#dysfunctional family you know. They work just barely

[hcneymooners]

⋆ angel of mine; i’m probably gonna think about you all the time.

biker!sevika x stripper!chubby!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: when you get news of your grandmother’s declining health, you pack what’s left of your life in miami and begin to head home. on the way you meet enigmatic stranger sevika, who gives you a ride.

wc: 10k

cw: age difference! stripper!reader, chubby!reader, fem!reader, mommy issues, implied melvika, implied melvika x reader, strangers to lovers, roadtrips, biker!sevika, resolved sexual tension, codependency, found family, dysfunctional families, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, exhibition kink (implied), degradation, name-calling, dom/sub, dom!sevika, sub!reader, hyperfemme!reader, lowkey sugar mommy!sevika.

notes: you can definitely tell i’m southern in this piece. i love the south despite it not loving me (black, sapphic, & female) back. so much of florida contains my family and love though i left it. i hope that comes through. i’m really proud of this and i hope you enjoy. so sorry for any typos i may have missed. let me know what you think & if you want a full melvika x reader pt. ii ! i love you. 𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖°

playlist: lana born to die: paradise album. listen here.

The white teeth of Miami were always going to eat you alive.

That’s what your grandmother used to say, her voice crackling over the phone, sweet but certain, the way only old women could be. She didn’t say it to scare you—just to remind you that the city, for all its glitter and heat, had sharp edges. She was a lioness, and you were good meat.

You’d felt it too, walking barefoot along the highway, heels swinging in one hand and your purse in the other. The sunset was dying behind you, streaks of cotton candy pink, baby blue, and tangerine smeared across the horizon like someone had finger-painted the sky in haste.

Your cheeks still sparkled faintly under the fading light, remnants of glitter you hadn’t scrubbed off from work. It clung stubbornly, refusing to let go. You’d braided the front of your hair into two plaits that went straight back, falling apart in the middle to join the rest of the mass—wavy and tinsel-streaked. It was your “mermaid hair” as your younger sister loved to call it. You blinked heavily, your 60s-style lashes dragging their soft bodies across your plush cheeks.

The ache in your feet was grounding though, pulling you out of the haze of the club—the strobe lights, the bass that rattled in your ribs, the haze of too many eyes on you.

You’d gotten through the night, but just barely. Grandma’s sick. That had been the thought looping in your head as you swayed under the lights, pretending to be something more desirable than tired. Your mother had called, her voice small and broken. She wouldn’t tell you where she was. I’ll be home tomorrow, you’d promised anyway and then you climbed back on the stage.

You’d scraped together what you could tonight, but not enough for both a cab and the medicine your grandmother needed. The last bus out of town was fucked, something about a technical failure. So, you walked, the stretch of highway endless, the heat still radiating off the asphalt like it was sinking into hell.

You were so distracted by both your raging anxiety and oncoming hunger that the headlights caught you off guard. A single beam at first, low and flickering, until the growl of the engine grew louder, sharper, swallowing the silence. You turned instinctively, lifting a hand to wave—desperation bleeding through the gesture.

The motorcycle slowed. It wasn’t just a machine; it was an extension of her.

Its rider was tall and broad-shouldered, her presence filling the space before she even spoke. A thick, short braid of dark hair hung over her shoulder, catching the light like polished onyx, and her face was all hard angles—sharp jaw, strong brow, a faint scar cutting through her upper lip. She leaned forward slightly, resting her weight on a prosthetic arm that gleamed silver in the twilight. Her eyes, cold at first glance, raked over you, measuring.

For the millionth time that night, you became painfully aware of your appearance. You hadn’t had much time to change before rushing out, so you were stuck in a turquoise spaghetti-strap tank that clung uncomfortably to your skin and a pair of low-rise grey sweatpants, the faded mall-brand logo on the hip barely holding on.

Your purse—a tiny baby pink crossbody clutch—was stretched to its limit, struggling to close over your overstuffed Polo Assn. wallet, its dark brown leather warped by thick stacks of crumpled bills and nearly maxed-out credit cards.

A single white earbud perched in your left ear, the mile-long wire snaking under the loose neckline of your tank and into your hands, where your phone gleamed faintly in the glare of her headlights. Glittery gold, covered in 3D bubble stickers of pale pink and cream roses—your little sister’s handiwork.

Between the heat of the phone and the plastic of the case, you’d tucked a Polaroid: you, your sister, and your aunt, all dolled up in perfect makeup and hoop earrings, the three of you grinning wide enough to make the moment feel permanent. Behind the photo, folded neatly, was a note.

The faintest whiff of smoke clung to you, softened by bellini, cherry, and peach. You’d tried hard to be sweet, always sweet, but it wasn’t enough to cover the night’s work. Especially not tonight.

“You lost?” she asked, her voice gravelly, low, like the rumble of her engine hadn’t entirely faded.

“Not lost,” you said, voice softer than you intended. “Just… trying to get home.”

You were always trying to go home.

She raised a brow, glancing at your bare feet and the glitter still dusting your face. “Long walk.”

You shrugged, exhaustion pulling at the edges of your face.

“No choice.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, her expression unreadable, before she nodded toward the seat behind her.

“Hop on. I’ll get you there.”

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the gleam of her prosthetic, the way it contrasted with the calloused hand gripping the throttle.

“What’s your name?” you asked, finally, your voice quieter now.

She huffed faintly, tilting her head. “Sevika. And you?”

You gave her your name, your voice carrying the weight of gratitude but a lack of trust. You weighed your options—you had none—and decided that you could only hope she wasn’t insane.

You thought of the note in your phone case.

“Lord, I confess i want the clarity of catastrophe but not the catastrophe. Like everyone else, I want a storm I can dance in. I want an excuse to change my life. Lord if I say bless the cold water you throw on my face, does that make me a costume party. Am I greedy for comfort if I ask you not to kill my friends if I beg you to press your heel against my throat - not enough to ruin me, but just so I can almost see your face.” (x.)

Then, without another word, you climbed onto the bike, your fingers brushing against her shoulders as you steadied yourself.

The engine roared, and the wind hit your face, carrying you forward into the night. You bent your neck, tucked your head into her back, and began to pray.

❀

You woke to a soft hand on your skin.

“Hey. You up?”

The words were quiet, almost careful, but they pulled you from the thin edge of sleep. For a moment, you were disoriented. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, white with faint water stains bleeding outward like bruises. The couch beneath you creaked as you shifted, and smelled of saltwater and lavender. There was a thin blanket draped over your shoulders but it felt impossibly heavy, anchoring you in place.

Sevika was leaning over you, her face shadowed but sharp in the dim light spilling from another room. Her hand lingered on your hip, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“Come on,” she said, her voice low and gravelly, rasping against the quiet. “Mel wants to meet you.”

“Mel?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

“She lives here. She’s… persistent,” Sevika said with a dry edge, stepping back to give you room to sit up. “And she’s got a thing for taking care of strays. Don’t worry, she’s nice. Nicer than me, anyway.”

The apartment was small, but the stomach of it was softened by a clear effort to make it feel like home.

The walls were painted a pale cream, though the paint was peeling in the corners, and the floors were scuffed wood. The furniture was mismatched, but there was a warmth to it—a knitted throw slung over the back of the couch, a row of half-burned candles on the coffee table, the faint scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air.

The windows were open, letting in the salt-thick breeze of the early morning, and a line of photos pinned to the wall swayed slightly, the string barely holding on.

Mel appeared in the doorway to what must have been the bathroom, her figure backlit by the soft, yellow glow. She was taller than you’d expected, her frame lithe but strong, and her black braids pooled over her shoulders like an oil spill, gleaming in the dim light. She held a cherry red hairbrush in one hand and a small bottle of lotion in the other, her brown skin catching the light beautifully.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice rich but cautious. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, warm but searching.

Most people tended to treat you this way. It was as if you were a scared animal and they were trying to coax you in.

You nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“Yeah. Sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude here.”

“You didn’t,” Mel said quickly, stepping closer. Her tone softened, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Sev doesn’t bring people home unless she has a reason. You must’ve needed it.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Your gaze flicked to Sevika, who leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her broad chest, her prosthetic glinting faintly in the soft light. She was watching the two of you, her expression unreadable.

“I’ve seen you before,” Mel said suddenly, drawing your attention back to her. Her smile turned wistful. “At The Siren, right?”

The mention of the club sent a ripple of recognition through you. You nodded slowly, and Mel’s expression shifted, her eyes softening further.

“I thought so,” she murmured. “You helped me once, in the bathroom. I was… having a bad night. You were so sweet.”

The moment came back in pieces. Her face streaked with tears, her voice trembling as she spoke about her mother, about leaving home. You’d handed her a tissue, touched her shoulder lightly, said something comforting.

“I remember,” you said softly, your voice catching in your throat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mel said, her gaze steady. “But I’m glad you did.”

She knelt in front of you, holding up the brush. “Let me help you. You’ve had a long night.”

You hesitated, but something in her expression, in the calm warmth of her voice, made you nod. She guided you to the bathroom, which was small and tidy, the mirror rimmed with salt stains and seashells.

As she brushed your hair, her touch was careful, her fingers grazing your scalp like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.

“You’ve got beautiful hair,” she said softly, almost to herself.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice faint. “You smell nice.”

Her laugh was quiet, and you felt the warmth of it root deep in your chest.

“Coconut oil,” she said, but there was a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Mixed with vanilla. I like to smell dewey and sugary. Kind of like you.”

You smiled tiredly at her in the mirror, lifting a hand to pat at her wrist. The tender powder pink of your acrylics were bright against it. Behind you, Sevika leaned in the doorway, her presence as steady as a shadow.

“You’re making her shy, Melly,” she teased, her voice like gravel underfoot.

Mel glanced at her, rolling her eyes, but you caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips. As a final touch she added a large bow clip to your tamed strands; it was lilac and worn at the ends.

When you were cleaned up, you reached for your purse, pulling out a crumpled bill.

“Here. Let me—,” you began, holding it out.

Mel’s expression shifted, her smile fading into something more serious as she cut you off. She pushed your hand back gently.

“Honey, you don’t owe me anything.”

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard, and you tucked the money away, unsure of what to say.

Sevika cleared her throat. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

“Tampa,” you said.

She raised a brow, her smirk returning.

“Figures. You seem like a Tampa girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Sevika just shrugged, her mouth twitching.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

The three of you stepped into the early morning light, the ocean-heavy breeze brushing against your skin. You didn’t even know you could live this close to the ocean in Miami.

You turned back and caught Sevika and Mel in silent conversation. There was something unspoken between them, between you, something you couldn’t quite name. For now, though, you let it rest.

Grandma’s sick, you reminded yourself. You had to keep going.

❀

The rest of the day swelled with humidity, the horizon bruised with the threat of rain. The Cadillac’s engine purred low, its growl humming beneath the croon of soft rock spilling through the speakers.

You kept your eyes on the window, the world outside blurring as heat shimmered off the asphalt and smeared the palms into a haze.

Sevika hadn’t said much since you got in her car. She didn’t need to.

There was a quiet kind of ease in her presence, a stillness that somehow made the grief gnawing at your chest feel less unbearable. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the window frame, her fingers idly toying with a cigarette she hadn’t yet lit.

The smell of the car had settled around you—leather, faint smoke, and something warm you couldn’t name. It was the kind of smell that made you think of safety, though you didn’t know why.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, the screen lighting up with a message from your mother.

Sorry, baby doll. Grandma’s on the brink.

You read the words twice, three times, and still they didn’t make sense. Your fingers tightened around the phone, your nails pressing into its glittery gold case, and something sharp and hot clawed its way up your throat.

Sevika glanced over, her brow furrowing.

“You good?”

You nodded quickly, your lips pressing together to hold back the tears that were already welling. But it was no use. They spilled over, fat and hot, streaking black mascara down your apple-round cheeks.

You turned your head, pretending to watch the passing trees, but your reflection in the window gave you away.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered, low and rough. She took one last drag from her cigarette, then flicked it out the window. “Hold on.”

She pulled off the highway, her movements smooth and deliberate, and guided the car into the gravel lot of a diner. Its neon sign flickered faintly against the gray sky, Chuck’s written in soft pink cursive. The building was small and sweet, painted robin’s egg blue with white shutters and lace curtains framing its windows.

Sevika parked and cut the engine, turning to look at you.

“Come here.”

Her voice was softer now, but it still carried that unshakable steadiness. You hesitated, your hands trembling in your lap, but the look on her face left no room for doubt. You leaned toward her, and her arms came around you, solid and warm, pulling you into her chest.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her hand smoothing over your hair. “Come on, angel. Just let it out.”

And you did. The sobs came in waves, ripping through you until you were shaking, your fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline. She didn’t flinch, didn’t tell you to stop. She just held you, her hand a steady weight against the back of your head, her thumb brushing small, grounding circles into your shoulder.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged you like this.

When you finally pulled back, your face was hot, damp, and streaked; your mascara smudged into shadows beneath your eyes. Sevika reached out, her thumb catching the tracks on your cheeks.

“Messy,” she said softly, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

The diner’s door chimed as you stepped inside, the scent of fresh coffee and bread washing over you. The interior was impossibly charming, with its pastel booths, checkerboard floors, and the low hum of a jukebox in the corner. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl cool against the back of your legs.

Sevika sat across from you, her body filling the small space like a storm cloud, heavy and unshakable. You stared out the window, watching the rain slip down the glass in delicate rivulets. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, low and faint.

“You’re strong, you know that?” Sevika’s voice broke through the quiet.

You turned to her, startled. Her eyes were dark, but they were the softest you’d seen them so far, almost tender.

She reached across the table, her fingers brushing your chin. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through you, her thumb catching against your skin.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, her voice low and certain. “You’ll be fine. You have to be.”

Outside, the rain fell harder, the sound of it filling the silence between you. And then Sevika let go, her hand retreating back across the table.

The rain continued to blur the diner’s windows, the soft pink neon outside flickering faintly against the new gloom. You stared down at your coffee, the chipped porcelain mug warm in your hands, but it wasn’t enough to steady the tremor that had worked its way into your fingers. The realities of the world felt too sharp, too close, like you might unravel right there in your plain sight.

“Talk to me,” you said suddenly, your voice thin and unsteady. “I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack.”

Sevika’s eyes lifted from her coffee, dark and knowing. Her expression didn’t shift, but something gave in the set of her jaw. She leaned back, one arm slung over the booth’s edge, her other hand absently brushing the lip of her mug.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” You exhaled shakily, your gaze flicking out to the rain before returning to her. “Tell me why you drive a beat-up Cadillac.”

That pulled a small, low chuckle from her, quiet but rich. She tipped her head, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you felt less like you were shuddering into beautiful pieces.

“You think she’s beat-up?” Sevika asked, her lips curving faintly.

“She’s held together by rust and prayer,” you said, almost smiling. “I’m just saying.”

Sevika’s laugh came fuller this time, a sound that filled the air without disrupting the other patrons.

“Hey. She’s got character. My dad gave her to me when I was nineteen. She used to be pristine—white leather, a real beauty. But time does what it does.”

You blinked, caught on the number.

“Nineteen?” you asked, hesitant. “How long ago was that?”

Her smirk grew, slow and sharp. “Longer than you’d guess, angel.”

Your brows furrowed, curiosity blooming against the weight in your chest. “How old are you?”

Sevika’s gaze lingered, the kind of look that made you feel seen in a way that was both unnerving and magnetic.

“Old enough to remember when you had to rewind your mixtapes with a pencil,” she said, her voice dry, teasing.

You couldn’t help it—a small laugh slipped out, barely there, but it felt good.

“I’ve always had a thing for older women,” you said absently, the words slipping out before you realized what you’d said.

Her smirk deepened, her eyes sharpening in a way that made your stomach flip.

“That so?” she murmured, her voice low and rich, a swatch of velvet dragged through smoke. “You looking for a mommy, angel?”

Heat flooded your face, vicious and unbearable, and you pushed back from the table, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor.

“I’m, um—gonna order something at the counter,” you mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze.

She chuckled, soft and lazy, her voice following you as you turned toward the counter.

“Go on, sweetheart. Take your time.”

The diner felt warmer, brighter, as you made your way to the counter, the fluorescents buzzing faintly above. You kept your eyes on the menu board, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

❀

It’s four more hours to Tampa, but it’s the most excruciating period of your life.

You’d left the diner a little steadier, Sevika’s arm brushing yours as you climbed back into her car. The Cadillac rattled like death, its leather seats sticky against your thighs.

You leaned your temple against the window, watching as the flat Florida landscape blurred into soft greens and yellows. The air outside was still thick with heat, even with the sun reducing its intensity as it slunk away.

The highway stretched out like an open wound, raw and endless. You fiddled with the radio dial until a bouncy indie pop song filtered back through the speakers, filling the air with a thousand wailing guitars. Sevika didn’t complain, her focus locked on the road ahead.

At some point, she pulled off into a gravel lot in front of a boutique. The building was small and unassuming, its pink paint faded by time. A hand-painted sign swung lazily in the humid breeze.

“We’re stopping?” you asked, your voice hoarse from exhaustion.

“You need other clothes,” Sevika said simply, stepping out of the car. “Come on.”

The shop smelled faintly of coconut wax and dust, its racks crammed with mismatched pieces that managed to appear more curated than random. Sevika leaned against a rack of jeans, her arms crossed, as you wandered through the aisles.

“We’re strangers,” you said eventually, holding up a knit top to your chest. “Why are you taking care of me?”

Sevika didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw tightening in thought.

“I remember being twenty-one,” she said finally. “The world was a lot to handle back then. Some days, it still is.”

You lowered the top and gazed at her, mouth dipping in understanding. She was so beautiful here, despite being far from at home in this confectionery store. Her arms flexed gently as she shifted in place, and you resisted the urge to press her hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry that you know what that feels like.”

“You don’t have to pity me,” she said, the response clearly a reflex.

You smiled crookedly and didn’t press further.

The outfit you picked—a striped knit and high-waisted jeans—felt soft against your skin. The knit hugged your curves, the soft plum-colored neckline slipping just low enough to expose the plush swell of your shoulder. When you stepped out of the dressing room, Sevika gave you a once-over, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“You’re a girl with expensive taste,” she teased. “Is that cashmere?”

“It’s my stage name for a reason,” you shot back, smiling softly. “And everything is overpriced here.”

“You look like a doll,” she said, her tone amused.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past her to the counter.

“I’ve got to look a little more appropriate.”

“For what?” she teased. “Tampa doesn’t care.”

“Well , my Aunt Kenna will.”

Unsurprisingly, you found yourself overpowered by Sevika at the register. She pressed her card down, its body sleek and black with silver lettering. Once again, you were struck by the kindness of strangers and you felt your throat tighten.

She gave you a look, as if to quiet your self-effacing urges. Behind the counter, the clerk smiled to herself as she observed the two of you. She was petite and had a pinched face, her hair short and a creamy blonde. Maddie, her tag read. She reminded you a lot of your mother, possessing the same shifty energy of a runner as she racked up your total.

The drive resumed, and with it, you revealed more of yourself to Sevika. You told her about your grandma, about the way she used to braid your hair with fake frangipani from the craft store and sing to you in the evenings where your mother would be gone. How her hands were always soft, even when they were tired. How you used to tuck yourself under the desk at the hospital where she worked when your heart was crumbled by women you definitely shouldn’t have been involved with at eighteen.

You spoke of your aunt, the way she fought to keep the family together, even when it wasn’t hers to save. You spoke of your little sister who in a way was also your child, how you did most things in life for her sake.

Sevika listened in silence, her hand resting on the wheel, her gaze never straying from the road. There was something in her stillness that made you feel seen, even when the words caught in your throat.

When you finally crossed into Tampa, the sky was dyed indigo and gold, the houses lining the street glowing faintly in the dusk.

You rolled the window down and leaned out, your phone poised to capture the image forever on your cracked back camera. You were such a tall child.

The warm air stroked against the moon of your face, tugged at the ends of your hair and dried your lips. You felt Sevika’s hand slide to your thigh, just below the crease of your ass, heavy and grounding, and you froze. Her palm was rough against the soft give of your flesh, her fingers splayed just enough to keep you steady.

“Don’t fall out,” she muttered, her voice tinged with quiet amusement.

“I won’t,” you said, but you sat back soon after, your heart beating a little too fast.

Sevika’s hand lingered a second longer before retreating to the wheel.

The butter-yellow house came into view, its shutters glowing faintly in the twilight. Your breath hitched. It looked the same as it always had, though the paint was more weathered, the steps chipped at the edges.

