#the blue fic tag | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

Can't help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you're standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

"It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?" a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry:

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction:

“It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

”Y/N didn’t interrupt a thing,“ he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

”Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,“ he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

”Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.“

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn't feel lonely anymore.

It's been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn't left the bed once. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn't an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn't bare the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn't leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn't help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He's only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He's startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human's silhouette — and then another few to realize that it's you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

"They told me no one was allowed into your chambers," your hushed whisper burns his ear. "The silliest thing I've ever heard!" you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. "I knew I had to find a way to come see you."

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that's still healing.

"Does it hurt?"

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won't be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit.

"I will take his eye," you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might've heard it wrong.

"...Whose eye?"

"Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours," you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head:

"You shouldn't," his voice quiet but firm. "The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed."

"Well, maybe he is too old to think straight," you retort. "You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail," you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

"Are you sure I can't take his eye?"

At that moment, he can't stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it.

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can't lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke's eye isn't worth the trouble.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince.

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid's persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it's you standing in front of him.

Aemond barely has time to register what's going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can't see it, he's grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly".

"I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval," he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

"While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers," you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

"I am friendly enough!"

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you're clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing".

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you're talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand:

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There's a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure:

“Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,'” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn't sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

"The gem compliments your eye very well," you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

"We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is."

"This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks," you chide him lightly. "And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?"

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you're too concentrated on something, and Aemond can't help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface.

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glaring at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn't seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone's counting). It's not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn't leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to the King's Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon's birthday, but Aemond didn't care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond's sympathy for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider Y/N part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it's all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days. Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say:

“It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you. Aemond hesitates:

“I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add: “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can't hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can't think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to Y/N,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don't seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe Y/N is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them.

“You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him:

“Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.”

The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again:

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute.

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You're looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face. Taken aback, you inquire:

“You pity me?”

He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can't get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“Y/N, I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,“ he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

"Yes, I remember it pretty well," you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

"The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack," there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. "Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you."

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

"Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories."

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying.

"Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her," the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

"Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in," he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

"I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness," he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

"When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine," you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

"I think you actually enjoyed it", you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

"I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you."

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

"The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar," he pauses, catching his breath. "You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you".

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm's length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you're in, you look so beautiful, it's mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence:

"Aemond, please don't give me false hope," your heartbeat is too loud, you don't hear your own voice. He does.

"I do not wish to marry you out of pity," Aemond takes the last step. "I want you to be my wife because I'm in love with you," he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. "I've been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually," his voice gets low. "For what feels like an eternity," Aemond murmurs.

"Why haven't you told me?" you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

"I was afraid you didn't feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?" his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

"Tell me that I am wrong," he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

"Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices," you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were thirteen, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fanning over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth.

His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that's to come.

author's note: I'm sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I'm a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don't want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, I hope this was bearable, thank you for reading!

💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 💞 my masterlist 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley's song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there's also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. P.S. I'm also on AO3 (lol, who isn't), in case you prefer to read fics there.

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

6K notes · View notes

artofobsession · 2 months

Text

"All the same, he stuffed his mouth with more concha and hot chocolate – if only to keep himself from blurting out that Alex wouldn’t pay rent if he moved in with Henry."

from 'Omakase' 🍽️

comm for author @orchidscript

#rwrb #firstprince #rwrb fanart #alex claremont diaz #henry fox #red white and royal blue #rwrb book #henry george edward james fox mountchristen windsor #omakase #read the fic!!#should i have a tag for fanfic fanart?#the magical fandom ouroboros

730 notes · View notes

haydardotjpg · 3 months

Text

🌳🌊 happiness 💚💙

their height difference is perfect for taigen to give mizu nose kisses :]

#taimizu #taizu #mizu x taigen #taigen x mizu #blue eye samurai #there was an attempt #manifesting taimizu endgame 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️#let there be slowburn and drama and angst and a love triangle and conflict but i want them to be IN LOVE and at PEACE #to those who may be waiting for my fic to update....... im sorry its taking so long but here have this in the meantime sjfksk #scheduling this for tomorrow because..... idk i dont wanna clog up the tags

463 notes · View notes

touyaz · 1 year

Text

love shot

pairing shidou ryuusei x fem reader

word count 1.7k

notes the dialogue in this is the focal point & i was experimenting with it a lot, so shidou does say really . weird things. he's a lil hot + nasty like that <3 if you dont like it sorry u have no taste ♥️🙏

WARNINGS oral (f rec), masturbation (m), fingering, lots of petnames (wife, babygirl, and some other weird ones), reader has body hair. calls reader's pussy 'she' but otherwise no pronouns.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

"ain't this the dream?" shidou murmurs, kneading your hips mindlessly. his head is buried in the crook of your neck, lips peppering kisses wherever they can. "bagged a cute, lil wife all for myself."

"stop it," you protest, leaning your head towards his so he has no space to press on. "we can do this later."

a displeased whine escapes him, and he tilts his head to dot kisses along your shoulder instead. "fuck that," he groans, and one hand comes up to tug the neckline of your shirt away. his mouth is hot against you, a little meaner than earlier with how he nips at your skin. he sweetens the blow with a fleeting kiss, only to repeat it all in the next second. "want your attention on me now."

"and i want to finish making dinner, but i guess—" you yelp when he bites the juncture between your neck and shoulder, dropping the knife in your hand so you can bat at his hands. "sei!"

"my bad," he snickers, his smirk searing itself into your flesh. "what'cha cookin', sweetcheeks?"

"curry," you snap, holding on to the edge of the counter when he doesn't budge. you bow your head, and as much as you want to finish making dinner, it's getting harder to focus on what you need to do next when shidou licks up the slant of your neck, nibbling on that soft spot behind your ear. "but it's all gonna— gonna burn if you keep this up."

