lip and explains, “I know they know about my bipolar disorder. A- She had to disclose a bunch about me when we started dating, and they didn’t like it back then. They said I was… damaged goods. Her dad made it clear that he wasn’t happy about his grandkids potentially taking my batch of crazy.”

Jin glares out of the window to the left of them, taking a big swig of whiskey to try and ease the fire in his chest.

Namjoon moves to sit on the edge of the couch, exhaling heavily and putting his head in his hands. “But, A- She said she smoothed it over. She gave them all these stats about genetic transmission of bipolar and other mental health things. I didn’t like it, because there wasn’t anything wrong with being like me, you know? But I got it - I wouldn’t change me, but maybe if I got the choice, I wouldn’t have chosen to be this way… I made excuses at the time, but now… I know they never accepted me.”

Jin comments, slyly, “They sure accepted your money, though.”

Namjoon glances at him and explains, awkwardly, “It was the best thing for the family at the time.”

Jin prompts, “And now?”

“With the divorce, I don’t know what responsibilities I’m supposed to maintain with her side of the family,” Namjoon says. “But I have to do what’s best for the kids. If they spend time with their grandparents, I don’t want them to be living in shit.”

“That isn’t your problem,” Jin reasons. “If they haven’t been monitoring their finances well, that’s on them. And if they can’t maintain their living situation without leeching your money, then they’ll have to deal. It isn’t like they live with their grandparents. They live with you, Joonie.”

Namjoon looks at his oldest friend and feels a swell of happiness in his chest. He feels heard and listened to and supported. “Thank you, hyung.”

Jin shrugs. “It’s nothing, kid. Did you want to spend the night?”

He shakes his head. “No, I need to get them home and keep up a routine.”

Namjoon moves to leave the room, but Jin stops him with a hand to his shoulder. “Did you have a chance to look at the list of help I sent over?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been kind of swamped with Agust D and trying to get JK’s world-tour budget organized with the foreign media management team. Why? Did anybody jump out at you?”

Jin shrugs. “A couple. You wanted them to speak English more, right?”

He nods. “Even though everything is going on, I still want to adhere to the plans we had for our kids. Learning English was just one of the things we wanted for them.”

“I put in a few foreigners who specialize in childcare or have had experience with nannying and being a live-in au-pair.”

Namjoon nods. “I’ll look tonight. But I really should get going.”

Once he gets the sleepy twins in their car-seats with a little fuss, Minjae gripping his collar tightly as if he were afraid of his father leaving.

Getting his babies in bed was always a trouble when he was by himself, but with Ms Park, it was a breeze. He dressed them in their pajamas and got them into Minseok’s bed, not wanting them to spend the night apart.

Areum was sure that having them be independent was best - letting them express their personal tastes and habits in the privacy of their own rooms was best, but he felt it was too early.

He wanted to them to sleep together, to wake up together, to grow up with having each other as a support system, to never get used to being alone. All of that independence stuff could come later.

But, he conceded, as he always did, and now, looking at his kids, he regret that choice deeply.

He sits on the soft floor, carding his fingers through the fluffy carpet as he watches his babies sleep. Namjoon watches the rise and fall of their chests, as their little bodies twitch and shudder in their sleep, as they reach for each other and knit their fingers together even in their sleep.

They were so fucking beautiful.

Namjoon couldn’t leave them - never, not even for a second.

He shouldn’t consider her anymore, he shouldn’t put more energy into Areum, but he can’t see how she couldn’t stick around for them.

Namjoon thought they were the most precious things in the whole world. He puts his hand on Minjae’s chest to feel his lightly pounding heart and feels overwhelmed all over again, like the day they were born. He closes the door behind him, leaving a crack of space just in case anything happened and moves to the kitchen area where Ms Park was getting ready to leave for the night.

“Thank you, Ms Park,” he says. “For staying a little later. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to get them into the car.”

The older woman smiles, all warm and gentle. “It’s no problem. You know you can call me for anything and I’ll be here.”

He puts his hands on the island, resting his weight there and exhales. “I know things are somewhat unconventional right now, so I want to thank you for being so available for me to rely on.”

Ms Park stops packing her purse and looks at him, her gaze edging close to pity. She puts a hand on the side of his face and says, “That woman really doesn’t know how good she had it here.”

He smiles, but it feels forced. “She wanted to find something different, I suppose.”

Ms Park tuts. “A flimsy excuse. And it will soon turn to regret, I can promise you that.”

Namjoon doesn’t dare hope her to be correct. “I was thinking of hiring some help for you and the kids. A live-in care assistant.”

Ms Park’s eyes brighten at his words. “I do find it a little tricky to manage twins at my age, so some help would be wonderful.”

He smiles, ruefully. “I’ll hold interviews over the next few weekends and hopefully I’ll find someone to start by the end of next month.”

Ms Park nods.

Namjoon asks, “Do you have any advice for me? A- My- She hired you from the recommendation of a friend, correct?”

She gracefully ignores his stuttering and replies, “Yes. I worked for a friend of Ms Kim for some time before I became employed here. My only recommendation would be to find someone who truly likes children. Neither of your kids are badly behaved, and they have only a few health worries but that’s what I’m here for. So, the most important thing is to find someone honest and someone who enjoys the idiosyncrasies that comes with having spontaneous and lively children. You’ll be able to tell who does and doesn’t fit those requirements very easily.”

He stares at the empty space on the island, eyes tracking the grooves and whorls of the black and white marble, hoping to make sense out the nonsense that is his life.

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6)

#bipolar namjoon #knj fic #bts fic #kim namjoon fic #bts series #Single Father AU #single father namjoon #cheating wife oc #btswriterscollective #btswritersguild #btswritersclub #btswriterscafe #black reader #childcare fic #bts fluff #bts angst #life goes on #rapper yoongi #ceo namjoon #mental health fic #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you

[blackbat05]

Sunnier

Stephen Strange x Reader

A/N: Another impromptu fic! This can be read from Stephen's perspective where reader is a counselor. Can be read as platonic or up to the reader's imagination! If you can reblog this, it would be amazing.

Genre: PG-13 (Themes of mental health)

Plot: A visit to a counselor changes the good Doctor's perspective.

This is a waste of time, he thinks as he taps his foot impatiently in the sterile waiting room.

The receptionist peers curiously from behind the laptop that she's busy clicking away at. Stephen suddenly feels self-conscious and he takes a book to occupy his hands.

Grief and acceptance. He wants to throw the book to the other side of the room, but the young mother opposite Stephen refrains from acting out on his rashness.

"Stephen? Stephen Strange?"

A young woman wearing a neatly pressed blouse and floral skirt steps into the room. Stephen wants to bolt.

She wasn't just young. She was youthful. So how could he unload all his burdens onto her fragile mind?

"Here," he coughs out. "I'm Stephen."

The woman smiles and guides him to the room. Walls painted in warm colors, a picture hangs across the sofa -

There will be better days.

"Forgive me for being so straight on our first meeting," she starts off crisply. "I took a look at your previous records and you defaulted for five straight sessions." A heavy silence filled the room as if daring Stephen to challenge her.

He thinks of evading the question but she doesn't seem like someone who enjoys being patronized.

"Fine. I came only because my colleague threatened to lock me in the mirror dimension and suspend me from the team."

The counselor doesn't show any sign of surprise - by now the presence of super-powered beings living amongst everyday humans shouldn't be a surprise. She clicks her pen and places it on the table, she stares him straight in the eye.

"But you came." That was a fact. Stephen remains mum, throwing the ball into her court.

"I've seen enough paperwork for a day. So instead of me trying to prod a mind that doesn't want to open up, why not tell me what you want me to know?"

She was clearly different. It was as if she had found the right key. The sun peeks through the curtains.

Time became a construct. She nods her head and leans forward at something important he shares. He tells her that on some days, he feels empty. It was as if he had forgotten someone close to his heart, a comrade.

Grief is a complex thing, she tells him. So common but yet fiercely suppressed.

He finally stands taller, a little weight off his back. Stephen makes a mental note to thank Sam Wilson and Wong for the much-needed push. Maybe he will attend the next session.

Turning around, she beats him to it.

"I know your not like any of my clients, avenging and all." She takes a name card and puts it in his outstretched hand. "Whenever you're ready, give me a call."

Today, Stephen exits the center with a spring in his step. Always busy saving others, he's almost blinded by the accumulated pain that has been inflicted on him.

Not anymore.

Maybe he will call her.

Today certainly looked sunnier.

***

If you’re struggling, I urge you to get help or even speak with someone that you trust if you’re not comfortable with getting professional help. Your mental health is of utmost importance. You are important and so loved!❤️

#stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #dr strange #dr strange x reader #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch #marvel x reader #mental health fic #mcu x reader #mental health

[magicalflurry]

It's been a while since I've been able to upload anything new - be it chapters of ongoing fic or an entirely new fic. Part of the reason why, is that I've been very busy with other (non-fiction) projects, both personal and professional.

The other reason, is that I've been working on something new! I feel both exciting and nervous to share with you that I've been working on a (TGM RoosMav) fic in which Maverick suffers from severe depression, to the point where he ends up admitted to a psychiatric hospital. He feels awful, there, and the only way out is by contacting the one person he has left - Bradley. And although they haven't spoken in years, Bradley shows up when he's asked.

This is only the start of Maverick's recovery.

Themes that are going to be prevalent in this fic are: Mental health, therapy, depression, trauma, suicidality, recovery, healing and self-image issues.

The first chapter of Sunrise should be online within a month or so. Ko-fi Project Pals can read a sneak preview on my ko-fi.

#writing update #fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #RoosMav #mental health fic #Beccawrites

[dimigexwrites]

New Normal (Healing Hands, Chapter 15)

A03, FF, Ko-fi

New chapter is up! This one is a bit fluffier than the some of the others. Tenzo is adorable and he owns my whole hear. Full story available at the above links, as well as ways to support me if you're interested! Chapter is also below the cut

After completing Ino's evaluation, Tenzo stumbled into blinding sunlight and gulped down a lungful of air. Despite the reassuring warmth of the woman's office, a chill permeated his body, like ice had replaced the blood in his veins. Tenzo's hands shook despite every effort to still them, and his chest felt uncomfortably tight. Sliding his tongue over too dry lips, Tenzo counted to ten, breathing in and out with each number. He squashed the idea that a drink of whiskey would halt the bile rising in his stomach.

"Are you okay?" Tenzo startled and spun on the balls of his feet, reaching for the weapons pouch that he wasn't wearing. Sakura danced backward two steps, out of striking range in case he resorted to hand to hand. "Sorry, I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. I just thought you might need a friendly face after that. Want to get lunch?"

Raking his fingers through his hair, Tenzo forced a smile that he didn't feel and nodded. The memory of needing a drink sat heavy on his tongue, but the distraction of food might ease the longing. Sakura prattled off questions and observations, which Tenzo mostly ignored, as they walked. He shrugged when she asked what he wanted to eat, and left the decision up to her. His mind felt like it had been rung out by too many questions.

Sakura and Tenzo ended up at Ichiraku, which had grown larger than the single ramen counter of old. The restaurant sported more than a dozen tables now, tucked away from the street's view on the side of the building. They selected a table in the corner even though only one other booth was occupied. Tenzo tried to dispel the nervousness boiling inside of him with a slow exhale. "This isn't the place I imagined you'd pick," he ventured.

Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, Sakura shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to be seen in public, and it's pretty quiet in here between the lunch and dinner rush."

Taking a drink of water, Tenzo considered Sakura's implication. He had eaten dinner with her, Naruto, Kakashi, and Sai on numerous occasions over the years. There had been plenty of meals with just Kakashi or Naruto, but never Sakura. Tenzo wondered if anyone would think there was something strange about the pair of them being alone together. He shook his head to clear away that foolishness. They were former teammates after all. "It's fine, good even."

Tenzo stared around the once familiar room, enjoying the quiet atmosphere while his thoughts drifted. He felt exhausted and spent, but also relieved that the first step to getting reinstated was complete. Hope stirred in his chest, suggesting that there might be an end to all this posturing and talking. Eventually, he would get back to taking missions and leading Anbu. Eventually, this would end.

Before long, two steaming bowls of ramen appeared on the table. Sakura broke her chopsticks open with a quick prayer of thanks, then leveled Tenzo with a cool, green stare. "So, how did it go?"

Separating his chopsticks with exaggerated slowness, Tenzo prodded at the noodles until they raised a fragrant cloud of steam between them. Sakura didn't press, but he knew that she was waiting for an answer. Tenzo raised his shoulders in a shrug. "It went fine."

"Fine," Sakura repeated, eyes narrowing as she sipped broth from her ceramic spoon. "What does fine mean?"

"It means she didn't put me in solitary confinement under a doctor's care," Tenzo groused, wondering if that had been a possibility. He reached for his glass and took another long drink. The liquid left him missing the sharp burn of alcohol on his tongue. Tenzo shrugged a second time. "I don't know how these things are supposed to go. I never had to do one until now."

Sakura winced at the words. "What did she ask you about? What did you say? What was her recommendation?"

"She asked me the same questions that you did: am I sleeping enough, do I have nightmares, am I having trouble with my memory, the usual stuff." Tenzo left out the fact that he hadn't been truthful with his answers. What Sakura didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Sakura waited for Tenzo to continue, but he bought himself a moment to think by taking a bite of his food. Ino hadn't asked about the pinkette's presence until the end of the meeting, and then she'd only asked whether or not the results could be shared with Sakura. It seemed innocuous, a pointless question considering Sakura had referred him to Ino in the first place, so he'd agreed.

Despite wanting help, Tenzo held back as much as he dared with his answers during the session with Ino. He suggested that he slept well enough, but left out that it was only because of Sakura's presence the past few days. No, Tenzo hadn't had a nightmare in a while, at least not one that he remembered. He'd faked his way through the questions about substance use by admitting to having a drink sometimes. Honestly, he'd been more open with Ino than he had with Sakura at the first exam; that had to count for something.