Sevika pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The silence was deafening. You fumbled with your purse, fingers trembling, but before you could open the door, Sevika’s hand found your chin. She turned your face toward hers, her thumb brushing just beneath your jaw.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Always is.”

Her eyes held you in place, dark and unflinching.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed her. Before you could think too much of it, you leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. Over her scar.

“Thank you.”

Her mouth parted, but the screen door creaked open, and you saw your aunt step onto the porch, her arms crossed and one brow raised in quiet judgment. You hesitated, glancing back at Sevika.

“You could come in,” you offered, the words heavier than they should have been.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to your aunt before landing back on you. She pushed off the seat and got out to follow you, her presence like a shadow at your back.

The porch light hummed faintly as you step inside, and a creamy warmth filled your chest. Your sister cheered when she saw you, and you laughed—your eyesight blurring. For the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe.

❀

As always, you dived in headfirst and sought out your grandmother’s room.

It was a terrible mistake. You couldn’t handle seeing her like that.

Almost immediately, bile surged up your throat, sharp and acidic, and you bolted—pausing just long enough to set the medicine down on her nightstand with quaking hands. You burst outside, where the air was sweltering with salt and the sudden impact of your new reality.

You weren’t good with death, not in any of its forms.

When your daddy died, something inside you cracked clean in half, the break jagged and irreparable. You’d felt a piece of yourself slip down into his grave, like a loose flower. Since then, you’d clung to the hope that love—your love—could somehow keep the people you cared about alive. At least until you felt ready for the loss.

Your chest ached in a way that felt both too familiar and entirely new, like grief had leveled your ribs to construct a home in your body. You rubbed at it absently, trying to dull the pressure blooming there, blinking hard against the rising tide of tears.

She was going to die. You knew this. It settled into your stomach like lead, poisoning you.

Behind you, the woods creaked, the trees’ chorus soft and low, like they were joining you in mourning. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey, angel,” Sevika said, her voice low and warm, the kind of soft you wouldn’t have expected from her. It caught you off guard every time. “You alright?”

“I’m not going back in there,” you said quickly, your voice brittle and thin.

“You don’t have to.” There was a pause, long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, quieter, “Can you look at me?”

You hesitated, staring down at your hands, at the chipping polish on your grown out tips and the way your fingers trembled. You could feel her waiting, patient and steady, like she’d stand there all night if you needed her to. Finally, you turned, slow and reluctant, until your eyes met hers.

Sevika stood at the edge of the porch, broad shoulders framed by the faded light. Her face was unreadable, but not unkind.

“Come here,” she said, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t think. You moved, inching forward on unsteady legs and stepping into her orbit. Her hands came up instinctively, one curling around your elbow, the other hovering just above your waist, as if she wasn’t sure where to touch you.

“I can’t go back in there,” you repeated, your voice cracking.

“[Name]—,”

“She’s dying.”

“But you knew that. You can’t leave her when she needs you the most.

“I’m tired of people fucking needing me.” You crossed your arms over your torso, holding yourself. “They all just leave anyway.”

“When you love people, that’s the process. That’s life’s price.

The words hit you like a perfect blow, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying—big, fat tears that streaked your cheeks with warmth and made your mascara run. You tried to turn away, but her hand found your chin, tilting your face back toward hers.

“Hey,” she murmured, her thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s unfair, I know. Trust me, I know. Let it out.”

And you did. You let the sobs take you, let them rip through you wave after wave, until you were clinging to her shirt, the fabric balled tightly in your fists. She held you through it, solid and unfaltering, her hand steady against your back.

When the tears finally subsided, you felt drained, like you’d been wrung out and left to dry. But her arms stayed around you.

❀

Sevika managed to coax you inside, shivering and bleating like a lamb, but the house was newly unbearable.

Every room smelled like antiseptic and something sweetly rotting beneath the surface, a scent that clung to your hair and the back of your throat. The walls felt too bright, too alive for what was happening inside them.

It was like the house was mocking you. Every sound—your grandmother’s labored breathing, the clock ticking too loudly in the kitchen, your little sister’s restless movements on the couch—seemed to close in on you.

You couldn’t stay. Not in that room, not in that house. Maybe you took after your mother more than you liked to admit.

Your sister looked so small on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and her face blank as she stared at the flickering TV. She was holding onto the hem of her dress like it might unravel if she let go and the man on the screen promised to get her a spot in heaven, under God’s thumb. Bullshit.

When you spoke, your voice was soft, barely audible over the droning hum of the television.

“Get your shoes on, bug,” you said. “We’re going to the beach.”

Her head snapped up, her wide eyes searching yours for a moment before she nodded and slid off the couch.

You were almost out the door when your aunt caught you, her voice sharp but quiet.

“You better know what you’re doing with that woman.”

Kenna’s words stopped you cold, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder as you turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her face shadowed by the dim porch light.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with her,” you admitted, your voice low. “But I know I trust her.”

Your aunt studied you for a long moment, her gaze heavy and cutting. Finally, she stepped aside, her expression softening just enough to let you know she wasn’t angry, just worried.

“I know what infatuation looks like. I know what love looks like too, even when it’s still on its way. It’s coming, baby. Just—,”she sighed, breaking off.

“Just be careful,” she finished.

You hugged her tight, sagging as she slid a hand over her hair before letting you go.

Sevika was waiting in the car, her arm draped over the steering wheel, her face unreadable in the twilight. Your sister climbed into the backseat, curling up immediately with her Lisa Frank coloring book, and you slid into the passenger seat without a word.

The drive was quiet, the low hum of the city filling the space between you. Sevika didn’t push, didn’t ask what had happened inside. She just drove, and you were so grateful you could’ve kissed her.

The beach was nearly empty when you arrived, the sun beyond gone now. You spread a blanket out on the cool gray sand, letting your sister run down to the water. Her laughter echoed faintly, carried by the breeze, and for a moment, you let yourself relax.

You pulled off your woven cover-up, revealing the soft orange bikini you’d slipped on. The well-loved fabric clung to you, accentuating the plush curves of your body in a way that made you stall for only a moment. But then Sevika looked at you, and the way her gaze dragged over you made all air flee your throat.

She swallowed hard, her jaw working as she tore her eyes away and stared out at the water instead.

“You look nice,” she said, her voice gruff.

You snorted, sitting down on the blanket.

“Nice?”

“Very nice,” she amended, but the rasp in her voice gave her away.

“You do too,” you told her and you meant it.

She was gorgeous in her black cropped tee and little black cargoes. This was “as beachy as she was willing to get”. You didn’t give a damn. You wanted to eat her alive.

The sky deepened into a hazy indigo, the stars faint and scattered. Your sister danced along the shoreline, her feet splashing in the shallow waves. You watched her, your chest aching with something you couldn’t name.

“I wish this was my entire life,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sevika.

She turned to you, her brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“This,” you said, gesturing to your sister. “Taking care of her. Taking care of my daughter with my wife. No illness, no bills piling up, no—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard. “No worries. Just a quiet life.”

Sevika didn’t respond right away. When you finally looked at her, her face was so soft in a way you knew was probably a rarity. Her prosthetic raised in an aborted motion, as if she’d thought to touch your face.

“I could take care of you, baby,” she said quietly, the words slipping from her lips like a promise.

Your breath caught, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

“Come back with me, [Name],” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stay with me and Melly. Bring [Sister’s Name]. You don’t have to do it alone all the time.”

The fantasy of her words pressed against your chest, warm and overwhelming. For a moment, you let yourself imagine it: her, Melly, your sister, a life where the world's heaviness couldn’t crush you.

Your sister called out from the water, waving a piece of driftwood she’d found, and the moment broke. Sevika’s hand brushed yours, solid and grounding, and when you turned back to her, her eyes were still on you, waiting.

The tide lapped at the shore, the sound mingling with your sister’s laughter, and you felt a rising pulse in your mouth, on your tongue.

“They do fireworks at the docks. You have to pay, but we sneak in all the time. You wanna see?”

“Sure,” Sevika said.

The answer came so easily and you knew she’d give you everything. Maybe even love you forever. The thought made you tingle and you dug your toes into the sand.

“Let’s go,” you said, your pinky twisting around hers.

You both knew you weren’t talking about the fireworks.

With a wry smile she rose and set about taking you home again.

Your sister—forever your baby—was curled fast asleep in the back seat of Sevika’s car by the time you pulled out of the lot, her face slack with the kind of peace only children seemed capable of. Her soft snores filled the space between you as Sevika drove back to your grandmother’s house, the streets quiet and warm, lit faintly by streetlights. The evening air hung heavy, sticking to your skin like a second layer.

You glanced at Sevika as she drove, her profile lit in flashes by the passing lights. Her grip on the wheel was loose, but her fingers drummed absently against the leather, her thoughts somewhere else. Maybe with you.

You wondered if she was nervous. You wondered if she knew how much you were.

“She’s out like a light,” Sevika murmured, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Guess it’s just us.”

You swallowed, your fingers playing with the hem of your cover-up, and nodded. “Just us.”

Your aunt was waiting on the porch when you arrived. She was perched on the railing, her vape glowing faintly in the dark. You knew the scent without looking: cucumber, apple, and sour cherry.

Her sharp gaze moved between the two of you as Sevika carried your sister inside, her long stride easy and steady despite the weight of the little girl in her arms.

“Enjoyed your family outing?” Aunt Kenna asked, teasing but pointed, as you lingered by the door.

You blinked at her, startled, heat rising in your cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”

She snorted, taking a long drag. “Sure it wasn’t .”

❀

The docks were quieter than you expected when you arrived. Most of the families had settled in their little corners, kids running barefoot across the wooden planks, their laughter echoing into the open sky. The air smelled of pear, peach blossoms, and distant charcoal grills, a mix of sugar and fire that felt like the very essence of where you’d been born and raised. 

Sevika parked far enough away to avoid the crowd but close enough for you to see the shimmering reflections of the boats swaying in the dark water. She leaned back against the hood of her car, her long legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as you wandered closer to the edge, the creamy orange of your tiny bikini glowing faintly in the dim light.

You should’ve been illegal.

“Careful, angel,” she called, her voice warm, fond. “You fall in, I’m not jumping after you.”

You turned, smirking, the breeze tugging at the bow sitting pretty in the middle of your full breasts. 

“I can swim.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to fish you out,” she said, but her smile gave her away. She was watching you so intently, her gaze loaded, as if committing you to memory.

You walked back toward her, your arms wrapped around yourself, and stopped just a foot away. The tension between you was almost tangible now, electric. You could feel it humming in the air, in the way her eyes lingered on the curve of your wide hips, the dip of your collarbone. It made your breath hitch.

“I’ve always loved the docks,” you said softly. “They feel… timeless. Like you could stand here forever and nothing would change.”

Sevika hummed, tilting her head to look up at you. “You think that’s a good thing?”

You shrugged, your lips curving faintly. 

“Sometimes.”

The first firework burst above you then, a bloom of pink and gold that lit up the sky and reflected off the water. A shock of red followed shortly after. You both looked up, the moment suspended, the sound of the explosion echoing in your chest.

You glanced at Sevika, her face bathed in the soft glow of the fireworks, and felt something shift inside you. Something undeniable.

The show continued, and you moved to lean against the hood of her car. The metal was warm and your stomach was buzzing at the nearness of Sevika’s broad body.

By the time the fireworks were halfway through, you couldn’t focus on them anymore. The loud bursts of color seemed secondary to the way Sevika was lounging next to you, her broad shoulders relaxed, her eyes soaking in the way goosebumps bubbled along your arms. It felt like she was daring you to do something, to cross the line you’d been dancing around since she’d swept you off the highway.

You moved closer, your bare feet brushing against hers, and she straightened slightly, her head listing to the side as she watched you.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice low.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. 

“I’m thinking…” You trailed off, your fingers twisting in the sides of your bikini bottom. “I’m thinking this feels… nice.”

Her lips quirked, just slightly, but her gaze was serious. “Nice?”

“So good,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel… safe with you. Things are perfect like this, and—and I’m probably never gonna feel this way again.”

The words hung between you, honest and raw, and you could see the way they landed on her, the way her expression softened, her guard slipping for just a moment.

“I’d never hurt you,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, stepping even closer until you were standing between her legs, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. “I know.”

You didn’t, really. She could be selling you a paper thin dream. But your hope had always been the largest part of you. It spurred the flame you felt for her, your aching burning desire to be with her all the time. To ride by her side without question. 

Her hand came up then, hesitating for just a second before settling on your waist. The touch was light, almost cautious, but it sent an electric current straight through you.

“Sevika,” you whispered, your voice stumbling.

She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against your cheek. 

“Yeah?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the gap between you, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that felt just right, like the tide meeting the shore. Your body lit up, and you collapsed into her—trusting and free. 

She stilled for a moment, as if surprised, but then her hand tightened on your waist and she kissed you back, slow and deliberate.

The world seemed to fade then, the fireworks a distant, glittering symphony in the black sky. All you could feel was her—her warmth, her strength, the way she seemed determined to hold you together even as you felt like you might fall apart.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in weak gasps, lightheaded and aching to faint, she rested her forehead against yours, searching your dilated eyes.

Your lip gloss was smeared across Sevika’s jaw, leaving a streak of shimmering peach and rose that caught in the fleeting light of the evening. It clung to her skin, soft and vivid As she moved, the stain glistened faintly, the contrast against her sharp, weathered features sending a slow, aching thrill down your spine. 

It was yours, this faint, glittering mark, lingering in the space where your mouth had been. She made no effort to remove it.

“Angel,” she murmured, her voice rough. “You sure about this?”

You nodded, your hands clutching at her shoulders. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she pressed another searing kiss to your lips. 

“Come on,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Let’s get in the car.”

❀

Your palm slapped hard against the roof, your teeth almost tearing through your bottom lip as you tried to hold back a loud moan. 

Beneath you, Sevika gripped the copious flesh of your ass as she sucked at your clit. 

“Oh, shit, Sevika. Fuck.”

In the beginning you were so careful, worried about blocking her airway. With a hard slap to your ass she pulled you down, relentless in taking all of you. 

“Hnnnnnh,” you whimpered. “Sevi, fuuuuuck.”

Sevika hummed in satisfaction at that. As she watched your face she grazed your clit with her teeth, relishing in how you arched. 

You were so warm and supple between her fingers, your pussy slobbering over her nose and mouth. You tasted so good, so musky and honeyed. She never wanted to let you go. 

Slowly, she slide you down and pressed you down to her chest as she undid your bikini top so that your tits spilled eagerly against her own. She then tenderly tucked two fingers inside of you, cooing as you whined at the stretch. 

She began to bounce you by the fabric of your bottoms, forcing you to ride her fingers until they were covered in the thin film of your wetness. You moaned at her strength, at how easily she’d decided how you’d take her. 

“Good fucking girl. So sweet, aren’t you, baby? Hmm?”

“Sevi, please. Just—just a little faster.”

She grinned meanly, inserting a third finger and curling them—raking cruelly against your g-spot. You sank further into her, swiveling your hips if only to get her deeper. To take her harder. Your pussy was weeping, emptying itself onto her hand.

“Jesus, sweetheart. You’re leaking all over me. ‘M never gonna get this out of these seats.”

“Good,” you breathed out, smiling impishly.

Sevika’s eyes darkened and she suddenly rearranged you till you were on your back against the leather seats, your legs wholly spread. she lowered between them, licking a long stripe up to your clit experimentally. 

She had you soft and loose. You didn’t realize just how spacious this car was.

You moaned, high and loud, snapping into an arch until you were forced to come back down, Sevika’s arm holding your hips firmly. Your eyes were closed now, and your eyelids were no longer just black, explosions of color staining them, ripping through you.

Sevika lapped at you, taking her time but still intentional with the way she touched you. She used a hand to spread you apart burying her face into her pussy, her nose becoming wet again with your rabid need. She became messy, moving her head back and forth, slurping at you until you were almost shaking, on the edge of something greater.

Settling back just slightly, she spat harshly into your cunt and rubbed it into your clit, pressing down until it was close to painful. You couldn’t breathe correctly. You couldn’t even remember your name.

"Sevi. Sevi. Mommy, oh my fucking God.“

Sevika said nothing, just caught a lip of your cunt between her teeth, biting down as she slid her fingers back in.

"Unh," is what you had to add to the nonexistent conversation and Sevika grinned against you.

She spread her fingers and then curled them, dragging your hips into her lap as she sat up. You couldn’t feel your fucking legs.

"Yes. Yeah. Yeah, just like that. It feels so fucking good."

Sevika was driven and vicious, determined to eat away at the woman beneath her. You curved your back as your orgasm approached, determined to feel it all the way up in the cavern of your mouth. You needed this.

Sevika leaned over you, tilting your head down so that you were looking at one another.

"I want you to keep looking at me as you cum."

You made a faint noise of agreement and clutched at Sevika’s arms. She took your hands and placed them underneath your knees, so that you could hold yourself open. It spread you apart until she was able to view how pink and puffy you were. 

“I can’t wait to get you in bed, honey. ‘M gonna bend you over, open that tight little cunt with my cock, and watch you swallow me.”

“Oh.” You let a little groan of satisfaction as she thumbed at your clit. 

Sevika pressed your foreheads together and thumbed at your mouth. You felt both here and there, brain blanking. 

“Ohh,” she mocked you with a slight smile. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You cast your head back as Sevika returned her mouth to your pussy, suckling at it in combination with her fingers carving a space deep inside of you.

"Come on, angel," she urged. "Be good for me."

You were trying, goddamnit.

"Gonna take a photo of this creamy cunt. Show Melly, tell her that I did this. That you let me."

You let out a high whine, and she nodded in faux sympathy.

“Mmm? Is that what you want to do? Want me to take you to that shitty club and spread you open on stage? Stake my claim?”

A fourth finger now. Her voice dropped as if telling you a secret.

“Maybe I’ll slide some cold, hard cash into this slutty cunt, stretch that slit.” Faster now. Your toes curled. “ Fuck. I’m sorry, baby. Mommy just wants to slut you out.”

She pressed a delicate kiss to your cunt and you were unsure if what came next was just the slam of your hand against the door echoing or another firework going off. 

All you knew was that the world around you was roaring, that she refused to stop. All you knew was her digging into you. 

You imploded.

❀

The drive back was quiet, the tension between you still palpable but softer now, sated and sleepy. Sevika reached over once, her fingers brushing against your cheek and you shifted, pressing the petals of your lips into the center of her palm without hesitation.

When you finally pulled into your grandmother’s driveway, the house bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, you turned to her, your heart full to bursting.

“Stay,” you said, your emotions splayed wide open. “Just for a little while.”

She looked at you for a long moment, and then she nodded. “Okay.”

You both knew it wasn’t just for a little while.

❀ 

The house smelled like hibiscus and coffee when you walked in, the faint scent of six-dollar soy candles lingering in the corners. Your aunt was at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water, her curls pinned back with a clip. She turned when she heard the door creak open, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Sevika trailing behind you, broad-shouldered and quiet.  

“You brought her back?” she asked, not in a disparaging manner, though her tone carried the weight of an older woman who’d seen it all.

“[Sister’s Name] forgot something in her car,” you lied easily, gesturing toward said alibi, who was peeking into the kitchen while rubbing a fist over her eye, her drowsy greeting muffled as she dragged her blanket behind her.  

Your aunt didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue either. Instead, she flicked her chin toward the counter. 

“If she’s staying, she may as well help.”  

Sevika looked at you, one brow arched slightly in amusement. You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the idea of her folding herself into your life—even for something as mundane as this—made your stomach swoop. 

The kitchen was broiling, almost unbearably so, with the old oven humming faintly and the humidity from the day still clinging to the walls. Sevika rolled up her sleeves, revealing the curve of her forearms, the prosthetic gleaming faintly in the soft overhead light. 

You tried not to stare, but your eyes kept drifting—over the way her hands moved as she dried the dishes your aunt handed her, the faint flex of muscle under her skin.  

“You ever wash a dish before?” your aunt asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.  

“Plenty,” Sevika admitted, her voice low and even. “Did a couple restaurant stints when I first came to this place. I was hoping to never do that shit again.”  

You bit back a smile, ducking your head as you reached for a towel to dry the counter. The space felt smaller with her in it, her silhouette filling every corner, her quick movements electric.  

Your aunt glanced between the two of you, her gaze lingering on Sevika before she handed her another plate. 

“You’re a hard worker. Good. She needs someone who can keep up.”  

Sevika’s lips quirked, but she didn’t respond, her attention focused on the task in front of her.  