"that's fine," he drawls, voice low like the rumble of a jet lifting off with the promise of taking you to new highs. "i'm in the mood for somethin' else, anyway."

there's no question about what he means when his hand snakes down your front, cupping where you're warm, wanting.

"bet you're pretty hungry for me yourself, huh?" he grins, rubbing over your sex firmly despite the layers. you can't deny it has you a little desperate, melting like butter in the hot pot next to you. it's always been too easy for him to get you like this, to have you craving whatever it is that he wants to do to you. "gonna let me take care of that for you?"

"you can do what you want later," you try again, one final attempt to win this battle, but shidou's never been one to share first place when it comes to competitions.

"or, i can turn this shit off," he starts, and he takes it upon himself to ruin everything you've done, turning the knob on the stove, so the fire dies out. "and you can hop onto the counter and let me dig into that sweet cunt of yours. sounds a lot better my way, yeah?"

there's no point in moaning about your half-cooked meal when he drags you away and helps you sit up on a cleaner surface.

"you're making dinner tonight after this," you tell him.

"yeah, yeah, whatever." he's more focussed on getting you out of your clothes, dragging your underwear down, too, and kicking the pile away when you're finally half-naked for him.

"and washing up."

"babydoll, i'll do whatever you fuckin' want, long as you spread your legs for me."

his words have you biting your cheek, and in a last ditch effort to defy him, you don't part your legs like he wants you to.

you also don't stop him from pushing them apart himself.

"not so mouthy now, are you?" he snickers, staring down at you. you can't hold his gaze and it makes him laugh louder. but then he leans in to kiss your cheek softly and the contrast has you clinging onto the edge of the counter, gulping. "you're so fuckin' cute," he murmurs, biting the fat of your cheek teasingly. "it's alright, baby, your cunt's doin' all the talkin' for you, dripping all over the kitchen. this your secret ingredient? cookin' up a love shot for me tonight?"

"shut up," you admonish, squeezing your eyes shut as if that'll help drown out his words. "that's so gross."

"fuck yeah, it is." he grins, canines bared and ready to feast. he finally sinks to his knees, and his voice sounds far away but no less overwhelming. "wouldn't mind you doing it for real. wouldn't ever wanna eat anything without it, though." he drags your legs over his shoulders easily. he wastes no time in getting his mouth on you, licking a long stripe up your slit and groaning at the taste. "oh, fuck yeah, this is it. been starving for your pussy juice all fuckin' day."

"don't— don't say that." you pull on his hair, taking your embarrassment out on him, but the moan he belts out doesn't sound the slightest bit pained.

"eh, why not?" he sucks your clit into his mouth, grazing his teeth over it lightly enough to make you jerk in his hold. he lets go with a wet smack of his lips, waiting patiently for you to look at him. when he notes the haze in your eyes, the dew on your lashes and the crease in your brows, he grins. "don't wanna hear how I've been thinking about your angel cunt all day? jacked off so many fuckin' times as well—"

"shut up—" you cry, yanking his hair, but he only rolls his eyes back shamelessly.

"fuck yeah, sexy." he drags you to the edge of the counter and back onto his eager mouth. his tongue is hot, wet, everywhere all at once. "pull it harder," he goads. "make it hurt."

narrowly, you watch as one hand disappears below, followed by the sounds of clothes ruffling as he loosens his trousers. "gonna make me nut all over the fucking floor."

he slurps noisily, messily, but it's not enough to mask the grunts and wet clicks that track each stroke of his length. his arm is a blur to you as he pumps himself, and your fingers flex around his pink-tipped strands in an attempt to ground yourself to something that isn't the lewd slide of his tongue into your sopping hole. his free hand joins in now, and it's your eyes rolling back this time, whimpers trickling out you as he starts circling your clit.

you barely understand when he starts mumbling into your pussy, "how about i'll cook ya dinner and you clean up my cum, how's that sound? off my dick and off the floor— so fuckin' dirty, bet you'd do it, though, eh?" he isn't looking for an answer, continues flicking his tongue and pinching your swollen bud and fucking his own fist to your whines. "soaking my face so much, yeah, you would do it, wouldn't ya? you've been like this all day? been waitin' for me to come home and eat you out? put up a fight earlier for what?" he slaps your clit lightly, but it's enough to have you bucking up, gasping. "yeah, that's it. been wanting this sloppy cunt on my face all day."

another hit lets you hear just how soaked you are from all his spit and drool, from your own arousal. "listen to that, she's been missing me, huh? sweet thing's been pent-up and leaking for me all day, haven't ya?" he kisses your clit and all along your slit, unabashedly wetting his lips with your arousal. "i'm here, babygirl, gonna take care of ya, gonna give you everything you're dripping for."

he uses his entire hand to spread your arousal around. he drags the mess from your slit upwards, soaking the hairs on your pelvis and drying off on your thighs only to push his fingers into your aching hole and follow the slick trail with his tongue instead.

"you ready to cum, baby?" through half-lidded eyes you can make out the way he looks up at you, eyes dark but sparking wickedly. "gonna give me all your honey-sweet love juice?"

you shake your head, gritting your teeth and hating every word that leaves him. you hate how it has you leaking onto his tongue, the coil inside of you winding tight.

he sinks his teeth along your thighs, curls his fingers in your pussy, and screws his hand around his dick. it's too much. he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks; he slips a third finger in and crooks it just right—

"don't leave me hangin' now, sugarcunt," he calls out. "let me get a taste of ya, i'm so fuckin' hungry. thought you were gonna feed me, huh?"

—and you cum with a drawn-out cry of his name, and he drags your high out until it hurts for him to give you any more.

"there she goes, give me all that sweet angel nut, baby."

your head spins, body heavy yet weightless.

over the sounds of your stilted breaths, you hear him growling, wet schlicks following as he brings himself to his own release. "oh, fuck yeah, this is it— gonna bust a— all over. should've cum in your little cunt— do it, next— gonna cum— gonna fuckin'—" his body tenses up and you watch as his cum spurts out, staining your cupboards.

he'll definitely be cleaning that up himself.