"Ino said she'd get the final recommendation to you by tomorrow afternoon." Tenzo took another bite of ramen, letting the warm flavors ease the nausea in the pit of his stomach. His hands weren't shaking as badly as they had been, and the beginnings of relief wrapped around him like a blanket.

For a minute, Sakura didn't speak as she swirled the noodles in her bowl. Tenzo watched her, wondering what she was thinking. After a couple of seconds, she nodded. "Well, that's good. Maybe you'll start feeling better soon."

Tenzo chuckled in the back of his throat, not pointing out that he'd never felt normal in his life. His background wasn't something that he wanted to discuss, now or ever. Changing the subject, Tenzo dipped his head. "Speaking of normal, when do you plan to go back to work? You can't babysit me forever."

Sakura chewed her lower lip before answering, sending a spike of fear through Tenzo. "I was thinking I'd go back tomorrow morning."

Relief and worry washed through Tenzo in equal measure. With Sakura at work, he wouldn't have to worry about what she might see. She wouldn't be there to stop him from doing whatever he wanted. But, he'd be alone again, truly alone for the first time in weeks. He hadn't done well by himself the previous night. How much more difficult would an entire day be? Tenzo thought about his desire to have a drink after leaving T&I. He wondered what he might have done if Sakura hadn't been waiting on him; he didn't like the answer.

Tenzo pushed the thoughts away. He needed to learn how to be responsible for himself again. "That sounds good. I'm sure they've missed your help."

"Yeah, it'll probably be a mess when I get back." Sakura took a final bite of her food, emptying the bowl. Tenzo's remained mostly untouched, but she didn't comment on it. "I need to do a few things this afternoon, but I can stop by later and see how you're doing?"

The question left Tenzo off balance, but a wave of gratitude flooded through him. He had expected Sakura to go back to her life without a second glance. The idea that she would continue to support him after he started talking to Ino surprised him; it shouldn't have. Tenzo nodded. "If you want to."

"I do," Sakura offered with a grin, pushing her bowl away. "Do you think you'll be okay until then?"

Tenzo nodded, wondering if Sakura felt as unsteadied by the day's events as he did. Somehow, he doubted it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

After leaving Tenzo, Sakura spent the next couple of hours running errands and catching up on tasks that needed her attention. As much as she wanted to go to the hospital and start organizing the chaos there, she decided to leave it off until the following day. She hadn't figured out what, if anything, she was going to tell Kazuko about her absence. The man didn't need to know about Tenzo's detox, and he already knew that it was tied up in her duty as shinobi medic, that should be enough for him.

The most important thing that Sakura wanted to accomplish during her free time was to organize her notes on Tenzo's detox. She'd written tons of details over the past couple of weeks, most of them in a battered notebook that she carried in her bag. She spent hours transferring and simplifying her observations, as well as drawing conclusions about them. Eventually, Sakura would need to move everything to Tenzo's medical file, but she wanted to wait until she knew what to record.

After that, Sakura would need to talk to Kakashi about Tenzo's suitability for Anbu. She wanted to let the man detox and get help through T&I first. It took all of Sakura's self control to leave the remainder of Tenzo's recovery in someone else's hands, but she recognized the need to do so. Ino could help in ways that Sakura couldn't. Despite that, she planned to check on the man over the next few days to make sure that he was adjusting to the changes.

Content that she'd recorded everything that she needed to, Sakura made a quick dinner and washed up. Then, she looked around the apartment. After a quick tidy up, she grabbed her jacket and went to check on Tenzo. He'd been alone for several hours, plenty of time to mess up for a second time if he was going to. The idea made Sakura anxious, but she pushed it away. Tenzo would make a good decision, she had to believe that. If he didn't, they'd start over, again.

The chill in the air had grown more pronounced as winter drew closer. Sakura zipped her jacket against the cold and jogged toward Tenzo's apartment. When he didn't answer the first knock, her stomach plummeted to her feet. Had he already thrown everything away?

Just as Sakura was considering whether or not to pick the lock, the door cracked open. Tenzo's dark eyes were shadowed and his face was drawn, but he dipped his chin in greeting. "Sakura."

"Hey," Sakura began, moving into the apartment when Tenzo pushed the door wider. "How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic," Tenzo answered, running a hand through his hair. Sakura had grown used to the way it stuck up in all directions without the head protector to hold it back.

Sakura was surprised to see that Tenzo had changed from jeans to sweatpants after his appointment. Even more surprising was how familiar the comfortable look had become after their time together. Whenever Sakura thought about Tenzo, she pictured him in sweats instead of his uniform. Sakura shook her head to clear away the thoughts and asked, "have you eaten anything?"

"I had a protein bar, does that count?" Tenzo walked over to the couch and threw himself onto it. "I wasn't hungry enough to eat a big meal, and I didn't feel like cooking."

Nodding, Sakura took a seat beside Tenzo. He didn't meet her eyes, tugging at the string of his hoodie and readjusting the way it fit his chest. "It counts," she agreed. "Have you had anything else?"

"If you mean did I go on a bender in the past four hours, then no." Huffing out a breath, Tenzo pushed to his feet. He paced a few steps toward the wall, then turned and walked back.

Sakura chewed her lip as she watched him. "You're on edge, though. Did you take something?"

"Like one of the soldier pills you confiscated?" Tenzo's lips pulled into an aborted snarl as he sighed. "No, I haven't had anything. Just the protein bar."

"Harder than you thought it would be?" Sakura asked, keeping her voice gentle. "I looked into managing the symptoms after medication. The article suggested that patients try meditation, exercise, or finding a new hobby to focus on. You need a good habit to replace the bad."

Tenzo scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Respectfully, that sounds like a load of bullshit."

Exhaling, Sakura counted to ten under her breath. "Probably, but why don't we go for a walk to see if it helps?"

The incredulous look that Tenzo flashed Sakura made her laugh. He scoffed. "Is that supposed to count as exercise, for an Anbu?"

"It's supposed to count for getting some fresh air." Sakura ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it into a ponytail. "Which is good for everything. Now, come on."

After a bit of grumbling and complaining, Sakura got Tenzo out the door. Darkness hadn't fallen yet, but it was already chillier than when she'd arrived. Shivering, Sakura turned to the right and set off at a quick clip. Tenzo followed her after a moment of indecision, catching up with his longer strides. The pair walked in silence, leaving the main village behind while moving toward the training fields.

After Sakura and Tenzo passed the first three training grounds, he huffed out a breath. "Are we going to walk all night?"

Sakura sighed at the man's testiness. She'd been ignoring it all evening, but there was only so much that she could stand. "Only until you stop being grouchy," she shot back, glaring. Swiveling with annoyance, Sakura threw a half hearted punch at Tenzo's shoulder.

The man danced backward, eyes widening in surprise. She swung again, and he sidestepped to the right, brow furrowing. "So what? You're going to beat it out of me now?"

Sakura dipped her head and slid into a fighting stance. "If that's what it takes."

Tenzo snorted and shook his head as he ducked beneath another strike. Sakura attempted to sweep his feet out from under him. Tenzo laughed and brought his hands up. "Fine, but don't blame me when you're too sore to move tomorrow."

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By the time Tenzo and Sakura finished sparring, his breath came in urgent gasps that left him dizzy. The bruise purple sky had grown black with only the moon and stars to provide a scatter of light when the clouds didn't block it out. Sakura looked as exhausted as Tenzo felt with sweat that ran down her cheeks and clung to her hair. The woman had improved over the past couple of years, but she didn't have the honed skills of an Anbu operative. Even so, she'd pushed herself hard.

The streets were deserted as they walked, and Tenzo found his gaze drawn back to Sakura. Her sweatshirt jacket was zipped tight against the wind, and she'd shoved her hands into her pockets. Warmth shuddered through Tenzo's body from the fight. The adrenaline of combat was a poor substitute for soldier pills, but it was better than sitting at home and staring at the wall.

After leaving Ichiraku, Tenzo had gone back to his apartment and paced through the rooms. He tried cleaning, reading, and napping, but nothing helped. As dinner time came and went, Tenzo had been annoyed that Sakura hadn't come to check on him. Except, she did; it was just later than Tenzo expected. Which led to them walking home together in near silence.

Tenzo cut his eyes toward Sakura, wondering what she was thinking. The exercise left him more relaxed than he'd felt all day, which was nice, but anxiety crept up the back of his neck. He worried what would happen when he got home, when he spent the long hours of night staring at the ceiling and attempting to fall asleep. He exhaled and pushed those doubts away, bumping Sakura's shoulder with his. "Are you walking me home because you're scared I'll get kidnapped?"

The pinkette turned, looking up at Tenzo in confusion. Then, she laughed. "I don't know if you're pretty enough to be a damsel in distress. They'd probably leave you alone."

Chuckling, Tenzo inclined his head. "Maybe I should walk you home instead, then?"

A flush of pink colored Sakura's cheeks as they entered a more lit area of Konoha, but she shook her head. "I'd beat 'em up if they tried anything."

"Of course you would." Tenzo buried his hands in his pockets, looking down at his shoes. Sakura didn't answer, but pulled her shoulders up toward her ears in a shrug.

A breeze whipped through the street, scattering leaves across the path. Tenzo's apartment loomed ahead, several streets away from Sakura's. They would need to go their separate ways soon, him to the left, and her to the right. Tenzo's feet slowed with reluctance, and Sakura adjusted her pace. "So," he started, pulling a hand out of his pocket to tug at the hem of his sweatshirt. "I, uh, guess it's time to say goodnight."

A small smile darted across Sakura's lips as she paused in the street. "I guess so," she responded, glancing up at Tenzo without moving away. "Goodnight, then?"

Tenzo's heart tightened at the thought of going back to his empty apartment. He frowned, wondering how needy it would sound if he asked Sakura to come home with him, not to mention how improper it was. He didn't care. "Um, I was uh," Tenzo trailed off, aware of the uncomfortable warmth in his cheeks. He shook his head. "Nevermind."

For a minute, the thunder of blood in Tenzo's ears was the only thing he heard. Sakura studied him, then smiled. "Do you want me to walk you back?" The heat in Tenzo's cheeks increased for some reason, but he couldn't answer. "You know, I'd actually feel better if I gave your vitals a once over after that exercise. It's been a while since you pushed yourself that hard. "

Tenzo started to point out that he wasn't the one soaked in sweat after their spar, but the careful phrasing of Sakura's words stopped him. "I'm sure they're fine, and I don't want to inconvenience you."

"You aren't an inconvenience." Sakura hooked her arm through Tenzo's and pulled him forward a couple of steps. "You're still my patient after all."

Lips twitching toward a smile, Tenzo chuckled. "Somehow, I don't find that as reassuring as I used to."

Sakura grinned over her shoulder. "Only if you don't behave."

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Safely ensconced in Tenzo's apartment, Sakura shed her jacket and shoes, breathing a sigh of relief. The wind brought out a rosy color to Tenzo's cheeks, so she could only imagine how red hers were. The evening had been colder than she'd expected when she suggested a walk, but she wasn't bothered by that. Tenzo's shoulders weren't quite as tense as they had been, and he no longer looked ready to pace a hole in the floor of his apartment. The exercise had worked, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Sakura hadn't anticipated the man's nervous stammer when it came time to part ways, however. At first, she didn't understand. Tenzo hadn't been afraid of asking for what he needed over the course of his detox, and they'd grown closer for it. But, he'd blushed and stumbled over his words like a school boy. It took her a moment to realize that he didn't want her to leave. He hadn't managed a full night on his own yet, and the idea of trying again must have been terrifying. Though, Sakura struggled to reconcile the idea of an Anbu agent being afraid of anything.

Unaware of Sakura's thoughts, Tenzo walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. After a couple of minutes, he returned and offered her some water. "Here. You should rehydrate."

"Thanks." Sakura spun the cap off of the bottle and took a long pull, thankful to erase the itchiness in her throat from the cold. Recapping it, she nodded toward the table. "Let me get a look at your vitals to see where we are."

Sakura didn't expect to find anything unusual in Tenzo's pulse when she grabbed ahold of his wrist. The slight elevation of the man's heart rate was likely due to the walk, but it was still lower than most of the patients that Sakura saw. Peak physical conditioning did that, even though Tenzo had missed a couple of weeks. She nodded to herself. "Everything looks good, just as I expected."

Tenzo hummed in agreement, but he didn't speak. When the man glanced away, some of the tension erased by the exercise bled back into his posture. Sakura watched Tenzo for a moment, studying the familiar features of his face, then she reached across the table and patted his knee. "Do you want me to stay the night?" Tenzo's ears flamed crimson, pulling a laugh from Sakura's lips. "As a friend, obviously."

"Obviously," Tenzo echoed, pushing to his feet. He walked back to the kitchen and filled a glass of water for himself. "I'm sure I'll be fine, and I don't want to bother you."

Sakura followed, resting her hand on Tenzo's back as he stood beside the sink. "We've already talked about this; you aren't a bother."

"I feel bad about keeping you out late when you're planning to go back to work tomorrow." Tenzo drained the glass, then turned it upside down in the sink. "What if you stayed for a little while, and I'll see if I can get to sleep early?"

A smile tugged at Sakura's cheeks. "I think that could work."

While Tenzo went to take a quick shower before bed, Sakura finished her water and stole a protein bar from one of the cabinets. The man's apartment had begun to feel more like home than hers, though Sakura knew that would change with time. She'd spent weeks here, watching Tenzo fall apart, then build himself back up. Sakura couldn't help but wonder if they would experience another relapse. Tenzo's recovery would have ups and downs, she knew that, and she wanted to be ready for anything.

