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#thought this was a fanfic for a second

negrowhat · 1 month

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Hi, I read a book recently, and despite never having spoken to you, I immediately thought you might be interested. It's Hamartia by Scarlett Drake. No pressure at all but if you check it out please let me know your every thought.

I mean...I can honestly see why you thought of me lmao. This is right up my alley. 👀👀👀

#also not one of the main leads being named jaehyun #thought this was a fanfic for a second #hamartia #scarlett drake

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

My first choice (part 1/2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eye prince to fall in love with.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 5500

warnings: friends to lovers, slow burn (with very obvious mutual pining), angst, Aegon is a sad boy (but ends up being a pretty good wingman!)

author's note: this is inspired by “Little women” and Amy March in particular. I took the liberty to rewrite some plot lines because to me Aemond is nothing like Laurie (Aegon is ;) and I hate love triangles so we are not having any of that sorry. it's a bit of a roller coaster so I divided it into 2 parts in hopes that it will be easier to read: the first part explains Aemond's feelings, the second one is about hers. ✨ part 2

part 1. How could you be so blind

Aegon knows he's supposed to be relieved — he never wanted the crown and now that Rhaenyra is the Queen and a feast is arranged in her honor, he should be celebrating. And he may have been hitting the wine way too hard for the past couple of hours, but he can’t pretend to be happy, and he gave up trying to force a smile. It’s ridiculous that he is upset over this, and yet he can’t help but feel horribly useless. The prince drinks one cup after another until the room starts spinning and he can’t even sit straight — and then he suddenly finds himself propped against the wall, sliding under the table instead of sitting at it. Aegon catches a few judgemental glances but at this point, he couldn’t care less. There is only one person whose judgment he is afraid of — and it’s not long before he’s greeted with a displeased remark:

“When I asked you not to swoop too low, I couldn’t imagine you would literally lay on the floor.”

He looks up — and here you are, staring down at him, not even trying to cover up your disappointment. At any other time, Aegon would’ve at least tried to sober up, but today he’s disappointed in himself, too, so he doesn’t make an effort. Instead, he reaches out an arm to you with a lax smile:

“Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t get the invitation to this pity party so I will pass,” your tone suggests you are not in the mood for jesting. “Now that you’ve succeeded in making a fool out of yourself, would you mind getting upright?”

“I think I like it here,” he retorts, shamelessly staring at the legs of the maids passing by.

“You like wallowing in misery for all to see?” you huff. “Aegon, get up.”

He fakes a whine:

“My legs gave out, I’m afraid!”

“You would need to drink all the wine in the castle for that to happen, and I doubt you managed to do that,” you roll your eyes, taking a step toward him — but pause upon hearing a voice behind your back:

“You underestimate my brother.”

Aemond has a habit of sneaking up on people which often startles you yet right now you are too angry at Aegon to be bothered. You throw Aemond a glare over your shoulder but your eyes soften when you see the apologetic look on his face. It’s not the first time that the two of you find yourself in this situation — throughout the years you learned to work as a team: you bring Aegon back to his senses while Aemond helps to physically bring him to the nearest flat surface. You have never asked him for help — and yet he’s always there.

Aemond is about to lean down to help his brother up — you stop the one-eye prince with your hand, your palm inches away from his chest. Anyone else would’ve thought twice before standing in his way but you don’t hesitate.

“He is perfectly capable to get up on his own,” you reject Aemond’s attempt, your eyes fixed on Aegon. “He can hold onto the wall shall he feel unable to stay on his two feet.”

There is something in your gaze that makes Aegon uncomfortable, piercing him to the bone. You are never downright mean or rude but with just a few words you can easily unmask his feigned recklessness. The prince stands up, tottering and feeling a little light-headed.

“Are you happy, now when I'm in the standing position?”

“If you cared about anyone else's feelings but your own, you wouldn't be in this position,” you scold him while Aemond takes his brother under the arm to guide him out. Aegon tries to grab another cup of wine but you slap his hand.

“Do you ever get ashamed of yourself?” you hiss at him.

“Let me think... No, why would I?” he sounds sarcastic.

“You should be,” you whisper scream at him. “You can find nothing to do but dawdle and make a mockery of yourself!”

Aemond feels his brother shuddering at your words, and he tightens his hold on Aegon.

“Well, what else am I to do,” his voice is bitter. “Since I am not an heir and serve no purpose to the realm nor do I have any taste for duty.”

You slow your pace, and a sigh leaves your mouth.

“I feel sorry for you, Aegon, I do. I only wish you'd bear it better,” you reach out to stroke his arm but the prince bristles.

“You don't have to feel sorry for me. Your duty is to marry, and we will see how that goes,” he mutters before he can stop himself — and regrets it the very next second when you swiftly turn to him.

“At least I would be respected if I couldn't be loved,” your tone hushed but sharp.

Aegon stops dead in his tracks, his wide eyes meeting yours. You moved away from the crowd into the hall, and it becomes silent. And then his lower lip quivers.

“But I thought that you loved me,” Aegon whimpers, his assumed nonchalance instantly gone.

“Oh, Aegon, how much did you have to drink?” you come to his side, lending him a shoulder to cry on. While he’s aggressively sniffling, you look at Aemond and quietly mouth “How many cups?”

“Way more than usual,” he gives you a wan smile, and you groan at his answer, taking Aegon by the arm.

“Alright, you can lean on me. But don’t get handsy or I will push you down the stairs,” your remark earns a weak laugh from the older prince, and the three of you head toward his chambers.

Aegon doesn’t talk much but his mood softens and you exchange a few jokes before finally reaching his room.

“I can take it from here,” Aemond suggests but his brother eagerly protests.

“No, I want to be tucked into bed! And definitely not by you,” he sticks out his tongue, and you chuckle at his whim.

“Aemond, I can handle him.”

The one-eyed prince shoots you a knowing glance and holds the door open for you and Aegon to walk in. You slowly move to his bed, making sure he doesn’t stumble on his way — and then, with a sudden boost of energy, the prince flops down on the fluffy blankets, letting out a satisfied moan. You hold back a giggle and wait for him to crawl under the covers.

“Should I call for the maid to help you undress?”

“No, I am way too comfortable like this,” he pulls the blanket up to his chin, and you sit on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry for the way I behaved,” he reveals, frowning. “I did not mean to, truly.”