"that's the good shit," he sighs, slowing down his strokes. "feels so much better blowin' my load after eating your cum first. might have to bottle you up," he laughs tiredly. he slumps over, resting his head on your knee, and you push back the sweaty strands that cling to his forehead.

"what's—" you pant, taking a deep breath in. his chest heaves, but he doesn't look half as affected as you; if anything, he looks ready to go for another round or two, already dotting kisses back up your thigh. "what the hell's honey love juice?"

"all this good shit." he beams, easily sinking two fingers into your pussy. when he pulls them back out, he shows off the creamy strands of your arousal proudly. "and it's honey-sweet love juice. not a fan?"

"god, no," you grumble, staring at the webs that hang between his fingers.

you grimace as he slips his fingers into his mouth, speaking around them, "tastes sweet as honey, though." your face scrunches up with distaste and he continues, "how about sugar squirt, then? or creamy sex slick? or droolin'—"

#what is the point of a bllk smut fic if it doesn't revolve around reader getting head #do i tag LMAOO #fuck it we ball shidou girlies deserve smn #bllk smut #blue lock smut #shidou smut #shidou ryusei smut #shido ryusei smut #shidou ryuusei smut #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #shidou x reader #shido x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #mine #mine.bllk

2K notes · View notes

venusbby · 11 months

Text

"rin, i want a hug."

"no."

rin says it almost too quickly. the first second after that makes your teasing smile falter a little, but you quickly recover when you replay that two letter word in your head again to hear his tone— that familiar sarcasm. the next few seconds are pretty fast. you don't have time to think again as he slowly turns his chair around to look at you after he's tossed away whatever it was on his desk that he was fidgeting with.

you stare back stubbornly, your eyes like fake daggers while you wait for him to say something more.

he leans forward in his chair, staring up at you as you stand right in front of him. his pretty lips curve into a soft "no." as he speaks again. his arms reach out for your waist, trailing down to your hips as he pulls you closer.

"no?" you ask softly, taking two steps forward until you're within reach and he slowly lets his head fall against your stomach.

"no." he replies blankly.

he says no as his hands go from holding your hips to completely wrapping around you, until his face is pressed into your tummy and he's closing his eyes.

"you're so weird," you finally chuckle.

"mhm." he shrugs, that tone again, hugging you tighter to himself, his cheek pressed against you. "you won't get it."

you roll your eyes. "yeah, whatever. i don't want to get it. you keep staying weird like this, i won't judge."

he doesn't respond after that, just breathing in deeply before he slowly pulls you down to straddle him so he can hug you better, feel your hair tickling his face as his face fits into the crook of your neck and you begin to relax against his body as well.

you kiss his dark hair softly, tightening your hold on him as you shift and get more comfortable in his chair. your voice is overly excited and looking forward to saying what you're thinking. "you're like the guy from riverdale. you know that quote? it goes like, 'in case you haven't noticed, i'm weird. i'm a weirdo. i don't fit i—"

"if i let you go, which is really tempting right now— you will fall backwards onto the floor and i will not be picking you up."

2K notes · View notes

ninzied · 3 months

Text

and patience, and pining

in which alex is determined to flirt so hard that henry can no longer resist him. a modern au. based on the prompt: surprise kiss/impulsive kiss. ~1.8k.

Between the two of them, Alex has always thought he’d be the one to cave first.

They’ve both arrived at the same time. Henry looks stupid-good in his well-fitted tuxedo. His hair is just over-styled enough that Alex wants to mess it up, and badly.

How one man can be so like this is frankly upsetting. No, scratch that; it’s illegal, is what it is. Criminal law is not Alex’s domain, but he’s pretty sure being this tempting in public is a certifiable offense.

“Alex,” says Henry, and he blinks, at least some sense returning to him.

“Right,” he says. “Shall we?”

Henry gives him a look like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, which, the reception is not even open bar, so Alex can’t say he disagrees.

“After you, Your Majesty,” he says, stepping from the door with a flourish, then, “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” asks Henry, already shouldering past him with his chin turned up.

“If I had a dollar for every time you rolled your eyes at me—”

“Good taste still can’t be bought, Alex.”

“That’s ironic,” Alex shoots back, smiling and nodding at one of the guests as they enter. “Considering my tie is way better than yours.”

Henry lifts his hand at another in greeting, and even his wave looks fucking majestic, the asshole. “I trust you’ll be at least somewhat behaved this evening?”

“You sure that’s what you want, sweetheart?”

Henry’s expression turns very dour, and Alex wonders, not for the first time, why that particular look on him makes Alex so crazy. The more severe Henry gets, the wilder Alex’s impulse to kiss him, and the urge to just give in.

Alex licks his lips.

Henry takes a cautionary step back. “Let’s do try to make it through the rest of the night without much carnage, yes?”

“I don’t know,” Alex muses. “When you threaten me with a good time like that…”

Henry mutters something under his breath and Alex can’t help but grin. Maybe the night holds some promise after all.

He decides he’s going to have to walk that back after a while.

The music is decent, and he was wrong about the open bar, thank God, but he’s barely seen Henry since some crusty-looking Wall Street types whisked him and Pez away to talk business, and Alex is bored.

He wants to dance. He wants to dance—with Henry. And because that’s not going to happen, Alex wants to do the next best thing, which is to dance while Henry pretends not to watch, but he’s not even facing the dance floor right now so there would be no fucking point. He’ll have to think of something else. Hmmm.

Nora shimmies up to him then with two new flutes of champagne. Bless. “Still pining?” she asks.

Alex whips around to glare at her, wounded. “What? Nora, no,” he says. Is it that obvious? Fuck.