After about fifteen minutes, the bedroom door swung open with a soft sigh. Tenzo stepped out, face flushed from the warmth of his shower. Grey sweatpants hugged the man's hips, and a white t-shirt clung to his still damp skin. When he lifted an arm to ruffle through his freshly washed hair, and the bunching of his sleeve over his bicep distracted Sakura from the fact that Tenzo had spoken. Giving her head a small shake, she forced herself to focus. "What did you say?"

"Just that I think I'm going to turn in now." Tenzo walked across the room to turn off the kitchen light. He paused beside Sakura, glancing between her and the bedroom while looking sheepish and uncertain at the same time. "It's been a long day."

Nodding, Sakura crossed over to check that the front door was locked and turned off the light. Tenzo's apartment was familiar enough for her to walk through in complete darkness, at least the main living areas. She hesitated only briefly before opening the bedroom. A soft pool of golden light drove back the shadows beside the bed when Sakura stepped inside. Tenzo had crawled beneath blankets, resting on his right hip and shoulder. She sat down on the opposite side of the bed.

Silence reigned for several seconds, then Tenzo managed a laugh. "This is really awkward."

"It's fine," Sakura returned, stretching her legs in front of her. They were sore from the spar, but no more so than after a normal session. "We've been through a lot of awkward things lately."

Tenzo exhaled and nodded, nestling deeper into the blankets. "I know, but this is—"

"No more awkward than anything else." Sakura adjusted her shoulders against the headboard to get more comfortable. "Now, are you going to turn the light off? You can't sleep with it on."

A huff of breath accompanied the question, then darkness swallowed the room. Sakura stilled, listening to the sound of Tenzo's breathing for several seconds before closing her eyes. The warmth of his bed felt comfortable, and the darkness erased the imagined borders between them. "I know that today was hard," Sakura whispered, letting her body sink deeper into the pillow. "I'm proud of you for sticking with it."

Tenzo hummed in agreement, but he didn't answer. The silence didn't bother Sakura; she let her mind drift as the words tumbled out. "It's going to be difficult, but you can do this. Ino has some great ideas for helping with post traumatic stress and addiction. We've already talked about exercise. It should be easy enough to throw yourself into that as an Anbu. Running, yoga, mountain climbing, sparring, kenjutsu, there's a million options."

"Combine that with counseling and medical support, and you'll be feeling better in no time." Sakura fought down a yawn and opened her eyes, staring at the soft moonlight coming through the window. "We're going to get through this," she murmured.

Tenzo's breath grew deeper as he fell toward sleep. Sakura matched the sound, deciding to give him ten minutes to make certain he was well and truly out before leaving. Smiling to herself, she folded her arms over her stomach and let her eyelids flutter shut. Just ten more minutes.

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The next morning, Sakura woke in the quiet calm of Tenzo's apartment with a stiff neck and the horrifying realization that she'd overslept. Tenzo laid on his stomach beside her, one arm pillowed under his head as he faced the wall. Cursing under her breath, Sakura slid off the bed and tiptoed across the room. After easing the door shut behind her, she grabbed the notebook from her bag. Sakura scrawled a quick note and tucked it beneath a bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. Running late for work. I'll stop by later!

Content that Tenzo wouldn't worry about her, Sakura darted out the door. She received several curious stares while sprinting back to her apartment, but she ignored them. There were more important things to worry about, like how she was going to explain being late. Even though she was already an hour behind schedule, Sakura needed to shower after the previous night's sparring session. Throwing her bag onto the bed, she jumped into the spray before it had time to heat, then scrubbed her body and hair in record time.

As Sakura stepped onto the bath mat, she studied her face in the mirror. Smudges darkened the skin beneath her eyes from the irregular schedule of the past couple of weeks. She had planned to put on makeup and style her hair before going into work, but Sakura was too late to bother with that. Swiping through her hair with the towel and brushing the strands flat would have to be enough. Sakura dried off, threw on a pair of scrubs, checked that her bag had everything that she needed, then hurried from the apartment.

Despite planning to reach the hospital early enough to clean up the mess from her absence, Sakura walked through the doors an hour and a half after the start of her shift. People crowded the waiting room, at least half of the chairs taken up by patients of all ages. Employees bustled around the space with smooth efficiency. As Sakura approached the nurse's station, she noticed a familiar form leaning on the counter. The easy conversation died as Kazuko turned. His eyes widened at the sight of the disheveled medic behind him. After a moment, he offered a delayed smile. "Welcome back, Haruno-sensei."

"Thanks," Sakura murmured, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise on her cheeks. She hated looking unprofessional, especially in front of Kazuko. "Give me some time to get settled, and I'll be ready to work."

Turning to the receptionist behind the counter, Kazuko rapped his knuckles twice. "I'll be back in a few minutes to help you get that organized." At the woman's nod, he motioned down the hallway toward the offices, then started in that direction. Sakura had no choice but to follow, as much as it rankled.

Once they were several strides away from everyone, Kazuko glanced over. "Why don't you take the morning to get caught up on paperwork? I can manage the patients for another couple of days."

As much as Sakura wanted to argue, she saw the sense in Kazuko's suggestion. Though the man was too kind to say it, she heard the dig as well. He'd managed the load by himself for weeks; one more day would make no difference. Sakura sighed. She'd held the position of head medic for less than three months, and she was already screwing it up. It wasn't just the struggle of being the Anbu medic, but also balancing the civilian side with Kazuko. Why hadn't Tsunade and Shizune warned her about him?

"I'm sorry," Sakura began, brushing through her hair with one hand. "The past couple of weeks have been hectic."

Kazuko stopped outside of Sakura's office. "It's not a big deal. Tsunade-sama was rarely in the hospital, and there were times that Shizune-sensei left as well. I've had a lot of practice running things."

The words left a sour feeling in the pit of Sakura's stomach. Kazuko was better suited for the job than she was, and he always had been. He pushed his lab coat back and slid his hands into his pockets. A wistful expression crossed the man's face before he continued. "I know I don't have clearance for whatever you've been working on, but if there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

Sakura frowned at the unexpected offer. Could Kazuko have ulterior motives for appearing helpful, or was he just thankful to have her back? She leaned toward the latter. After their jaunt at the bar and his apartment, Sakura suspected that Kazuko might be one of the genuinely good guys left in the world. But, that didn't erase his disappointment in being overlooked for a promotion. Figuring him out was too difficult, at least for the moment. "Thanks," she responded, deciding to leave well enough alone.

If it had been anyone else, Sakura would have taken them out for drinks as a thank you for their hard work. But, after the fiasco with Kazuko a few weeks ago, Sakura didn't think that reintroducing alcohol to their relationship was the best idea. They'd almost gotten back to a semi-normal relationship, and she didn't want to ruin that. Lunch was another option, but Sakura had promised to stop by Tenzo's on her break. Kazuko would have to wait for another day.

Despite Kazuko's efforts at running the hospital, administrative paperwork had piled up on Sakura's desk. Towers of files and reports teetered across the surface, several bearing Kazuko's post-it notes and suggestions. Sighing, Sakura placed her bag on the floor beside her chair and eyed the amount of work waiting on her. It was going to take hours to make a dent in her neglected responsibilities.

Forcing herself to take a breath, Sakura turned her attention back to what needed to be done. It was impossible to complete everything at once, but she could finish one thing, and then another. After a couple hours of using that technique, Sakura's pile grew less in danger of starting an avalanche. She was halfway through a report on a civilian death that needed her signature when someone knocked on the office door. Sakura ran a hand through her hair to smooth the wavy tresses and straightened her shirt before calling out. "Come in."

The door swung inward to reveal Ino, dressed in the crisp grey of Torture and Investigation. The woman tapped a pale folder on the heel of one hand as she swept into the office. Sakura found it ironic that she and Ino had been thrust into roles of leadership within Konoha, whether or not they were ready. She supposed that was a part of growing up, or growing up as a shinobi, at least.

Indicating the chair on the opposite side of the desk, Sakura leaned back and crossed her legs at the knee. The movement released some of the tension that had built in her lower back from sitting at the desk too long. "Hey Ino, what can I do for you?"

The blond closed the door behind her and took a seat across from Sakura. After laying the file on the edge of Sakura's desk, Ino leveled her best friend with a teasing grin. "Before we get down to business, spill it. Have you made any progress with Hot Doctor?"

Hot Doctor? It took Sakura several seconds to realize that Ino meant Kazuko. Unbidden, a touch of warmth rose in Sakua's cheeks. She hadn't told Ino about that night at the bar, though she had no reason to hide it. After everything that happened with Tenzo, the indiscretion with Kazuko seemed a lifetime ago.

Pushing the thoughts away, Sakura rolled her eyes. "He has a name, you know."

"Oh, I know," Ino purred, dragging out the words with suggestive flair. "A name, and the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. Barring mine, of course."

Laughing, Sakura shook her head at the other woman. "Of course."

"Hot Doctor told me where to find you." Ino smiled again, but there was a dangerous, predatory undertone to the expression. "Kazuko seemed worried that you might be getting lost under the paperwork. I almost suggested there were better people for you to get under—"

"Ino," Sakura burst out, blushing despite her best efforts to avoid it. "I told you I don't have any interest in Kazuko, not like that."

Chuckling under her breath, Ino studied Sakura for a long moment. "Do you have that kind of interest in Yamato?"

"I don't have that kind of interest in anyone," Sakura snipped, hating the heat that filled her voice and face. She blew out a breath and tried to regain control of herself. "I'm assuming those are Yamato's results?"

At the mention of the official report, Ino's levity bled away; the set of her mouth and the way she carried herself changed. Sakura marveled at the ease with which her friend switched between her professional persona and the friendly one. Ino's eyes fell on the folder that she'd left on Sakura's desk as she nodded. "That's the official report, yes."

"If I'm being honest, I'm surprised you got Yamato to submit to the screening. His results are," the blond paused, searching for a word, "not good."

Sakura's stomach clenched with nervousness despite having known to expect the worst. Even so, she dipped her head. "If I thought they would be, I wouldn't have required an evaluation."

Reaching across the desk, Sakura pulled the folder closer. Neatly printed font filled the single page nestled inside. She skimmed the words before settling on the final recommendation: one month conditional leave with counseling, then reevaluation. Sakura exhaled, unsure whether to feel relieved or worried that Ino agreed with her. As if she could read her friend's thoughts, the blond frowned. "His answers weren't bad, but I got the feeling that most of them were lies."

Sakura's head shot up, recalling the rudimentary examination that she'd done as part of the physical. Tenzo had lied then, too. Ino shrugged. "He wouldn't tell me what was going on, but there's definitely something."

For some reason, Ino's diagnosis sent a flash of pleasure through Sakura's body. Tenzo hadn't opened up with Ino the way that he had with her recently. She knew that it was stupid to feel satisfaction; he needed to talk about the things that he was dealing with. But, it felt nice to have a part of Tenzo to herself.

When Sakura didn't speak, Ino cleared her throat. "Do you know what's going on?"

"I know what his medical exams revealed," Sakura hedged, trying not to lie while withholding information. She didn't feel comfortable revealing the details that Tenzo shared with her. There was a delicate line between friendship and doctor/patient confidentiality. Sakura walked it daily. "What do you recommend?"

"Without knowing the full extent of Yamato's condition, I would recommend a month of counseling, at least two or three times a week." Ino's brow furrowed as she worked through some detail in her mind. "There are a couple of group meetings he could attend, but we don't get many people at those. So, I'd suggest individual sessions. I could fit him into my schedule, if he'd feel more comfortable. Do you think he'd go for it?"

For a second, Sakura considered the question. Tenzo wouldn't like having to do counseling, but he wasn't going to have a choice. "If he wants to be reinstated for active duty, he will."

Chuckling, Ino dipped her head, then looked thoughtful. "You said there were two Anbu who needed evaluations, right? Your second one never showed."

Saiyo. The memory of the debacle in Tenzo's apartment soured Sakura's mood. She wanted to untangle the situation between the pair, but she wasn't sure how to go about it. Sakura wondered if Tenzo's demons had anything to do with the golden-eyed woman who was so clearly in love with him. It amused her that he ignored Saiyo's heated looks; he couldn't be oblivious to them. Sakura hoped that she'd never been that moony over Sasuke.

Despite her personal dislike of Saiyo, it was Sakura's duty as Anbu medic to get the woman the help that she needed. She nodded to Ino's original question. "There was. I'll reach out and see if I can get them to come in."

Ino glanced down at her wrist, and frowned. "I've got an appointment in twenty minutes, so I better get back to the office."

"Of course." Sakura rose when Ino did and offered a respectful bow between colleagues. "Thank you for bringing the results to the office personally."

"We should catch up soon; it's been a while." Ino turned toward the door, then paused and looked over her shoulder. Brow creased, the woman stared at Sakura for two heartbeats. "You know you can't save Yamato if he doesn't want to be saved, right?"

Panic clutched Sakura, hot and sudden as a kunai through the throat. She shoved the sensation away. "Yeah, I know."

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Tenzo's first day alone passed with frustrating slowness. He tried reading, napping, and pacing circles around his apartment, but it didn't break up the monotony of obligatory leave. He worried about the person who was overseeing Anbu in his absence. Had the burden been shoved onto Kakashi's already full plate of responsibilities? Did they choose Sai, perhaps? A different captain? Tenzo hated the questions and the unknowns almost as much as he hated the nervous energy that vibrated through his body.

A few hours ago, Sakura stopped by with a bag of sandwiches from the hospital cafeteria and encouraged Tenzo to eat. The thought hadn't crossed his mind until then, but he made himself try one. When he'd woken up, Tenzo had been surprised to find a note suggesting that Sakura had spent the night. The blankets on her side of the bed were rumpled, but there were no other traces of the woman in the apartment. He felt bad that she'd wasted more time taking care of him when she should have been focusing on herself.