“Aegon, you know I’m not the one you should apologize to,” you take his hand in yours, and he squeezes it with childish eagerness. “You left Helaena all alone. And you promised me you would make an effort.”

“I know, I know,” he yawns. “I was doing better until today, I swear, you should ask her,” his speech becomes incoherent as he is already too drowsy to talk, his cheeks flushed from the wine and the heat of the blankets. As you stand up to leave, Aegon mumbles:

“I fetched you a book... the one you were looking for,” he sloppily points to his table by the window before dozing off.

There is only one book so it’s easy to find — and when you do, you can barely contain a sound of surprise: it's the complete history of Westeros, heavy and hardcover, decorated with gilding. You glance at Aegon but he looks fast asleep so you cautiously get out of his chambers.

If you were to turn around, you would’ve noticed that he kept an eye on you with a grin on his face.

When you walk out, you see Aemond still standing there, his gaze landing on the book and then immediately on you. It takes you a minute to figure it out and then you smile at him:

“Even though I appreciate the gesture, it is hard to imagine Aegon in the library.”

“He asked me to help him find the book you wanted. I did,” the prince explains as if it isn’t that big of a deal. But to you, it is — although you think he only did it out of politeness.

“Thank you, Aemond,” you enthusiastically turn your attention to the book, flipping through the pages in awe. He watches you, feeling the warmth in his chest at the sight of your joy.

“You know that you bring out the best in him?” Aemond says in a low voice, and your heart skips a beat at his comment. You are thankful for the dim lighting that makes your heated cheeks less obvious.

“You overestimate my influence,” you say, then dither before admitting, “I’m afraid I was too hard on him today.”

“Someone has to do it,” Aemond objects, and there’s something in his tone — sincere and soft, that makes you look at him again. At this moment, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of everyone’s expectations, you can see the side of him that people rarely get acquainted with.

“I think you are doing a pretty good job, too,” you tell the prince, finding his presence ever so calming. You could never understand why would anyone call Aemond intimidating when he’s been nothing but kind to you ever since you two met. Whenever you have a chance to be alone with him, his company always brings you comfort, and that feeling is so rare, you want to chase it.

But then you remind yourself of the harsh reality, and your smile falters.

“I’m sorry you had to get involved,” you look down at the book. “I wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“You need to elaborate on that,” Aemond says uncomprehendingly.

“I’ve heard that you were courting lady Baratheon,” you explain casually, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitates before answering.

“Well, I only plan to,” the prince clarifies. “If she accepts my advances.”

“It would be silly of her not to,” you blurt out and, while you can’t see it, Aemond gives you a quizzical look.

“She may have her reasons —”

“I can’t come up with a single one,” you tell him with so much confidence, Aemond’s heart flutters at your words but you continue without a second thought. “You are intelligent, good-hearted, handsome — and a really skilled swordsman. Not to mention you have the biggest dragon in the realm, which does sound like a reasonable perk.”

The prince is glad that you’re too preoccupied with the book to see his stunned expression. It’s not just the fact that you compliment him so easily — but also the way you do it. When other people try to, they usually start with Vhagar as if the old grumpy creature is the main good thing about Aemond. But you only bring up the dragon at the very end and in passing, instead keeping the focus on the prince. He is silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his memory.

And then Aemond persuades himself that you only said it out of politeness.

You notice his lack of response — and you are about to question it when a maid comes to you in haste:

“Lady Y/N, your presence is needed. Your father is looking for you.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” the prince encourages you with a grin. “If he finds Aegon, he might hug him to death.”

You playfully elbow him and turn to follow the maid but then stop to say:

“Please make sure your brother stays in bed.”

“Will do,” Aemond looks at you walking away, clutching the book to your chest as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

To this day, it is truly a mystery to him how Aegon managed to befriend someone like you. You met the Targaryen brothers when your family was invited to one of the royal feasts. You were ten and three, the middle one of three sisters. Your oldest — Elaesa — has been the center of attention, beautiful and graceful, but while everyone’s eyes were on her, you looked a little bit disoriented. It was the first feast that you’ve attended, and maybe you got too agitated or overwhelmed — or both — but soon you ended up lost in the castle, and somehow ripped the hem of your dress in the process.

Aemond was the one to find you. The prince has never been keen on taking part in celebrations, often sneaking away from all the noise. That’s when he saw you — fussing with the dress, your sobs echoing through the hall.

“Are you hurt?” he rushed to your side, and you looked up at him with blubbered eyes.

“Why do you have so many halls? You should hand out maps so people can find their way back,” despite being clearly upset, you sounded unusually serious, and Aemond fought back a smile.

“I can help you find your parents without a map,” he suggested, and for a second it seemed to lighten your mood but then your pout worsened.

“I cannot go back,” you gestured at the dress. “I am in such trouble!” you whined, the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

Truth be told, Aemond didn’t have much experience with ladies back then nor did he know a thing about dresses but your distress seemed so genuine he couldn’t leave you be.

“It is not that bad,” he pointed at the ripped material. “I can ask our seamstress to take a look.”

You studied his face for a second, then glanced back at the dress — surprisingly, that was all it took for you to stop crying, and no other coaxing was needed. You wiped your nose and fixed your hairdo, smoothing the damaged hem the best you could.

“I'd appreciate it if you help me find my way back,” you said, your face seemingly more relaxed.

Getting you to talk was pretty easy, and Aemond shortly discovered how open-minded and outspoken you were, using your quick thinking to compensate for your timid personality. When you returned to the hall of the Iron Throne, he was reluctant to let you go but promised to come back with the seamstress. The task only took him about ten minutes, but when he did reappear, you were not alone — Aegon was standing next to you, making you laugh so hard, it looked like you forgot about the dress already. Aemond didn’t mean to interrupt as he suddenly felt very out of place, uninvited in his own home, so he abandoned the idea of helping you and just left.

At first, he thought you fell for Aegon’s flirtatious charms but soon learned that, as much as you did like his brother’s humor, his charms had no effect on you. On the contrary, you often chided him for hitting on young girls and openly condemned his affection for wine. Your honesty set you apart from all the ladies Aegon was surrounded with — and that was the reason he came to enjoy your company as much as he did. Despite the three years age gap, you were the one who told him the truth, no matter how ugly it might’ve been, but you did so without prejudice or any ill intentions. You would usually follow your critique with advice or a solution of some sort to keep the prince away from unnecessary trouble. That is why you were on friendly terms with Helaena, too, and your influence was also welcomed by Alicent, the then Queen. She liked that you were straightforward with your remarks and often said that you were wise beyond your years. Although, as much as Aemond agreed with it, he suspected there was a reason you had to grow up early.