Nora shrugs. “You do the thing where you look him when you think he won’t notice. Both of you. You guys kind of have it down to a science.”

Alex brightens immediately. “You’ve seen him looking at me?”

Nora sips her champagne. “Right now, for example.”

Henry looks quickly away when Alex glances over, which is as good an invitation as any in his book. One of the suits is talking at Henry, who seems about as engaged as a teapot right now. Pez has dialed up the charisma, distracting them easily from Henry’s silence. But to Alex, Henry looks downright miserable in comparison.

Well, Alex is here to do something about that.

He plucks the second flute from Nora’s hand. “You’re the best. Gotta go.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t pining?”

“For that guy?” Alex gazes at Henry again, then says, quite honestly, “Always.”

It takes exactly two minutes for the Wall Street guys to politely excuse themselves. Alex watches them practically dissolve their way into the crowd, like a creepy bunch of Mr. Smiths from The Matrix, and he suppresses a shudder.

The look on Henry’s face is an appealing combination of annoyed and relieved. “Let me guess,” Alex deadpans, “you’re so grateful you could just kiss me right now.”

Henry’s expression turns distinctly disapproving as Pez chimes in, “Be patient and Hazza might even learn to admit it someday.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” Alex grins sideways at Henry, who’s flushing the loveliest pink despite also frowning. “You’re welcome for rescuing you from the most tedious conversation known to man, by the way.”

“Actually, darling dearest,” Pez says lightly, “we were speaking with potential investors in the foundation.”

Oh. Shit. “Do you want me to charm them back over?” Alex wants to know, jerking a thumb in the direction they’d gone. “It is well within my power.”

“Not necessary.” Henry pulls a face. “I would’ve felt dirty about taking their money.”

“I would’ve felt wonderfully about it,” says Pez. “But now that you’ve freed up my dance card…” He cranes his neck around.

“Nora’s over there,” Alex says helpfully.

“Brilliant.” Pez’s eyes are the definition of sparkling. “Ah, and I see your sister’s about to join her. If you boys will excuse me—”

He helps himself to the rest of Alex’s champagne before sashaying off.

The two of them remain standing there a careful few feet apart, not looking at each other. Not that it matters; Alex is so hyperaware of him that he could reach over without even looking and take Henry’s hand if he wanted to. He won’t, but he wants to.

Knowing that he can is enough for now.

Henry looks askance at him after a moment. “You’re making this very hard, you know.”

Alex somehow manages not to smile at that. “Am I?”

Henry’s face screws up in faux concentration. “Let’s see. You’ve been a merciless flirt, even more so than usual. You wore the tie I bought you, which means you don’t hate it—”

“What? I love it,” interrupts Alex, just to be clear.

“—and you just drove off a very lucrative, albeit morally questionable, investment opportunity.” Henry’s also holding back a smile. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to not kiss you for that alone.”

“You still could,” Alex points out.

“And lose your silly bet?” Henry straightens, adjusting his cufflinks, and that might be the single hottest thing Alex has ever seen. “I think not. We both know you’ll be the first to give in.”

It’s true, Alex thinks; he’s pretty irresistible, but Henry is also far more controlled. Still, there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that Alex gets to be the one who stretches him to his very limit. The level of restraint it takes Henry to resist him is a pretty big turn-on, if he’s being honest. Even when Henry wins, it will be no great loss on Alex’s part.

“Considering what’s at stake here,” Alex says lowly, leaning in just enough to catch the way Henry’s eyes darken, “I think I win either way.”

Henry does smile then, soft and warm and way too tempting not to kiss, though Alex perseveres. “I think we both do, darling.”

“That we can agree on,” says Alex. “So, do you want to…not…dance with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He slips up, once.

It’s in a goddamn photo booth of all things, and Alex would feel like such a cliché if he weren’t so busy feeling annoyed at the fact that he can’t hold Henry’s hand or kiss him in front of the camera. Instead, he lets Nora and June wedge in between them, grinning gamely when they take turns kissing Henry on the cheek.

At the literal last second before the flash is going off, Alex feels Henry take his hand from behind, lace their fingers ever so gently together, and squeeze.

In the photo that prints out, June and Nora are doubled over in laughter, eyes closed, unaware. Henry has his chin tipped up, his face doing some smoldery thing at the camera, and Alex is turned, simply gazing at him.

He takes it before anyone sees, tucking it safely into his wallet because bet or no bet, some things really are too sacred to share.

When he shows it to Henry later, Henry gets the same lovestruck look on his face as Alex does in the photo, and that’s all he needs.

It’s the cake that finally does it.

Pez, Nora and June are all crowded around the same piece, and it makes Alex sigh a little wistfully to think about how much better it would taste if he were sharing his with Henry.

He can’t help it. He peers at Henry’s own slice, squinting. “What flavor is that one?”

“Strawberry,” says Henry. There’s a crumb on his lip, and Alex doesn’t mean to fixate on it, but he’s now gone hours without kissing his boyfriend and he’s kind of mad about it even though it’s also kind of his fault. “Do you want a bite?”

Oh. Yeah, that’ll work. Alex can feel the others’ eyes on them as he leans closer, fully expecting that Henry will yield to his instincts and feed him a piece off his fork. It’s not a kiss, but it could definitely qualify as losing the bet. And then once Alex has won, he can not only kiss Henry as much as he likes, he gets to take Henry home with him and—well.

He frowns when Henry only holds the plate out. “Here, have some,” says Henry, gaze lifting to his, then just a bit lower. “Oh. Hang on, you’ve got a—”

In a move that’s beyond Alex’s wildest dreams, Henry cups his jaw and kisses the side of his mouth, with just the slightest bit of tongue.

Alex grins as Henry freezes against him, realizing his mistake too late. “Thanks, baby.”

“Bollocks,” says Henry. He pulls back and sighs, licking the rest of the buttercream from his lips. “I’ve lost, haven’t I.” Then, accusingly, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you.”