As they were eating lunch, Tenzo started to tell Sakura that she didn't need to keep checking up on him. But, for some reason, the words wouldn't come out. He found that he didn't want Sakura to believe that he didn't need her, as selfish as that was. Knowing that the woman would continue to show up made it easier for Tenzo to keep himself in check. He didn't want to disappoint her by falling back to the same stupid decisions that he'd made in the past.

So, Tenzo paced around his apartment like a caged animal and waited for the evening. The expected knock came near dusk, and he rose almost instantly. He pulled the door open more quickly than he intended, and Sakura's lips lifted in a tired smile. "Hey you," she offered, slipping into the apartment like it was natural. In a way, Tenzo supposed it was.

As Sakura kicked off her sandals, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. She dropped her bag beside her shoes, then crossed the room to throw herself onto the couch. Nestling into one corner, she tucked her legs under her then looked up at Tenzo. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than you, it seems," Tenzo teased, pasting a falsely bright smile on his lips. Hopefully Sakura wouldn't be able to see through it. "Tough day?"

Sakura rolled her shoulders, producing a low popping sound from her neck. "It was long, with lots of things to catch up on."

Tenzo took a step forward, half intending to massage Sakura's shoulders, then stopped himself. "I'm sorry I make things more difficult."

"It's fine." Sakura flashed the same easy smile that she seemed to manage no matter what was going on. Then, she tilted her head to study Tenzo more fully. "But, how are you, really?"

Raising his shoulders in a shrug, Tenzo joined Sakura on the couch. "I'm going stir crazy here. If I don't get cleared for duty soon, I'm probably going to lose my mind. Do you have any idea how much longer this is going to take?"

While it felt good to get the question out, Tenzo's heart sank when Sakura's eyes darted away from his face. She knew that he wasn't going to like the answer. Sighing, she sat up and worried her lower lip between her teeth before speaking. "Ino brought your results by, yes. She recommends therapy sessions over the next couple of weeks, then we'll evaluate your progress."

"Weeks," Tenzo burst out. Despair crashed over him like a wave, making it impossible to breathe. "Did you tell her I'm already making progress? Can't you clear me for light duty, at least?"

Sakura sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "You knew this was going to take time; don't try to rush it. The earliest opening Ino has is on Friday. After that, we'll see how things are."

"Friday," Tenzo hissed in disbelief. "It's only Wednesday!"

Tenzo wasn't sure that he could spend another day doing nothing while staring out the window to distract himself from how miserable his life was. Sakura didn't answer as she stood and stretched. When she walked back toward the door, Tenzo tried and failed to constrain himself to an annoyed grunt. "So what? I'll go lay on her couch, spill out my problems, and it'll make everything better?"

Sakura didn't comment on the snarky response. The woman's refusal to acknowledge Tenzo's annoyance only stoked his anger. She lifted a long sleeved shirt and sweatpants from her bag, setting them on the floor next to her. "I'm going to change, then we can spar. I think burning off some steam would do us both good."

"Fine," Tenzo grouched, reaching for his shoes. "Anything is better than staying here."

Tenzo and Sakura didn't speak as they walked through the nearly deserted streets of Konoha. The late hour and creeping chill kept most people indoors at this time of evening. Tenzo blew out a breath as he angled toward the training ground that they'd used the previous night. This one provided enough privacy for Sakura and Tenzo to let loose in a way that ones closer to the village didn't. Not that he anticipated needing ninjutsu to win.

Moving through the falling darkness almost felt like heading out for a mission. The realization left Tenzo antsy and frustrated. The idea that he'd be out of commission for another couple of weeks irritated him. He'd been doing better lately; there'd only been one setback. If he couldn't get back to work soon, he would lose his mind. These sparring sessions provided some relief from the nervous tension, but it wasn't enough.

"Same rules as last night?" Sakura turned to face Tenzo in the semi-darkness, her eyes brighter than the dying sunlight behind her shoulder.

Tenzo drew a deep breath and nodded, turning to face the woman. Sakura stood half a dozen feet away, her fingers raised in the universal symbol of readiness. Laughter rumbled in Tenzo's throat; that type of trust would get her killed one day. Tenzo had used the previous spar to test Sakura's skills. He'd toyed with her, feigning weakness to see how she'd improved over the years. While the woman had earned her rank of jonin, she wasn't Anbu, and Tenzo didn't feel like play fighting any longer.

Two minutes into the spar, Tenzo ducked beneath a flat palmed strike and swept Sakura's feet out from under her. She hit the ground hard and glared up at him, teeth gritted against the impact. Sakura had gotten quicker with taijutsu, but Tenzo was faster. He slipped backward without offering a hand to pull her back to her feet. Adrenaline flooded through his veins, producing the only high he was allowed to chase now. Moving felt good, far better than sitting in his apartment all day.

Huffing, Sakura climbed to her feet. As the woman dusted off her pants, Tenzo lunged and drove her toward the trees. Sakura growled and moved backward, blocking the rain of blows with crossed forearms. Even so, the flurry left marks on her thigh, shoulder, and stomach. With every tap, Sakura grew more frustrated. Tenzo didn't bother pointing out that it only made her easier to counter.

Sakura hit the ground five more times in rapid succession. Fury shone in her eyes when she picked herself up the sixth time. Letting out an amused breath, Tenzo dodged a roundhouse kick that would have sent him flying. He spun with the grace of a trained operative, ending with the edge of his hand pressed against Sakura's neck. Her fingers jabbed into his ribs, a poor trade in damage. Tenzo's blow would have crushed her windpipe; at most, Sakura's would have left him sore the next day.

Jerking her chin upward to throw damp tendrils of hair from her face, Sakura glared at Tenzo. "Did you let me win last night?"

It would have been easy to lie, to let Sakura save face. But, irritation and anger mixed with adrenaline in Tenzo's veins, an unfamiliar song after weeks of inactivity. He dipped his head. "Yes."

An expletive burst through Sakura's lips as she shoved Tenzo away with two hands to his chest. The movement was almost as surprising as the curse. He danced backward when she threw herself forward, hands and feet flashing with lightning precision. Tenzo dipped under another kick and struck at Sakura's unprotected leg. She rolled away with the momentum of his attack, coming up two paces from where she'd been. Tenzo nodded in grudging respect and surged forward, blows coming from every direction at once.

Sakura blocked the attacks with her arms and shins, grunting with every jolting contact. Even so, her guard never lowered. Tenzo couldn't get close enough for another killing strike. When he tried to knock Sakura's feet out from under her again, she leaped over his leg and turned. Her fist caught the edge of Tenzo's jaw, landing Sakura's first strike of the evening. It would be her last.

Snapping one hand up, Tenzo caught Sakura's wrist and spun her around. Her back hit his chest with a solid thud that might have knocked the air from her lungs. If not, Tenzo's superior height and weight made it easy to trap Sakura's body against his. She hissed and slammed the elbow of her free arm against his side. Tenzo tightened his hand, opening his stance when Sakura tried to stomp on his foot. "Yield," he demanded through gritted teeth. "It's over."

Unable to break Tenzo's grip on her wrist, Sakura turned into it. Being face to face didn't change much; even if they had been using weapons, Sakura gained access to Tenzo's throat while offering the same to him. Sparks glinted in the woman's emerald eyes as she stared up at him. Sweat ran down Sakura's cheek, clutching at the strands of hair that had come loose during their bout. She almost—Tenzo realized Sakura's intention a second too late. Her knee jerked up between his legs, and his world erupted in pain.

Training kept Tenzo on his feet as waves of agony rolled through his body. He couldn't maintain his grip. When his fingers released, Sakura planted a leg to jump backward, but Tenzo threw himself forward at almost the same instance. Tangling their feet together, he used his bulk to carry Sakura to the ground. Under usual circumstances, he would have softened the blow by trying to catch his weight on hands or elbows. This time, he didn't bother.

Sakura's right hand bounced off the ground with the impact. Before she could gain an advantage, Tenzo caught her wrist and pinned it flat against the grass. Forcing the second into the same position, he blew out a breath. The woman twisted in the scant space between their bodies, bucking and fighting with every ounce of her strength. Tenzo positioned himself higher than Sakura's dangerous knees and pressed his weight onto her hands to immobilize her. "Surrender," he growled.

A swath of dirt covered Sakura's right cheek, and blood oozed from the corner of her mouth when she spat the words. "I yield."

Tenzo remained still for three heartbeats, then he rolled to the side. Sakura rubbed her wrist with one hand and pushed into a sitting position. When the woman didn't spring back to her feet to renew the spar, he settled on the grass beside her. A cool breeze swirled between them, drying the sweat on Tenzo's face. Sakura wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. "Don't let me win because you think it'll make me feel better," she whispered. "I've had a lifetime of that."

Not meeting Tenzo's eyes, Sakura pulled the tie from her hair and shook out the pale tresses. Guilt settled in his stomach as he laid back on the cold grass. "Okay," he agreed, keeping his voice light to diffuse the tension between them. "That was a dirty move, by the way."

Sakura didn't answer, but Tenzo felt the woman shifting in the space beside him. He didn't press for an apology or conversation; when Sakura wanted to talk, she would. Instead, he focused on the black expanse overhead. When Tenzo exhaled, it was cold enough that he half expected to see his breath. It made the warmth of Sakura's hip next to his more noticable. "Your rule was hand to hand," the woman observed after a moment. "I didn't use any weapons. Besides, Anbu use any tactic to win, right?"

"Except, you aren't in Anbu," Tenzo pointed out. He interlaced his fingers over his stomach and watched several thin clouds scuttle across the moon before continuing. "And, this wasn't a real fight."

"It's always a real fight." Sakura returned, voice soft with melancholy that Tenzo couldn't place.

Tenzo pushed onto one elbow to watch Sakura. She sat with her knees drawn up in front of her chest, arms wrapped around them. Something had calmed the explosive fire of a few minutes ago; Sakura stared at the forest with a pensive expression on her face. "You've improved a lot," Tenzo offered after several seconds of silence.

"Oh, yeah." Bitter laughter bubbled through Sakura's lips. "Twenty-four hours makes a huge difference, huh?"

"You know that isn't what I meant." Tenzo pushed himself upright and bumped Sakura's shoulder with his. The woman's shrug brought a frown to his cheeks. "Are you okay?

A soft exhale answered the question. Something unfamiliar tightened in the pit of Tenzo's stomach. It had been a long time since he fought with Sakura, or anyone who wasn't Anbu. Had he overdone it? "Did I hurt you?"

Shaking her head, Sakura glanced over at Tenzo. "No, and I don't need any special favors. I've never measured up, so I'm used to it."

"I didn't pull my punches because I thought you were weak," Tenzo argued. Even as he said the words, shame twisted inside his chest. Had he gone easier on Sakura than he would have with Saiyo? Had he treated her as less than him because of the difference in their ranks? He shook his head. "I held back because we're friends, and that's what you do in a friendly spar."

Sakura scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No, friends push each other to get better."

"I didn't hold back my attacks. I just stopped them from being lethal," Tenzo pointed out with a huff. "You've gotten better. Three years ago, you wouldn't have been able to land a single hit.'

"I barely managed one," Sakura groused, stretching her legs in front of her. "That isn't much improvement."

Chuckling, Tenzo nudged Sakura a second time. "So, you're trying to join Anbu instead of being content as a jonin?"

Emerald eyes cut up to Tenzo's face, then rolled toward the sky. "No, but—"

"No, but you landed one hit on the head of Anbu, a shinobi who has been in the organization longer than you've been alive." Tenzo shook his head at the realization of how old he'd gotten before offering a tight smile. "I'd say that's an improvement."

A flush of approval appeared on Sakura's cheeks. "Should I turn in my application, then?"

Bile flooded Tenzo's mouth at the thought of Sakura joining Anbu. "No, absolutely not."

The woman's smile fell, and hurt crossed her features. "I was—"

"You're too good for Anbu," Tenzo clarified, surprised at the heat in his voice. Warmth bloomed in his cheeks as he realized how strongly he felt about the issue. Anbu would destroy the gentleness and hope that made Sakura who she was. "You're better than the rest of us."

Sakura chuckled under her breath. "Yeah, that's exactly why they won't make me an elite soldier, because I'm better than them."

"They won't make you Anbu because you're too valuable to risk." Tenzo wondered if Sakura had had aspirations to join the Black Ops. He couldn't imagine anyone less suited for the position, except for Naruto with his penchant for ignoring orders, perhaps. "You're too valuable for a lot of reasons."

"Yeah, no other shinobi could run the hospital so poorly that a civilian could do it better," Sakura grumbled.

Tenzo frowned at the sharpness in the woman's words. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't worry about it." Sakura pushed to her feet and brushed the dirt off of her pants before offering a hand. "It's getting late; we should head back."

Tenzo worried as Sakura pulled him back into a standing position. Was she having trouble at work? Was it because he'd taken up so much of her time with his personal problems? Did he need to talk to Kakashi about the load of responsibilities on Sakura since she took over as Anbu medic? Was there something deeper going on?

The questions buzzed in Tenzo's mind like insistent flies, but he knew that now wasn't the time to ask. Sakura didn't want to get into an explanation or she would have. He nodded and let her keep her secrets. "You're right. Since it's been a rough day, I'll make dinner for you when we get home."

The corners of Sakura's lips lifted in a smile. "Thanks, I'd like that."

#My writing #Healing Hands #YamaSaku #Tenzo #Yamato #Sakura #Recovery Fic #Mental Health Fic #Shinobi Deserve Better #Tenzo especially #Slooooooooooooooooooooooow burn

[dyinggirldied]

Danny, burnout and exhausted of being the basically only one who can fight ghosts but still gets villainized and hated by the people he saved, decides he's done.

Because he's 14 he runs to another city, one where his parents and GIW cannot willy dilly do whatever they want. Yes, he runs to Gotham. Without telling anyone.