It happened the same year you met — your older sister, with all her grace and beauty, ran away from home to elope with some unworthy beggar. Your mother was inconsolable for at least a week, saying that Elaesa brought shame upon her family. Your father, the kind man that he is, forgave his daughter fairly quickly and tried his best to restore peace. And yet, you came to realize that Elaesa's vagary did cast a shadow over your House. Your youngest sister, Alyna, was a fragile little thing, frequently sick and tacit — which left you to be the one representing your family in the eyes of society.

Within a few years, there wasn't a thing you weren't good at: lords lined up to have a dance with you, ladies admired how well-spoken you were and shared a laugh at your florid sarcasm, and you learned to embroider, to ride a horse, to walk exquisitely dressed and with impeccable posture. But while for everyone else it was a reason to compliment you, Aemond saw the underlying cause of your diligence — the corrosive desire to prove one's worth which was something he learned to live with as well. And which led him to think he understood you better than anyone.

More often than not he found himself watching you as if he had the need to make sure you weren't in harm's way. Helping you with Aegon was a part of that routine but it also gave him a chance to be alone with you. You talked about everything and nothing in particular, and he would catch glimpses of you — the real you, shy and emotional at times, but still understanding and perceptive. He cherished every opportunity to steal you away from the never-ending chattering, from lords ogling at you, from Jason Lannister whose interest in your company should've been concerning. Aemond has gotten so used to observing you, so enthralled with your covert conversations, he didn't realize that a particular feeling was creeping up on him. But there was one person who turned out to be more observant than Aemond has been. Aegon was the mere reason why his brother ended up at your door a few days later. Aemond’s been to your place a couple of times and he promptly memorized the way to the farthest room of the house — the one you used to paint in. It was the only thing you truly allowed yourself to enjoy, an unexpected talent of yours which you soon perfected, too, except it wasn't meant for the others to marvel at but plainly for you to keep your head occupied, to have some quiet time.

He walks in when you are already painting the finishing touches. When you turn to greet him, you stop mid-sentence, seeing that it’s Aemond instead of his brother who you were waiting for.

“He overslept,” the younger prince shrugs. “It isn't a bothersome task to come pick up the portrait of my nephews.”

You point in the direction of the painting with the brush in your hand. Aemond admires your work — as he always does — while you try to shake off your confusion. There is another reason you did not expect to see Aemond today. You tarry with voicing your concern but eventually glance at him with empathy:

“I was sorry to hear about lady Baratheon’s decision.”

“I was not,” he’s quick to retort.

“I cannot imagine agreeing to marry a Stark,” you say, dipping a brush in a jar of water.

“Is it the cold weather?” Aemond grins knowingly.

“Yes! Gods, just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy. All the layers you have to wear to keep yourself warm, barely being able to move, getting no sunlight...,” you ramble, making sure to wet all the brushes before lining them up on the table.

“Some say they've got quite a beautiful scenery,” Aemond tries to object although he knows his argument doesn't stand a chance.

“I wouldn't be able to enjoy that,” you huff. “How am I to capture the beauty if my paint freezes?”

He only hums in agreement, watching you busy yourself with your supplies. You go through the brushes, delicately cleaning the bristles with a cloth. Your fingers carefully take one brush after the other, and Aemond silently admires your love for neatness and order.

“You are staring,” you say without turning to him.

“Where do you want me to look at?”

“Aemond, you are in a room full of art!” you chuckle lightly. “Surely, enough options to land your eye on.”

The prince lets his gaze go around the place, and it takes him about a minute to quickly examine all the paintings. And then he inevitably looks at you again. Aemond thinks he likes this view the most.

“When do you begin your next great work of art?” he asks, hoping to distract you.

You halt movement, then force out glumly:

“Never.”

“What do you mean?” he’s taken by surprise.

“I’ve come to realize that I’d never be a genius,” you reluctantly explain. “So I’m giving up all my foolish artistic hopes.”

“Y/N, you cannot be serious. You have so much talent and — ”

“Talent isn’t genius!” you throw up your hands in defeat, and he can sense your frustration from a distance. “I may be talented in other things, but when it comes to painting, I want to be great or nothing. And I am only of middling talent,” you scoop up the brushes, give them a quick look and place in another jar to dry.

Aemond wants to argue, he really does — but he also knows better than to try and persuade you when you are like this: firmly standing your ground, exuding nothing but stubbornness. In any other situation, he would’ve found it endearing but it’s upsetting to see you downplaying your brilliance.

“Hm, may I at least ask your last portrait to be of me?”

You instantly turn to him, taken aback. Throughout the years you’ve known him, he clearly expressed that he did not like being painted, and you only could make a quick sketch or two, at best, when he wasn't paying attention.

“Alright,” the long-awaited opportunity makes you smile. “Next time I come for breakfast, I will drag you into the garden to pose for me,” you give him a pointed look, and Aemond humbly nods.

Your smile grows wider but you try to tone it down, afraid to spook him, and focus on wiping the nearest table.

“What are you going to do with your life in the meantime?” he changes the subject.

“Polish up my other skills and become an ornament to society,” you sigh, putting the cloth away.

There’s a brief pause before he says, his voice a bit strained:

“Here is where Jason Lannister comes in, I suppose?”

You say yes but the answer comes a little bit too fast, and Aemond notices that the topic makes you uncomfortable.

“But you are yet to be betrothed to him,” he clarifies, gaze fixed on you.

“I will be if he proposes,” your eyes meet his, and you are sure that there’s a shadow of disapproval on his face that only spurs your stubbornness. You fully turn to the prince to say: “I always knew I had to marry well, I do not feel ashamed of that.”

But Aemond isn’t looking for a fight — he swiftly corrects himself:

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. As long as...” — he can barely bring himself to say it — “As long as you love him.”

For the reason unknown to Aemond, his statement brings a bleak smile to your face.

“I believe we can have some power over who we love,” you object, lowering your gaze for a second as you start absentmindedly twisting the ring on your finger.

“I think the poets would disagree,” he chuckles, trying to defuse the unexpected tension.

But when you look up at him, your glare is as obdurate as ever.