The radio crackled faintly from the corner, playing some old Cuban bolero your aunt loved, and you found yourself swaying slightly as you worked, the rhythm infectious. You caught Sevika watching you out of the corner of her eye, her gaze soft but intent, and your cheeks warmed.  

“You dance to this too?” she asked, her voice pitched low enough that your aunt didn’t catch it.  

“Sometimes,” you said, keeping your focus on the counter. “Not for free, though.”  

She chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in her chest. “Figures.”  

Your aunt, oblivious or maybe just tactfully ignoring the tension that weaved itself between you, turned to Sevika with a clean dish in hand. 

“Rinse this for me, would you? And don’t let her distract you—she’s been trouble since she could fucking walk.”  

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sevika said, glancing at you with a spark of amusement in her eyes.  

The night wore on, the kitchen growing quieter as your aunt finally finished and stepped out to check on your sister. You stayed behind, leaning against the counter as Sevika dried her hands on a threadbare patch of towel. 

“I can’t believe you were hustling in restaurants,” you said, nodding toward the sink.  

She smirked, tossing the towel onto the counter. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. I can be a delight.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

 “Thanks for helping.”  

“Anytime,” she said, her voice softening slightly.  

You watched her for a moment, the way her shoulders seemed less tense now, the way her hair caught the light. The memory of her hands on you earlier still lingered, watering over your skin. It was a secret only the two of you shared.  

“You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she stepped closer.  

You nodded, though your chest felt tight, your pulse thrumming in your ears. 

“Yeah. Just a little tired.”  

Her hand brushed yours, just barely, but it was enough to make your heart skip. She noticed, her gaze dropping to where your fingers nearly touched before she pulled back, her jaw tightening.  

“We should get some sleep,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.  

For a moment, neither of you did, the hum of the radio the only sound in the room. Then she stepped back, giving you space you didn’t want, and you let her.  

❀

Your bedroom felt much like the inside of a shell—quiet and strange, the air soaked with a mixture of rose, magnolia, and something darker, something that sat low in your chest. You could still taste the golden slices of your childhood, still feel the ache in your ribs that came from building elaborate forts. 

But now there was Sevika, solid and steady beneath you.

As soon as the door had closed, she’d taken you apart slowly, carefully, as though she’d known you needed it to feel stable again. 

The rough pads of her fingers, the soft murmur of her voice, the way she called you princess like it was the only name you’d ever had. And you had suffered in silence, hand across your mouth as you clenched and shook around her head for the third time, then the fourth. 

You’d finally tired after a good ride on her thigh, holding on desperately to the nape of neck. Her baby hair was soft there, tender. She came when you kissed her nose, slid down to her mouth, and called her beautiful. She’d whimpered, bucked awkwardly around your fingers, and you held her to you as you whispered her name. 

You’d looked it up in the bathroom. Sevika. Of Indian and Sanskrit origin. Servant of God. 

Now, she lay between your legs, her head resting heavy and warm against your stomach. The weight of her felt magical, made your body feel more virginal than it ever had been, and you sighed lowly as the first rays of sunlight slipped through the blinds, casting pale gold stripes across her back. 

The swan wings stretched with her every move, the feathers catching flight as she breathed. Muted ivory and soft grays leaned tenderly into the faintest hints of lavender and navy blue, the delicate gradient of ink glowing against her deep, bronze skin.

You reached out, tracing the curve of a wing’s tip near her shoulder blade. The ink felt warm under your fingertips, her skin soft but unyielding. The swan’s head, nestled at the base of her neck where the wings met, was elegant and sharp, its eyes bright as if they could see into you. You followed the line of its neck with your thumb, your touch lingering at the place where her spine dipped, and she hummed low in her throat, a sound that vibrated through your body.

She tilted her head, her cheek brushing against the softness of your belly as her eyes opened slowly, sleep still heavy in her gaze. 

“You like it?” she murmured, voice rough and low.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

You had already said this, and the reminder made you blush in embarrassment. A slow, lopsided smile tugged at her lips, and she closed her eyes again, sinking deeper into you as if she belonged there. You felt her hand slide up to rest on your thigh, her fingers splayed against your skin, holding you in place like she was afraid you’d disappear into the rising morning.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you flinched at the sound, the world outside pressing back in. Sevika didn’t move, just let her hand trail lazily up your spine as you reached for it. The screen glowed with messages from your aunt:  

aunt kenna 𓆉: Couldn’t get anyone to cover the rest of my shifts this week. aunt kenna 𓆉: Mom’s still kicking. She’s getting stronger. aunt kenna 𓆉: Ty for coming home. See you soon. Love you, bug x 

Still alive, you thought. The words lit up something inside you, bright and raw and impossible to contain. You laughed, the sound catching on the edge of a sob, and dropped the phone onto the bed.

“What is it?” Sevika asked, her voice filling with concern.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. The words tangled in your throat. Instead, you turned to her, your fingers trembling as they found her face, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her full mouth. 

“She’s still alive,” you whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer.

Her eyes softened, her hand sliding up to cradle your face, her thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice steady, certain. “She’s a strong woman, just like the rest of you.”

The relief hit you all at once, sharp and overwhelming, and you kissed her because you couldn’t think of anything else to do. It was messy and desperate, your hands fisting in her hair as you tried to pour every unspoken thing into her mouth. She let you, her body surrendering to its basest urges . 

“Still alive,” you repeated, this time against her lips, your forehead resting against hers as your tears slipped silently onto her skin. 

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, her hands steady on your hips. “You’re all gonna live forever.”

You kissed her again, because you needed to. You needed her. 

You believed her. 

And the truth was you didn’t know how good it would get for the two (five) of you. 

You’d look back, let go, lose this part of things. Take your baby sister and leave.

You’d still be you, but you'd be free.

taglist: @miles-42-morales @indigopearl96 @marvelwomenarehot0 @vintagelotus345 @queen-simone @uronlymiaa @namuranguinhos @femlesbianbarbie @femme-historian @vikaswife @powderpinkandsweeet @drgnflyteabox @icespiceluva @theirlaliengirl @supermanwifey @nkeyaaa @batmanslittlelover @strawberrykidneystone @shimmerstraps

© hcneymooners

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I absolutely love your writing and i’d thought i’d try to request a remus lupin x reader kinda hurt comfort fic or blurb? Reader comes from a dysfunctional family where her dads alway angry and she feels like she’s walking on egg shells when around him and her mom throws all responsibilities like taking care of younger sibling onto reader so they always feel like they aren’t doing enough and they kind of cary these traits into their relationship with remus? maybe remus comes home from a hard day at work and reader can immediately sense he’s in a bad mood and like gets really quiet and starts working on the house instead of spending time with him bc she thinks he will be mad or something

This was way longer than i intended it to be im sorry😭 and I totally understand if this was too much or a topic that you don’t wanna write about there is no pressure at all!!!

love ya! -anon

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: implied past harmful/abusive dynamics

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 849 words

If the sharp turn of his key in the lock didn’t tip you off to Remus’ mood, the way he shuts the door behind him would. Automatically, your mind starts whirring with the things you can do. 

Your boyfriend has barely taken his shoes off before you’re in the kitchen, unloading the overfull dish rack. You’ve no idea how you let it go this long; some of these things have been dry for days. You’re shutting drawers and cabinets as softly as you can, wary of worsening Remus’ irritation with a racket. 

“Hey.” He pads into the kitchen, reaching for you. 

“Hi.” You smile and give him a kiss. His hands start to come around your waist, but you pull away in favor of grabbing a pot from the rack. 

“What’re you up to?” he asks. The exhaustion in his voice has a terse edge that makes your fingertips crackle with nervous energy. 

“Just tidying a bit.” 

“Want some help?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply in your most serene voice. “You’ve only just got home, why don’t you relax?” 

Remus hesitates a handful of moments, watching as you go back to whizzing about the kitchen before wordlessly retreating to the living room. 

Once the dish rack is empty, you decide to start filling it up again. There’s an unwashed pot on the stove, an old container of leftovers in the fridge, and a handful of dishes on the coffee table. You make yourself as scarce as you can when you go to retrieve the last. Remus is still emanating traces of a worn-thin temper from where he sits on the couch, reading his book, and you try to minimize the clatter of the dishes as you stack them. When there’s a sigh, you try even harder. 

“Would you stop for a second?” 

You freeze in your tracks. “Stop what?” 

“Just,” he shakes his head, frustrated, “put the dishes down.”

You obey wordlessly. 

Remus looks at you with something you can’t decipher in his expression. “Now would you come here, please?” 

You walk over to him, tensing for—you don’t know what. You don’t think Remus would hit you, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to shout. You’re stiff with anticipation nonetheless. 

He reaches for you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, slotting against him naturally, the way you always do. Remus presses both palms into your back, hugging you tighter than usual but not enough to hurt. 

He nuzzles his face into your neck. “What’s going on with you?” he asks, and he sounds like the soft, grumbly version of himself that tells you to stop fidgeting at 4 a.m. before trapping you in his hold. You start to relax. 

“You seem like you’ve had a hard day,” you say. Not quite an admittance, but close. 

“I have,” Remus agrees. “I was hoping to come home and relax with you. Maybe have a kiss if you were feeling generous.” His teasing comforts you further, and you don’t flinch when he adjusts his hold so he can look you in the eyes. “Are you being weird because you know I’m in a bad mood?” 

When he puts it like that it sounds so silly. This is how you’ve learned to be around hot tempers, quiet and useful, but of course Remus would want someone to console him. To be with him instead of hiding away. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out. Your hands smooth over his shoulders, a belated comfort. 

He sighs, and this time when you hear the frustration in the sound you know it’s not meant for you. Remus takes your face in both hands, pressing a firm kiss to your brow before resting his own against it. 

“Nobody’s angry with you,” he says softly. 

“I know,” you reply just as quietly. “If I think about it, I know you wouldn’t be. It’s just…” 

“Old habits die hard?” he guesses. There’s a wry twist to his tone. 

You hum apologetically. 

Remus lets his cheek slide along yours, pulling you in for another hug. This one is gentler, his hand running the length of your back and squeezing in all the right places. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I’m sorry I came home so cross, sweetheart. I never want to worry you.” 

“I like to worry about you a little,” you tease, and you can sense the reward of your boyfriend’s smile spreading unwillingly over your shoulder. “And it’s not fair to expect you not to have any bad feelings around me. That’s just normal.”

Remus hums thoughtfully. “What if we try this: when you’re feeling like I’m upset, you just say something and we’ll talk about whether it has anything to do with you. Do you think that would work for you?” 

You turn your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder. Remus’ palm cruises down the curve of your spine as you let out a breath. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks.” 

“Thank you, lovely.” He tucks his chin to skim a kiss over your temple. “This is just what I needed. I feel better already.”

[revelboo]

Oh my gosh, The “Everything is Alright” drama just slowly ripling outward is so so juicy. Devouring this! Ur writing is so good. Every fic being gently connected is so fun. TY for the food!

I’m glad you enjoy my nonsense!

The pointy cryptid arrived!

Everything Is Alright Pt 121

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Watching Soundwave inspect your soft hands, turning them over in his and rumbling unhappily at the sight of your bleeding knuckles where you’d lashed out at Starscream, Megatron lays back on the berth. Unable to watch those two fussing over you, unable to deal with the problem of your lifespan along with your sparkling. And someone has to be full size and ready to defend their family. That thought catching him off guard. Is that what they are now? Fragged over by the universe into the most dysfunctional family ever. “Someone needs to teach you how to throw a punch,” he mutters. “You’re awful at it.”

• Almost laughing despite yourself, you hate that you want to relent. To bury your face against Starscream and soak in the warmth and familiarity of him. But know it’s a trap. “I can’t do this again. I won’t.” Glancing at Megatron, you tug your hand from Soundwave. Why can’t this be simple? Because you’re greedy and want more than you should. Because something is wrong with you and you can’t decide. “No more lying. No more plots.” No more not taking your voice into account. “Please.”

• Grimacing, Starscream’s aware of Megatron sprawled on his back, head turned to watch them. Watching him. And you’re asking him to stop trying to seize control, to ignore all the wrongs, the mistakes. The pain. Hand cupping your cheek, he ignores Megatron and Soundwave. Aware suddenly that you’ve given him the ultimate immunity against Megatron by fully bonding the warlord. You’d protected him for life from Megatron’s rage. “I only look to the future.” Sees you frown and nudges you with his head. “Our future. Together.” Knows he’s neglected you, focused on protecting you without stopping to even ask if you wanted to be protected, but he couldn’t risk losing you. Still can’t.

• Still upset, but your mind is calming as his servos curl around your upper arm, finding skin to strengthen the connection. Megatron had told him to bond to you again, but he can’t. Not when you’re still off kilter and unsure of everything. Hurting. Doesn’t want to take this time, wants you to reach out to him. “I don’t know if I can trust you. Any of you,” you mumble and his spark constricts. Because he’s had as much a part to play in this as the other two. He’d tried to manipulate you and Megatron, had done it to protect you, but had never thought about what you’d actually wanted. Though, apparently you had wanted Megatron. More than him. He’s trying so hard to not think about the fact that you held back with him, but submitted completely to Megatron. Wanting to believe that it hadn’t been you, that you’d unconsciously been offered a chance to survive and has seized it without being aware what you were doing. But it still hurts.

• “Trust is earned,” Megatron growls, servos pressing against his own chassis over his spark. Can barely sense that weak spark nestled inside him, that impossible life a way forward. How long has it been since there’s been a new generation? Well before the war began. Wants to hang on to that anger at what you’d done to him, about the inevitable complications and questions it’s going to cause, because at some point the spark will need to be transferred to a protoform. And that’s going to be noticed. And a sparkling will be even more helpless than you are. Staring at you rubbing your eyes, his spark constricts. Because you’re a problem. Vulnerable, helpless, and his life is dependent on yours. On no one figuring out that he’s fully bonded to you and deciding to take him out by killing one ridiculously fragile human. “I don’t see that we have much choice but to work together. Because anyone gunning for me will target our helpless little mate.”

• Mate not pet. You feel Starscream stiffen against you and you don’t know if it’s that he doesn’t want to get along with Megatron or even try or if he’s just now realizing that you’re going to be a target. It’s definitely not something you’d considered. But it really shouldn’t surprise you, because of course things can get worse.

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[inkspiredwriting]

The Perfect Birthday

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: This little one shot is for @craftyangelpainter. I hope you had a great birthday, and I hope this puts a little smile on your face

Warnings: none

It was a warm afternoon at Five and Y/n’s house, the living room festooned with balloons and streamers. Y/n’s birthday cake stood proudly on the table, a beautiful creation with intricate frosting, baked by Y/n herself because, as usual, she didn't want to burden anyone. Five had worked tirelessly to pull this day together, ensuring everything was perfect for his wife. But as the hours ticked by, the cracks in the celebration started to show.

The whole family had gathered at Five’s insistence, which had been no small feat. As much as they had been through together, getting all the Hargreeves siblings in the same room often felt like trying to contain a tornado in a jar. But for Y/n, Five was determined to make it happen. She deserved it.

Lila and Diego arrived with their three kids in tow, looking tired but managing some smiles for Y/n. However, it wasn’t long before Lila started mentioning their need to head home early. “We’ll have to leave soon,” she said, half-heartedly stirring her drink. “The kids have school tomorrow, and Diego and I are running on fumes.”

Five clenched his jaw. He understood, of course, but this was Y/n’s birthday—one day for his wife to feel celebrated by the people she had grown to care about.

Across the room, Klaus sat huddled on the couch, looking anxious. Without his powers, he had been jittery, afraid of everything from the weather to his own shadow. “I’ll be honest,” he said, his voice shaky as he glanced around nervously, “I’m just trying to keep my anxiety at bay. All this... mortality stuff is really getting to me.”

Ben sat at the far end of the table, scowling at nothing in particular. He poked at his food, clearly uninterested in engaging with anyone. “Can we get this over with?” he muttered. “I don’t even know why I bothered coming. I don’t like any of you.”

Allison, who had been on her phone for most of the gathering, finally piped up. “I really need to get back to Claire,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I promised her I wouldn’t be gone too long.”

Luther, ever the optimist, was the only one genuinely thrilled to be there. “Come on, guys, it’s Y/n’s birthday!” he exclaimed, trying to rally some enthusiasm. “Let’s at least try to make it a good time.”

Y/n, for her part, was putting on a brave face. She moved around the room, smiling, offering food, making sure everyone was comfortable. But Five could see the disappointment in her eyes. She had spent so much time thinking of others, doing everything she could to make his dysfunctional family feel welcome. And what did she get in return? Barely any effort.

As the evening wore on, Viktor stood up, slipping his jacket on quietly. “I need to head back to Canada,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “The bar isn’t going to run itself.”

That was the final straw for Five.

He slammed his drink down on the table, the sudden noise silencing the room. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised by the outburst. Five rarely lost his temper now, but when he did, it was impossible to ignore.

“Are you kidding me?” Five snapped, his voice sharp and filled with barely-contained fury. “You ungrateful assholes.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and she instinctively reached out to touch his arm, but Five wasn’t done.

“Except Luther,” he added quickly, pointing at his taller brother, who looked caught between relief and awkwardness. “At least he’s trying. But the rest of you? Seriously? Do you even hear yourselves?”

Diego frowned, stepping forward. “What’s your problem, Five? We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Oh, you’re here, alright,” Five retorted. “Physically, maybe. But mentally? Emotionally? You couldn’t care less. Lila and Diego can’t stop talking about leaving, Allison’s glued to her phone like she has something better to do, and Klaus is too busy wallowing in his fear of death to even be present.”

“I have reasons for that!” Klaus interjected weakly, but Five ignored him.

“And Ben?” Five’s voice rose. “Ben can’t even pretend to care. He’s sitting there like we dragged him here against his will.”

Ben crossed his arms, glaring at Five. “I don’t need this,” he muttered, but even he didn’t try to walk away.

Five took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger but failing miserably. “You know who’s done everything for you? Y/n. She’s always gone out of her way to help you, to make you feel like part of this family. She’s been more of a sibling to you than most of you have been to each other. And now, on her birthday, you can’t even pretend to celebrate her?”

The room was dead silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“She bakes for you, she listens to your problems, she does everything she can to make this dysfunctional mess of a family feel like home. And what do you give her in return? Excuses. Half-assed effort. This?” Five gestured around the room, his frustration boiling over.

Y/n looked mortified, trying to tug at Five’s sleeve, her voice a soft plea. “Five, it’s fine—"

“It’s not fine, Y/n!” Five cut her off, his voice softer but no less intense. “It’s not fine. You deserve so much better than this.”

He turned back to his siblings, his green eyes blazing. “You know what? If you can’t even give her a few hours of your time to show her how much she means, then you can leave. Go back to whatever it is you think is more important than being here for her.”

There was a long pause. Lila and Diego exchanged guilty looks, while Klaus shuffled uncomfortably. Even Ben seemed to shrink a little under Five’s fierce gaze. Allison put her phone down, looking at Y/n with something close to shame in her eyes.

“I…” Viktor began, but then he sighed, taking off his jacket. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

Luther, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward, a warm smile on his face. “Let’s start over. We’ll stay as long as you want. It’s your day, Y/n.”

The others slowly nodded in agreement, clearly shaken by Five’s outburst. Lila gave Diego a small nudge, and he sighed, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll stay. Sorry, Y/n.”

Klaus, looking awkward but sincere, added, “I’ll, uh… try to be less scared of everything.”

Ben grumbled something under his breath but didn’t move to leave. Even Allison offered a small smile. “I’ll stay. For you, Y/n.”

Y/n, who had been standing quietly beside Five, finally spoke. “You really didn’t have to do that,” she said, looking at her husband with a mix of affection and exasperation. “But thank you.”

Five pulled her into a gentle embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You deserve it. You always do.”

And for the rest of the evening, the Hargreeves siblings did their best to make up for their earlier behavior. Laughter filled the room, stories were shared, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like a real family gathering. Five kept a protective arm around Y/n, making sure she knew just how much she meant to him.

As the night wound down, Y/n looked around at the scene and smiled. “You know,” she said quietly to Five, “it wasn’t the perfect birthday… but it’s pretty close.”

Five smirked, kissing her cheek. “I told you I’d make it happen.”

And in that moment, Y/n knew just how lucky she was to have Five, even in the chaos that surrounded their lives.