At Gotham, he ultilizes his intelligence in making fake ID and studies at a normal if a bit run down Gotham high school, not the fancy one where Tim or Damian is studying because 1) he's trying to lay low and 2) he hates the rich. He uses an old abadoned fire station as his home.

It's all fine and dandy. He doesn't need to intervene much since there are plenty of vigilantes in this city and he's free to just...focus. On himself, his education.

Meanwhile, Amity Park is literally and metaphorically under fire with his absence.

#why not more fics of danny going not my prob anymore #he retires from being a hero and a fenton #and his mental health improves somewhat #while at amity park vlad is regretting since he is the mayor and ghost attack complaints are getting longer #eventually this somehow gets the justice league's attention #and social media explodes #danny looks up from his coke and goes eh you poor unfortunate souls #and goes back to his homework #dpxdc #dcxdp

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SIXTEEN

in which you and eddie take some time to figure each other out in the afterglow of honesty.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 2.7k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

16:00 ──────────ㅇ───── 24:00

HOUR SIXTEEN - 7:00 AM

Eddie’s favorite color is red. He likes his coffee with an obscene amount of sugar and creamer, which always leads to a regrettable stomach ache. He learned to play guitar on an acoustic six string handed down to him by his uncle, and he’s completely self taught beyond what his uncle taught him about basic notes. And his uncle’s name is Wayne. He refers to the man that raised him as Uncle Wayne. 

Honesty turns out to be quite the beautiful thing in the morning light, and for the first time, you feel as though you’re truly getting to know Eddie. 

It’s a give and take, an even exchange of bits and pieces of each other that are handed over without much thought. You finally have a clearer picture of the man you’ve spent the last fifteen hours straight with. A full photograph in time of who he is, who he really is, in a way that you wouldn’t have been able to fathom a week before. And it’s ironic, looking back on your relationship’s progression with him, the way you two keep skipping over steps before retracing to what was missed. How ironic you’ve let him see you at your most primal and vulnerable, but you’ve just learned his favorite color. 

Eddie Munson isn’t a dick. He’s kind, he’s a huge goddamn nerd, he can be funny sometimes, his favorite color is red, but he isn’t a dick as you’ve been led to believe he was this last year. 

Well, maybe led isn’t the right word. Everyone told you he wasn’t a dick. You just never listened. 

Eddie’s just revealed his favorite movie genre as horror when you’re leaning forward, elbows pressing into your thighs as you ask him with a grin, “What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

“Very funny reference,” he deadpans, barely keeping his face straight as he jokingly narrows his eyes, “Especially considering it’s the Scream franchise.”

 You still haven’t brought up that question of why exactly he fought for your honor after that fight. His grand reveal left you with more confusion than you ever could have anticipated, and more than this fragile friendship could handle this early in the morning. So you’d buried it down, somewhere deep inside, for the sake of the friendship.

“You can’t just say an entire franchise. Pick a favorite one, idiot.” 

Friendship. Was that what this was? When was the last time one of your friends had seen you naked, or ate you out atop a kitchen counter? 

“The first one. You can’t beat the classic.” 

You fight your smile in a similar fashion that he is. Mirroring joy, mirroring surprise, “You’re definitely only saying that for the whole homoerotic friendship between Stu and Billy.” 

“Oh, I definitely am,” he doesn’t even try to deny it as he cracks and laughs softly, “What about you?”

Even after nearly an hour of doing this, going back and forth and learning about each other, the novelty of Eddie genuinely asking you things about yourself hasn’t worn off. The curiosity that lights in his eyes, the way he leans into you to hear each word clearly – it makes you question if this was the same man who had once been so cruel. 

“My favorite scary movie? I… don’t have one,” you lean back into your chair, a small huff of air escaping you from impact. 

There’s two mugs of coffee on the small garden table between your chairs, having gone cold long since Eddie retrieved them for the two of you. That had been when he’d earnestly told you about his coffee preference – he’d been sweetly shy about the ordeal, bashful as he looked down at the mugs and informed you he’d tried to only put a normal amount of cream in yours, only a little bit of sugar. It had been so endearing, the way that when you asked what he meant by normal and he’d only murmured his confession of how he took his morning caffeine over the mug’s lip, you nearly caved into yourself. 

“That’s impossible. No way. Absolutely not,” Eddie is animated as he waves his hands around wildly in front of him, shaking his head furiously at your answer, “I refuse to believe you don’t have a favorite scary movie, especially considering you quoted an iconic franchise. If you can quote Scream, you can tell me what your favorite is-”

You interrupt him with laughter, scrunching up your face, “Okay, first of all- Eddie, hey,” he’s still rambling, still being terribly dramatic in the flailing of his arms, so you reach over to grip the forearm closest to you. All his movements immediately cease as his eyes widen, staring directly at you in an oddity of shock, “First of all, it’s just common knowledge of pop culture. I’ve never even seen those movies,” you’re not sure if Eddie is breathing as your hand remains still tightly clasped against his forearm, and you’re not sure why he wouldn’t be, “Second of all, I’m a wimp. Scary movies might be my least favorite kind of movie, right behind apocalyptic action movies.” 

When he takes a sudden deep breath, you realize he had been holding his breath, “Apocalyptic action movies?” 

You begin to explain, to list examples, and you never once take your hand off his arms. You rattle off a list – 2012, The Day After Tomorrow, San Andrea’s Fault, etc. – all the while feeling his pulse race beneath his warm skin. All the while selfishly enjoying the contact, wondering how long it might take staying like this before your fingertips would mold to him. Maybe they’d eventually melt into his arm, skin molten together so that where he ends and where you begin is impossible to distinguish. A closeness with him that you had never craved so ardently before tonight, before today. 

“So, doomsday movies,” he hums after you give your examples. If you were smart, you’d let go of him. It’s been too long for the contact to be brushed off as normal, “Does that mean you also hate zombie movies?” 

“Nope. Those are an entirely different thing.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re entirely different.” 

“They are. They’re completely unrealistic! San Andrea’s Fault… sort of… well, it could happen.” 

“They’re not completely unrealistic. Some of them almost have, like, legit science behind them.” 

You hadn’t even noticed that he scooted his chair closer. Or the slip of his arm in your loosening grasp, leading your hand until it rests against his wrist, so close to holding onto his own hand that rests palm up against his thigh in wait. 

An offering. 

“There is no logical way that one day, our world is going to turn into a real-life Walking Dead situation,” you say, trying to steady your breathing. 

You won’t make the first move. 

He’s leading this moment. If he wants to hold your hand, then he can take that final leap of faith. 

“Have you actually seen The Walking Dead, or are you just blindly making pop culture references again?” 

You can feel the thrill of his heartbeat pick up in the center of his wrist before he does it. With subtle movements, his wrist slips between your fingertips. 

Only for them to be recaptured by his own knuckles. The dust settles. The warmth spreads. Your palm is pressed to his palm, your fingers interlocked between his fingers. 

“I have seen that one,” you tell him quietly, looking down at your conjoined hands. His eyes are also downcast to them. The tendon in his wrist flexes as he tightens his grip on your hand, the small squeeze becoming more sure. It’s not an accident; this was never an accident. 

It’s in the hair you notice on his forearm, wispy and blonde and almost comical in contrast to the dark curls that grow from his scalp. A layer of fuzz that covers alabaster skin dotted in rare and faded freckles, nearly invisible unless you look closely enough. You can see the tan line across his wrist from where he would normally wear a watch. If you follow the details further up his arm, away from the wrist now awkwardly pressed against yours in a twist, you can see the faded blue-black ink of his tattoos. That flock of bats, the most faded of his numerous additions to his skin, taunts you. You’ve already known him up close and personal in the last few hours, felt him flush against you and memorized the way his body was capable of pressing into yours, but it’s in these details that the ache arises. The sadness that you’ve never known him quite this personally before this moment, and the fear that you never will again. 

An ache all because he’s let you close enough to learn the details of his skin – what a marvelous thing. 

“That’s a miracle,” he mutters, fully entranced as he rubs the pad of his thumb across the top of your fingers. You’re quick to return the motion; his knuckles are far more rough than yours, and you try to count the groves in them, from long weeks no doubt, all in that brief swipe, “Or else I would have had to have insisted upon ending this lovely honesty hour, and subjecting you to a marathon.” 

“We can still have a marathon.” 

You’d do just about anything to remain in this position, to stay this impossibly close to him. You’re selfish and you’re clingy, squeezing his hand a little bit tighter as he had done to you, as if the grip on it reflects your grip on the moment. You can’t let it go – you can’t let him go. 

No matter how you have had him, no matter how long he sits in this golden hour with his hand in yours, it will never be enough. This sudden and abruptly-arriving ache is incurable. 

You want him, you need him, you bloom for him. 

There’s something in his smirk as he awkwardly uses his freehand to bring his mug of too-sweet coffee to his lips that almost whispers that there’s a chance: he also wants you, he also needs you, he also blooms for you.

 And so you tell him about yourself in turn. You don’t just stop at your distaste for horror or your fear of doomsday movies. You tell him how you don’t have a favorite color, how you switch it up too often and all he can do is chuckle at your indecisiveness. Once, an insecurity – now something silly to find amusement in at his side. You reveal to him your coffee preference; you take it with a normal amount of cream and just a little bit of sugar. You don’t reveal to him that before today, you’d always turned your nose up to hot coffee, an iced coffee connoisseur. Something in the sparkle of his eyes warns that he might already know. You don’t play any instruments, but you have a list of songs for him to learn, insisting that someday he’d have to play them for you on that guitar his Uncle Wayne gave him. (You can’t think too much on the way you’re once more speaking in some days with him. Your heart might burst if you do.)

You try to bare your soul, to stare down the barrel of honesty, just as he had. It’s scarier than you could have imagined. Finally, after fifteen hours, you get it. 

You get it, and it only makes you squeeze his hand tighter. 

At some point, he notices the way the sun is warming both of you with each passing minute, palms now sweaty against each other as he asks, “Do you want to go back inside?” 

No. I want to live in this moment for the rest of my days. “We can if you want to.” 

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” 

“Tell me what you want. You constantly do that with everyone else, you know. Let them make the decisions,” he’s smiling softly, eyes squinted against the sun now rising high in the sky, “I can’t even count the amount of times you’ve said that to Nancy on both hands. Which, I mean, awesome – Nance fuckin’ loves being the decision-maker. But we’re talking about me. You’ve never been shy about butting heads with me.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Quite the sudden high horse, Mr. Honesty.” 

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “Well, it’s honesty hour. So, here’s more honesty – I love when you give me a run for my money. Who else is going to tell me to shut the fuck up when I’m on track to ramble for hours about Lord of the Rings?” 

“You want to talk honesty? I would only tell you to shut up because I might have blown my cover and you’d realize I actually enjoyed your company.” 

The soft smile widens, more shameless and more radiant, “Coulda fooled me.” 

“I did fool you,” you tease, and your hand slips from his, but the warmth left behind doesn’t. It’s buried deep in your bones now. 

Things will never return to normal, not for you. It isn’t a bad thing – it’s only a sure thing. 

“For what it’s worth…” he pauses, that smile faltering. “I enjoyed your company far more than I ever let on, too.” 

Is that why you fought for me, after fighting against me? 

He doesn’t let you reply, instead smacking both of his now free palms against his thighs as he moves to stand, “Anyways, I actually do happen to want to go inside,” he gestures to those faded swirls of tattoos across his biceps and forearms, “I don’t expose myself to too much sun for obvious reasons.” 

“Reasons being you’re a vampire?” you tease.

“Ha-ha,” he deadpans, “Yes, it’s definitely because I’m a vampire and not because of these sick tatties.” 

“Calling those abominations sick is pushing it,” you playfully counter as you scoot to the edge of the seat of the chair, unsticking your thighs from plastic, “And I knew it. Your skin is practically glittering like diamonds, Edward.”

He scowls. “So Twilight is off the marathon line up.” 

He sticks out a hand, the same one you had clung to for most of your conversation with each other. You don’t take it immediately.

“There’s going to be a marathon?” 

“You’ve got something better to do?” 

The thought of cuddling up with him on the couch has your heart pounding. Honestly, the couch would now remain tainted for the rest of your days. You might even continue to avoid showing up to his apartment just to avoid flushing red any time you see one of your friends take a seat on the spot he once took you on, had pressed into you as your knees had dug into those cushions, as you had moaned his na-

You had to stop thinking about it before he noticed your thighs pressing together tightly. 

“For the record,” he says, hand still extended, unwavering as the sun forms an aura of gold around his outline, “Honesty hour doesn’t have to end when we go inside. From here on out, I actually insist that it be on the table. One of the perks of being my friend, I suppose.” 

Those are the magic words. You don’t need to immediately know why he fought for you, or why he really led you to believe he hated you for so long. You don’t need to know why he kissed you and you don’t need to know why he’d changed his tune so suddenly the first night you two met. All you needed to know was that if you wanted to know, if you ever find the guts to ask him about these things, he would tell you. 

You reach out and take his hand.

Immediately, he pulls you comically hard out of your chair. When you fumble directly into his chest, he’s already chuckling and wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, pulling back and glaring up at him without any true venom, “Eager much?”

“Very,” he boyishly grins down at you and your heart skips a beat. 

Eagerly, wildly, suddenly, comfortingly – he now occupies a space in your brain you weren’t aware existed. It almost whispers I was always here, always waiting for him. 

The two of you don’t waste any time as he tugs you inside, the promise of a movie marathon awaiting the two of you. 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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#twenty four hours #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #sorry if it sucks #please be kind and if you're disappointed... do not tell me for the sake of my mental health haha

[unsolved-duvall]

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - 𝐞.𝐦.