“Well, I am not a poet, I am just a woman,” you rebut crisply. “And as a woman, I have no illusions about my prospects which do not include me earning a living to support my family. And my parent’s fortune has its limits as I've come to learn. Hence why, if I want to have children — I do — and be able to provide them with everything they wish for, I must rely on my husband,” that last word is pronounced with disappointment. “So don't stand here and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me.”

Had he not known you, Aemond would’ve been very impressed — with how blunt and witty you are, you are very good at delivering speeches. But as he’s standing in front of you, watching your face, he senses that your determination is akin to despair. Aemond thinks he might take a chance at arguing with you, after all — but you’re both startled by a knock on the door:

“Lady Y/N, Ser Lannister just arrived.”

You look baffled for a second, your confidence crumbling.

“Why would he — I, I didn’t expect him today,” you mumble, almost ashamed of his arrival.

Yet you pull yourself together faster than Aemond can come up with a reason for you to stay. You remove your apron and quickly examine your dress, then move to put on a cape.

“Did I miss any paint stains?” you ask Aemond in a haste.

“No,” he looks over the flowing material of your neat dress, your hair knotted up high — and then: “...Wait!”

You stop abruptly while he grabs a clean cloth.

“There is something on your cheek,” he says as you both step toward each other — and in the next second you’re suddenly standing too close.

You turn to him and shyly shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. Aemond is frozen for a moment but then carefully wipes away a slight smudge of green from under your cheekbone. His hand unwillingly lingers as he examines the delicate features of your face. You open your eyes, looking at the prince questingly. His facial expression is unreadable but it makes you wish you didn’t have to go.

You brush away that silly thought and stand back, fixing your cape.

“How do I look? Do I look alright?”

“You look beautiful,” Aemond says with no hesitation, taking you in — with your cheeks a bit flushed, lip parted and eyes shining. “You are beautiful.”

You seem bewildered at his words but then a smile grows on your face — and in a blink of an eye, you’re gone. The prince is left standing there, staring at the spot where you were just now. The room suddenly feels so empty without you — and so does his heart.

The realization strikes Aemond like lightning: he wants to be the one you come to, at all times. The one holding your hand, watching you paint, or read, or dance — watching you do whatever your heart desires. Because his only desire is to be with you. That thought puts down roots deep into his chest, and he doesn’t know how to pluck it out.

Nor does he want to. It’s all he can think about for the duration of the week, until you come to the castle — with canvas and supplies, not hiding your excitement. He almost forgot about his promise but follows you into the garden without objection. You sense a slight change in Aemond’s behavior, him being more quiet than usual, but decide not to push the prince so he won’t reconsider.

“I will start with a sketch and then we will go from there. Alright?”

He just hums in response while looking at you but you are unaware of the meaning behind his gaze.

“Take any pose you like, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable,” you suggest with a half-smile, knowing full well he will probably remain standing.

And he does, arms clasped behind his back, his eye never leaving your face. You immerse in the process too quickly to be bothered, the piece of charcoal in your hand sliding over the paper, leaving lines and shadows. Drawing Aemond is an effortless task, and you can only enjoy how easy it is to sketch the sharp contours of his face and his lean body. The simplicity can also be explained by the fact that you've already memorized all the details by heart: the curves of his cheekbones and his lips, the flow of his silver hair, the shape and cut of his eye.

When you are finally satisfied, you can’t tell if it’s been an hour or three, and the prince, as it seems, hasn’t moved a muscle. At this point, Aemond’s demeanor does worry you yet you blame it on his nervousness.

“Want to take a look?” you hand him a few sketches. “Mind you, I’m not finished so please don’t judge too harshly —”

“I could never,” his hand brushes yours when he takes the drawings.

Aemond has seen your works before but it's a whole new experience when he's the one being portrayed. He almost doesn't recognize himself — you didn't miss a single feature of his yet somehow this version of him looks too beautiful to be real. He's at a loss for words until he spots that there's another drawing hidden underneath. It's a sketch of him sitting, both arms on the table, his face looks like he's deep in his thoughts.

“When did you do this one?”

“After the coronation,” the memory makes you smile. “Made my poor father lug around with charcoal in his pockets while he was trying to keep up the conversation with Ser Lannister.”

It was the day you got introduced to Jason. You were supposed to be by his side, with your charming smile and polite talks, yet you spend your time drawing Aemond. He can imagine your gaze focused on the piece of paper, the way you must've been looking at him to capture every detail and movement — all of that without him asking to, without him even noticing. There's so much care in that act, he is unexpectedly moved by it.

The words leave his mouth before he can think them over:

“Don't marry him.”

His request makes your hands tremble, and you drop the piece of charcoal, slowly looking up at Aemond, the smile disappearing from your face. He did not mean that, you must've misunderstood.

“...What?”

Aemond turns to you, looking you straight in the eyes:

“Don't marry him,” he repeats, helplessly and desperately.

“Why?” you ask in disbelief, suddenly having trouble breathing. The only reason you can think of sounds delusional, close to impossible. You wait for him to come up with some clever explanation — instead, he comes closer to you, his gaze so warm it makes your cheeks burn.

“You know why,” Aemond says and his hand gently lands on yours. You look down at it, perplexed, your mouth opening and closing, heart rate speeding up.

He keeps his eye on your face as he waits for your reply. You are not repulsed nor angry — which is supposed to be a good sign — but the reaction he gets is actually worse than that. Because when you finally glance at him, you look hurt.

“No,” you yank away your hand as if his touch stung. “No, Aemond, you are being mean, stop it,” you take a step back, your eyes glossy and lips tight. The look you give causes him physical pain — while you are trying your best to fight back the tears.

His intelligence clearly fails him because Aemond has no clue what’s going on. He feels like there is a deeper meaning to your words but he does not get it.

“Why am I being mean?” he asks incredulously as you slowly continue putting more distance between you two.

You don’t even realize you are doing it — it’s almost an urge to not be in his presence, for the first time ever. The weight of his words feels suffocating and merciless. How easy it is for him to toy with your emotions, you think, and that cruelty of his — as you see it — wounds you so deeply, he might as well put a torch to your heart.

“I have felt like everyone’s second choice my entire life,” you bemoan, not being able to keep your agony bottled up any longer. “In everything, no matter how hard I’ve worked to be better. I thought you out of all people would understand that,” you sound raspy, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I will not be the person you settle for just because your first marriage proposal was turned down,” only when your voice shudders, Aemond finally understands how wrongfully you interpreted his intentions.