[wardenparker]

Who Took the Merry Out of Christmas

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit for family dysfunction. This blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: Post partum depression, marriage trouble, mentions of addiction, demanding family, abusive parents, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, dysfunctional family, a very sweet baby who has done nothing wrong ever, parents abusing their adult children in front of others. (There is a happy-ish ending, I promise.) Summary: It's only been a few months since Frankie came home from South America, and both of your families are bearing down on you for the holidays. A rocky marriage and even rockier relationships with your parents are bound to make for a very tense Christmas. Notes: Sorry it's not light and fluffy this year, gang. It just hasn't been a light and fluffy time. Considering how dramatic this holiday season has been, this little slice of family trauma seemed pretty appropriate.

Christmas. The time of year that is supposed to merry and bright. Well, the bright is accurate, especially in south Florida. Not a dusting of snow to be had, the palm trees in the front yard decorated with lights and the temperatures still letting everyone wear shorts and t-shirts if they wanted. It’s definitely not the white Christmas you had grown up with, but Frankie prefers this over freezing his ass off while shoveling snow off the driveway just to go to the store to get diapers.

The magic rubs off over the years. From childhood we outgrow the sparkle of the Christmas season as we stop thinking of it as magical, and now it's just another set of expectations that inevitably seems impossible to meet.

Both sides of your family had expected you and Frankie to host this year. Because of the baby, they said. Because now that you had a real family, it was time for you to take on the responsibility of holiday hosting. It's frustrating enough to be a first time mother of an eight month old. It's sleepless and difficult and Frankie has only barely gone back to work so money has been tighter than tight.

“Why don’t we just tell them that we can’t?” Frankie leans back from the sink where he’s finally shaving to look at you perched in the bed. You are tired and he knows that despite what you’ve said, hosting Christmas is the last fucking thing you need. “We have the baby. It’s a lot.”

"Because Christmas is next week, Francisco," you remind him. The baby monitor is on your nightstand, and you fiddle with it, but it's mostly a nervous habit. Mirabel wasn't a good sleeper for the first few months and you're constantly worried that she'll start having trouble again. "And they're coming here because of her. It was a miracle they didn't all fly down to cram into the delivery room when she was born, it seems mean to say they can't see her at Christmas."

“One— I wouldn’t have let them in the delivery room.” That memory was for him alone, he has absolutely loved being the first to hold his daughter. To be there to help and watch as you pushed his child into the world. “Two, shouldn’t that mean that they want to save you the stress of hosting?” He asks, leaning back in and putting the razor back to his cheek. “Hell, I say we order Chinese and be done with it.”

"I would agree." Stretching out in bed helps a lot. You've been dealing with a little hip pain lately that gets exasperated by carrying Mirabel around and you make sure to do stretches every morning and night – at least for a few minutes. "But we're in it now. Flights are booked. Meals have to be planned."

“I’ve got to mow the grass tomorrow.” He knows you will remind him of it so he goes ahead and checks it off your mental list. “And you need more mushrooms, right?” He makes a face in the mirror, hating mushrooms but you don’t seem to have picked up on that.

"Beef Wellington on Christmas is a family tradition." Your mother made it ever year from the recipe that her mother-in-law taught her, and now you make it every year for you and Frankie and however many of your friends you end up having over to dinner on the holiday. Usually it's the Miller brothers, this year might include Pope as well.

It’s good that he’s in a different room than you are so you don’t see the face that he makes. He hates the Beef Wellington, he’s just never been able to admit that. When you were dating, you could have served him a boiled shoe and he would have praised it. It was better than an MRE or the shit they served in the chow hall most days on base. And Frankie’s idea of cooking was either firing up a grill or going out to eat, so home cooked whatever was good to him. Especially when he knew he was getting laid after dinner. Now he’s stuck eating mushrooms every damn Christmas and it sucks. “I know.” He sighs, turning on the water to rinse the hair out of his razor. “I changed the sheets in the guest rooms.” He tells you. “And made sure your mom has the ‘good pillows’.” He rolls his eyes, again, happy you can’t see him because you would definitely scold him for that.

“Thank you, honey.” You know damn well he thinks it’s ridiculous and probably had a running monologue going why he made the guest beds about how picky your families are, but his parents are just as bad as yours in different ways. That’s why this holiday is going to be so fucking stressful. Part of why you work so hard to make family visits perfect is because his mother has never approved of you. “We’ll make sure everything is perfect. It will all be fine.”

Frankie hums as he finishes shaving and wipes his jaw dry. It’s a little jarring to see the smooth skin, he’s sported a patchy beard since getting out, but he’d decided that one thing he needed to do was look better after getting his pilot’s license back. He steps out of the bathroom and grins at you. “Hey baby.”

“Hey.” You say it before you look up, and when you lift your eyes you do a double take. “Clean shaven, huh? It’s been a while.”

He shrugs slightly, reaching up and rubbing his cheek lightly. “Figured your mom would complain less if I was clean shaven.” He had even gotten a haircut, not nearly as short as when he was active duty, but trimmed from the longer curls he had recently been sporting.

“Mira’s going to spend half of tomorrow poking at your face,” you predict, smiling softly. It will be the first time your daughter has ever seen him clean shaven.

He snorts. “As long as she doesn’t cry.” He slides his eyes along your body, not caring that you are in a comfy t-shirt and short, you look sexy to him. “So what are my chances of getting lucky tonight?” He asks, lifting a brow.

“Are you suddenly into somnophilia?” It proves your point that you can barely stifle a yawn. Getting up multiple times a night to pee or see what Mirabel needs takes its toll on your rest, and god knows you never ever get to sleep in anymore. Sure, you knew being a mother was going to be exhausting, but this is above and beyond that.

His playful grin slips and he shakes his head. “No baby, not if you’re too tired to enjoy yourself.” He doesn’t sigh, but he does miss the intimacy, the closeness of sex. Instead of complaining, he reaches back into the bathroom to flip off the light and starts walking towards the bedroom door. He will check the doors and downstairs windows one last time before setting the alarm, a habit of his. “You need some water or something downstairs?”

"No, I'm okay." It's not that you don't want him. He's still the same gorgeous man you married and conceived your daughter with. It isn't a matter of want. It's a matter of being so exhausted and feeling so disgusting from never having time to thoroughly shower and always ending up sweaty and sticky somehow. You don't feel like yourself, and you haven't since your second trimester.

But unloading all of that on Frankie doesn't seem fair when he's finally getting back on his feet with work and therapy and kicking his drug habit. The man doesn't even drink anymore, because he doesn't want to slip up again. So you keep your mouth shut and don't bitch about your own discomfort.

He sighs softly as he goes downstairs. Another night where he’s turned down, but he understands. You’ve been dealing with some postpartum issues and he doesn’t want to push. He just wants to make love to his wife more than once a month. It’s another reason why he had thought hosting Christmas would be a bad idea. You are already worn down and frazzled, despite Frankie sharing the load of the house and baby with you as much as he possibly could. This is just going to add more stress to your already loaded down shoulders and he doesn’t like it at all.

You turn over and slip under the covers when he goes downstairs to check the alarms. Being overwhelmed and depressed has you feeling like you're out drowning in the middle of the ocean and have suddenly forgotten how to swim. The best thing you can do right now is try to sleep.

Frankie comes back upstairs, slipping into the bed and curling around you. He hates that instead of curling against him, you huddle against your side of the bed. Wondering if you are secretly still pissed at him for the entire Coke thing. “I love you.” He whispers before he closes his eyes.

You love him, too. You do. And you have this whole time. It's just so hard to pull yourself out of the bottom of the ocean of your depression and uncertainty that you just pretend to be asleep and hope that you both knock out quickly.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Probably not, but maybe. After all, it can't be worse.

******

“It’s okaaaaaaay.” Frankie bounces his very upset little girl on his hip and shoves a finger in her mouth. She’s teething and of course woke up in a horrible mood. She hiccups and he grabs the teething ring to throw it back in the freezer for a little bit. “It’s okay, baby girl. I know it hurts. Believe me, it doesn’t get better when you have a cavity either.”

"But she'll have good dental hygiene and never have a cavity in her whole life." You call from the kitchen, working your ass off to make sure that each and every bit of Christmas dinner is accounted for perfectly. Frankie isn't the world's best cook by any means, but this family tradition is ingrained in your bones -- beef Wellington, scalloped potatoes, green beans with almonds, and a demi-glace gravy to make everything even richer and fancier. It's a far cry from what you normally eat but that is sort of the point. It's the holidays. This is the time to be fancy.

He snorts. “Not if she gets her teeth from my side.” He calls back. “I’m ninety percent fillings at this point.” That makes her giggle and he grins at her. “Was daddy funny?” He walks her back into the kitchen to find you frantically stirring something. “I’ve got the living room vacuumed and the egg nog is in the garage fridge.”

"Have you heard from your parents yet?" Your in-laws are always early, which is not exactly a sin but it is inconvenient. If they say they'll be somewhere at 7 then they are always there by 6:30, wondering where on earth you've been for the last half hour.

“Not yet.” He loves his mom, he really does, but he’s not blind to her persnickety nature. He’s talked to her about it but it seems like she doesn’t bother you. A wonderful thing considering she’s run off more than one girlfriend of his over the years. “You know her, she’s gonna show up when she wants to. At the most inconvenient damn time.”

“I just want to have dinner in the oven when they get here.” The Christmas after Frankie proposed, your own parents had hosted everyone and Vanessa Morales had been less than impressed when your mother was still getting things into the oven when they arrived. It apparently didn’t matter in the least that they were early.

“Roger.” He kind of treats the parents visiting like a mission, a hostile one.

“Where did the Millers end up this year?” You can’t tell if it’s better or worse to not have his friends here as a conversational buffer. Part of you is grateful for fewer people in the house and half wishes you had friends here to lean on.

“I think Will and Teresa are going to get back together.” Frankie admits. “He said him and Benny were going to have Christmas with her and her brothers.” Frankie had always liked Will’s ex-fiancée and he knew you did as well.

“Good.” That’s a relief, showcased with how easily your shoulders drop with just a touch of tension dropped. “Good. That’s…That will be really good for them. I know they’ve missed each other.”

“They have.” Frankie pauses for a second . “Ben said he was going to swing by and check on Molly and the girls.” He murmurs quietly, regret lacing his tone.

“Where is Pope spending Christmas?” It’s not necessary to express more regret over Redfly’s death. Every single one of you have shed your tears over it and you make sure to check in with Molly at least once a week just like you always have. Family that you choose means you choose each other over and over again.

“He’s still in Australia.” Frankie sighs softly. Yovanna has covered her tracks well and he’s still looking for the woman he had fallen in love with.

"Shit..." All you can really do is shake your head at that. Even if Santiago Garcia is on your shit list for inducing the entire team away to South America for weeks, what happened there wasn't really his fault. It sounds like everything that could go wrong did, and the best that you can do is be grateful that Frankie came home to you in one peace.

“Yeah.” He shuffles slightly, rocking the baby as she continues to gnaw on her first and drool all over his shirt. He knows you aren’t happy with what happened, and he’s never been able to tell you all the details.

The tentative expression on his face makes you shake your head, and you turn back to the pan you have on the stove with a sigh. "You'll tell me when you're ready." It's been months and he's still keeping the whole story from you, but you have always been patient. You have always let Frankie come to you. "Let's just not do it on Christmas Eve. Our families are almost here."

“Okay.” He knows you are upset that he won’t talk to you, but he steps closer and leans down to kiss your shoulder. “Thank you for understanding.”

He'll come to you when he's ready. And you're doing your damnedest to be patient. But it's fucking hard when you feel like you're weathering a private storm on the edge of an ocean hell bent on drowning you.

For better or for worse, that is the moment that the doorbell rings.

“It’s showtime.” Frankie mutters, trying to plaster a happy smile on his face and just managing to look constipated.

"Shit, shit." You shove two trays into the oven right away, barely able to check to make sure that everything is assembled correctly but just dying to have it all in the oven. "Okay. That's got to be your parents." Frankie has walked away with the baby, leaving you to quickly wipe down the kitchen and pray you're not smelly from the sweat you worked up preparing dinner.

Frankie opens the door, smiling when he sees his mother and stepfather standing on the porch. “You made it.” He greets them. “Made good time getting here.”

“Of course we did.” Vanessa Morales moved into the house with determination, but the first thing she does is reach for her granddaughter. “Ay, hola Gordita! Eres mucho más bonita que tus fotos.”

Suddenly feeling shy, she pulls back and buries her face in Frankie’s neck. “Está bien, es tu abuela.” He soothes, rubbing her little back. “She’s cutting another tooth.” He explains.

“Pobrecita.” Vanessa coos, not taking the baby’s cue at all. “Come give your abuela a kiss, Gordita. Dame un beso.”

Mira doesn’t like it when someone crowds her face that she’s not familiar with and she immediately starts to cry, clinging to Frankie and trying to get away from her. “Mama.” He huffs, holding her tighter and cooing softly. “Give her a few minutes to warm up to you.”

Vanessa frowns, but relents when her husband agrees with Frankie. Instead, all she says as she’s lead into the house is, “Your sister’s bebes didn’t need time to warm up.”

“Gabriella lives in the same town as you, mama.” He reminds her, rolling his eyes at her miffed reaction. “Mira has seen you twice since she was born.”

“Even so.” His mother huffs, as though it were a personal affront.

“Feliz Navidad, Vanessa.” You come out of the kitchen a second later with your face freshly washed just to give yourself a boost and offer your in-laws a smile. “Hi, Javier. It’s nice to see you both.”

“There’s my favorite daughter-in-law.” Javier might just be a step-parent, but he has always thought that Francisco had chosen the best woman for him, despite what his wife might say. Vanessa is prickly, and while he might find that attractive since he’s a self-confessed asshole, he tries to make you feel accepted when he’s around. He steps around Vanessa to pull you in for a hug.

“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” The extra moment of consideration from your husband’s stepfather is dearly appreciated, and you accept the hug whole-heartedly. “How’s things?”

“Same.” He doesn’t mind slightly offending Frankie, so he kisses your y forehead and leans back to wink at you. He was a ladies man back in the day and still a silver fox, so it’s always fun to raise the hackles of the man he loves like his own son. Just for shits and giggles. “Better now that I’m around three beautiful ladies.” He turns that charming smile on Mira and leans in. “This one most of all.”

He earns a full belly laugh from his granddaughter and you feel yourself breathe just a little easier. Javier in a good mood bodes well for the night. “Can I offer you both something to drink? Vanessa?”

“I don’t suppose you have wine,” Vanessa manages to make it sound vile, to not have wine in the house. “Actually, mom, she picked up a bottle of your favorite sangria.” Frankie pipes up.

“Let me get you a glass.” The atmosphere is already frigid but that’s just how it’s always been between the two of you. Thank God she doesn’t know about the coke or she’d surely find a way to blame you for Frankie’s addiction issues, too. Just like she’s blamed you for everything else she deems wrong with her only son’s life.

“Javi?” Frankie lifts a brow towards his stepfather. “You want a whiskey? I’ve got a bottle in the den.”

“Good man.” Javi commends, and clasps his stepson on the back as they disappear into the other room together.

Vanessa turns towards you expectantly and pulls a tight smile. “When will dinner be ready?” She asks. “Assuming you’ve started cooking, of course.”

It’s too much for how exhausted you are, and even being prepared doesn’t make it okay. Without a buffer, Vanessa aims all of her venom at you endlessly. “It will be ready in an hour. No need to worry.” And the sooner your own parents get here the better — not that they’re perfect by any means.

“You look tired.” It’s not an observation born out of concern, but criticism. “You should really put a bit of effort in.” She hums. “Fransisco deserves that, doesn’t he?”

Yes. He does. But your husband of six years is also well aware of how much work raising a newborn is. Which is why you just smile and bite back how much his mother's constant nitpicking bothers you. "Your son prefers a natural look," you inform her as politely as you can without snapping. "No make up. So that I always look like myself."

She can’t possibly argue with that, because it would mean insulting her precious baby boy. Instead she just looks around like she’s never seen the place and starts to wander off towards the kitchen.

You’re debating whether or not you need to follow her when the doorbell rings. It’s still a touch too early for your parents to arrive — they shared their location with you so you could track their driving route on your phone from the airport. It should be ten more minutes until they arrive.

“I’ll get it!” You call, wondering if Frankie heard the doorbell in the den, and head back to the front.

“That must be her parents.” Frankie sighs and looks longingly at the bottle of whiskey but he knows he can’t have any. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to Mira.

“Save it for later.” Javi advises. “When your mama’s gone to bed and the baby is down, and you can relax with your wife.” It seems like Frankie is struggling more than he has let on, but there isn’t time to talk about that now. “Go say hi to your in-laws. I can take Mira if she’s okay with it.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much convincing on either man’s part for Mira to go to her abuelo. Immediately little fingers dig into the hair covering his upper lip and Frankie chuckles. “She doesn’t understand why I don’t have facial hair today.” He explains.

“She can play all she wants.” Javi laughs, bouncing the little girl in his arms. “I got her, Frankie. Go on.”

It’s almost jarring to the aloof and broody man he had spent his teenage years around laughing and chortling at a baby, but Frankie smiles at the sight before turning to see about mitigating the next disastrous arrival.

You’re already at the door, half-smiling and half-bewildered as your parents hand off a bag full of wrapped presents to you like a butler and chatter away as they enter.

“It’s good to see you dear.” Your mother hums, “our trip here seemed to take forever.” She opens her mouth to once again suggest that you move back home and Frankie comes in to greet them.

“It isn’t exactly a short flight.” You can acknowledge that, and it’s why your parents don’t visit more often. Your dad isn’t up to that much traveling anymore. “I’m glad we’re able to spend Christmas with you.”

“So are we.” The problem in Frankie’s eyes about his in-laws spending Christmas with you is that they treat the house like a hotel and you like staff for the visit. They don’t Think they should lift a finger for themselves. “Hey, glad you made it.” He gives them a polite smile and nods at your father before holding out his hand to shake it.

“Francisco.” Even after a decade together, your father still refuses to call your husband by his nickname. He shakes Frankie’s hand with unnecessary force, like usual, and grunts with approval. “How’s things?”

“Going well, sir.” Despite the difficulties raising a child, he knows voicing that to your parents would do neither of you any good. “And you?”

“Retirement is boring.” Your father gripes good-naturedly. “Thinking about finding something part tune just to get out of the house and avoid the nagging at home.”

Frankie snorts. “Yeah I could see how that would be a little overwhelming for you.”

"Never stop working, if you can help it." The older man claps Frankie on the shoulder like he's doling out the sagest advice in the world. "She'll be fine with the baby. But the second you're home for more than twenty minutes an extra day? You'll have a Honey Do list longer than your arm."

Frankie doesn’t mind spending time with his daughter and cleaning up around the house that is also his responsibility but he just hums. “That’s some advice.” He makes it sound like he agrees just to keep the peace. You need help with things and his father-in-law’s outlook is a little old fashioned for him.

“You’ll thank me for it,” your father advises, and gives Frankie another friendly-if-condescending pat on the arm before walking away in search of whatever it is he wants but hasn’t asked for yet. Presumably to find his wife, but that’s an assumption.

“Jesus.” Frankie sighs and turns to start taking jackets and bags from you. “I’ll get their bags to their room.” He grins. “Do I get a tip?”

“Does a kiss count?” Just because you’re both exhausted and you haven’t been in the mood for sex doesn’t mean you don’t love your husband or appreciate the things he does to help you.

“The best kind of tip.” He vows, leaning in and stealing a quick kiss before pulling away. You seem to shy away from physical displays when your parents are around. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you, honey.” Having him jump on board to help means everything, but you frown a second later. “Where’s the baby? I thought I put her playpen away.”

“She’s with Javier.” He smirks slightly. “Old man apparently still has it with the ladies.”

"Well, that's something, at least." Something that his mother is going to hate – that the baby hid from her and went straight to her abuelo instead. "I'm going to pour drinks for people and get the shrimp cocktail out of the fridge so everybody can focus on food instead of bickering."

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can dump these in their room.” He promises, you having already determined which room your parents are staying in.

But as fast as Frankie can move in spite of his bad back, it isn’t fast enough. By the time you walk into the kitchen you find all four of your collective parents staring at each other like it’s a stand off at the O.K. Corral.

“How about a little appetizer?” You ask, after a few seconds of trying to read the room and finding the stony silence completely impenetrable. The only thing you care about is keeping them reasonably civil and having your little girl back in your arms. “Thanks for hanging on to her, Javier.” You offer him a smile when you take her back.

“Oh that’s no problem at all.” Mira giggles at him and leans in to cuddle against his chest, making him smile proudly. “Nothing I wouldn’t do for this little beauty.”