“I’d say I don’t kiss and tell, but.” Alex puts his hands on Henry’s thighs, using that grip to scoot their chairs closer together. “I am gonna kiss you now, so.”

“You’ll be getting to do a lot more than that,” Henry points out.

“Ew, did not need to hear that part,” June groans at the same time that Pez puts down their cake and says, “Please, I need to hear more.”

“There’s a legally binding document and everything,” says Alex, to Henry’s chagrin and Pez’s delight. “Drafted it up myself.”

“You two were pining that hard and you were already together?” Nora wants to know. “Actually, that tracks. Carry on.”

Henry has gone as pink as the cake now, but he’s smiling when Alex swipes up some more buttercream, touching it to Henry’s mouth before leaning the rest of the way in.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbsource #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #usernuria #iuserzoe #userveronika #chrissiewatts #usersteen #(also if anyone does or does not want to be tagged pls lmk!)

337 notes · View notes

aceghosts · 9 months

Text

Oh, The Reckoning Begins Chapter 6

Series Summary: Five years ago, Junior Deputy Blue Murphy disappeared with Joseph Seed at the final standoff, only to be found a year later in Dutch's bunker. Now, five years later from that final standoff, Blue Murphy and Hope County have moved on with their lives. However, new sinister forces threaten Blue's life, and they will have to rely on the man who started this all to survive: Joseph Seed.

Ch. 1| Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Guilt, Emotional Manipulation, Graphic Depictions of Unrealistic nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Death, Explicitly talking about Someone's dead sibling, Blue having a Breakdown, and I think that should cover everything. Please let me know if I should tag for anything else.

Words: 4,269 words.

Author's Note: I did not mean for this chapter to take so long, lol. Hopefully, the next one will be quicker.

AO3

A few days after speaking with Joseph, Blue’s cell phone vibrates softly on their desk, dread washing over them. They look down at the caller ID, recognizing the number: Special Agent Hawthorne. Damnit, Blue hoped he might leave them alone. Blue would not talk to Joseph again; they had to, for their own sanity, which felt like it was starting to slip away like leaves being carried off by a strong breeze. Eventually, their cell phone quiets, Special Agent Hawthorne going to voicemail. They wait a few minutes, wondering if he would call again. Mercifully, their phone is silent as Blue lets out a relieved sigh.

Later that night, when Blue is the only one in the station, they finally gather the courage to listen to the voicemail. Special Agent Hawthorne is calm and empathetic in his message, once again tugging on their heartstrings:

“Thank you for helping us, Blue. Joseph was very cooperative with us after you left; your words gave him a lot to think about. I would like to request that you come speak to him again before our next session. We think it would help keep Joseph invested in working with us. I’m happy to drive you or provide reimbursement for gas.” Special Agent Hawthorne pauses, letting out a deep sigh. “Blue, I understand that after everything Joseph Seed did to you, that you would never want to see him again. Think of the people you can help; do it for them. Do it for Philip Santiago. Do it for Arthur Wilson. Do it for Abigail Carter. Do it for your friends. Do it for those who were killed by Eden’s Gate the first time. You have the power to make things right, Blue.”

They hang up the cell phone, tears burning in their eyes. Boomer huffs and Blue looks over to find him watching them expectantly. “I’m not going. I can’t….” They hesitate, shoulders dropping, “I’m not a hero. I can’t do this, not again.” Looking away from Boomer, they hear him huff again, and Blue wonders if everyone expects them to go. “Shit.” They murmur, grief clouding their mind.

The nightmares are relentless.

Blue stumbles through the Bliss, gagging as nausea overwhelms them. The smell is overpowering, acid rising in their throat. Their eyes water, burning as they try to blink away the tears. Someone grabs them by the their jacket collar, yanking Blue back. They stumble backward, their eyes meeting Marshal Burke’s. He sneers at them, disappointment written across his face. “Saved your life, Rookie, and this how you repay us?” He snarls, hauling them towards the water. Bliss rises from the water in a cloud of thick smoke, the water a sparkly putrid green. They howl with fear, scratching at the Marshal uselessly, trying to wriggle out of their jacket. Yet, Marshal Burke succeeds, overpowering Blue as he dunks them under the water. They thrash in a desperate scramble for survival, fear coursing through their body. He yanks them out of the water after what feels like an eternity, only to submerge them barely a few seconds later. Over and over. Blue’s lungs burn as they desperately suck in air, only to choke down more water. “When will you learn, Rookie? When will you learn that you can never escape us?” Out of the corner of their eye, in a haze of sparkly green mist, Faith appears, smiling coldly as the Marshal shoves their head under the water once more.

CRACK! Pain radiates across Blue’s face as someone punches them. Their aviators crack, breaking into pieces as they fly off their face. Stumbling back a few steps, Blue refocuses, Eli Palmer pulling his fist back for another punch, face full of murderous rage. He sucker punches them in the gut, Blue doubling over as they let out a gasp of pain. Their brain panics momentarily, trying to get their lungs to suck in air. Blue feels Eli’s calloused fingers in their hair, harshly pulling them up to face him. An involuntary pained whimper escapes them as tears well in their eyes. Behind Eli, Blue catches sight of a figure, hidden in the shadows of the Wolf’s Den. Jacob Seed is grinning, a sick, predatory grin that sends a shiver straight up their spine. “I took you in, Rook, and what did I get for it? A rabid wolf in my den.” It wasn’t me; It was that damn music box. Yet, Blue finds they can’t say anything. Or maybe, they won’t. After all, they deserve this, right? Eli was their friend, and Blue fucking murdered him. “PATHETIC!” Eli roars, sending Blue crashing toward the ground. Blue hits the ground, dazed, before Eli’s boot connects with their rib, a sharp crack following. They bite down on their bottom lip, tasting the blood a second later as another kick connects.