But you are out of his reach already — at least ten feet away from him, and the distance separates you like a giant chasm.

“No, I won’t. I can’t,” you are hurting so much, your feelings spill out like blood from a wound. “I can’t do it. Not when I have spent years loving you.”

His breathing hitches as your confession pierces through his chest — and he is left speechless, deafened by it. The moment slips through his fingers with unforgiving pace: you were standing so close only a minute ago — and now you are turning your back to him, rushing away. The last thing he sees is how broken you look, your shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears.

Aemond stands, shocked and paralyzed until it’s too late — the garden is silent with your absence and the only evidence of you being there is your supplies scattered on the ground. Your words are ringing in his head, his heart heavy with a dreadful feeling.

He was afraid he would never have you — but he actually could have.

If only he wasn't so blind.

➡ Part 2

yes, this is me blabbing again: I’ve watched this movie an embarrassing amount of times, and I’ve wanted to write a fic based on it for a few months. I did rephrase a couple of quotes but still tried my best to do the story justice. my apologies for the angst — just so you know, it was painful to write. also, will I ever stop using friends to lovers trope? only time will tell! (I probably won't, though) I know there is a very heartwarming fic by aemonds-war-crime that was also based on “Little women” and it's only fair that I link it as well!

tagging @greenowlfactif because you asked 💙 comments and opinions are VERY welcomed! 🥺 🎨 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

#aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #<<< PLS don’t be mad! I know Aegon isn’t the main character but he has a meaningful role #so I thought maybe I should add his tag too... (PLS DON’T BE MAD)#on a completely unrelated note I decided to start with dialogue(s) and then bring the backstory #I think it’s more engaging??? but we’ll see how that goes #also it was a conscious decision to start with Aemond’s side of the story — just so it comes as a surprise when she says ‘hey I loved you f #(I mean it obviously won’t be surprising if you saw the movie...)#ALSO I really hope you guys will want the second part (’cause I already wrote it lmao)#my stuff #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen angst

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williamverse · 2 months

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There was a storm during my first journey to Dunwall. Thick dark clouds covering the skies, waves crushing into ship's sides. Standing on the ship's deck, I've witnessed something I'll never forget: a Leviathan, rising from the water's surface. It felt like for that spare moment the time had stopped. A giant whale-like creature cut through the water with his fins, glistening against the cloudy sky with his dark skin. Seagulls looked like nothing but countless specks floating around him. His powerful body was covered in countless scars with the sight of which I wondered: how many of them were left by other animals and how many - by humans? Beneath his skin - fat, powering his huge body. Hundreds of other whales were killed for that precious fat, later to be turned into whale oil, that would soon power one of the ships like the one I was boarding. But he was still alive, with his power still flowing through his body, only for him to use. How many nets has he torn? How many hooks had grappled his flesh and than torn out of it with a mighty tail's swing? How will he die: in whalers' hands, getting his flesh turned into food and his fat turned into fuel, or will he die of age, turning his body into a home for a new ecosystem? I saw his eyes, full of pain and hatred, but also of intelligence.

He had enough power to turn over the ship and drown everyone boarding it. But he didn't do that, diving back into the water and swimming away instead. Maybe, if he was trying to avenge himself and other whales, driven by hatred, he wouldn't be any better than humans? I didn't think about that back then, not how I think about it now, after all those years of trial my fate has set for me. In this realm I inherited Leviathan's philosophy.

[Excerpt from Lord-Protector's memoirs - by Corvo Attano]

#this painting took less than I thought it would #I just remembered a time when Corvo said that he will write his memoirs which will be published after his death #and I thought it would be so cool to write this little piece as a part of his memoir #i hope this is not too bad in grammar or smth because English is my second language #also i find it very funny how people use tags as an additional place for description #artists on tumblr #art #fanart #dishonored fanart #dishonored art #dishonored corvo #corvo attano #dishonored fanfic #illustration #digital illustration #digital painting

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dilfmansion · 3 months

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The first time it happened, it wasn’t intentional.

Nobara and Yuji hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion from the ruined Exchange Event had caught up to them before they could return to their rooms. Yuji had been the first to go, half-slumped over on Megumi’s legs. Nobara had managed to stay in her own chair at least, arms crossed over her chest and head bent at an awkward angle.

Megumi followed embarrassingly soon after. He was still recovering from his run-in with the cursed spirit in the forest, and healing was slow. He had shifted down the bed carefully, not wanting to jostle Yuji too much, curling in on his side and listening to the rhythm of the other two breathing.

Yuji’s snoring didn’t seem as annoying as it did when he was sleeping in the next room.

The second time it happened, it was by necessity.

Nobara had returned from a solo mission bloody and bruised and full of self-inflicted puncture wounds, hands shaky and uniform stained with blood. Shoko was off-duty that night.

She had come to them instead. Not like she really had a choice— Megumi and Yuji had been waiting for her to get back since she left, posted dutifully in the main common room. When Nobara finally did come back well after midnight, they practically jumped to help her.

Yuji gave her one of his own t-shirts to change into— it was massive on her, but the fabric was soft and it smelled like him and that was more than enough convincing for her to slip it on while the two boys turned away.

Megumi retrieved a first aid kit from his closet; wounds were cleaned and bandaged, two particularly deep lacerations held together with butterfly tape and covered for Shoko to heal in the morning. Yuji only yelped a few times under the vice grip that Nobara had on his hand.

She hardly spoke. The only thing they could get out of her was short responses to easy questions, confirmations or denials of pain as Megumi worked. Eventually, they got her into bed– not her own, Yuji’s, but that didn’t matter. She was fed and in markedly less pain than before. That was when she finally opened up. Two people had died. Civilians. Not deaths Nobara could have predicted or prevented, but Yuji and Megumi were more than aware of the toll that still took.

When Nobara finally fell asleep it was wedged between the two of them, wrapped in Yuji’s arms with Megumi at her back. One of her hands had curled into Yuji’s sweatshirt. He didn’t entertain the thought of moving it. Megumi had given him a quick glance over Nobara’s shoulder— silent deliberation that was over before it began. All three slept there that night.

That was far from the last time.

It became a regular occurance, the three of them falling asleep in a clumsy tangle of limbs. It helped, somehow; gave them space to let down their guard and truly rest amid the chaos.

They would take comfort where they could get it.