“You wanna stay with abuelo, sweetheart? You go right ahead.” It leaves your hands free, and you’re grateful to have that for a few more moments. So instead of extracting your baby girl from her grandparent, you kiss her curls and cross to the refrigerator to retrieve the tray of shrimp cocktail you put together this morning. “Can I get anyone a drink? Or a refill?”

“Since we are already starting with the alcohol, I would like some wine.” Your mother eyes the glass of whatever is in Vanessa’s hand and tuts slightly. “White of course, red wines are too heavy for me.”

This is what holidays are. What family gatherings are. What they always are and why you dread them so much. Conversation can never seem to be civil, no one ever offers to help. Frankie is always putting out proverbial fires with all four parents while you work to be the perfect hostess but it’s never even enough to keep the peace. Everyone leaves feeling worse than when they came and yet they still insist on seeing the two of you. It’s enough to make you want to flee the scene, but you would never give your mother-in-law the satisfaction of seeing you run scared. It would only cement her low opinion of you.

So you pour drinks and serve appetizers, plastering the smile on your face and eventually taking Mirabel back from Javier just for utter relief of having your daughter back in your arms. By the time Frankie comes back downstairs, the doorbell rings again. Oh god, is all you can think, because you’re not expecting anyone else. What fresh hell is this?

Frankie frowns slightly, exchanging a confused look with you. “I’ll get it.” He promises, slightly caught off guard and wary by the unexpected arrival of someone else. Not that a fucking drug cartel would ring the doorbell. A firebomb through the window would be more their style.

The impatient chimes ring twice more before Frankie makes it across the house, not because it takes long but because of the insistent person on the other side. If your mother wasn’t already inside you would have guessed it was her without hesitation.

“Coming!” The friendly tone that Frankie adopts does stop him from reaching into the entry way dresser and pulling out the snub nosed .38 he keeps in there for just this occasion. He tucks it into the back of his pants before opening the door to find that it’s not necessary. “Benny!”

“Hey man.” Benny is grinning from ear to ear when he leans in the doorway to embrace his friend, slapping Frankie on the back in the process. “Sorry to drop in, but did you get Pope’s text?”

“Haven’t had time to look at my phone.” He hugs Ben Miller back just as hard as the bastard tries to squeeze him after the back slapping. “Everything okay?” He asks that quietly, since you have company and you don’t know about what happened in South America.

“Yeah.” Benny nods like a bobble head, immediately ready to reassure his friend. His brother. “He’s back. Brought Yovanna with him. He was texting around for a ride and a place to crash.”

“Holy shit, he found her.” He had his private doubts about tracking the lover he had sent to Australia down, but he’s happy for Pope. “And you decided to play Uber.”

Benny grins, wide and unapologetic, before standing aside with a flourish. “Special delivery!”

The shorter man grins but he doesn’t rush to embrace Frankie. A little unsure of how he will be greeted, but Frankie bursts out laughing “Cabron!” He huffs, lunging forward and wrapping his arms around his brother in arms.

“Feo.” Pope returns the hug easily, not caring that he holds his best friend a moment longer these days than he might have before. Shit’s changed, after all. “You remember Yovanna?” He knows that everything about that trip is burned into Frankie’s brain just like the other guys, but it seems the polite way to go about reintroducing them.

She seems nervous, hesitant. He knows that Pope had to have told her what happened to Tom. "Sure." He nods and flashes her a smile before he moves out of the doorway. "Come in. Please."

"Lotta cars here..." Pope observes, though 'a lot' is only two besides the cars that are supposed to be here.

"We'll see you guys tomorrow." Benny waves as he jogs back to his truck. Everybody is with family today and that includes him, because Will is the only member of this damn group that can cook worth a damn somewhere other than a grill.

“Thanks Ben!” He knows that Mira can sleep in the bassinet in your bedroom and he can pull down the Murphy Bed you both had decided to keep in there for those late, rough nights with the baby. “Take your shit up to the bedroom next to mine.” He tells him with a smirk. “I’ll let my mother know you are here.”

"Nessa's here?" Pope brightens measurably as he whisks Yovanna into the house. "Christmas with the fam, man. I'm telling you. This is going to be great."

He snorts as he closes the door. Hopefully this won’t make you feel even more overwhelmed than you already have been.

"Frankie!" You call from the kitchen, and he can hear shuffling chairs and footsteps. "Who is it, honey?"

“Well, uh—”

“Hoooooooney, I’m hooooome.” In typical, dramatic fashion, Pope swoops into the room with a broad grin, although he’s not directing it at you since you might actually hit him for that shit earlier this year. Instead, he aims that charm at Vanessa. “I heard the most beautiful lady this side of the border was here and I had to come.”

"Aye, Santiago mijo!" After a lifetime of being best friends with her only son, Vanessa looked at Santiago Garcia as being the baby boy she never had. She disregards everything else in the room to go and hug him, but for a single moment you're actually grateful for that. It gives you the time you need to catch your breath after your heart stops at the sight of your husband's best friend. The one who supposedly was still in Australia.

“There she is!” Pope shoots you a quick glance and an even quicker wink before he is folding Frankie’s mom into a tight hug. He knows that you and your mother-in-law don’t get along, and hopefully you won’t kick him out on his ass in exchange for distracting her from harassing you.

Immediately, Vanessa is fawning over Santi instead of picking on the fact that you haven’t dressed your baby girl specifically in pink. It’s so much of a relief to see him alive and well in your kitchen that you barely register anything else — and it takes you a second before you register the gorgeous woman standing anxiously in the doorway. Mira tucks her little face against your shoulder at the sight of a stranger, but you just at your daughter’s back and gently step closer. “You must be Yovanna?”

"Sí, I mean, yes." She knows that you and Frankie speak Spanish, but she also knows that she's in the United States, so practicing speaking English is necessary. Her eyes flicker between you and Frankie before she nods. "You must be the wife that is the best thing that ever happened to Francisco." After Pope had found her again, he had started telling her everything that he couldn't before. The flight from Australia filled with stories and names. "You're not Molly, right?" She asks, embarrassed that your name isn't quite coming to her. "That was the rude one's wife."

You tell her your name and disregard the comment about Tom because it’s accurate. You and Redfly never got along but you do try to respect the dead, so you won’t badmouth him now. “We’ll introduce you to Molly tomorrow, if you and Santi are going to be around. We always do a post-holiday thing with the team.”

"I think we are going to find a house?" She admits, shrugging slightly because she doesn't really mind where she is. As long as her brother is safe and she gets to be with Santiago. "That is what he was talking about."

“I’m glad to hear it.” To have him nearby and settled will do wonders for Frankie. He’s missed Pope and missed having his lifelong best friend close at hand. As much as you love each other and as much as you will always work to keep each other supported and happy, there is a part of him that isn’t quite full or right without Pope around. It’s the same way you feel about your own best friend. “Well, um…” Taking a second to grin at your bashful daughter, you turn slightly so the baby can see Yovanna over your shoulder. “This is Mirabel. She’s princess of the palace, and just…welcome. Merry Christmas. Dinner is in the oven and there’s plenty to drink.”

"I am sorry for intruding." She offers, smiling at the baby. "I hope it is not too much?"

“The team is family.” And sometimes family can be exhausting. Sometimes family can be troublesome. But family means doing the work. Which is exactly why you didn’t tell your parents to get stuffed over hosting this Christmas even though you’re exhausted and overwhelmed. “At the holidays, family is always welcome,” you tell her with certainty.

"He did not know how you would accept him." She admits softly, happy that he had been wrong about you being put off by him bringing your husband into the mess he had. "But it is good you have not had any problems since Lorea was killed."

“We haven’t,” you assure her quietly. “It’s the secret that we keep to make sure the boys are safe, and thankfully we have been safe.” For Santi? You can only shake your head and shrug while you bounce Mira in your arms. “I’ve over being upset with him, though it did take a while. Now? I’m just glad you’re both safe. That my husband came home to me. And that he won’t be doing anything like that ever again.”

“I understand.” She agrees. “It was stupid for them, for me. But at least they are home safe now.”

“Our families don’t know anything about it,” you tell her, not admitting for the moment that all you know is the name Lorea and that people had died. Two facts which Frankie had only told you so you could gauge your own safety if you were ever approached by someone who claimed to know him or know about what happened on that mission. You hadn’t asked more and he hadn’t offered, and since you had still been upset with him for going at all, it had never been brought up again.

Yovanna tilts her head in curiosity but she doesn’t comment on it. It’s very obvious that you don’t know the details and she doesn’t think that it’s her place to tell you about it. “Is there anything I can do to help?” She asks. “Since we are showing up unannounced.”

“Get settled and help yourself to a drink or an appetizer,” you offer, motioning to the small table on the other side of the kitchen counter. It’s where you and Frankie usually eat, especially with it being easy for placing Mira’s high chair, but tonight dinner will be served in the formal dining room. Which makes the little kitchen table a perfect apps-and-drinks table. “Welcome.” There will be plenty to talk about. More than plenty. But right now you refocus your attention. It’s time to give Mira a bottle and set her down for a nap, which will hopefully mean that she sleeps through the setting of the table and even the eating of dinner.

Everyone has been chatting, or at least Santiago has been distracting his mother while your father and Javi chat amiably. Your mother is fusing with something, one of the sides you had already prepared. Tasting it and adding something to it. He wants to stop her, but then he will just be told he doesn’t know what he’s doing in the kitchen, so he decides to not fight that battle today.

"I'm going to feed Mira," you tell Frankie as you slip past him in the kitchen. It will be a much-needed moment of relative quiet and you aren't going to pass it up. "I'll just go upstairs so I can feed her and put her down without fussing with a bottle. Is that okay?"

“You do that, babe.” He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder supportively. “I’ll try to keep everyone from killing each other.” It’s a large task, but hopefully he will be able to do it.

"Santi can help." It's not a suggestion that will take much pressing. Your quiet, introspective husband's best friend is a magnet for attention even without trying. "I'll be back down in a little bit. If you need me sooner, I have my phone on me. Just send an SOS text."

"I won't need it." He promises foolishly, unaware that the mothers will start in on him individually just as soon as he walks back into the kitchen.

"Good luck," you hum under your breath, before whisking your daughter off up the stairs.

"Francisco, be a dear and run this upstairs." Your mother's purse, one that she had earlier insisted that she needed to keep on her, now needs to be put in her room. She waggles the bag at him impatiently when he doesn't immediately jump to take it.

"She can do that, can't she?" Vanessa looks around, not even using your name to refer to you, and frowns after a moment. "Where did she go, Frankie? She should be taking care of her guests."

"She's feeding Mira, mama." He explains. "You remember what it's like to have a hungry, tired baby." He frowns slightly at her and takes the purse. "I'll take it upstairs, it's not a problem."

"So she took her away to feed her?" Vanessa clutches the pearls she isn't wearing. "One of us could have easily given her a bottle! She's teaching our granddaughter to hate us right away. Pobrecita Mirabel."

"She's breastfeeding." He huffs out. "Plus, she's putting her to bed."

"We're mothers too." To Frankie's surprise, your own mother chimes in, in support of Vanessa's viewpoint. "We can give a bottle just as easily as anyone else."

The look that your father shoots Frankie is apologetic at best but he says nothing, only drinks from his glass and turns to say something to Santiago, whom he vaguely remembers from your wedding. It's just about the least helpful atmosphere in the world but at least he isn't adding to the fire.

He shakes his head and doesn’t point out the glaringly obvious fact that if you are sticking your boob in his daughter’s mouth, then they couldn’t just as easily fed her, but it’s not worth the argument. Instead he turns around and hustles upstairs to deposit the bag at the foot of their guest bedroom.

It isn't exactly an ideal day. For anyone, it seems. But the only way out is through so he heads right back downstairs again once that is taken care of. When he comes back to the kitchen it's your father at the stove that catches his eye this time, but again Frankie doesn't say anything on that point. There's no use rocking the boat. Not now that his stepfather has most of the room entertained with a work story and no one is complaining at the moment.

"Oh damn." Your mother huffs, waggling the bottle. " We are out of wine." She raises her eyebrows at Frankie. "Will you be a dear and get another?"

"Is there another?" His mother asks, as if it was necessary to make the request any more irritating.

"Of course, mama." The implication that you didn't prepare well for today doesn't sit well with him, and Frankie heads straight out to the garage to get more of the wine that had been specifically bought for today.

You had bought an entire case. The sight of it makes Frankie smirk with pride. "That's my girl." He hums as he grabs another bottle. Hopefully this means that both mothers will get drunk enough that they won't be able to nitpick you.

It's a hope, as in vain as it might be, and when Frankie goes back into the house he finds things much as he left them. He refills both mothers' wine glasses and then ends up fetching the scotch from the den again for the fathers. It's constant back and forth, not able to sit and talk to Pope or to Yovanna, or even remember where he puts his own drink while he makes sure everyone else is settled.

"Goddamn." He mutters to himself. It's almost as if it's coordinated. Like a family who keeps a server running for their table by requesting something new every time they come back.

And it stays that way until the second you come back downstairs, baby monitor in hand, and sniff the air with a growing look of horror and panic on your face. "Shit. Shit!" You race to the oven with tears already stinging your eyes to find smoke and the smell of burning food coming from your finnicky, ill-behaved oven.

“What?” Frankie rushes back from den where he had been sent to dig out the bottle of bitters after Javi offered to make his father-in-law the best old fashioned he had ever drank. The bottle had been pushed to very back of the cabinet where the liquor was locked up and he had been half convinced it had been thrown out. “What’s wrong?”

"This!" When you drop the oven door open, a cartoonish cloud of smoke billows out. The once gorgeous-looking beef Wellington that you took such tender care to assemble is blackened beyong recognition when you pull the pan out and let it drop onto the stove top like a brick.

It's ruined. Completely and entirely. And you can feel your mother-in-law watching you while she picks out her preferred insult.

“Shit.” Frankie knows how much you have been anticipating this dinner. You hadn’t specifically said to look in on the damn thing but he feels guilty. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

"I don't know how—" With your shoulders hunched and tears making your voice wobble, you pull the other pan out of the oven to find that the potatoes are scorched as well. Half of dinner is completely ruined. "I've made this a dozen times before!" Sure your oven isn't the best, but replacing it is expensive and you have just learned to live with how it cooks. But nothing like this has ever happened before. "How? How did this happen?"

“Well, you had the oven set to low.” Your mother offers and Vanessa nods. “You cannot possibly cook your little beef thing when it is set so low.” Your mother-in-law adds most helpfully. “I noticed it and asked your mother, so we turned it up for you. I’m sure that you are just too overwhelmed with things to have noticed.”

“It was set low on purpose.” You turn again, this time look at the temperature setting on the oven, and feel yourself deflate when the digital read out says 425F. “Our oven runs hot,” you explain to them, so upset that you’re physically shaking while tears stain your cheeks. They push in and they treat you like shit and then they ruin things and yet they’re still acting like you’re the one who is incompetent. “If you had just asked, I would have told you why it was set low. You’ve essentially set my oven to over 500 degrees and burnt half of dinner because you didn’t think i knew what I was doing.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Your mother gives you a bewildered hurt expression and covers her heart like you are attacking her. Frankie moves over to you and sighs softly as he sees the burnt remnants of the meal you had worked so hard on. “Why have you bought a new oven?” She demands. “Your husband is a pilot. He should be taking care of these things.”

“You should have asked, Mom.” But of course she didn’t. Your mother is the queen of that ‘Mother Knows Best’ attitude and has never admired to being wrong in your whole life. “Being a pilot doesn’t make him a millionaire, and we’ve got the baby. Life is expensive right now. We’ve been saving up like reasonable people.”

Vanessa bristles at the implication that there is something lacking in her baby boy but Santiago sees that as well and quickly steps in to distract her. “It’s being taken care of.” He assures your mother but she huffs and shakes her head. Which makes Vanessa snap her head to the side. “Don’t you dare think ill about Francisco.” She hisses. “He works all the time to make sure your daughter stays home. He’s working himself to death.” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Mama. Stop.” He ordered, feeling like this is getting out of hand. “It’s true. You don’t think I know you called Javi to borrow money?” She demands.

"I work from home, Vanessa. I don't sit around on my ass all day doing nothing!" True that you took your maximum maternity leave, but you had damn well needed it. Postpartum healing took its toll and the depression that went with it had hit you hard. And after Frankie had come back with so many secrets? Well, it's not as if your home life is all sunshine and roses right now.

"Then why does—"

"It doesn't matter why, Mom. It's only our business." None of them need to know about what happened with Frankie's license or anything else. It's not as though they have ever offered to help or support you before so you're not about to share your troubles with them now.

“But—”

“ENOUGH!” Frankie nearly bellows the order, making your mother jump and snap her mouth shut, eyes wide in near fear. Your father looks down at his glass guiltily and even his own mother gasps as she presses a hand to her chest. Only Javi looks somewhat amused by the entire thing, a small smirk of approval twisting his lips. “I don’t give a damn that you drove for hours or flew here to see us for Christmas.” He seethes. “This is our house and I am not going to put up with you mistreating my wife.” His eyes narrow as he turns towards his mother and then towards his mother-in-law. “Either one of you. You don’t like it? Leave.” His tone is stony and flat, leaving no room for argument.

Pope and Yovanna are dead silent in the corner, not willing to meddle in family drama when they've only just arrived, and three of the four parents exchange appalled looks.

"We didn't raise you to be so disrespectful." Your mother snaps, standing from her chair with steam practically pouring out of her ears. "Or to be a terrible cook. Go get our things. We're going to a hotel until you come to your senses."

“Go get them your goddamn self.” Frankie snaps back. “And you aren’t welcomed back until you apologize to her.” That’s one set of parents he’s pissed of completely, so he turns to his mom. “Mama? You gonna be nice or is it gonna be more passive aggressive bullshit comments? Because if it is, you can get the fuck out too.”

"I have never made a passive aggressive comment about--" she begins, but Javier actually laughs at her pious pearl clutching.

"Nessa, that's all you've said to your poor daughter-in-law for years." He tells her bluntly. "Come on. I'll get our stuff." Vanessa looks absolutely appalled, but Javier just shrugs. "Prove me wrong," he insists. "Apologize."

Frankie waits, brows raised and he actually hopes for a moment that his mother will apologize. Her mouth opens and she starts talking, making his heart sink.

“She should—”

“Nope.” He cuts her off, a disappointed look on his face. “I should have put my foot down years ago. That’s my fault. Until you apologize to her, and mean it, you aren’t welcomed in our lives.” He tells her, even though it breaks his heart. “You’re my mother and I love you. But this is my wife. The woman I vowed to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I love. You would have never put up with the kind of shit you give her out of Javi’s dad.” He reminds her. “And I’m done having her cry when you leave.” He nods towards the door. “Merry Christmas. Now I’d like you to leave.”

The stone-silent kitchen is a staring contest for long moments while Frankie’s mother realizes that her son is actually giving her an ultimatum. With a dramatic huff, she pushes out of her seat and storms to the door, shouting something about how his sister would never treat her like this. She shouts so loud that the sound of the baby crying bleeds through the baby monitor and cuts down the stairwell, but when you let out your own wretched, exhausted sob, Frankie stops you.

“I’ve got her.” He promises, reaching out and holding onto your shoulders. “I want you to pour yourself a big glass of wine and go upstairs and get into a bath.” He knows how much you love to soak in the tub, but you haven’t had much of a chance to do that since Mirabel was born. “I’ll take care of everything.”

"I have to figure out what the hell to make for dinner," you insist, intermittently glancing back between Pope and Yovanna, and toward the stairs where your baby girl is screaming.

“I’ll handle it.” Frankie implores, lifting his brows. “Trust me, baby. Go upstairs. I’ve got this.”

"I'm so sorry." The entire day has collapsed and it feels like it's your fault. Despite the fact that you were actively sabotaged and abused for the last hour – only an hour! – it still feels like you failed.

“It’s not your fault.” This comes from Javier, sighing softly as he glances at the two of you. Your mother and father are still upstairs, rummaging around after leaving the kitchen quietly in the face of Frankie’s ultimatum. “Don’t be sorry. Let your husband take care of you.” He looks at his step-son. “I’ll read her the riot act.” He promises.

"You're the only one I wish could stay," you admit to your father-in-law with a deflated shrug, but lean into your husband's side for a moment and just breathe Frankie in. "Okay. I'm going to have a wine bath. Whatever else we end up doing for dinner, there's a huge salad in the refrigerator and a tray of Christmas cookies in the pantry."