“Hey Deputy,” Blue scrambles back towards the wall, away from Dutch. They’re stopped by the handcuffs, painfully connecting them to the small bed. His hands reach out as Blue kicks out. He narrowly dodges their kicks, hands wrapping around their throat. His fingers are thick, squeezing painfully down on their neck. They gasp for air, kicking more wildly now as they try to escape Dutch’s grasp. “I hauled your ass out of that burning wreckage, Deputy. I gave you shelter. I gave you a fucking army,” He snarls, flecks of spit hitting their face. Blue looks around, desperate for help, any help. Joseph Seed, leaning against the wall with a serene fucking look on his face, watches on as Blue’s struggles become weaker. “And, what did you do? Bring fucking Joseph Seed right fucking here? Let him strangle me to death?” A black fuzziness creeps in at the edge of their vision, limbs feeling like lead.

Another figure enters their fading vision, smiling cruelly at Blue. “Did you ever really think we could be free from this? We belong here, Wrath. There is no escape,” the other Blue taunts, their cruel grin widening.

Blue shoots up in their bed, soaked in sweat and tears. Boomer comes to them, licking the salty tears from their cheeks. Taking in a shaky breath, Blue mulls over their dreams. Did they deserve this? Were they destined to be there with Joseph at the end of the world? No, that was stupid. Blue belongs here in Hope County, with friends who love them and gorgeous nature.

They belong here, right?

Blue sighs, helping Boomer up into the truck. Once he was safely sitting shotgun, Boomer licks Blue’s face, making a shitty day slightly better. They laugh, scratching him fondly behind his left ear as Boomer grumbles in happiness. Thank whatever god existed for Boomer; He was their lifeline, the one constant comfort in all the shit they had been through in Hope County. Blue closes the door of the truck, looking out towards the setting sky. It was late, the pink nearly extinguished into the navy. Yet, they felt lucky to be alive, especially after last night. It was the small moments, like Boomer licking them joyfully or seeing the beauty of a sunset that kept Blue alive.

The sound of a car pulling into the Ranger Station parking lot jolts Blue from their thoughts. They look over, finding the very last two people they wanted to see. The maroon sedan stops shortly behind their truck, trying to block Blue into their space. Their fists clench, anxiety settling deep into their chest. Blue would not be intimidated by these two. If they had to, they would ram the sedan with their truck. Wouldn’t be the first time Blue rammed a truck through a blockade of cars.

“Ranger Murphy!” Ethel calls, getting out of the passenger side of the sedan. Peter parks the sedan, turning it off before joining his wife. He nods at Blue, a coldness in his eyes. “I wanted to make sure that you didn’t lose our number. You never gave us a call.” She walks towards Blue, focused intently on them.

Boomer lets out a sharp bark, deep growls emanating from him as his ears lay flat against his head. Ethel nervously glances towards Boomer, stepping back towards Peter. He wraps an arm around Ethel, who leans into him for comfort, as he shoots a nasty look towards Boomer. “Your dog isn’t going to bite us, is he?” Peter asks, distaste clear in his voice.

“Not unless you are a Peggie.” Their eyes narrow, glaring at Peter and Ethel.

Ethel laughs nervously. “Peggies, that’s what the Hope County Resistance called members of Eden’s Gate, correct?” Blue doesn’t speak, only nodding in response. “We’re not with Eden’s Gate, Ranger Murphy. We are just doing a story on them. Peter and I are not your enemies; we want to help you, Ranger Murphy. Telling your story can be cathartic.”

“The Ranger Station is closed for the day. If you have any urgent questions, you should call Emergency Services. If it is a nonemergency, you can call the number of the Ranger Station, and a Ranger will return your call,” They reply, using their best customer service voice, crossing their arms over their chest. What would it take for Ethel and Peter to fucking leave?

Ethel smiles a strained smile, her polite mask cracking slightly. “As you know, Ranger Murphy, we’re not interested in talking about the National Parks. We want to talk to you about Eden’s Gate.”

“I think I made it damn clear that I don’t want to talk about Eden’s Gate. If you continue to harass me about this, I will seek legal measures against you.” After Eden’s Gate, Blue only had to seek legal remedy once to get someone off their back as most people were either scared off or realized they weren’t going to get anywhere. The man, clearly going through something, believed that Joseph was some sort of alien with Eden’s Gate as a front for experimentation, and Blue, a witness to this horror show, was covering for him. Blue wishes it had been something that wild rather than common human cruelty. Maybe, they wouldn’t feel so awful about what they had done.

Peter sighs in frustration, shaking his head. “You know, all this avoidance would make one wonder what you have to hide, Ranger Murphy. Makes me wonder if you might not be so innocent.”

Blue’s blood runs cold, eyes widening at his statement. “Is that a threat?” They ask anxiously, nails digging into the cotton fabric of their forest green ranger shirt.

He shakes his head again. “No, Ranger Murphy. The truth will always come out. Ethel and I are going to make sure of that.” Peter pauses, a small smirk on his face. “Ranger Murphy, what was your relationship with Joseph Seed? The files aren’t clear on that.”

No way. Blue was not going to have this conversation with Ethel or Peter. “I’m sorry, but if you want information on Eden’s Gate, please speak with Sheriff Whitehorse. I will not speak with you.” Blue turns their back to the couple, uncrossing their arms. Their steps are shaky, adrenaline and anxiety coursing through their body. Their left hand reaches out, steadying them against the cold metal of the truck. All they have to do is make it to the driver’s seat. Just make it to the driver’s seat…

“If you don’t have a relationship with Joseph Seed, why did you visit him in prison this weekend?” Ethel’s tone is smug. Their breath catches in their throat as they stop. A moment passes before Blue sucks in a deep breath, their heart pounding loudly in their ears. How the fuck did Ethel and Peter know about that visit with Joseph? Anyone Blue had told knew to keep it a secret. Hell, the whole County knew what hell Joseph had put Blue through, especially with stealing a year of their life in that bunker. A whole year they’ll never get back. A whole year less with loved ones. “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Ethel explains matter of fact, “Besides, I doubt you know anyone in that penitentiary but Joseph Seed. It makes sense that you would be there to visit him.”