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary you're falling apart and no one can see it. apart from eddie, and he wants to do whatever he can to help you. but you're used to doing everything by yourself. (3.9k)

warnings mental health, anxiety, talks of depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief talk of body image issues, crying, lots of emotions, fluff, brief kissing, this is kind of a heavy one so please bear that in mind <3

It was never pretty when you finally let all of your emotions out. It’s why you rarely let yourself feel them. 

But if you didn’t let yourself feel them you worried you would drown in them. They would take over your whole being and there wouldn’t be enough of you left for you to recognise when you looked in the mirror. 

Everyone always told you there was nothing wrong with you. That you weren’t broken like you insisted each time their monotone voices tried to snap you out of a bad episode. You almost wanted to be broken, you wanted there to be a reason you felt like this. Because if there wasn’t, and this was just how you were. Then you weren’t sure you could live like that. At least if there was something wrong with you, you could blame everything on that. You could blame the way you push people away on that. You could blame the way you self-sabotage on that. 

You could blame the way you find so much comfort in sadness on that. 

You had felt yourself slipping into that mirror-image version of yourself this whole week. The version of yourself that was there, but wasn’t really there. Your voice wasn’t your own. Every word you said felt like you were reading it off a teleprompter, saying precisely what everyone around you wanted to hear so they could convince themselves that you were alright. 

So you did just that. You smiled when you had to. Spoke only when you couldn’t avoid it. And no one noticed. 

Apart from one. 

Because Eddie always noticed. 

You hadn’t been together for very long. You certainly hadn’t been together long enough for Eddie to see you like this. But he knew nonetheless that something was wrong. 

It was why he had asked you to come round tonight. Wayne would be at work, as usual, and he wanted to spend the night with you. 

When Eddie had told you that, he quickly clarified through blushing cheeks and a peal of nervous laughter that he didn’t mean ‘spend the night with you’ in that way. He just wanted you there. 

So you said okay. Told him you would be there at seven. He smiled an almost sickly-sweet smile and pulled you in for a hug, too tight to be casual, and told you he’d see you then; his hand resting on your arm even after you had pulled away from the hug. 

You knew he knew. You knew he’d ask you about it. About why you were so… you didn’t know what you were. But it wasn’t you.  

.

.

.

It was a cold night. The bitter air bit at your face and tried to fight its way through the layers you were wearing. The sharp pain that shot through your hands at the coldness was almost therapeutic. It distracted you for just a second and was enough to make your mind go quiet. Which was something you had never been able to do. 

You knocked on the trailer door and took a step back, waiting for Eddie to open it. But instead, you heard his voice ring out from inside, telling you to come in. You were sure the whole trailer park must have heard him. The boy did not have a quiet bone in his body. 

Pushing the door open you were met with a comforting warmth and the yellow light from the lamps dotted around the trailer lit up your face. You dropped your bag to the floor and pulled your sleeves down, tucking your hands away in them, letting the heat sink deep into your bones. 

Eddie appeared a few seconds later, popping his head up from where he was knelt down behind a kitchen counter. 

“Angel!” 

He always called you that. And even so, it still made your heart swell whenever he called out to you. 

“Hey Eddie,” your voice came out much quieter than you intended it to. You were trying to put on a brave face, or whatever the fuck your counsellor had called it. Apparently, you had a bad habit of pretending you were okay when you weren’t. You didn’t need a professional to tell you that, but sure. Thanks. 

Eddie’s face dropped slightly, his smile fading for a second before he composed himself. His face lit back up if only slightly more forced than before, and stood up. 

“I uh- I was trying to find your popcorn. You know the one with the chocolate and stuff mixed in?”

You nodded, taking a seat on one of the chairs that hadn’t been pushed back under the table, pulling a leg up to rest your chin on your knee. 

“Yeah but I can’t- I can’t find it,” Eddie’s brows scrunched up in confusion and he spun round a couple of times, his eyes darting across the kitchen. 

You couldn’t help the smile that tried to tug at your lips. He looked like a lost child. But you loved him anyway. 

Not that you had told him you loved him yet. It seemed too soon and, if you were being honest, the idea of telling anyone, even Eddie, that you loved them scared the shit out of you. 

So instead of saying “you’re an idiot you know that? I love you though.” 

You said, “I think I finished it last time I was here.”

Eddie stopped abruptly, his hair flying around him as he halted his movements and flicked his eyes over to meet yours. 

“You did?” He sounded genuinely upset, you weren’t sure why, it was just popcorn. 

“I think so,” You watched as Eddie leaned against the counter, and you switched your legs around, dropping the right one to the floor and resting your chin on your left knee instead.

“Remember last Tuesday? It was storming outside so we stayed in and watched all those films. I ate it then.”

“Oh- I don’t remember you eating it?”

“Yeah, that’s because you fell asleep ten minutes after you lay down next to me” 

“You were playing with my hair! It is completely on you that I fell asleep” Eddie laughed between words, and you wished you could laugh too. But you couldn’t. 

Eddie picked up on whatever it was you were feeling and his laughter died down as he cleared his throat, a not-so-subtle tell that he felt unsure of what he was meant to say or do. 

You hated that it was you who made him feel like that. You hated that you were such a burden to everyone around you; you hated the way you could make even the happiest people feel sad, just by being in the same room as you. It was like you were draining to be around. 

“I’m gonna go and uh- go and get changed if that’s okay?” You stood up and waited for Eddie to respond, he seemed to be distracted now, his eyes almost looking through you rather than at you. 

“Oh yeah- yeah, of course, sweetheart. I’ll order a pizza for us, yeah?” 

“That sounds good, Eds” 

Eddie smiled at you. It was a painful smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. As you walked past him he reached a hand out and let it rest on your back until you were too far away. 

You made your way to his room and heard him shuffle around behind you. You should say something, right? Tell him you were okay. Reassure him? 

You wanted to. You were going to. But then your hand was on the door handle and you had walked into Eddie’s room without saying anything to him. It was like you were fighting a constant battle with your own mind. You knew what you wanted to say and do, but you still couldn’t manage it.   

Eddie made sure you knew very quickly into the relationship that you were welcome to wear any of his clothes. In fact, he encouraged it. So, instead of bringing pyjamas with you, you had made the executive decision to wear Eddie’s clothes tonight. 

You flicked on the lamp in his room and knelt down by the dresser, pulling out some of his clothes.

You settled on an old-band tee (if you were being honest, you didn’t recognise the band. You were getting better at knowing Eddie’s music, but you were still learning. And Eddie was more than happy to tell you everything about them). 

You threw on the already oversized tee and pulled on a pair of his clean boxers over your underwear to wear as shorts. 

You already felt safer. His clothes smelt like him. They wrapped you up in a warm hug and told you everything would be fine. You just wished you could believe it.

You turned on your heel and noticed something you had somehow not seen when you walked into his room. His bed. It was made up with fresh sheets on it and smelt like… flowers? Almost as if someone had sprayed perfume on the bed. 

And there was a toothbrush and toothpaste lying on the pillow, as well as an eye mask. You walked over to it and ran your fingers over the pillow. Fuck. 

You didn’t realise you were crying until your vision went blurry. Your head started spinning and in a moment of upset, you sank to the floor, sitting with your back resting against the wall and you let the tears fall.

Before you could wipe them away you heard the bedroom door open, you spun round and saw Eddie standing there, his eyes flicking between you and the bed. His face filled with dread and you could physically see the internal battle he was having with himself over what he should say or do first. 

“Baby- baby, hey don’t cry. It’s okay”

You hid behind your hands. It was a childish move, but it made you feel safe. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You heard him moving around, his footsteps carried across the room as he made his way over to the bed, sitting down on it, giving you as much space as you needed. 

“Sweet- hey, I didn’t do it for that.” 

Huh? 

“I- I told Wayne you were coming to stay for the night and he told me I should make sure you were comfortable here. He took me out to buy you some toiletries and fresh sheets for the bed because apparently mine are too old and even he doesn’t trust them, which I think is rude to be honest- but anyway, that’s- that’s what all this is.” 

Eddie took a much-needed breath before he picked up the eye mask and twirled it around in his hands. 

“It’s all for you so it’s like being at home. You have one of these, right?” You didn’t answer, still crying and not even looking at him. 

“I can sleep on the couch, I was going to! There are blankets and pillows out there for me. I don’t want you to feel like you staying the night meant- fuck. I just wanted it to be nice, I’m so sorry” 

Oh.

Oh, you loved him more than you could ever tell him. 

“It’s okay” Your voice was small but you needed him to know that was not why you were crying. At all. In fact, that idea hadn’t even crossed your mind. Eddie had made sure you knew there was absolutely no rush, no pressure, to do anything that you didn’t feel comfortable with. 

“I wasn’t- I’m sorry I wasn’t crying because of that,” You still weren’t looking at him, but you had dropped your hand from your face. You now stared at the floor, anywhere but looking at him. 

“Well- oh. But, baby? Why were you crying then? Are you… does something hurt? Do you need me to get you something?” Eddie’s soft voice hit every nerve in you and brought the tears back to your eyes. You let them fall down your cheeks freely; there was no point in hiding them anymore. He had already seen what a mess you were. 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine” 

Fine. 

You didn’t believe it, and evidently, neither did Eddie because he said your full name and that grabbed your attention. Because he never did that. 

“You need to talk to me.” His voice had changed. It was still soft but there was something lining it that made you feel like you had disappointed him. 

Of course, you could never disappoint him. But he was worried as hell about you. He had barely slept last night because of you. He had picked up on your change in demeanour for a few days now, but he wanted to give you space. But he couldn’t do that anymore. 

“You need to talk to me because you’re scaring me.” 

You were scaring him? 

“Eddie I-” 

“I have tried. I have tried to give you space but- baby, I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought you would come to me, talk to me. But you haven’t and I can’t just sit back and pretend I don’t see you slowly killing yourself.” 

You had one hand picking at a loose carpet thread and the other one resting on your knee, digging your nails in until you knew you had have crescent-shaped scars there tomorrow. 

“I’m sorry.” It was all you could say. All you could force yourself to say. 

For a beat, Eddie didn’t say anything, and you worried you had annoyed him. You were ready for him to get up and walk out. 

But he didn’t- 

“Come here,” He moved back on the bed, leaning against the wall to give you space to sit however you wanted. 

You thought about staying where you were. But something inside you had you moving to sit next to him before you could think about it for very long. You climbed onto the bed and sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder. You didn’t look at him, and you didn’t move when he tried to pull you against him. 

You didn’t know why you wouldn’t let him love you. 

“Talk to me, baby.” His voice was as quiet as yours had once been. 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“Say whatever you need to say.” 

“I-” 

Fuck why was this so hard. You should be able to talk to him, if there was anyone in the world you could talk to, it was him. And yet, here you were. 

“I just want to feel okay again.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” You had just pulled his heart out and broken it in two. He had never heard you speak like this. He had never heard you speak and have your voice break from the raw pain you were feeling. He wanted, no needed, to make you feel safe. 

“I’m so sorry. What can I- what can I do? Tell me, please.” He was all but down on his knees begging you to tell him how he could help you. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know Eddie because if I knew I wouldn’t feel like this, would I?”

Shit. You didn’t mean to say that. You don’t even know where that came from. 

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize. It’s good, this is good,” Eddie placed a hesitant hand on your leg, and when you didn’t flinch away he let it rest there. An anchor to keep you here with him. A gentle reminder that you weren’t alone. No matter how alone you felt. “Showing emotion is good, sweetheart. No matter what it is.” 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I don’t know why I did that.” 

“Maybe because you feel scared. Maybe you don’t know how you feel right now and that’s really scary, to not understand our own emotions.” 

God, if anyone ever called him dumb again you were going to dropkick them because he may just be the smartest person you have ever met. 

You leant into him a bit more, your head resting above his shoulder. It felt good to be close to him. He made you feel okay again. 

“I just feel- I just feel so… numb. I know I’m not okay. But I don’t know why, I don’t know why I feel this way but I do. I feel this weight in my chest and it-” your voice broke as you started to cry again, but you pushed through, because it was Eddie. 

“It feels like I can’t breathe. Because I wake up and I don’t even get one second of calm before the anxiety hits and my heart is racing and I have these horrible thoughts. And I feel like that all the time. I overthink everything and I convince myself that everyone hates me and- it’s so tiring. I hate myself. I hate what I look like like, I hate my own brain, I just hate myself. I feel so uncomftorable in my own body. And I’m not important, I’m not interesting, I’m not…anything. I feel like everyone else is okay and I am just drowning every second of every day and I have to pretend I’m okay because there are people who have it way, way worse. And every day I wake up and I wish-” You cut yourself off abruptly. 

“You wish what, sweets?” Eddie asked you, his hand on your leg now rubbing soothing circles into it. 

“I wish I didn’t have to wake up.” 

In a split second Eddie had pulled you into him and had his arms wrapped so tightly around you that you weren’t sure where he ended and you began. You buried your head inbetween his neck and his shoulder and let yourself need him. 

You let yourself need someone else for the first time. You clinged to him like a lifeline and let him breathe life back into you. Your hands went under his t-shirt and you let them run up and down his back. Eddie was holding onto you too tightly to even move a limb. You heard his little shh shh shh’s and I’ve got you’s before you noticed you were crying. 

And the you let yourself feel everything you had pushed so far down you almost forgot how much it hurt. 

“It’s so hard. Everything is so hard and I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I’m strong enough.” Eddie had to fight to hear your words through the gut-wrenching sobs you were finally letting out. But he did listen. He would listen for the rest of his life if you needed him to. 

So that’s what he did. He listened to you. You told him everything, you told him everything you were feeling and he sat and he took in every word. It was hard, for both of you, but it was desperately needed. Because it wasn’t until you truly spoke the words out loud for the first time that you realised how close to the edge you had been. 