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switch-kun · 1 year

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Poor baby, does it hurt so much? Not being able to move or speak for yourself? Having the vibe on your clit and those pretty ribbons wrapped around your wrists? Barely having my hands on you, which is what you waited so, so long for, all because you were so impatient? Touching your 'lil cunt as if you couldn't just wait for me to fuck you? I bet it hurts to be so overstimulated, so tortured— and aww, are you squirming? But isn't this what you wanted? To be fucked like the bitch you are? Oh, that's a shame. You brought this upon yourself, darling. If only you hadn't pushed my buttons all day then you wouldn't be here right now. If only you behaved, stayed patient, asked for it nicely, but no— you just had to be a little brat, with your tight-ass outfits and oh-so-innocent attitude. Acting all clumsy and bending over to tempt me, giving me that rogue look that I know all too well. I'm not that gullible, baby. So you fucked up big time, and now, you'll just have to endure your loss. Let's see how many orgasms it'll take for you to reach your breaking point.

#i'm sorry but overstimulation is just one of my favorite things #and honestly i was second-thinking of dropping this post because of how embarassing it sounds oml #i sound like a poorly written fanfic protagonist wNDIHBHIBP #but nonetheless it was an interesting thought to write down before bed #wlw nsft #lesbian nsft #sapphic nsft

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mylittleredgirl · 1 year

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i always sing the praises of having a beta reader if you want that sort of thing, but actually there are two separate fic-editor types:

alpha reader: just fucking uncritically loves your work. #1 fan. fully obsessed with the pairing you're writing to the exclusion of all good sense. might correct a comma or two but they are there to tell you that you are amazing and that you have never done anything wrong in your life and you should post that shit immediately. you ask them "does this part work?" and they say yes before the question is fully out of your mouth. the golden retriever of writing friends. every writer 100% needs one of these in their back pocket.

pros: THE best preemptive defense against the gaping chasm of self-doubt between "post work" and the first kudos.

cons: this is the reason why sometimes you see a fic that has eight beta readers thanked in the author's notes and the main character's name spelled wrong.

beta reader™️: these friends also fucking love your work, but the way they want to love it is to stick their fingers in your fic like a fruit bin at the grocery store and gently squeeze your characters (and commas) to see if they're ripe.

a good beta reader will copy edit your fic, notice if you've used the same sentence three times, and let you know if your sex scenes seem to contain the intended number of dicks per person.

a great one will highlight for you what's unique and wonderful about your writing, will help you problem-solve and plot through long fic, and will lovingly bug the shit out of you with how did she get here? and would he really say that? and is this what you meant? and when you say "oh shit no it isn't" their eyes light up and they go OKAY! let's figure this out!!!

more of a border collie kind of situation.

pros: the best way to polish your fic and grow as a fic writer. in my experience, it's also an incredible way to work through impostor syndrome. knowing someone you respect has been all up in your fic's junk and still says "it's great and you're great, now post it!" is a game-changer.

cons: if they show you what's not working, you're probably going to have to take time to fix it :/

caveats: not everyone who wants to give constructive feedback can deliver it in a way that works for everyone, so if the experience ends up making you feel bad, this is not a good match! it's also VERY helpful to tell your beta reader what level of editing you're looking for. if someone asks "can you give this a quick once-over before i post?" i know they want me to look for obvious mistakes and reassure them that it's post-worthy. if you ask me to "rip it apart" i'm going in there with a fine tooth comb.

(the primary motivation of both of these editor breeds is, of course, that they want you to write more and they want to read it before everyone else.)

bonus mode:

specialty reader: sensitivity readers and subject matter experts! if you are lucky enough to find and motivated enough to use one of these, their job is not to look at commas or to tell you that you're great, but to give advice on something specific in your fic.

edit: check the reblogs for a correction! turns out “alpha reader” is a pre-existing term in some circles for someone who helps you during the process, a lot like the great beta-reader i described above. taking suggestions for renaming my version of the alpha reader above. i’m thinking “hype man.”

#obviously this is your fic and your free time so none of this is required!#if you want to jack kerouak* it up in an ao3 draft and post without a second thought that is your god given right #fortunately or unfortunately for you i think i have a few posts in me on this subject so i’m going to tag it #beta readers #on fanfic #*jack kerouak actually spent years painstakingly editing on the road so it would look like he didn’t edit it at all #but never let facts get in the way of a good turn of phrase you know

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diazsdimples · 2 months

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Several Sentence Sunday

So Wednesday's poll overwhelming voted for Single Dads AU as my next wip to focus on, and I've managed to write a few thousand words on that since then! I also did a couple of thousand for Frostpunk AU too, so we're gonna be tag teaming those two I guess 💀 I love both these fics so much and can't bear to leave them alone so I'll be working on/ sharing bits of both over the next few weeks 💙

Here's a snippet from Single Dads, right before we introduce an important character! It's not great atm but it's gonna be reworked when I can string together a sentence askdjhsa

“Lily!” Buck exclaims, sprinting across the driveway and up the steps before he knows what he’s doing. “What happened?” “She fell through the door,” Carrie supplies helpfully. Buck kneels next to his youngest and gingerly helps Lily up off the floor, pulling her into his lap where he proceeds to check her over. She’s holding her arm loosely and tears stream down her face as she hiccups miserably, which Buck figures is likely more due to shock than anything else. “The door was unlocked, Daddy!” Lily whimpers as she tucks herself further into his chest. “Fell on my arm.” Buck takes her arm gently in his hands, feeling up and down the length for any deformities or crepitus. She winces slightly as he prods at the delicate bones of her wrist, but there’s no swelling and she seems to be able to move it fine. Not broken, then. “Dad, why’s the door unlocked?” Carrie asks, voicing the very question he’d been thinking. There’s no way he forgot to lock it this morning, it’s a part of his many-step routine to get him and the girls out the door on time for work. Unlocking the door always comes after closing it, and before the full-body pat down to make sure he hasn’t forgotten his phone, wallet, or car keys. It’s routine. “I don’t know, honey,” Buck replies as he stands up, lifting Lily onto his hip as he does so. Lily lets out a shuddering sigh as her tears slow, and rests her head on his shoulder, her thumb making its way into her mouth. “Stay behind me, okay?” Buck takes an apprehensive step inside. The house is seemingly empty, every little knick knack and toy still exactly where it was left this morning. Lily’s sparkly shoes are still kicked in the middle of the hall, the door to the girls’ bedroom is still only slightly ajar, and none of the drawers in the cabinet in the front hall have been opened. Buck leans and places Lily on the ground, beckoning Carrie close to him so he can circle an arm around her too. “Go into your room, shut the door, and sit on Lily’s bed please. I’m going to have a look around and I’ll come get you in a minute, okay?��

Been tagged through the week by many people, thank you for bearing with me as I navigate my new schedule.

Tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @puppyboybuckley @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @wikiangela @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rainbow-nerdss @elvensorceress @epicbuddieficrecs @smilingbuckley @actuallyitsellie @spagheddiediaz

#single dads au #she's back boys (gn)#it's been a hot second #throwbacks to when I thought I'd have this finished before I started uni again #I was so young and full of hope #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #911 buddie #911verse #911 fanfic #911 #eddie x buck #buddie fic #buddie wip

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awhimproned · 5 months

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broke: stede obviously topped that night, he not only manhandled ed in but was also the one to take off his shirt first and close the curtains. ed let him have the reins, he was already into that when he heard the "captain voice" before. he also knew stede needed some sort of anchor and control and reassurance after ned low played into his insecurities and to show stede the pet thing wasn't true at all. he also couldn't say i love you back to stede in comfort and surrendering him like that was a way of showing it. this was also a way of showing stede he was the captain. there was also the oil bottle and the rings by stede's side on the bedside windowsill in the breakfast scene.

woke: ed topped that night. stede was reeling, terrified, horrified and high on adrenaline, had just killed someone (for ed or not) and needed all the comfort he could get. he initiated physical intimacy (either thought that was what a tougher man would do or it was out of avoidance and in desperation to feel something better the moment he saw ed -- who symbolized comfort and safety) instead of wanting to talk about it and ed saw that, and being the more sexually experienced one in the relationship, wanted to quite literally get stede (an overthinker) to a state of too fucked out to think anymore for that night and take care of him so he couldn't harm himself with those thoughts - as ed also knew that was all he could do to help stede for the moment. tldr he service topped stede stupid. that's why he's the one bringing breakfast the next morning and stede's sitting crooked.

bespoke: they're vers4vers ya nasties. all interpretations (except non-con and dub-con implications) are valid

#blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ed x stede #stede bonnet #ed teach #edward teach #blackbeard #ofmd #our flag means death #does it show i thought about that scene too much #i still think about it #and i'm yet to see a fanfic with the second scenario im about to lose it #because stede needed to be taken care of man. his state of mind was so fragile #i love sexy pirate masc stede but sexy pirate stede is also like. not him. its him trying to be someone else so he feels worthy (of ed)#thats why i loved that cursed suit part #he loves soft things. he loves fine things. he is soft. and maybe dropping the tough man front that night would have been therapeutic #i think about s2 stede too much #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers

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arggghhhsstuff · 6 months

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i love how in the percy jackson series percy can whistle and a fucking flying horse will appear within minutes. every. single. time. poor blackjack's just a plot device at this point and everyone has accepted it and moved on

#dude needed his character to go places and thought 'im gonna use the flying horse again no one's gonna notice a thing'#and no one noticed a thing #good one rick #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #hoo #rick riordan #EVEN IN FANFICS #like?? they were at a random beach and blackjack appeared out of nowhere in 2 seconds and a half

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tismrot · 6 months

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Bold of Tumblr to assume I am interested in anything but Good Omens. Every day, Tumblr tries; weird anime, humanoid animals making out (why?) and poetically worded sentences about depression.

“NO!” I say, “I need to see a new image or video or drawing (or embroidery or pottery or decorated cake) of Anxious Bookseller Man and Alcoholic Goth Enby kiss painfully for the 3811st time.”

TUMBLR? Hah. More like GOMBLER.

I’ll see myself out.

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death-himself · 3 months

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Masochism and Cannibalism

I've had this idea in my head for ages but I don't have any OCs that fit it, so I decided fuck it and wrote my first ever x reader fic

Summary: You are a proxy in Slenderman's forest, and want to help out your friend Jack a bit by having him eat you. In the process, Jack finds out you're a huge masochist. (gender-neutral proxy!masochist!reader) Relationship between Jack and reader is up for interpretation, could be friends-with-benefits, could be romantic, could be platonic idk

Content Warnings: masochism, cannibalism, graphic depiction of violence/gore, implication of religious trauma at the very beginning, vaguely NSFW? it doesn't feel sexual to me but it also kinda is but not really

Word Count: 1,760

You knew that Jack hated killing people. He hated what he had been forced to become. One night you had forgotten your jacket in his cabin, and had crept back in to grab it, only to find him kneeling by his bed, praying in a rapid whisper to a god he didn’t even believe in, the knuckles of his hands pressed into his forehead.

From that point on you had become the only one in the Slenderman’s forest to know of his turmoil. While you certainly weren’t one for empathy, considering the requirements of your job, you had always felt for Jack. The closer you got to him, the more you longed to take away his pain.

And then you came up with the perfect plan.

You knocked on the door of Jack’s cabin, hearing his quiet footsteps approach, pause on the other side, then open the door.

“Hello Y/N. Do you need something?” Jack spoke, his voice as steady as ever. You nodded, letting yourself in and sitting at his dining table.

“I’d like to make...an arrangement with you.” Jack’s head tilted to the side slightly; with his mask on it was the only sign of his confusion.

“What kind of arrangement?” He spoke slowly, giving you plenty of time to plan out your next words carefully.

“Well, I’m a proxy. I can’t die, and any injuries I get will heal in a couple hours, right?” Jack nodded, having fully studied every bit of proxy biology since entering the forest. “So...thoughts on eating me?”

“No.” He answered instantly, turning his back to you and stepping into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“What’s the harm in it?”

“There is quite literally nothing but harm in it, Y/N. I’m not eating you.”

“I’m giving you full consent and everything!”

Jack poured two cups of coffee, handing one off to you. “Y/N, there is no reason behind this arrangement. I am...perfectly fine with how I am operating now.” Though it was subtle, you heard the slight tremor in his voice. He cleared his throat and sat across the table from you, avoiding looking in your direction.

You stared down into your coffee cup. “Can we at least try it?” Jack looked up and stared at you for a long time.

“Why are you so insistent on this?”

“I just...wanna help a friend.”