“Okay.” He kisses the top of your head before he pulls away to grab the monitor. “Big glass of wine.” He reminds you before he looks over at Pope and Yovanna. “You two good?”

"We're good." Pope nods, but he's already out of his chair and moving to wash his hands. Even after being gone for a few years, he still knows this house and these people as well as anything else in the world. "Go take care of your baby girl. We'll be ready to help when you get back."

“Thanks man.” He nods towards Javi and then rushes out of the room. “Daddy’s coming, Mira.” He calls out. “It’s okay.”

"It's...not usually like this." It's the best you can do to reassure Yovanna when you come out of the pantry again with a bottle of your preferred white wine and a large glass. That bottled sangria that Vanessa likes is garbage, no matter what she pretends.

“It is okay.” She promises. “Family can be difficult.” She smiles, knowing how often her brother puts her in hard situations.

"I'll...be back in a little bit." The idea of a glass of wine in a bath is basically unheard of in your life now and it's something you used to do at least once a week. The chance to relax and feel like you get to start the day over again is incredibly welcome.

"Take your time, hermana." Pope insists. "Take the bottle with you, if you want. We've got this."

With Mira, Frankie has her up on his shoulder, rocking her soothingly. “It’s okay. Shhhhhhh shhhhhhh.” He shushes softly, angry at his mother for not caring about waking his daughter up. She hiccups and starts to quiet down, not needing a bottle or a diaper, just some comfort. “It’s gonna be alright.” He promises, to both her and himself.

He can hear you in the hallway, light steps on the way to the master bathroom so that you don’t make more noise and disturb Mirabel any more than she already is.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall back asleep, although he spends precious minutes carefully laying her back down and making sure she stays asleep. Smiling softly when she shoves her thumb in her mouth as she sleeps. He creeps out of the room and back downstairs as he hears the water start to run from the master en-suite.

“Okay.” Pope is standing in the kitchen with a tied off trash bag sitting near the garage door and the two pans formerly full of burned food now scraped out and refilled with steaming, soapy water. “What’s the plan?” He asks, nodding to Yovanna beside him. “What can we do to help?”

“I’ve got some steaks in the freezer.” It’ll only take twenty minutes to thaw them. “If you want to go fire up the grill, I’ll pull them out.”

"Heard that." Thankfully the stunning Florida weather guarantees a warm Christmas with perfect grilling weather, and Pope heads outside immediately. He can have that grilled fired up and ready in no time.

"I can help, too." Yovanna insists. She would feel awful to not help out under any circumstances, but especially now. "Anything, Francisco. I'm happy to."

“There’s salad, but I know there’s also a carton of mushrooms.” Frankie explains. “Will you slice them and an onion to sauté?” He asks. “She loves onions and mushrooms on her steak.”

"Absolutely." A relatively small task that will make all the difference to someone who is having a hard day? She is more than happy to do what he asks. The three of them set to work immediately and within half an hour the smell of burnt pastry and potatoes is replaced with grill smoke and sauteed aromatics.

You come downstairs in clean, comfortable clothes with a glass of wine in your system, smelling like a bath bomb and looking like you're just starting a brand new day. When Yovanna is in the kitchen with a sautee pan instead of Frankie or Pope, you have to sit with your embarrassment for a moment.

"I'm sorry for...before. That wasn't the first impression that I wanted to make."

“The men are outside.” She tells you with a smile. “The salad looks gorgeous but Francisco said you like onions and mushrooms on your steak.” She explains. “And do not worry. I am just happy that you look more relaxed now.”

"Much." You huff out a laugh, feeling sheepish about the whole thing. "Families at the holidays..."

"Are always pretending to get along?" She laughs. "It is the same everywhere."

"Well...thank you, again." If you knew her better you might go so far as to give her the giant hug of gratitude that you would like to, but that will keep for later in the day. For now the two of you exchange knowing smiles about how ridiculous families can be and you go out the sliding door to the patio where Frankie and Santi are standing at the grill inspecting the image of your sleeping daughter on the baby monitor.

“I’m telling you man, she’s gonna be a problem when she gets older.” Pope huffs. “We need to start scaring away the boys now.”

"What if she grows up to like girls?" Of course they're already in protective mode. That doesn't surprise you in the least. "Or maybe she won't want romance at all. Anything is possible."

“Yeah but the boys can get her pregnant.” He points out, lifting a brow at Frankie’s immediate frown. “Well that’s not happening since she’s going to stay a virgin.” The overly protective father scoffs.

"She's going to be educated on her body and consent, and she's going to have the unwavering support of her parents," you correct them both. But there is still a soft smile on your face when you tuck yourself under Frankie's arm. "And if all else fails, she has Uncle Pope, Uncle Ironhead, and Uncle Benny to scare off anyone who doesn't respect her."

“What about me?” Frankie huffs as he settles his arm at your waist and hauls you closer. You look relaxed, and he’s glad. “How are you feeling, baby?” He asks.

"A little better. Pretty stupid, but better." When you lean into his chest he presses a kiss to your hair and you sigh. "Think our mothers are ever actually going to apologize?"

“If they don’t, we will have peace.” His eyes slip closed and he smiles slightly. “The dream.” He jokes before he opens his eye and looks at you seriously. “They will eventually. When they realize we are serious.”

"No contact with all of our parents except Javier." Another huffed laugh from you ends in a sigh. "Merry Christmas, I guess. Is it bad that I feel relieved?"

“We are having Christmas ribeye’s, with that salad you made, you can have your onions and mushrooms, and I know you have those rolls in there.” He grins. “Washed down with your wine and Christmas cookies.”

"Well...Mira is having a bottle the rest of the day anyway. No reason not to enjoy." With your arms around his waist, you tug Frankie tighter and practically shudder with that sigh of relief that rocks out of you. "Thank you, baby. I know neither of us ever wanted it to come to that with our parents, but thank you for stepping in. And for taking care of things afterward."

“Of course.” He knows that your trust and faith in him has been shaken by the drug charges and then disappearing to South America, but he wants to rebuild it. “Anytime, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” That, thankfully, was never in doubt.

******

A year passes with so much incident that it is a task of its own to decide where to start when someone asks you 'what's been going on?'. Planning the next Christmas is easier simply because of logistics. Hosting doesn't feel daunting when the people who are coming to the house are supportive, helpful, and kind.

Dinner is a potluck this year, with all the boys from Frankie's unit bringing their partners. Even Benny has a girlfriend – one who promises she's capable of bringing more to a potluck than jarred salsa and bagged chips – and Frankie is once again going to grill ribeyes. New traditions are falling into place, but the fact is that you're actually looking forward to things this year instead of dreading them.

“Babe.” Frankie ducks into the kitchen to admire the new oven that he had delivered six months ago. “Do you want to do that mashed potato casserole you were talking about or do you want to do baked potatoes this year?”

"Why don't we do baked potatoes and we can put out a bar of toppings and stuff? I can throw some bacon in a pan and chop some scallions." Things are better. You're talking more. You're listening to each other and asking questions instead of assuming. Frankie even comes home early from work once every other week to look after Mira while you have therapy. It's helped your postpartum depression immensely.

“That sounds good.” He agrees, grinning at you. “Pope and Yovanna are going to bring the salad this time. She loves that dressing recipe you gave her.”

"It's a good one." Yovanna has fast become a close friend, joining the sisterhood you have with Teresa, and now with Benny's girlfriend Roseanne. "Everybody should be here pretty soon. I figured there was no use in pretending this is formal. We're all perfectly happy to sit around together and hang out."

“Have you heard anything?” He asks softly, aware that you might have some feelings about everything that went down last year.

"Only from Javier." Frankie's stepfather was the only one who had been in contact, and even that was respectfully sparse. "I've sent him some photos of Mira and he texted this morning to say Merry Christmas and that he hoped the package he sent got here in time."

Even though you have been remarkable about the silence, Frankie steps closer and folds you into his arms for a reassuring hug. “It’ll all work out, baby.” He promises. “I just love seeing you excited for Christmas.”

“It’s easier to be excited when I’m not dreading the arguments and insults.” You lean into him a little tighter and sigh. It’s shit that things had to blow up the way they did last year, but things are better now. You’re both happier. The boys are all back together and Pope had proposed to Yovanna at Thanksgiving. Will and Teresa are ecstatic about expecting their first kid together. Things are good. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs softly, kissing your forehead. He had told you everything that had happened and while you were unhappy about it, you hadn’t held it against him. That’s the best gift he could have ever asked for. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[icarusredwings]

Im watching poolverine the movie- UUHHH, I MEAN Deadpool and Wolverine for the 6th time, and not only did I accidently stream it downstairs on accident, but I made some notes.

Ngl mcu wade scarred or not is hot as fuck. Like, idk man, I'd bang him as long as al didnt yell at me. She scares me.

I like how self-aware he is in the beginning. That he lashes out when nervous or upset.

How he tries his best to apologize for cursing but accidently ends up backhanding it with even more inappropriate information (do we think our boy has Tourettes or do we think he just lets the inside thoughts outside too often?)

The implication that he's dreamed of having children is very sweet but dude lowkey just said "Yeah but I get too much anal and oral for that :( ah well. Maybe one day"

He's fully aware that he hates his life, and all he has to look forward to is his little dysfunctional family, such as talking to Colossus about medicore tv

His current best friend being a little weirdo who asks barely legal lesbians to tug his literal chain (not a good look on you peter- like seriously dont... dont do that.. Logan would have punched you so hard if he saw that)

Coming to Al half way through the party to decompress, his banter with negasonic and happy little face when he see Yukio

Love his and vanessas "make a wish buddy" "going down 10 4" thing. How she looks at him so fondly. As if wishing he was like this all the time but knows just how hard he's masking. How he tries SO hard to make normal small talk but Vanessa made the mistake of telling wade her new boyfriends name so now he's concreting that shit in his head so he can kill him later.

Saying 'Stop that, eyes on me' worked a little TOO well. Baby boy needs 1st grade instructions. Someone write a fic of this. My boy loves him some simple instructions. Its something his adhd can handle.

Love (sarcasam) how this is supposed to be a buddy movie but the second an old man slaps his ass he is SO happy and confident LMAO like Bro CHILL you're a victim. AGAIN. Try not to be too happy about that bud. Also Once that mask is on, he's GONE. Way more rude and flirty, 100 times less apologetic, more violent, and less understanding. You can tell it's been a while since he's let it out.

[bamsywrites]

"What if....?" Halbrand AU

Pairing: Modern AU! Sauron/Halbrand x bookshop owner!Reader

Summary: What if Sauron was angry sludge for a couple 100,000 more years? What if all that time mellowed him out just a little? What if he meets Sweet One and is still completely unhealthily obsessed with her? And what if she asked him to put up Christmas lights?

Tags: Christmas AU, friends to lovers, romantic tension, two losers in love, short lil drabble

Notes: Yes, this is an AU of my own Fic, but it's happier, and I like happy. I knew this was a bad idea because I wanna keep writing this. There is one of the funniest lines I think I've ever written and was honestly the inspiration for this whole mini drabble.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” he mumbled to himself, the air was so cold his breath came out in puffs. His fingers were red and raw, having insisted that he had no need for your gloves despite your protests. He'd be fine in his jeans and thick flannel, he had argued, but he'd regretted it mere seconds after getting atop the ladder to place these damned lights.

He was The Dark Lord. The Deceiver. He had ripped elves apart with his bare hands. He had leveled cities. He had waited and bid his time for ages untold to bring his rule to bring the races of Middle Earth to their knees.

Now he was putting up Christmas lights outside a bookshop.

Why? He could wave his hand and make everyone think there were lights, decorations, a goddamn 12 foot Santa.

“Who the fuck even is Santa?” He mumbled to himself.

But he couldn't do any of that because you had asked him to hang lights.

His jaw set as he continued to work.

You. You were the reason for this. The moment he laid eyes on you, he gave it all up. All ambition. All desire for power or control. All sense of immortality. All for you. He had yet to know if you felt the same, but he did know that you were his salvation. You were good, and you were pure and looking into your heart and soul. He realized that his search for perfection ended with you.

And, if that meant hanging these stupid fucking lights, then so be it.

It took him 20 more minutes and approximately 135 more ‘fucks’ before he he was done and walking back into your shop.

“Told ya you'd need gloves,” you spoke with a smirk as you organized a few books.

“I needed no such thing, sweet one,” he spoke, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

“Well, either way, thank you. You're very appreciated.”

“Couldn't imagine making you get atop that ladder and do it yourself.” He responded, wetting his lips. He watched as you lit a candle, and the smell of vanilla and peppermint filled his nose.

“You really like this Christmas shit, don't you?”

“You don't?”

He shook his head, pressing his tongue against his teeth. “Nope. My family had too much…drama. Angst. Fighting.”

“Trust me, I know about dysfunctional families. I drowned it all out with old Christmas movies. Frosty the Snowman, the slow-motion puppet movies, there's so many. I love all of em.”

“And see, I've not seen a single one.”

“That's a shame,” You were back to stocking books onto shelves. You looked at one, pursing your lips, and he saw a twinkle in your eye. “What're you doing this weekend?”

He shrugged, eyebrows furrowed, “Nothing planned.” He watched you, fighting a smile and trying to act oblivious. He was nervous, truth be told, but a good nervous. A nervous that bubbled up in his stomach. It felt almost like…

Butterflies.

When was the last time he'd felt this kind of nervous excitement ? Had he ever felt like this?

You were full of surprises. You were an enigma. He didn't understand you, and though he desperately wanted to, he liked that you were different.

He watched the nervous twitch of your fingers, the way your teeth dug into your lip, he could see the thoughts racing behind your eyes as you approached him. You held a stack of thick chapter books to your chest as if to guard your heart. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip, and your eyes focused on the floor.

“Would you, maybe, like…” You inhaled and looked up at him, the butterflies in his stomach exploding into fireworks, “Would you like to come over on Friday? We could order something to eat, I could make cookies, and I could show you my favorites.”

The way your teeth bit down on your tongue, the blush to your cheeks, how your features scrunched in preparation for his response, all this was kindling to a fire.

“ Yeah… but are you sure that a weekend is enough time?” He asked with a tilt of his head. “It sounds like you have a lot of favorites, and I would really hate to make you choose between them.”

He watched as your breath caught in your chest. He had to fight the smirk that threatened to spread across his lips. He was a master manipulator, and it was taking all of his prowess to hide his true emotions at this moment.

“ Well, I mean, I'm not doing anything Saturday either if you wanted to stay the night and watch more in the morning.” Your fingers nervously stroked the top of the pages while your grip on the books got tighter.

“ Well then, I'm all yours,” He smirked down at you. “ I've never really seen a Christmas movie, I'll be glad to finally get some under my belt.” He watched you gently and hoped that you would fall for the bait that he had planted.

And by the way you shifted your weight between your feet and your eyes quickly looked down before making contact with his again, he knew he had won.

“ I am free all weekend,” you told him, your voice stuttering as the words left your lips. “ I wouldn't mind showing you more of the classics.”

He smirked and nodded, feeling victorious at the thought of spending almost three days with you. "Then that sounds like a plan.”

“ Yeah, a weekend long sleepover. But... you know... just as friends.”

“ Yeah, I know, just as friends.”

Despite his words, he couldn't help how his eyes traveled down to quickly glance at your soft, lush lips. Nor could he control how his mind wandered to how they might feel.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 5 - The man I used to be

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate class.

Word Count: 5.6K

TWs: Angst, crying, angry!Elvis, self-esteem issues all-round, erectile dysfunction, body worship, praise kink, some smutty bits.

A/N: This is a difficult chapter for a number of reasons - there's a lot going on and a lot of complex emotions. Thanks to everyone who has commented and re-blogged so far, comments are life so the more I get the happier I am! And I know if you're enjoying it.

Elvis spends the next day wondering what he’s doing with Tegan. He sits at the piano, mid-afternoon, running through some scales and a few snatches of songs. He looks around the empty living room. It’s harder to get a house full of people nowadays. The guys are older and they spend more time with their families than they used to. He can get plenty of people round for an event - the barbeque the other weekend proved that - but there’s not the constant presence of guys and fans and family like back in the seventies or even the eighties. The divorce had coincided with a slow drift of people out of his life and into their own. Lisa doesn’t even stay in Graceland when she’s back in Memphis, even though he’d tried asking her to. She’s working on her new relationship, and she wants to spend time with her boyfriend when she’s in Memphis, not with her dad.

For the first time in a long time, Elvis realises he’s lonely. He’s been keeping himself busy for years now with the karate schools, but he can’t stay in Memphis for more than a month at a time. It’s hard to persuade someone to come round for dinner every night; sometimes he has to eat alone. He’s kept moving so he barely notices, but sitting in the living room at Graceland, silent save for his absent-minded piano tinkling, he realises how much he craves company. Last night had gone by so quickly, Tegan was so easy to talk to and her skin was so soft. He’s missed more than just conversation and company. He’s missed sex too. He had liked playing with her and finding out what turns her on, and he had liked watching her lose herself to pleasure too. 

He puts the lid down on the piano and rests his elbows on it, head in his hands. He remembers calling her a needy thing because she wanted to see him before Tuesday. He groans. He wants to see her right now, and he wants to keep her here with him forever. It hurts, being here alone, being without her, wanting her so badly. The loneliness that he’d been holding at bay for so long comes crashing through his defences, hitting him like a tidal wave. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes and run down his nose, splashing on the piano lid. Fuck. 

“Daddy?”

He’d been so wrapped up in his own sadness he hadn’t noticed the sound of the door closing and when he looks up he sees Lisa standing there, with Riley and Ben. He quickly wipes his eyes and stands up.

“Hey! How are my two favourite grandkids, hm?”

Riley rolls her eyes, letting him hug her. “We’re your only grandkids, Elvis.”

He looks up at Lisa. “She got this from you, y’know. Callin’ me Elvis.”

Lisa laughs and tells both kids to go and raid the kitchen for lunch. 

Riley runs off towards the kitchen immediately but Ben pauses, unsure. He tugs Elvis’ sleeve. Elvis bends down and picks him up easily, cuddling the little boy to him and kissing the top of his head. 

“What’s up, punk?”

Lisa snorts at her dad calling her son “punk”. 

“Have you been crying?” Ben puts a little hand against Elvis’ face and stares into his eyes with grave concern. 

“Little bit.”

“Why?”

Elvis lets out a huff of air. Why had he been crying? “Jus’ felt a little sad, s’all.” He brushes Ben’s hair back off his forehead. “Much happier now you’re here.” He squeezes the little boy tightly and then looks at him again to see how that statement fell. 

Ben’s big eyes still look worried. Lisa thinks he’s way too worried, always, for a five year old. 

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I’m better now you and Riley are here? Of course I’m sure. Why dontcha go help ya sister find some lunch, hm? Mary’ll help ya. Ya must be hungry, growin’ little fella like you?”

Ben nods solemnly and allows himself to be put down, walking slowly and purposefully to the kitchen. Elvis frowns a little. “Are ya sure he’s five and not fifty five, Yis?”

She sighs and puts an arm around her dad, laying her head on his shoulder. “Well he’s very perceptive for a five year old, I’ll give him that. You ok?”

“Think anyone coulda seen me cryin’ back there. Even a little kid.”

His arm goes around her too, pulling her close. 

“You okay?” She asks again. 

Elvis makes a sort of grumbling noise and moves to sit on the sofa. Lisa sits next to him and waits patiently for a response. Or, as patiently as she can. When another two minutes of strange silence have passed she huffs and pokes him in the side. 

“You gonna tell me?”

“Not gonna get away without, am I?” He mutters. “Lonely here, Yis. On my own a lot.”

“What about Tegan?”

“Saw her last night.” His face breaks into a smile. “She came for dinner.”

Lisa sits up and grins. “And?”

The smile continues to play on his lips as he thinks about her on his lap all night, talking to him about her tattoos. “It was good.”

“Good? Is that it?!”

“I like her, Yis. I really like her. But she’s so much younger, I jus’... I dunno.”

Lisa shakes her head. “Don’t see what difference that makes. She’s not Stella, or mom. She’s her own person. You have to give it a try on its own terms.”

“‘M tryin’.”

“Why don’t you invite her round for lunch now?”

He shakes his head. “‘M try’na take it slow.”

Lisa falls back against the sofa cushions with a bump, sighing loudly. “Why?”

Elvis pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Because I don’t wanna fuck it up, okay?” He stands up and starts to move towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna get somethin’ to eat if the locusts haven’t got ta everythin’ already.”

Lisa watches him go, and then realises she’s hungry too and gets up herself. She’s surprised at her dad taking anything slowly, but perhaps he knows what he’s doing. She supposes she’ll have to wait and see.