Eventually you ended up curled into Eddie’s side. Your legs were tangled together and you had your arms wrapped around him. One hand slid under his t-shirt to rest on his chest, it grounded you somehow, to feel him. He kept a tight hold on you the entire time, his calming hands rubbing up and down your arms and his lips pressing delicate kisses on the top of your head every few minutes. 

Whenever he could hear you getting emotional again he would cut in with some comforting words, “You’re okay, I’ve got you” and  “I’m so proud of you, baby”. 

Eventually your words died out and you lay in slience for a few minutes until Eddie said “Can I say something?” 

You nodded against his chest and he gently tapped on your arms before pulling you up to look at him. 

“You are the most incredible person I have ever met. Every day you just amaze me. The way you talk- shit, the way you talk about the things you love? Oh my god, I could listen to you talk about your interests for hours. Because you get this little gleam in your eye and you do thing where you don’t even finish your first thought before you’re moving onto the next thing.” You watched him talk, you let him talk instead of cutting him off and insisting he was wrong. 

“Baby you are so fucking strong. You just keep fighting and I don’t know how you do it. Because you do it on your own, and it kills me to watch. It kills me to watch you close yourslef off from everyone else and fight on your own. I just- I just want to be there for you. I want you to come to me when you need help, and I know you won’t do that just yet- maybe not ever. Because you’re not used to having that, but that’s okay because I will wait for you, i will always be here ready to catch you or fall with you or sit and cry with you, if that’s what you need.” 

You were crying again and Eddie lifted a hand to wipe away the tears that were staining your flushed cheeks. 

“And you’re so beautiful it kills me that you don’t see that. There is not one goddamn thing I would change about you. Nothing. I swear on my life, fuck I swear on Wayne’s life, I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Everything about you makes me feel week in the knees baby I swear.” Eddie’s saccharine sweet voice found it’s home in you and calmed something inside you that you thought could never be calmed. 

“I love you.” It was all you could say. Those were the only three words you could muster that encapsulated how you felt right now. And it scared you to death to say them, but you figured that if loving someone scared you that meant it was the real thing. 

Without missing a beat Eddie said, “I love you too.” 

He pulled you to him and kissed you. It was gentle, sweet. You breathed him in and let his lips say everything else you weren’t ready to hear yet. You kissed until you had to pull away reluctantly to breathe. 

Eddie rest his forehead against yours and you both closed your eyes for a second, simply being with each other was enough. 

Until- “Wait, didn’t you order a pizza?” 

“No. I knew something was going on with you and I couldn’t do anything until I knew you were okay.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh I’m sorry did you want a pizza?” Eddie’s voice was laced with sarcasm as he pulled away from you to stare at you. It made you laugh. 

“No, I just want you.” You told him, pushing him down flat agains the bed and moving to rest your head on his chest. Eddie let you move him, he let you lie curled into the side of him, half on top of him, before he pulled a blanket over both of you. 

“Can you stay in here tonight. I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.” Your voice was muffled by the way you buried your head against his chest, but he still heard you. 

“Yeah angel, I’m not going anywhere.” 

That’s how you fell asleep that night, with Eddie’s arms wrapped around you and so close to him that there wasn’t even room left for air to get between the two of you. You slept so deeply that night that you knew you didn’t ever want to sleep without Eddie again. 

Which was good. Because Eddie wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

.

.

.

authors note i wrote this last week during a very difficult time. this is very self-indulgent. the writing is not good, i wrote this with no outline, no plot, nothing. i know this is not my best work at all but i still wanted to post it. you've been warned <3

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[mediumgayitalian]

At around half past one, Nico gets a Feeling.

He gets feelings a lot. Nothing he can quantify, just something telling him that something is up, somethings wrong. Or something’s about to be. At this point, he’s learned to trust his intuition, based purely on the number of times it has saved his life; a number he’s long since given up counting. (He’s only ignored his gut feelings three times in his life: when Bianca went on her quest, when his father promised not to hurt Percy before the Titan War, and when he went looking for the Doors. He has learned his lesson.)

So when something at the bottom of his stomach tells him to get up, to check things out — he does.

He knows it could be nothing. (The last time he had a Feeling, it turned out that he had placed a book precariously on the edge of his desk, and it had been about to fall. Not exactly world-saving stuff.) But regardless, he steps out of bed, shoves his feet into his shoes, and creeps out of his cabin.

Camp is kind of beautiful at night.

There’s an eerie calmness to it without so many human disasters running about, and the quiet reflects that. All Nico can really hear is the hooting of owls in the distance, the chittering of nocturnal animals and monsters alike, the distant screeches of curfew harpies, and the pleasant crashing of the waves. The air is clean, when he inhales, and he takes the time to hold it in his lungs for a bit, imagining the sweet breath is healing his burned lungs, turning the scar tissue back to something flexible and normal. Whether or not it actually works, he doesn’t know, but it feels nice.

Under the light of the brightly shining new moon and billions of stars, he starts his patrol. Around his own cabin first — there’s nothing, as he expected, the warning doesn’t seem overwhelming like threats tend to be — and then he makes his way around the circuit, checking behind gardens and shrines and inside braziers. He hums quietly as he walks, something preppy and bright the Apollo kids have been hollering for days, and waves to Lady Hestia, sword heavy at his waist.

“Come sit,” she calls, patting the seat next to her.

Nico does.

“Haven’t seen you out at night in a while.”

He hums, toneless this time, leaning back on his hands and mirroring her gaze at the sky.

“Been sleeping, for once.”

“I’m glad.”

He smiles, knowing that she means it. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she picks up his sword, sliding it from his belt loop, and uses it to stoke the flames. She doesn’t seem afraid of it, or wary. To her it’s just a stick of metal. It’s nice.

“You have you been, my Lady?”

She pokes at the embers a few more times, scooping a few to balance at the tip of the blade for a while. It glows with the heat, and he knows he’ll have to sharpen it tomorrow, but he doesn’t mind. Maybe he can do it while Will is in the archery range. It’ll give him an excuse to be at the armoury at the same time, anyway.

“I’ve been well.” She breathes deeply, small smile pulling at her face. “It’s calmer, and more people wave to me. I like it.”

“Good.”

She dismisses him a few minutes later, sending him off with a promise to chat again soon. She doesn’t need to worry about him promising — he makes a point to sit with her at least once a week — but it’s nice to know someone wants his company, so he appreciates it. He leaves with a wave, walking towards the eastern half of the cabins.

Nothing’s amiss. He can hear campers snoring, and see the odd reading light. Malcolm catches his eye as he walks past the Athena cabin and winks, sending a cheeky salute when he sees the sword held loosely in his hands. So far, everything seems fine. He’s beginning to think the Feeling might have simply been about Lady Hestia, so he decides to do one last check around the Big House and then head back.

Of course, that’s where the issue is.

The infirmary lights are always on. They’re dimmer in the night, more of a glow than anything, but there’s an extra brightness streaming out from the windows, and when Nico peeks inside, he sees Will, standing with his back turned at the nurse’s station.

He takes a moment to check his strength, making sure he has the energy for it — dinner last night was pho and he had three bowls, he most definitely does — and sinks into the shadows by the door. He materializes back in the little alcove by the bandage & wraps cabinet, lurking silently while he blinks the dizziness away.

The first thing he registers is soft singing.

He’s facing Will, now, and can see the glow coming from his hands, enveloping a bowl of some kind. He has both hands coated in some dusky pink substance, massaging and gently pounding it against the sides of the bowl, working it through with great care. As his voice gets higher, the glow gets brighter, fading as he dips lower. He sings something about hills and meadows and the breeze, about wing-song, about the sound of flower stems bending in the wind. For a while Nico stands, listening to the melodious ancient Greek, swaying with every pitch and hold. It’s captivating.

Will is almost haunting when he heals.

There’s a divinity in him — in all of them — but he glows when he sings. Not just his hands, and sometimes his head if he puts enough power in his words, but there’s an almost shimmer to the air around him, a shining warp. His skin gets clearer, and his hair goes more metallic, almost, like spun gold rather than blonde. His freckles make his skin into an inverse replica of the night sky, dark specks surrounded by bright empty between them. His long fingers pluck through bright strands of light like a harpist strums their chords; lightly, carefully, skillfully; like a braider weaves their hair. There’s an undeniable age to his magic, a practice that’s visibly replicated millions of times over thousands of years, as if every healer who has come before him links their arms with his, breathes their strength in his lungs. Sometimes, when he does something truly unbelievable, amazingly beyond reason, he flickers — his orange camp shirt fades into a white chiton, or long robes, or a white coat, or a blue tunic. Watching him heal is like watching the sunrise — breathtaking and unique, every time, but powerful in its cyclic archaism.

It takes Nico a long time to realise Will is swaying.

Snapped out of his trance, he begins to notice Will’s long, slow blinks, the unsteady way he stands, the weight he has leaned on the counter. Even his face looks plainly exhausted under the glow, face pillow-creased and eyes bruised, hair mussed, limbs leaden. Footsteps as silent as he can manage, Nico creeps over to the schedule posted by the door, scanning through the scrawled pen ink.

He curses quietly. Will is not supposed to be awake.

There are really only three people who can work the infirmary to its fully capacity, barring Chiron. Kayla, Austin, and Will are the only ones who can magically heal, as much as the volunteers are imperative, so when the camp is in full swing one of them must be stationed at all times. That’s how Will sets it up. A bit of a waste of time, he acknowledges, but Nico knows he has memorized every time a camper who should have been saved. He carries far too much guilt to ever let it happen again, as inconvenient as his rules may be.

Night shift, though, is a need-be basis. If the infirmary is as empty as it is right now, then there truly is no need to keep one of the three of them awake outside their circadian rhythm, staring at nothing. Instead, they take shifts in the on-call room — asleep, but prepared should anything go wrong, should a monster chase a new camper at an odd hour. It’s Will’s turn for on-call. It’s two in the morning. He should be asleep.

And, yet.

Nico recognizes the look in his eyes. There’s a — frailty, to them, a deep-seated, animalistic fear, one he recognises from the hours after his own night terrors. A single-minded panic that cannot be unseated in any logical way, cannot be comforted with any gentle hands.

Nico handles his fear with slashing swords and bruised knuckles. Will, he knows, handles his fear with obsessive, endless preparation.

Knowing full well nothing is going to drag him away from his focus bar actual cardiac arrest, Nico walks right by him. Will doesn’t move. He settles behind him in the old, creaky leather office chair, curling his legs under him and resting his head on the soft arm. He watches Will, watches the almost machine-like movement to his kneading arms, and falls back asleep to his humming.

———

“…Nico?”

He wakes up warm and a little cramped, in the same position he fell asleep. Sun is streaming on from the many issues, blocked from burning his eyes by Will’s hunched frame, facing towards him now, hands and shoulders shaking with equal violence.

“What time is it?”

His voice is croaky and wrecked from hours of singing. Nico is willing to bet his throat is burned as badly as his hands, cooked from non-stop, sun-borne glowing. The divinity that had emanated from him before has abandoned him and he looks young, lost.

“Early,” Nico says softly. He unfolds himself from the chair, stretching slightly — gods, he is going to ache today — and wraps a slow, careful hand around Will’s wrists. “Probably around six, if I have to guess.”

“I don’t remember waking up.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s okay.”

His breathing is heavy, laboured.

“I don’t —”

Nico squeezes gently. “It’s okay, Will.”

Will swallows and says nothing.

“Come on.”

Carefully, letting Will’s stiff joints set the pace, Nico guides him out of the infirmary. The sun shines brighter as soon as he steps outside, but he doesn’t seem to notice bar a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch at the change in lighting. Nico switches from holding his wrists to laying a hand on the small of his back, half-worried he’s going to fall over.

Luckily, he makes it to the Apollo Cabin upright, although the stairs take them a while. The hinges of the old screen door creak as Nico pushes it open, and he sees both Kayla and Austin, up and dressed, jump.

“…Will?” Kayla asks softly, eyebrows creased in concern. She walks over to him when he doesn’t answer, frozen still, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Will leans — almost hesitantly — into the touch. The same blankness from before clouds his eyes, although this time there’s less of the fear.

“Hey.” Nico walks over to stand in front of him, waiting patiently for him to meet his eyes. In the minutes it takes, he hears Austin pad over, standing opposite to Kayla, hands clenching and unclenching like he can’t decide what to do with them. “You think you can sleep?”

Will doesn’t answer verbally, but drifts after a moment to his bed. Nico follows, helping him out of his shoes and shirt. After a beat of hesitation, Austin hurries over, turning down Will’s sheets and helping him crawl in. Soft guitar music begins to play, and when Nico looks over Kayla is fiddling with the CD player, turning the dials carefully. Without much fanfare, Will’s eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows to something deep and even. His twitching fingers still.

“I don’t think today’s an activity day,” Nico murmurs. “I checked up on him a while after midnight; he’d been at it for hours. He didn’t stop ‘til sunrise.”

Kayla rubs harshly at her eyes. “Fuck.”

“He’ll be okay,” Austin whispers. He runs a gentle knuckle over Will’s forehead, then turns his careful, imploring gaze to Nico. “You kept an eye on him?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Nico inclines his head. “Had a feeling.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Kayla admits. “He was —” She trails off, staring at something in the left half of the cabin — the empty half. “He was like this after the Titan War, too. I think he spoke maybe two words for the entirety of September.”

Nico almost can’t imagine it. The very thought of it makes something twinge in his chest, clench in his stomach.

“We’ll figure it out.” He nods, to convince himself as much as Kayla and Austin, who look to him with way more trust than he deserves. “We won’t let it — it won’t get that bad. We’ll help, and if we can’t figure it out we’ll get help. It won’t be as hard as last time.”

It won’t be as hard as last time because there won’t be twelve shrouds, Nico doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to. Both Kayla and Austin nod, looking at their sleeping brother with firm resolution.