“You are suggesting that I kill you and eat your organs.” He stated bluntly. “Y/N, I appreciate the offer, I do. I just…” Jack paused, mulling over the words in his head for a moment. “It could not be a permanent arrangement. It would simply be too much, I would never be able to repay you.”

“What would you be repaying me for?” You spoke before thinking, not realizing how weird you probably sounded. Jack stared at you fully aware of how weird your question was.

“I would be repaying you for the amount of pain I would be inflicting on you.”

“Right. That.”

“Not to mention I have a limited supply of strong anesthetics. I could use them on you once, but the rest I would prefer to use for patients in need of surgery, not to fulfill my own needs.”

You watched as he lifted his mask, taking a sip of his coffee. His claws were razor-sharp, the glimpse of his fangs you got were even sharper.

Goddamn, why’d he have to be so moral? If he were like Toby or Jeff or any of the other fuckers in this forest he would’ve jumped at the opportunity. You really wanted to feel those claws tear you open and his teeth bite into your lungs. You wanted to nourish him so badly.

“Can we please try it? You can give me a shoulder massage or something after I heal if that calms your conscience.” You tried your best to keep your tone calm and not desperate or pathetic, but he still seemed a bit confused by your insistence. He stared at you for a long moment, before standing up with a sigh.

“Alright. If you’re sure you want to do this. Let’s go down to my lab, it will make the cleanup easier.” You got up a bit too quickly from your seat, following him downstairs to the white walls and floor of his basement.

It was a small, makeshift hospital room, one that you had been in a few times before when a broken bone was taking an annoyingly long time to heal or a wound was dripping blood and making a mess everywhere. He pulled out a hospital bed with a thin, uncomfortable-looking blue mattress.

“I’ll take out your heart, lungs, and liver, starting with your heart so that you die quickly and won’t have to undergo as much pain. Once I am done, I believe it should take roughly five hours until you fully heal and come back to life.” You hummed in response, trying to hide your disappointment at the thought of dying quickly. He would still have to break your ribcage to do any of that. You wondered if he would suck on your bones. The thought of him chewing on one of your rib bones like a dog was kind of funny to you.

You took off your shirt and lay down on the hospital bed, staring up at the white ceiling. You heard Jack pull a medical cart over to your side, before washing his hands and pulling on some blue gloves.

“You don’t have to treat this like a medical procedure, that’s no fun.” He got close enough to stare down at you again. With his mask off, his confusion was plain across his face, eyesockets wide and brows pulled together. It was cute how expressive he was behind that mask.

“How would you like me to do this?” He seemed to slowly begin to understand what you wanted, looking over your relaxed body for a moment. He hummed. “Well, I suppose...when I am cutting open one of my victims I am usually on top of them.”

“Okay.” You responded simply, turning back to staring at the ceiling. You could feel his gaze on you, trying to judge your reaction. You heard him mumble “This is not what I expected my night to turn into,” before hearing him move, the bed shaking a bit as he climbed up, pinning your legs between his thighs.

As he stared down at you, he wore a look of hesitant acceptance, a hint of a smile on his lips. “You are absolutely sure that you want this?” He asked. You grinned at him and nodded. “Would you like to establish a safe word or—”

“Dude, oh my god, just do it.” His smile widened to the point that you could see his sharp teeth behind his lips. He took a scalpel and made his first incision.

The pain only came after the second cut. As he gently pulled back your skin you bit at your lip, trying to not scream out in pain. A wince left your lips as he examined your ribcage, and you felt his hands pull back for a moment. Your vision was swimming as you watched him pause and study your face, before turning back to your ribs. He laid his palm across them, and he pushed down sharply.

There was a loud CRACK as three ribs broke at once. Your body went limp as you forgot how to breathe. You felt him gently pick up each small fracture of bone, placing them on the medical table. There were pieces of your ribs scattered across your heart and lungs; as you took a shaky breath you felt each piece move up and down. Jack picked up what he could with a steady hand, moving it out of the way with as much respect as he could. You thought he was talking to you, but all you could hear by this point was blood rushing through your ears.

Then when Jack was satisfied with your ribs, you felt his warm hand loosely wrap around your pounding heart. He took his pointer finger and thumb and carefully felt for your aorta, before bringing his scalpel closer. You saw his lips move, and could just barely make out him saying “I’ll see you in a few hours.” You felt a sharp cut across your aorta, then others across your veins, arteries, and vena cavas.

Your brain immediately began to panic as your blood stopped moving through your body. You stared up at Jack as your vision dimmed, seeing him bring your heart up to his lips, taking a large bite, blood dripping from his chin onto your exposed stomach. You managed a final smile at him as the world went dark.

You woke up still on that hospital bed. You ran a weak hand across your chest, feeling tidy stitches going down the center. Jack had cleaned you off, you couldn’t find a single speck of dried blood on you. Your regenerated lungs filled with the sterile air of the hospital room, the air feeling fresh and new despite you being in the basement level.

You sat up, looking around. Jack wasn’t there. There was a twinge of disappointment in your new heart, but you brushed it aside, standing up on shaky legs and making your way to the exit door.

The door creaked as it opened, and a pleasant smell hit your nose: breakfast. You quickly climbed the stairs, finding Jack standing at the stove, cooking some scrambled eggs.

“You eat your fill last night?” Jack nodded, turning to you with a gentle smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Incredible.” You sat down at the table as Jack finished plating up your breakfast, placing it down before you.

“That’s good to hear. I’ll draw a bath for you, and then if you’d like I can give you that shoulder massage as well.” You had almost forgotten about that, still riding off the high of last night.

“Would you actually be down for that?” You asked.

“Your body is likely sore from the regeneration process.” Your body felt perfectly fine to you, maybe a bit weak but otherwise fine. But if he was offering it, it’s not like you were going to say no.

“Sure, why not? Feels like a bit much, though. I mean, I probably got way more enjoyment out of last night than you did.” Jack shook his head.

“I am more than happy to pamper you for the day.”

#creepypasta #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #x reader #creepypasta fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #feels fitting that my first ever x reader fic is for creepypasta #considering how much i complain about there being too much x reader in this fandom #is it me am i part of the problem #can you tell i don't write x reader or second perspective ever i feel like you can tell #writing x reader is a skill that i don't have and i respect those who have honed that skill #anyway the thought of a relationship between a masochist and a cannibal is so personal to me #there's something so dark and beautiful about a relationship like that and i think about it more than i probably should

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