***

“Ya need to really protect yourself with yer arms. No. C’mere.” Elvis stands in front of Tegan, a forearm in each hand, and manoeuvres them around as she steps back. “Y’see?”

She tries hard to keep a straight face but she can’t help giggling. “Yeah… kinda.”

Elvis puts on a mock-serious face. “No laughin’ at karate. ‘Sa serious sport.”

Still trying not to laugh, she attempts the block again, but when he grabs one of her arms and moves it where it’s supposed to go she fails and starts giggling.

“C’mon. Again. On yer own.”

Letting out a breath, she tries to compose herself. “O-okay. So, like… this?” 

He shrugs a little and gives his head a little shake. “Better than it was before. Practise at home. Now, step forward and snap punch. No… mid-chest. C’mon. Really try an’ punch me. That’s better.”

He makes her go through the two step move a few more times and then tells her and the rest of the group that they can go and get another drink. She gulps down some water and then passes the bottle to Maria. 

“You two are getting on well,” Maria observes with a wry smile. 

Tegan can’t help smiling back. “Yeah. I went to Graceland for dinner at the weekend.”

“You did?” Maria’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “You didn’t mention it!”

“Well, I know you’re not keen.”

“Oh T, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Tegan nods slowly. “I know.” She’s about to continue when Elvis calls them back to class. “I’ll tell you later.”

When the class finishes the rest of the students file out and Elvis realises only Tegan and Maria are left. Maria realises too, telling her friend she’ll see her in the car and giving Elvis a quick wave. Tegan picks up her bag as he makes his way towards her, a broad smile on his face. 

“Ya need ta practice more at home,” he tells her, forefinger under her chin, tipping her face towards his so he can press a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Maybe I need some private tuition?” 

He takes his sunglasses off and holds her face firmly in his hand, kissing her deeply. Her hands make their way around his neck as she presses her body against his. 

“Ya can come home with me right now an’ I’ll teach ya some things…” he mumbles against her lips, intoxicated by the feel of her, the way she smells. 

“Yes please.”

He pulls back, resting his forehead against hers, panting a little. “I shouldna said that.”

She pouts a little. “Why?”

“I’m tryna take this slow.”

She groans. “Well don’t kiss me like that then!” 

“Sorry, honey. Got carried away. Yer always makin’ me get carried away…” he strokes her cheek gently with his finger. 

“Maybe that means something? Maybe you should just… get carried away.”

He giggles, his apple cheeks prominent as he looks down at her. “Temptin’. But ya should go home, sure ya have work in the mornin’…”

“Well, yeah. You still coming for dinner at the weekend?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

“Okay, see you then.”

***

Elvis enjoys dinner at Tegan’s apartment. She cooks him a roast and he teases her about nearly all of the components, but he gobbles down the whole plate and asks for seconds. She even manages to persuade him to try a gin and tonic, although he doesn’t ask for a second one of those. They talk and joke around and at some point the teasing turns to touching and he’s making her cum on her sofa this time. She asks again, but he’s still not interested in getting anything in return. Their relationship continues like this for weeks - they see one another on Saturday nights and at karate, they get closer, but not too close. He gives her an orgasm every time he sees her, but he won’t even take his shirt off, never mind let her touch his dick. He brings her flowers and trinkets, but he’s afraid to take her out in public in case they’re hounded by the press. She loves being with him, but she feels like he keeps her at arm’s length. She’s fully in this, but it’s like he’s just standing in the shallow end, watching her. 

She doesn’t feel like she can tell Maria, so when her friend asks she just says everything’s going well, they’re taking it slowly, getting to know each other. But she’s not sure how much longer she can keep waiting for him to feel more comfortable with her, or want to dive right in the deep end and lose control. She can’t understand what’s holding him back, and is trying to work out how to broach the subject with him at Graceland that evening, when the phone rings unexpectedly and it's Elvis inviting her to the zoo. First of all she thinks he’s joking, and then when she realises he’s not she agrees enthusiastically. She does love animals, and they will actually be seen together in person. Perhaps she’s been patient enough, and she doesn’t need to talk to him at all. Things have just worked out on their own. He tells her he’ll pick her up in half an hour and she hurries to get ready. 

***

“Honey, ya need ta know somethin’,” Elvis tells her as she gets into the car and he kisses her hello. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Ya might be in the papers tomorrow. If someone spots us an’ takes a photo…”

She shrugs. How bad could it be? “Okay, cool.”

He stares at her intensely for a moment. “They could say all kindsa things about ya. Jus’ want ya ta be prepared.”

She nods. “Okay.”

Elvis doesn’t think she’s taking him seriously enough but he’s not sure what else he can say. 

She sees him frowning a little and kisses his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Take me to the zoo!”

***

Tegan enjoys the zoo until the paparazzi arrive. She’d thought that because there was hardly anyone outside Graceland anymore and people in the karate classes treated him mostly as if his being there was completely normal, that the press wasn’t bothered about Elvis Presley anymore. Boy was she wrong. Someone had obviously tipped them off, and from the penguin enclosure onwards they were harassed by men with cameras and reporters shouting questions. Wanting to know who she was, how they met, how long they’d been together, did they plan to get married? Had she met his daughter, was she the same age as his daughter, what were they doing at the zoo? And another million intrusive questions that Elvis starts off answering politely and eventually instructs Sonny to answer “no comment” to, on his behalf. 

“Goddamnit,” he hisses, as they finally get back into the car. He pulls the curtains so that no-one can see in through the windows and Sonny drives them this time. “I knew it’d be bad. Didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

Tegan feels a little overwhelmed herself but Elvis is her main concern. He’s gripping one of her hands tightly and sweat is running down his face as he mumbles about the paparazzi and the damn reporters. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his thigh. 

He huffs air out of his nose like a furious bull. “None of their goddamn business. Any of it.”

“Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t get upset.”

He abruptly lets go of her hand and springs back from her. “Don’t get upset!” He exclaims, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “Don’t get upset! Goddamn.”

Tegan isn’t going to be put off that easily. “I just mean, don’t let them get to you like this. I don’t like to see you so upset.”

She rubs his arm now, in the same gentle but firm way. 

“Well it doesn’t matter what ya like, does it?” He spits. “I’m fucking upset.”

It’s Tegan’s turn to spring back now, eyes flaming. “Don’t fucking take it out on me!”

Sonny looks at the curtain in the rearview mirror, not that it reveals anything. He’d warned Elvis about going to the zoo in the middle of the day, but to be fair not even he had thought it would be this bad. Both of them were unused to the ferocity of the paparazzi, even in Memphis. He’s surprised that Tegan bit back though. He had thought of her as a little timid for some reason. 

They stare at one another for a while, both furious but neither able to decide the next move. Elvis can’t remember the last time a woman yelled at him and he’s shocked into silence, and Tegan is furious about the way he spoke to her, and isn’t about to back down. She didn’t like his tone just then and it was making her want to tell Sonny to pull the car over so she could get out. 

Eventually Elvis huffs loudly and turns away from her, staring straight ahead at the curtain, realises that it’s still closed and opens it with a grunt. Daylight pours into the back of the car and Tegan squints and looks around for her sunglasses. 

“Sorry,” Elvis mutters sheepishly, when he thinks she’s suitably occupied digging about in her handbag. 

She pauses, then looks over at him. “It’s okay.”

He takes a few steadying breaths and then looks at her properly. “Ya were right, I was takin’ it out on ya. Ya were only tryna calm me down.”

Sliding her sunglasses on, she looks over at him. “I know. You were being an arse.”

Sonny catches Elvis’ eye in the mirror and all three of them burst out laughing. Elvis doesn’t think anyone has ever called him an arse before, but he has to admire her for doing it. 

“Yer lucky I’m lettin’ ya get away with that,” he replies, winking behind his glasses. 

They drive back to Graceland, and Sonny and his wife join them for dinner. Tegan has met Sonny’s wife a couple of times and is getting to like her, and Judy is fond of the younger woman too. Her and Sonny had both remarked to each other, and Elvis himself, how much happier he seems lately, and Judy wants to make sure he stays that way almost as much as her husband does. They all watch a little TV together and play some cards, and Tegan is happy to spend some time with people who’ll actually drink with her. Although, as she watches Sonny finish off his fourth bourbon rocks, she wonders who is going to drive her home. 

Judy yawns delicately and then gives Sonny a sharp elbow in the side. He looks around a little slowly, his reactions dulled by all the bourbon. 

“Huh? Oh…” he looks over at Elvis and Tegan, who are cuddled up on the sofa at this point. “I uh… think we should be getting home.”

“Oh.” Elvis suddenly clocks that Sonny is drunk and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get Tegan home. “Yeah, sure. Thanks fer comin’.”

They get up and say their goodbyes, and once they’ve left Elvis turns to Tegan. “I spose I better drive ya, honey.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and then slides them down over his chest. “Or… I could stay over?”

He can feel his face getting red thinking about her seeing him naked. It had been a very long time since a woman had seen him naked. 

“I…um…”

She starts to slowly unbutton his shirt, moving to press soft kisses to the skin she uncovers there. His chest hair is white like the hair on his head, and she’s seen it before underneath his gi. But she hasn’t ever got to touch it, and she can’t help running her fingers through it as she continues to unbutton his shirt. He feels like he’s completely frozen on the spot, just watching her as she carries on with her little touches and kisses until his shirt is hanging open. 

“Please?” She puts her head to one side and tries to look cute. 

His breathing is uneven as he stares down at her, still unable to formulate a response. She gently pushes his shirt off his shoulders and encourages his arms out of the sleeves. He stands in front of her, topless, watching as she presses yet more kisses up his arms and across his chest. His eyes flick uneasily down to his belly, which isn’t exactly small these days, but that gets kisses too, and gentle touches, and he can feel himself melting. 

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

“Okay,” he finally replies, trying to get some of the upper hand back by sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her up the stairs.

She giggles, her arms around his neck, pleased at being literally swept off her feet. He manages to open the door to his bedroom without putting her down, and she stares around it in wonder, squinting into the darkness. 

“I’ll put a lamp on,” he mumbles, putting her down carefully and moving over to the side of the bed, flicking a switch. 

It doesn’t get much lighter in the room, but she can see the size of the bed which is almost unreal. She shivers a little. It’s not exactly warm; it seems like he has the AC on full blast. He looks over at her nervously, but she’s still occupied looking around, so he moves over to one of the sets of drawers and searches for some pyjamas. He’d be more comfortable in them and probably so would she. It takes him a few minutes to locate a couple of sets and when he turns back his mouth actually drops open looking at her. She’s standing there, completely naked, looking over at him. 

“H-honey… I… yer…” he can’t make the words come out of his mouth. He’s seen everything before but not all at once, and it’s kind of overwhelming. “Yer naked,” he finally manages. 

She giggles. “Yeah I know. This is how I sleep. And walk around the apartment sometimes too.”

His eyes somehow get even wider. “Ya walk around like that? I don’t think ya should…”

She shrugs and then rubs her arms with her hands, melodramatically. “I’m getting cold. Why don’t you come over here and warm me up?”

“Well if ya were wearin’ clothes…” he starts, but he’s walking towards her anyway, and she cuts him off with a kiss, pressing her naked body up against his. He moans into her mouth. Her skin feels so good against his, he can even feel those little metal bars in her nipples, a tiny touch of cold. His hand spreads across her back, pulling her in even closer, but somehow he doesn’t stop her wandering hands. One skates down his back but the other sneaks between them and before he can do anything, she’s squeezing his still soft dick. She barely reacts when she doesn’t find what she was expecting, but he almost leaps backwards like he’s been burnt. 

“Ah…uh… I’m s-sorry baby… it’s not you… I-I-I…”

“Hey. It’s okay,” she tries to reply but he darts off into the ensuite, pyjamas in hand. 

Tegan sits on the bed for a moment, looking at the closed door and wondering if he plans on hiding out in the bathroom all night. She supposes he won’t, but honestly she can’t tell. The coldness of the room persuades her under the covers, and she wonders what he’s going to say when he eventually comes back into the room again. She was only a little surprised to find him so soft when she touched him. It made sense really, when she thought back over the past few weeks that they’d been together. He never wanted her to return the favour when he gave her an orgasm, he was so awkward about the relationship in the first place, and he never wanted to let her take his clothes off. The look on his face after she’d touched him, the way he’d jumped away from her… it hurts her heart. She just wants to give him pleasure like he’s been giving her for all these weeks, but he seems so damaged about the whole thing. She frowns. It’s not as if he’s the first guy she’s been with who hasn’t been able to get it up sometimes. 

Elvis gets changed shakily, then stands in his pyjamas, gripping the sink with both hands and staring into the mirror. Stupid old man, he thinks. She’ll never be interested now she knows your dick doesn’t work. For a while he seriously considers sleeping on the bathroom floor, but then he realises he can’t get around going back into the bedroom and facing Tegan. He opens the door slowly, walking into the room almost sheepishly. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. This is turning into a day of apologies. 

She pulls the covers back, exposing her naked body to him. He can’t help but look at it hungrily, despite what had just happened. “C’mere.” She pats the mattress next to her. 

“I hope you’re sorry about running off, not anything else?” She asks as he gets in cautiously. 

“Sure I disappointed ya.”

Lying on his back, unable to look at her. 

“I’m not disappointed,” she replies, curling her body around his. “I’ve been looking forward to waking up with you.”

“Thought ya might’ve wanted somethin’ else,” he mutters. 

Her hand rubs his chest, then moves to his belly. She feels him tense and starts to kiss his neck as her hand keeps touching him. 

“I want to make you feel good, ‘raur. I’m not in a rush to do anything else.”

He sighs. “Don’t think that’s really possible.”

“Sure you’re not just out of practice?”

Elvis groans and closes his eyes, willing the conversation away. This is not something he wants to be talking about with anyone, let alone a girl twenty years his junior. 

“Jus’ leave it.”

Tegan doesn’t really want to just leave it, she wants to understand it and find a way to fix it. But Elvis clearly isn’t in the headspace for that kind of conversation right now, so she decides to try a different tack. 

“God, you smell so good.” Burying her face in his chest, she breathes him in. 

He can’t help his lips curling into a half-smile. “Really, Queenie?”

She flicks the top button of his pyjamas open and presses kisses to the exposed skin there, her hand running over his nipple through the shirt. 

“You haven’t called me that in a while. And yes, really.”

He hums with pleasure, his hand running through her hair as she keeps kissing and praising him. 

“You’re so strong, it’s so sexy.”

“Huh?” He’s blushing a little but he doesn’t want her to stop. 

“Carrying me up the stairs.” She looks up at him as she deftly undoes another button. “Very sexy.”

He feels her hand inside his shirt now, rubbing and touching. She pinches a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and gets a low moan in response. 

“Q-Queenie…”

“I can’t believe how gorgeous you are.” 

She quickly undoes all of the rest of the buttons, and for the second time that evening his shirt is hanging open and her hands and mouth are all over his torso. He lets out a soft sigh and when her hand moves down under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms he doesn’t stop it. She slowly slides his foreskin back and forth, squeezing a little and feeling him start to respond. Her mouth and other hand continue their ministrations on his belly and chest, hoping to distract him from worrying about what his dick might be doing. She feels him getting harder and pushes his pants down so she can get at him more easily, sliding her mouth over the head and giving him little kitten licks. He moans, looking down at her for a moment and then looking away, disgusted by his own body again. His erection starts to fade and he screws his eyes shut and huffs in frustration. She tries to stimulate him for a little longer, but it’s clear it’s not coming back, so she stops, pulling his pyjama bottoms up carefully and leaning her head back on his chest. 

He can’t speak. He doesn’t know whether not being able to get it up at all, or having half an erection that went away when he thought about it too much was worse. Both things were horribly embarrassing, and he can only imagine she’ll leave at the first opportunity, and not want to see him again. 

“We should sleep,” he says, turning over and dislodging her. 

He switches the light off and she stares, confused, into the dark from her position on her back. 

“We can try again in the morning,” she suggests, quietly. 

“Hmmm.”

She still wants to push it, but she knows she shouldn’t. This is too delicate. She wishes she could tell him that she doesn’t care, even if he never gets another erection she’d still want him more than she’s ever wanted anyone, but that seems too much. The intensity of her feelings for him seems like too much, considering how long they’ve known one another. She hasn’t told anyone how she feels; she’s convinced Maria would try and get her committed if she knew. She rolls onto her other side and tries to get to sleep. They can try again in the morning. 

***

Neither of them sleep that well. Even though the bed is huge, they’ve both got used to sleeping on their own and someone else being there is disturbing. Elvis sleeps particularly badly, unable to stop himself wondering what Tegan must think and whether she’ll ever want to see him again. He looks at her as she lies there, peacefully, and wonders what on earth she’s doing in his bed. She could do a lot better. 

“Oh, hi there, gorgeous,” she murmurs as she opens her eyes and sees him leaning over, looking at her. 

He carefully moves her hair out of her eyes. “Mornin’ beautiful.”

Her face breaks into a smile. “Mmmmm. Come here.” Pulling his face towards hers, kissing him deeply. 

He shifts, rolling on top of her and relishing the feeling of her hands underneath his unbuttoned shirt, running up and down his back. She lets one trail a little lower, grabbing a handful of his ass and pushing her hips up into his. He can feel himself getting harder, his dick is always a little more cooperative in the morning and something about her body and his drowsy state is turning him on. The thoughts that had plagued him during the night drift away and his head feels pleasantly empty. He finds himself starting to kiss and nip at her neck as she pushes his pyjama bottoms down, feeling him now too. She moves her legs to wrap them around his waist, and as his dick rubs against her pussy she feels delicious pleasure building between her legs. Drowsy too and not caring how she gets there, she moans softly at the feeling. He closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying rolling his hips against her, feeling like a teenager again. But he wants more. Moving back a little, he lines himself up with her entrance, teasing her with the tip before starting to push inside. 

But it’s not just Elvis who hasn’t done this in a long time, and Tegan almost yelps at the intrusion. She’s tight at the best of times, and with no warm up and no lube it’s almost impossible. 

“Oh!” She cries out, shifting back from him instinctively. 

The moment it happens, his erection fades. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. 

“Elvis, I’m sorry…” she begins, but he just covers himself up again and rolls off her and then out of the bed. 

“Ya want breakfast? Mary’ll make ya eggs. Or… whatever ya want. Come down when yer ready.”

She stares as he takes a robe off the door and wraps it around himself and then just walks out of the room. She feels humiliated and confused. Okay, yeah, he’d gone soft. Embarrassing. But she’d been too small for him, or too tight, or not turned on enough… she gets up slowly, putting on her clothes from the day before. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d stayed in bed and held her for a while. In fact, she’d have liked it. She wishes that’s what he’d done, rather than leaving her like this. Checking her hair in the bathroom mirror, she sighs at her reflection. Maybe if she was more attractive this would all have been easier. 

Walking slowly down the stairs, she looks around again. So opulent. But so quiet. So lonely. When she gets to the kitchen she finds Elvis staring at the Sunday papers. 

Has-been Presley dating woman half his age.

The headline is big, and as she gets nearer she can see a lot of unflattering photos of both of them. Then she sees some of the text of the article. 

Washed up King of Rock n Roll, Elvis Presley, was seen today at Memphis Zoo with a woman young enough to be his daughter. A far cry from the attractive starlets he used to be seen with, the unknown female is hardly a looker.

“Oh wow,” Tegan says, quietly. It’s one thing to know you’re not Helen of Troy, and it’s another thing to see it written there in black and white. 

Elvis had been staring at the paper for a while now, and every so often some of the words had gone in. He knew there would be a nasty story about them, but he’s unused to the reality of it after so long. And he didn’t expect them to be quite this cruel about Tegan. Hearing her voice he’s suddenly spurred into action, tearing out the pages and screwing them up, hurling them across the room. 

“Fucking assholes,” he shouts. 

She puts a hand on his arm. “Elvis, it’s okay.” She doesn’t even really believe herself at this point, after everything that’s already happened this morning, but she feels she has to say something.

“The things they wrote about ya… it’s my fault.” He turns to her and shakes his head sorrowfully. “Ya better go.”

“What?”

“Ya better go. I’m no good for ya. Jus’ go.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“I do.”

Tegan tries begging and pleading with him, tries rationalising the situation, tries to ask why and persuade him to talk. But none of it works. He just keeps repeating that she ought to go and she’d be better off without him. It's like he's shut down completely. Despite his previous pronouncement that cabs don’t come to Graceland, he calls her one and sends her off in it. He won’t even kiss her goodbye. She sits there on the backseat trying to figure out exactly what the fuck had just happened, how she’d gone from him rutting against her in the bed one minute to throwing her out the next. And then she gets home and just cries. And cries. And wonders how the fuck she’s going to get her life back.