“This time, we’ll be there.”

#yeah let’s talk about mental health. huh #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #kayla knowles #austin lake #will solace & kayla knowles & austin lake #nico di angelo & kayla knowles & austin lake #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #depression #depressive episode #catalonia #anxiety #my writing #fic #longpost #mental health issues

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #tsaritsa #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #tsaritsa x reader #this is. technically not a sequel but not a prequel but a secret third thing (mental health crisis) #kidding i just wanted 2 write the prev fic from more reader oriented pov bc it wasnt fucked up enough!!!!! #i need fucked up reader who is irreparably changed in horrifying ways!!!!!! and they cant die bc teyvat kinda needs them 2 uh #exist at all. and if u die well thats it. hits reset button #the horrifying fate of a mortal forced to be a god against their will and all the drawbacks that come with it #where is love to be found when they all cannot see themselves as anything but beneath you? there will always be imbalance #oh they try. they claw and scramble and beg but being the creator has changed you. #none of their worship. none of their sacrifices and gifts and pleas make you feel a thing and what a haunting thing it must be #do they reject it? delude themselves into thinking that they must try harder? #or do they accept that this is a god? absolute. horrifying in its entirety. something that even the archons cannot truly understand #a manmade god who seeks absolution in only the most heretical. the most blasphemous #literally shaking chewing on the bars of my cage LET ME OUT #i love deep dives like this sorry 2 everyone i made think i was normal my bad #i just think immortality and godhood r funky concepts and i love making them WORSE #also this took so long because i was playing b@Idurs g@t3 3 erm. censored so it doesnt show up in tags PLEASE DONT SHOW UP IN TAGS #taking i need the tsaritsa to bite me to a whole new entirely worse level!! #i just think (starts talking for 5 hours straight and doesnt Shut Up) #this one is also. considerably more openly fucked up then the other fic. even if its hidden behind flowery language uh. take it seriously. #okay im done no more angst its fluff from here on out i need 2 be NORMAL. i am a normal well functioning adult. maybe.

[ectobabble]

"I'm here to help. Do not resist."

Imposter has DID and is pretending to be 'Shiny', the person originally hired for the daycare and who is kissy-kissy with Sun. Imp's unreliable and Sun's 'bestie best friend' is in there so he has to work with this dumpster fire.

#dca au #sundrop #fnaf sun #daycare attendant sun #sun x reader #sun x y/n #sun x oc #that's what you fucking get #imposter glitter roots #self harm #? maybe #mental health #im working through some serious shit with this fic #meltdown #zero effort into this im avoiding the dishes #did art #system art #did system

[todostiddies]

Eren Boyfriend Headcanons pt 2

Modern Eren headcanons for GNreader, a continuation of pt 1

*** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ***

Texts you goodnight and good morning without fail, but sometimes the good morning texts come at like 12am bruh

He will buckle your seat belt for you

He will open the door for you and if you forget to buckle right away he'll just tell you to scoot over and do it for you before buckling his own

Thinks it's funny to tighten your hood around your face randomly

Absent-mindingly tracing hearts and shapes on you while cuddling

Will call you brat, which he started as a joke to make fun of Levi and now it is unironically a part of his vocabulary much to his dismay

He thinks you being hangry is the adorable even if you're a total demon because of it, in fact, the meaner you get the cuter because he can just poke all the more fun at you when he buys you food and you immediately switch up all sheepishly (which he also loves)

An extra careful driver with you in the car which can then lead to some road rage towards others who aren't, but it never goes past a mean look, the bird, and a couple insults in the privacy of the car. He also deffo does that hot arm hold to you when he brakes too hard and he'll give a little cheeky smile and apology after

Will play Pokemon Go with you and go on Pokemon Go dates where you guys walk the routes and go on hikes or walks around the city to catch pokemon and he always buys you snacks and lunch/dinner during srry but im still in my pokemon go phase

His favorite pokemon is Psyduck

yknow that video where some womans boyfriend/husband was covering the sharp edge of a table while she was on the verge of bumping into it all distracted?? Yeah, that's him. He will cover corners for you and always makes sure you won't clumsily hurt yourself and will watch your step for you depending on how clumsy you are

but at the same time he is constantly trying to trip you and shoves into you with his whole body while walking and tries to push you into puddles like a child

He is fiercely loyal of all of his loved ones and has/will fight anyone on sight for them, as we all know, but he is also very protective of their dreams

He keeps tracks of all his friends and familys most treasured goals/dreams and behind the scenes he is also helping make them come true if he can and/or congratulating them on their progress that no one else may notice and he even will send related things to them like articles or posts

so naturally, things you're really passionate about he will look into and maybe even get into it too

I feel like his mom would have enrolled Eren and Mikasa as junior life guards, she did amazing and really liked it and Eren had fun and was good but didn't care to do it again. Armin went to the wave/beach every day just to hang out with them still, and sometimes Eren abandoned duty or snuck away during a lesson to pick seashells with him

Speaking of, Eren has a mini seashell collection from him and Armin picking them together. He dates each seashell and has given you a couple that he thought you'd like

Because of the whole lifeguard thing, he knows CPR and some basic first aid and the friend group always goes to him if they need extra medical help and he goes straight into his rare mom mode

Him and Mikasa kissed once in a 7 minutes of heaven game in freshmen year of high school, and afterwards decided they were better as friends and never even told Armin until a drunken night of confessions between the three senior year, the night before graduation

He will and has sacrificed himself in little ways for his friends and family, and would do so in bigger ways if the situation ever called for it

He LOVES kissing you

Kisses every morning, before leaving, coming home, when he's bored, when he's excited, when he's sad, all of it. He could be leaving from the dinner table to go to the bathroom and would still kiss you goodbye

He loves making out with you and puts on a romantic playlist he made when you guys hang out and make out in his car he's so cheesy but in a cool way

He thinks you don't realize it's the same playlist but it only has like six songs that just repeat and you have to wrestle him to make you a partner on the playlist so you could add more

When a song you added comes up he'll stop whatever yall are doing just to tell you it was a good choice lmao

He likes flavored Chapstick, but his favorite is vanilla

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

#a girl can dream #even if these dreams are crippling to my mental health because he isn't real #lmao #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren headcanons #eren headcannons #modern au #modern eren #aot fic #eren fluff #boyfriend eren #aot headcanons #eren x you

[softartemisart]

in the mood to stay at home and play video games all day, grazing on snacks so im always comfortably full, becoming unbearably stuffed when im given a full meal after all of that. im in the mood to laze about and enjoy myself, my plush fat swelling further and further into and over the arms of my gamer chair, always in danger of getting stuck

#art writes #weight gain kink #wg kink #wg text #fat kink #tummy kink #wg writing #feedism fic #the 'is this feedism or is this a fantasy based in my disability' question strikes again #/j. but work is terrible for my mental health so being able to stay at home all day? Ideal. #getting fatter while i do that? even better babyyy

[lunarbuck]

Understanding (Bucky xf!reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader (any race)

WC: 924

Sneak Peek: At this point, you know you’re not broken. You know the side effects of your meds, and you’ve learned to deal with them. It’s not your fault that other people don’t get it. But Bucky does.

Warnings: reader takes SSRIs, oral (f receiving), fluff

A/N: the struggle is real, my friends. The struggle is real

beta’d by the perfect @lfnr-blog-blog-blog!! thank you so so much :)

my masterlist | Bucky Masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary

Tonight has been incredible. It’s been a few weeks since you met Bucky Barnes, and in that time, he’s been the perfect gentleman. He opens doors for you, pays for dinner, and you have never felt pressured to do anything you don’t want to do.

You inwardly cringe at that last one, silently cursing the way the world is going, but shake it off. Bucky takes your hand from across the table and runs his thumb over your palm. A slice of chocolate cake sits between you, ready to be devoured, and you grin.

“Do you want to do the honors?” He asks. You know by now that he’ll always let you have the first and last bite of all the desserts. You take your fork and slice into the cake before bringing it to your lips. Bucky watches, practically holding his breath, while you sigh, reveling in the perfect cake.

“It’s incredible,” you tell him before taking another bite. The two of you go back and forth, discussing various happenings in your day-to-day lives. You’re past the point of getting to know one another, so Bucky feels comfortable talking to you about work and how his partner, Sam Wilson, gets on his every nerve. 

By the time the cake is gone, there’s anticipation buzzing in the air. You know Bucky can feel it, too. You’ve been on more than three dates with Bucky, so you know he’s not necessarily expecting anything, but you can tell he wants you. And fuck it, you want him to. 

He pays the bill, and you hook your arm with his as he walks you out of the restaurant. The two of you stroll down the block with no specific destination in mind, when you abruptly stop. Bucky looks at you with a furrowed brow, and you reach up with your thumb to smooth away the worry.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks, warming beneath your touch.

“Take me home, Buck.”

The moment your back hits Bucky’s mattress, he’s on top of you. He kisses down your neck, sucking lightly on your soft skin. He trails his lips down as his fingers work your shirt open. You breathe heavily, fingers tangling in his hair. Bucky looks up at you through his lashes, blue eyes gleaming. 

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers, tugging your bra off your shoulders. His lips wrap around your nipple and suck, making your back arch off the bed.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan, scratching your nails against his scalp. Bucky keeps undressing you while his mouth is occupied, pulling your skirt off in a swift movement. His lips continue their path down your ribs and torso, sweetly kissing your belly before tracing along the line of your panties.

“Is this okay?” He asks gently, looking up at you for your answer. 

“Yes, Buck, it’s more than okay.” Bucky flashes you his perfect grin before sliding your panties down your legs. Heat pools in your belly as he drags his tongue across your pussy, circling your clit. 

Electricity buzzes up your spine as Bucky settles in between your legs. He works you up and up and up. He learns your body, watches your reactions, and takes your cues for what you like. You can feel the orgasm building, but you’re just not quite there.

Out of instinct, you reach down and try to find your clit with your fingers, and Bucky pulls away. “Show me what you like, baby,” he whispers, seemingly not put off by you taking over a little bit. You feel heat spread through your body, embarrassment tinging your thoughts before you see the lustful look in his eyes.

“Use your fingers,” you tell him quietly. Bucky slides his fingers inside of you while you play with your clit. Your orgasm sneaks back up on you, and with Bucky working you, hitting all the right spots, you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“Come on, baby, come for me, come on my fingers,” he rasps, nipping at your inner thigh. The feeling of his teeth biting into your skin sends you spiraling, and you come on a loud moan. Bucky kisses the mark from his teeth before kissing his way back up your body.

When his lips find yours, you taste yourself in the kiss and pull him closer. He grins into the kiss and props himself up. You stifle a yawn, and Bucky chuckles, shaking his head.

“Your turn?” You ask, preparing yourself to reciprocate.

“Not tonight, sweetheart, you’re tired.” You nod, and Bucky settles on the mattress, pulling you against his chest. He’s so warm, so comforting.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“For understanding.” Bucky shifts, looking down at you. Confusion is written across his features, but you already know he won’t push you for an explanation if you don’t want to give one. You do, though. “The medication I take makes it hard for me to orgasm. Sometimes I just can’t, sometimes I need to use toys, and sometimes I just have to do it myself. Not everyone is so understanding or even willing to just let me do what I need to do.”

At this point, you know you’re not broken. You know the side effects of your meds, and you’ve learned to deal with them. It’s not your fault that other people don’t get it. But Bucky does.

“I’m sorry people haven’t been kind, baby.” He kisses your forehead softly, a sweet gesture that makes butterflies flit around in your stomach. 

Could he be any more perfect?

I am discontinuing my taglist. Please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post! must be 18+ with age/age range in bio

#jane’s writing #understanding #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #mental health #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #James bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes marvel #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #fem!reader #marvel fanfiction #James buchanan barnes #the winter soldier x yn #the winter soldier fanfiction #sebastian stan

[lauraneedstochill]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How many of these have you read?"

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

"I wonder what are your preferred subjects."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He regrets it the very next day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he should make an effort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That feeling doesn't go away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You, insidious wre...!"

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did he harm you?"

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

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

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

Y/N doesn't move an inch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How old were you?"

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

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

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

"What did they do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what kind of witchcraft is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aemond doesn't think twice before admitting:

"She will never say no."

"My point exactly."

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

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks:

"Must you really go?"

He ponders before answering with a sigh:

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

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

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

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

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

She bestows him with her softest smile:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aemond lightly chuckles:

"You'll get no argument from me."

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

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

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

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

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

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint.

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

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

Except she isn't there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

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

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

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

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

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

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

"I will."

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

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

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

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

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

When Y/N finds out, she looks devastated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes:

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

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

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

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

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

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

She doesn't think for a second:

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

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

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

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

"What do you see?" he exhales.

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

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

"Nothing I wouldn't love."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> the title is a quote from Hozier's song

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

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

#aemond targaryen fanfic #I hardly believe anyone will read ALL that but I'm giving it a go #LISTEN my other fic is about Aemond getting his ass kicked #and there's lots of blood and family drama #so I wanted to start with smth light okay??? #is he *too soft*? well not when it comes to the Lannisters lmao #but pls let the man be soft for once #also my mental health needed a break from describing fights and torture so here we go #ALSO will I ever stop writing female characters who can stand up for themselves? probably not #hotd fanfiction #my stuff #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #aemond one eye x y/n #aemond targaryen hotd #hotd fics #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfics #aemond targaryen

[stealeroflemons]

the idea of adam parrish naturally slipping into his core of all cores henrietta accent around ronan lynch comparing it to feeling sunlight on his skin and warming him in such a soft and comforting way is deeply personal to me thank you for coming to my tedtalk

#pynch #the raven cycle #ronan lynch #adam parrish #greywaren #if someone would ever like to write a fic based around adam's accent please let me know so i can write you a love letter #for the service you'd be doing for my mental health #the raven boys