Blue whirls around, wrath burning within them. “Have you been stalking me?”

Ethel and Peter exchange uneasy glances with each other. “Stalking is a harsh word,” Peter answers, “We were watching your home, trying to decide when we might talk to you again. And well…,” He shrugs, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “Ethel and I just happened to find a bigger scoop, but you haven’t denied it. What is your relationship like with Joseph Seed? Strange that a ‘victim’ of his would go to visit him.”

They swallow, trying to get their wrath under control. Blue wouldn’t let Peter or Ethel get the best of them. Trying to play the question off, Blue rolls their eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what weird narrative you’ve cooked up in your heads, but I did not visit Joseph Seed. I don’t want anything to do with him or Eden’s Gate for the rest of my life. So, fuck off.” They could no longer be nice or polite about any of this. Underneath their shirt, the WRATH scar starts to burn, a stark reminder of the anger simmering within them. Without thinking, Blue reaches up to scratch their WRATH scar.

Ethel tilts her head, stepping forward as she shrugs Peter’s arm off her shoulder. “Are we making you angry, Ranger Murphy? After all, that’s where the WRATH tattoo lays right? I saw an examination photo of it; looks rather nasty.”

Shame courses through them as Blue looks away. The examination photos were supposed to be private, but photos of the WRATH and PRIDE scar had leaked on the internet. And now the cat was out of the bag. No matter how many take-down notices anyone sent, they just seemed to pop up again and again. Eventually, Blue gave up, resigned to having some of their worst physical scars out there on the internet. Looking back, Blue glares at Peter and Ethel. “Yeah, I’m angry. You keep bringing up Eden’s Gate, which contains some of the worst memories of my life, and then you can’t understand why I wouldn’t want to talk about it,” They let out a hysterical laugh, before they raise their voice, “By the way, a tattoo is something you want! What John Seed gave me was a fucking scar! It wasn’t a fucking tattoo!”

“I’m sorry, Ranger Murphy. I’ll refer to it correctly next time,” She steps closer, “You still haven’t answered our questions on your relationship with Joseph Seed.”

“Are you romantically involved with him?” Peter asks, following Ethel.

Blue snorts, shaking their head. The fucking nerve of these two! “Fuck no.” They turn away from the pair again, determined to get in their truck and drive away.

“Ranger Murphy, wait-.”

BARK!

Boomer barks loudly, ramping up his behavior as he slams against the window. His barks are interspersed with deep and throaty growls, malice in his normally warm brown eyes. His teeth glint in the window, ready to rip apart anyone who would threaten his owner. Blue knew he had lost one owner, and that Boomer wouldn’t let that happen again. Ethel screams, scrambling backward only to fall on her ass. As Boomer barks, Ethel crawls away, Peter helping her up seconds later. Coming to the passenger side window, Blue lays their hand on the glass. Boomer stops, a low whine coming from him as he licks the window. His tail wags ferociously, practically a blur.

Glaring at Blue, Peter snidely comments, “You should control that dog of yours.”

“Good boy!” Blue praises Boomer, winking at him. He barks joyously, only to start growling menacingly again at Peter and Ethel. “As I said, Boomer only acts this way if you’re a Peggie.”

“My sister…,” Ethel starts, a soft sob escaping her as Peter rubs her back, “My sister was a part of Eden’s Gate. She is the reason we’re doing this.”

“Oh.” Guilt washes over them as Blue awkwardly looks away. No matter how many times it happened, Blue was never good at dealing with the family members of those who had lost a Peggie. So many wanted to know what happened to their parents, partners, children, and others. Blue didn’t have a good answer for them then, and they sure as hell didn’t have a good answer now. “Is she….um?”

Ethel nods, Peter taking her hand as he interlaces his fingers with hers. “She died. She almost survived it, but then she had to help Joseph in your final fight with him. And that’s the one she didn’t make it back from.”

Blue frowns, the memory hitting them.

“I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE YOU!” Joseph screams as Blue hauls Grace up to her feet. The Bliss is thick around them in a sparkly greenish-white mist, stuck in their throat as Blue lets out a nasty cough. Their stomach twists, a wave of nausea rolling over them.

“You okay, Dep?” Grace asks, letting out a cough of her own as soon as she is steady on her feet.

Blue nods. “I’m fine. We need to stop him!”

Grace readies her gun, giving them a decisive nod. “On it.”

The two split as Blue heads after Nick, determined to free him from Joseph’s control. A Peggie steps into their way, assault rifle pointed at Blue. They stop in their tracks, raising their shotgun. Blue remembers the way her pale blonde hair glinted in the misty sunlight, her piercing green eyes. The moment doesn’t last long as Sharky body checks the Peggie, slamming her out of the way. “I got ya, shorty!”

“Thanks,” Blue yells, moving into action once again. They’re not going to let Joseph win.

“Oh.” Oh shit, that was-.

“Do you remember her now?” Ethel asks, her eyes glassy with tears.

“I do,” Blue admits quietly. “Ethel, I’m so sor-.”

“Save it. I don’t want your sympathy,” She snarls before another sob escapes her, Peter squeezing her hand, “I just want my sister back, but that’s impossible. Now, I just want to understand why.”

If Blue could, they would give Ethel her sister back. They would give so many people their families back. But they can’t, and now they have to live with all that blood on their hands. And they’ll never know why Joseph chose them for all of this, why they were the one chosen to be the devil. Except for their time in the Bunker, Blue never believed in the Voice. Clenching their left hand into a fist, their fingernails dig into their palm painfully, drawing blood. “I don’t know why he chose me, why he had to make me the harbinger of the apocalypse. If I knew why, I would have done everything in my power to not be that person!” They uncurl their fist, wiping tears in their eyes. Fuck, how desperately they would wish to not be that person.

“Would you have walked away?” Ethel asks.

“What?”

“Would you have walked away?” She asks, enunciating every word as she narrows her eyes coldly. “I know Joseph Seed gave you a choice to walk away. So, if you had the chance again, would you have walked away?”

Blue knows what the answer should be: Yes. They should say ‘Yes, I would have walked away that night’. But…they can’t say yes; they can’t say the words everyone wants to hear. Even with the knowledge of what happens, Blue wouldn’t be able to walk away, doomed to repeat the cycle of violence over and over again. Walking away would be leaving the people of Hope County to die, to be tortured at the hands of Eden’s Gate. And they couldn’t do that. Blue wasn’t one to ignore what they saw as a clear injustice, and Hope County was an injustice if Blue ever saw one. Maybe if Blue were a better person, even a good one, they might have been able to solve it peacefully, talk Joseph out of this madness. But they would never leave Hope County to suffer.

Taking a deep breath, Blue looks Ethel directly in the eyes, squaring their shoulders. “No, I wouldn’t have walked away. Not even if I knew what was going to happen.”

Ethel’s eyes widen, tears running down her cheeks as she stares at Blue in abject horror. “You’re a monster,” She snarls desperately, “You and Joseph Seed. You two deserve each other.”

“We should leave.” Peter pulls Ethel away as she leans into him, sobbing into his chest. He doesn’t spare Blue a glance as they stand there shocked, only able to watch as Peter leads Ethel to the sedan. “She isn’t wrong, Ranger Murphy. You’re just as much a monster as he is. You could have stopped this; you always could have.”

They watch Peter and Ethel get into the car, driving away a few moments later. Once Ethel and Peter are gone, Blue slumps to their knees, throwing out their hands to catch themself. Parking lot gravel digs into their hands as body-wracking sobs consume them. The Williams were right. Blue could have stopped this; they always had the choice. And they never did. Instead, they fought, leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake, just like monsters always do.

“FUCK!” They scream, raw and angry, slamming their hands against the ground. Inside the truck, Boomer lets out a high-pitched whine, terrified for his human. Their sobs only continue as grief and rage consume them, leaving Blue unable to move.

Eventually, (they don’t know how much later, but all the pink is gone from the sky), Blue gets up to their feet, feeling hollow and tired. Their vision isn’t blurry from the tears, sobs no longer shaking their body so hard that they couldn’t stand. Shakily, they make their way to the driver’s seat, leaning against the truck for support.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, Blue barely closes the door before Boomer starts licking them. His tail wags, happy to see them again. “Thanks Boomer. I’m okay.” Their voice is hoarse from all the crying. Boomer pulls away, but he still looks concerned as he patiently waited in shotgun.

Pulling their seatbelt on, a thought crosses their mind. They might not be able to make up for the loss of Ethel’s sister, but they had to do something to make things right, and there was only one clear path in front of them. Grabbing their cell phone, Blue dials a number.

His phone only ring’s once before picking up. “Blue?” Special Agent Hawthorne sounds surprised, yet hopeful on the other end.

Cutting straight to the chase, Blue tiredly says, “I’ll speak with Joseph again.”

“What changed your mind?” He pauses for a second, before adding hastily, “Not that I’m refusing your help. If anything, I’m relieved that you changed your mind.”

They won’t tell Special Agent Hawthorne about Ethel’s sister; it isn’t their story to tell. Instead, Blue opts for a simple half-truth. “It’s like you said in your voicemail. I can make things right; I want to make things right.”

“I…I understand. Would you like me to pick you up? Or will your friends, Sharky and Hurk, take you to the prison again?”

No one needs to know that they’re visiting Joseph a second time. Blue’s friends will worry, and Blue has scared them enough. “I think it would be best if I came alone this time.”

“Send me your address, and I can pick you up at 10:30 AM on Saturday. Thank you for doing this, Blue. You don’t know how much this means to us.”

“Yeah,” Blue says, having a distinct feeling about what this might mean, I’ll send you a text with my address. See you on Saturday.”

“Have a good night, Blue. Look out for yourself.”

“You too.” Hanging up, a shadow of darkness weighs over them in the dark truck, bearing down heavily on their shoulders.

Peter glances over at Ethel, worried for his wife. She shouldn’t have had to do this, and Peter wishes he could have taken the burden off her. Ethel sits in the passenger seat silently, passively watching Hope County scenery. Breaking the silence, Peter says, “You didn’t have to tell Ranger Murphy about your sister.”

“I did,” She turns to look at him, eyes red and puffy, “It was a gamble, but in the end, I think it will pay off. He was right, Ranger Murphy and Joseph Seed are really alike.”

He grips the steering wheel tightly, indignant anger on Ethel’s behalf coursing through him. “He shouldn’t have assigned you to this. He should have-.”

Ethel’s cell phone rings, cutting Peter off. She quickly pulls the phone from her purse, a brief flicker of panic crossing her face as she scans the caller ID. “It’s him.”

Peter stays silent as Ethel answers the phone. He hears the harsh tone of the caller, unable to make out the conversation. Every minute or so, Ethel says “Yes”, or “Of course”, occasionally wincing as the volume ramps up. By the end of the call, Ethel is visibly stressed, running a hand through her blonde hair. “He’s moving the timetable up.”

“What does that mean?”

Ethel sighs. “We’re going to talk to Joseph. He managed to get us a visit, one that won’t be reported to the FBI. As for Ranger Murphy….”

“He thinks it’s time for them to play their role?”

She nods. “I just hope he knows what he is doing.”

“Me too.”

Tag list: @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @marivenah, @vampireninjabunnies-blog (If you want to be added or removed, just let me know!)

22 notes · View notes