***

Part 6

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss

[wangxianficrecs]

Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen

Just go forward like you mean it

by tawaen

M, WIP, 67k, Wangxian

Summary: Before Wei Wuxian can say he will join Jiang Cheng and attend the Wen indoctrination, a letter describing the burning of the Cloud Recesses reaches Lotus Pier. Realizing the danger to the Jiang sect, he decides to stay behind to help with the defenses and keep his sect safe. While he agonizes over the fate of the disciples sent as little more than hostages, he upgrades the wards of the Jiang sect to stand against the inevitable Wen army. Lotus Pier will survive, and Wei Wuxian changes his own fate and the fate of the Sunshot Campaign. Kay's comments: A WIP, but only barely! I hope I manage to post this in time for WIP Rec Week, because tawaen updates quickly and there's only one chapter missing! I really, really enjoyed the direction this canon divergence took with Wei Wuxian staying behind in Lotus Pier during the indoctrination and making sure there's at least one person who prepares for the inevitable Wen invasion. I won't spoil much, but he's also becoming a rogue cultivator and finds his way to Lan Wangji sooner and you know, I'm so weak for that. Can't wait for the last chapter! Excerpt: “A decision on aiding the Lan need not be made now. However, our disciples will need to leave early tomorrow. A-Xian, I assume you will go with A-Cheng?” Jiang Fengmian looks over with an indulgent smile, but it is strained at the edges. Jiang Yanli turns in her seat to face him with open concern. She would send no one if that were possible. At some point during the argument she stopped peeling lotus seeds, remaining still and impassive to avoid drawing attention to herself. Her hands clench with her nails digging into her palms. Wei Wuxian didn't even notice. He gives her a reassuring smile. Wei Wuxian salutes, “Uncle Jiang, at this time, I would like to stay in Lotus Pier. We should not send our two best fighters to Qishan. One of us should remain behind in case of further Wen demands.” While Jiang Yanli relaxes slightly, Jiang Cheng turns sharply to look at him with betrayal in his eyes. This would normally make Wei Wuxian change course – but the Lan wards failed. Who is to say the Jiang wards would prevail?

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, fall of lotus pier, inventor wei wuxian, genius wei wuxian, no golden core transfer, sect leader jiang yanli, jiang cheng has no golden core, dysfunctional jiang family, jiang family dynamics, bad parents jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan, developing relationship, friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[drunk-person]

The perfect storm (The Gossip) P.8

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x cousin!reader

Summary: One of the most talked about gossips among the lower class servants in Kings Landing is the fact (or not) that Aemond Targaryen got involved with his cousin Y/n Targaryen when they were both teenagers. Mainly due to the fact that at the age of 17 she was sent to Old Town overnight. Some employees claim that Aemond was caught between her legs. Some say that, like her father, she had had a horrible fight with her uncle and aunt and was sent away. And other than that none of this happened, she just became interested in the course offered at the Old Town conservatory. But now five years later, Y/n Targaryen is back, and rumors haunt those who favor them.

This chapter is a part of a main story The gossip, you can find the previous chapter, summary and general tags by accessing the link.

Summary of the chapter: Aemond and Y/n face things in their own ways, the long-awaited charity ball finally begins.

Warnings of the chapter: 18+, family fights, dysfunctional family, mentions of past abortion, coercion with money, no description for reader.

Word count: 12.300k

A/n: Birthday update 💕💕💕 (a few hours late, but okay) I hope you like the chapter, I imagined the entrance to the Targaryen ball like the red carpet at the Met Gala, the reporters take pictures for the magazines, but they can't enter! About the songs in the chapter... a little Torn by Hands like houses on the top and Dark Horse by Katy Perry on the bottom.

"Hey, Hey Kings Landing, Y/n Targaryan was photographed this afternoon leaving the apartment complex where her older cousins ​​Aegon and Aemond are known to live, barefoot and in tears. What could be the reason for so many tears and such sadness? Some of our readers found it interesting to highlight our dear girl's deep tan. Where has she been? We know she hasn't been to Black Water Bay!"

❦❦❦

-Y/n… please… open the door. - Aemond begged, feeling his eyes burning as he leaned his forehead against the door, and making his own chest hurt even more he heard her muffled sobs through the thin wood.

-Go away! - She screamed once again. - Please don't hurt me anymore! - And after she screamed that with so much pain amid sobs that made Aemond's heart shatter, he walked towards the elevator with shaky steps, as if he were going to collapse on the floor at any moment.

Aemond got into the car barely feeling his own body, he didn't even remember the path he had taken to get there. The tingling sensation numbed him and when he slammed the door behind him and saw himself in the car mirror, he finally realized he was crying. And with that mess of emotions that he couldn't even manage, he just leaned his head over the steering wheel of the car, still holding the necklace between his fingers and stood there for a few moments trying to get his own breathing back to normal.

And finally starting the car, he returned to the company, which by that time was practically empty due to the time. He didn't even realize how much time had passed since he left there earlier, the afternoon seemed like a blur in his head and without even looking twice at the empty hall where the secretaries usually stayed during work hours he entered his own office, slamming the door behind him.

The air there seemed thin, and Aemond could barely breathe looking at the room. He didn't go back to the apartment because he didn't want to face the happy memories with Y/n that were now trapped there. But it was no use, since his office was infested with her, her laughter, her loving gaze, the soft words she spoke to him, the sweet sounds she made while he took her.

And without thinking, overcome by pain and fury, he threw the folder hard against the wall causing it to open on impact and the laptop to fly out along with the papers that were there. Aemond immediately caught his breath when he saw the colorful drawing of a butterfly flying across the floor along with sketches of clothes, dresses and some notes.

With his chest hurting even more, he bent down and picked up the papers from the floor, feeling his stomach churn when, among the notes and drawings for Y/n's plans, he found a pencil drawing of himself sitting at the table working with a look of concentration. The drawing was perfect in every detail, just like everything Y/n did, and further down the page was written in her delicate handwriting "My handsome businessman" with a heart next to it.

And before he could vomit the gastric juice that was the only thing he had in his stomach, Aemond turned his back and left the office once more, not knowing where to go. Finally, as if on automatic, he found himself in the parking lot of the apartment complex where he lived while trying to decide whether or not to go up there.

And when he finally did, he stopped in front of the apartment door while feeling his insides churn. He couldn't touch the doorknob and open the door, it was as if it would grow teeth and bite him at any moment. The idea of ​​going in there and facing the memories of the last few days was almost suffocating, knowing that when he opened the door Y/n wouldn't jump towards him and kiss him passionately was too painful to bear and with that thought he turned and went towards the elevator once more.

❦❦❧

Aegon was sprawled on the couch wearing only his pajama pants. He had already put Jaehaerys to sleep, and Sunfyre was lying next to the little one on the bed. Suddenly the dog skidded across the floor of the apartment and started barking at the door and Aegon rolled his eyes already knowing who would be there, since Sunfyre always barked like crazy when Aemond arrived.

-What the fuck did you do Aemond? - Aegon asked as he opened the door while Sunfyre jumped with her front paws on Aemond sniffing and licking him. Aemond, who always rolled his eyes and told her to stop while patting her on the head, just stood there in the hallway with his eyes slightly lost, as if someone had ripped his soul from his body again.

-I didn't know where else to go. - He murmured, still looking lost and the older man made room for him to enter, pulling Sunfyre off his brother in an affectionate way while stroking the dog's soft fur.

-I saw the newspapers. - Aegon locked the door, observing Aemond walked slowly to the black leather sofa and sat up straight, staring into space.

-Considering what was in the headlines I'm happy she didn't kill you. - He tried to lighten the mood, but Aemond didn't even blink his eyes, continuing to look at nothing.

The eldest waited a few moments, but Aemond didn't open his mouth. He just sat there, motionless, stroking what Aegon finally realized was the sapphire necklace that Y/n always wore. Aegon couldn't help but make a barely contained grimace, if she had taken that thing off her neck it was because things had really gotten bad between them.

-We'd never fought like that before.- Aemond finally spoke, his eyes glazed over, staring into space, still holding the stone from the necklace tightly.

-Yes because you were seventeen. - Aegon rolled his eyes, pouring a drink while Sunfyre put her paws on the table and looked curiously, he then stroked her neck and walked back towards his younger brother, dodging some of Jaehaerys' toys that were thrown on the carpet. - Everything is beautiful when we are that age. - He rolled his eyes.

-She told me never to look for her again. - Aemond muttered, barely looking in Aegon's direction.

-What really happened? I couldn't even believe it when I saw that shit show in the newspaper. - Aegon rolled his eyes and took a light sip of his drink. - Are you fooling granpa and the Baratheons for more than a year and now this engagement?

-Mother and grandfather found out we were back together. - Aemond murmured. - They showed up at my office yesterday and wanted me to get engaged, I said no, but that I would go to the ball with Floris.

-And then 24 hours later he announced your engagement. - Aegon grimaced in disgust as he caressed Sunfyre's fur. - I'm not surprised, it's just like our grandfather to do something stupid like that.

-Did you try to explain it to Y/n?- He frowned.

-She didn't want to listen to me. I went after her to try to explain it, but this whole thing was already messing with her, the engagement announcement made her lose her mind. - Aemond looked at the floor as he spoke, squinting his eyes slightly as if he could see everything before him once again. - I tried to stay calm, I swear I tried, but when I realized it I had already yelled at her.

-I promised I would never yell at her like that… more than once. - His eyes were glazed, making Aegon remember 5 years ago when Y/n left. - If you saw the look on her face…

-She'll forgive you for this, she loves you. - The eldest shrugged his shoulders, looking at him.

-I said she was just like her father… - Aemond laughed without humor.

Aegon grimaced instantly when he heard that, he knew how it worked, Y/n would never admit any similarity to her father, and she hated when people compared her to him, but every now and then the similarities appeared, especially when she was angry.

Like the time they were kids and a girl in Helaena's class called the older girl a freak and Y/n hit her on the head with the blackboard eraser with all the strength she had. He shuddered as he remembered the slap in the head he got from his mother when he laughed at the whole situation.

-Look, she's mad at you now, for more than one reason, but when her anger passes, she'll agree to talk and everything will be fine.

-How will it be fine? - Aemond burst out, turning to his brother with his eyes burning with rage. -Tell me how? With our grandfather demanding something that I can't do for him? I don't want to get in the way of his business, but I don't know how I can keep doing this!

-The elections are coming and months ago the party made a proposal through our grandfather. - Aemond clenched his hands tightly as he spoke. - They want a younger face in the campaign and I would really have a chance of being elected.

-And where will this choice take you? Do you even really want that? Or does our grandfather want it? - Aegon rolled his eyes and looked at his brother very seriously. - You never wanted to get involved in politics, you always wanted to work at the company.

-What do you really want, Aemond? - The older man arched his eyebrow, looking at him seriously, but still relaxed.

-I want to keep my position at the company and I want to help our grandfather. - He hissed. - But I also want Y/n, I can't live without her!

-You know, I want a fucking cigarette right now. - Aegon threw his head back against the back of the sofa. - But Jae's doctor said that it's not good for him if I smoke, so I'm quitting smoking.

-The thing is, when you really love someone, you have to make sacrifices. - He looked at his brother very seriously as he shook the glass in his hand. - You always knew that there would come a time when you would have to face everything and everyone if you really wanted to be with her. Now that time has come, Aemond. Are you willing?

Aemond stared blankly through the wide window, staring at the sept of Baelor, lit up with hundreds of small artificial lights for some event taking place that night, and the oldest sighed, sinking a little on the sofa before starting to speak again.

-Look… you were still very young when all that pregnancy stuff happened to me and Lyan. - He stirred the drink in his glass slightly. - But our mother and grandfather tried to convince Lyan to have an abortion… with money, obviously. - He raised his eyes and looked at his younger brother. - But she said she would never have the courage to do it.

-So they tried to pay her to say she was lying and that the child wasn't mine.

-She refused? - Aemond raised his eyebrows in confusion since refusing money didn't seem like something Lyan would do.

-No. I refused. - Aegon smiled melancholy. - I said no one would take my son away from me and that I would be part of his life.

Aemond stared at the older man with slightly widened eyes, hearing him talk about this for the first time.

-Do you know what Mother said when I made that decision? That it had been the worst mistake of my life, and that I would regret it forever. - Aegon laughed, looking at the glass that was still half full. - And in the end, it was the best thing that happened to me, Jaehaerys was the best thing I ever did, the best choice I made, and I don't know where I would be without him.

-You need to stop obeying everything mom says. She loves us, but she's not right about everything, and she also doesn't know where our happiness lies. If I had listened to her years ago, I wouldn't be here now, I wouldn't have Jaehaerys. Sometimes we need to take risks and take the reins of our lives into our own hands, even if it hurts the person who usually holds them first.

Aegon's gaze was firm as he spoke, leaving Aemond slightly surprised by his brother.

-Well, what kind of parallel reality is this that we live in, where you're the one giving me advice on how not to ruin my own life? - Aemond laughed lightly, still with sad eyes as he looked at the older man.

-Come on, I have my moments. - Aegon laughed, curling his mouth and eyebrows, putting his feet on the coffee table and drinking the last sip of whiskey.

-And alcohol helps anyone to become a philosopher. - He shrugged his shoulders. - But if our mother asks, I'll say I told you to obey her. - He laughed, trying to lighten the heavy mood, and Aemond just rolled his eyes, leaning his head back on the back of the sofa.

-Daddy! - The scream in Jaehaerys's childish and frightened voice rang through the apartment. - There's a monster under the bed, pulling my little foot!

-Duty calls! - Aegon said, laughing, throwing himself against the back of the sofa before standing up and assuming a look of false seriousness.

-You'd better be gone by the time I get there, Mr. Monster, or you'll feel my fury! - He shouted threateningly, going up the stairs in an exaggeratedly noisy way towards Jaehaerys' room, being faithfully followed by Sunfyre, making Aemond smile slightly.

A few moments later, Aegon came down with Jae in his arms, gently stroking his back and heading towards the kitchen while Aemond watched them closely.

-That monster won't come back? - Jaehaerys asked with a very worried expression to his father, affectionately stroking Sunfyre's golden fur, who had his paws resting on the counter to reach him.

-Of course not! Didn't you see? - Aegon frowned very seriously. - Daddy finished him off! No more evil monsters pulling my baby's feet! - And after saying that, he kissed his son's feet, making the boy laugh and cringe at the tickling while Sunfyre barked and jumped happily around the two.

And even with a slight smile on his face watching his brother playing with his son, Aemond couldn't help but feel a pang in his heart when he remembered all the plans he had made with Y/n, and how all of that could be ruined forever.

❦❦❦

The day dawned and Y/n felt like a living dead, still wearing the same yellow dress from the day before, sitting on the bed, tightly hugging the duvet as she stared at the ceiling, feeling her face pull from the dried tears on her cheeks.

Until the firm knocks on the door made Y/n's heart skip a beat, quickly looking in the direction of the sound.

Aemond.

Still irritated, but relieved that he was back, Y/n threw the duvet aside and ran towards the door without even putting on her slippers, opening it forcefully in her anxiety.

-I told you not to come back… - The words died in Y/n's throat when she saw who was standing in the hallway. It wasn't Aemond, it was Daemon Targaryen, her father.

-Hi Y/n. - He looked her up and down with his serrated mouth and a very serious look on his face.

–Dad? - She spoke almost in a whisper, unable to believe that he was really there. - W-what are you doing here?

-I just came to see you. - He murmured, entering the room while Y/n closed the door, still little static.

-Why now? - She whispered with a shaky voice. - After years?

-I thought maybe you wanted to reconsider that conversation we had years ago. - Daemon just shrugged, looking around the room with a frown, while Y/n remained paralyzed, staring at the door. - Spend time with us in Pentos, meet your younger sisters…

-Why didn't you come get me when I really needed you? - She hissed, pressing her eyes tightly and feeling her stomach suddenly boil.

-I didn't have your guardianship to simply take you out of there whenever I wanted and you know that. - Daemond spoke with a calm voice, staring at her back.

-You didn't even try! - Y/n turned to her father, her eyes shining with a mixture of tears and fury. - You never cared. You never fought for me. You abandoned me like a mangy dog ​​the first chance you got!

-You're my daughter and I care! - Daemond hissed, taking a step towards her while trying to remain calm. - And as much as I didn't want to leave you, we both know that at that time the best thing for you was not to be with me.

-Maybe the best thing for you now is not to be with him.

-No! - Y/n felt as if an invisible hand had squeezed her heart when she heard that assumption, immediately shaking her head.

-You've been here for less than a week, and news of your supposed involvement has already reached the Pentos gossip channels. - Daemond sighed. - Do you think this will end somewhere good? This engagement is just the beginning, Oto will do anything to free his grandson from any kind of scandal on the eve of the opening of the election period.

-This is all your fault! - Y/n hissed, staring at him and Daemon frowned at her in confusion.

-My fault? How is it my fault that that cunt treats that imbecile like a puppet?

-If you had been a minimally decent father, I would never have met Aemond in the first place! - She spoke in a low and fierce voice, almost biting her lips as she gestured towards her father.

-What else did you want from me? I was there for you until your mother died, and when she died, I took you away with me, until Viserys got involved in something that was none of his business. - Daemon growled, clenching his jaw and curling his lips in disgust, almost spitting the words in her direction.

-I wish you weren't my father! - Y/n shouted almost on tiptoe, as if that helped her voice stand out from her father's. - I wish I didn't have any connection with this stupid family!

-I just wanted my mom back. - Tears of anger and sadness ran down her already swollen face, as she screamed and gestured towards Daemon. - I wish she had never died because she was the only person who truly loved me in this world! Who never abandoned me willingly!

-Don't act like I never came back for you! - Daemon yelped, pushing the dressing table chair hard onto the floor. - As if I didn't give you the choice to leave with me when you had the chance, and you chose to stay for him and now you want to blame me for something that was no longer within my control! - He looked at her with wide eyes. - It was your choice! You chose wrong and that crazy bitch put you in that asylum that is Old Town!

-Don't talk about her that way! - Y/n hissed at the same time when she heard him refer to Alicent in such a low way.

Daemon turned towards the wall with his hands on his head and laughed in pure mockery.

-So you still defend that bitch?

-That bitch took care of me for all those years, while you went on with your life with your new perfect and happy family.- Y/n spat the words at him, her eyes burning with anger. - Nothing will ever change that.

-How nice of her to take care of my daughter after she and her husband stole her custody from me! - He walked around the room in long strides with a cynical smile on his face. - I should be very grateful to her.

-If my uncle asked for custody of Baela or Rhaena, would you hand them over? - Y/n asked in the firmest voice she could muster.

Daemon didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at her without making a sound.

-Would you give them up? - She shouted, taking a step towards him.

-Things are different now…

-That's what I thought. - She interrupted him with a wry laugh, throwing her head back. - Could you at least not pretend that all you felt was relief at getting rid of me and having nothing connecting you to my mother anymore?

-That's not true Y/n! - Her father lost his temper, slamming the table with a loud noise. - I hated that marriage with all my might, I couldn't stand being by your mother's side! But I always loved you!

-That's a lie! - Y/n shouted in fury, walking towards him with hard steps. - Everything in this family is a lie. Everything! Fake friends! Fake marriages! Fake happiness! Fake love! I just wish I didn't have to be part of all of this! I just wanted to be truly happy.

-If you really loved me, you would have fought for me. - She screamed in her father's face, pressing her nails firmly against her palms and closing her eyes. - You wouldn't have left me, you wouldn't have made me go through the greatest pain I've ever felt in my life!

-And what kind of pain would that be? - The oldest mocked, losing control over his own temper. - No longer being able to roll around in the sheets hiding with that cunt?

-Shut your mouth! - She screamed, her hands tangled in her own hair, almost jumping on her father. - Shut up! You know nothing about me! Not even about Aemond, much less what I had to go through!

-Get out of here! - Y/n screamed, opening the door with such force that the doorknob hit the wall hard, tearing off a small splinter. - That's what you do best! I don't need you or your fucking advice! You have two other daughters, take one of them and go play daddy present!

Y/n stared at him with eyes bloodshot with anger, feeling her body shake with fury as she held the door open. And taking a deep breath, Daemon walked towards the hallway.

-We can still fix all this, come to Pentos with us when we get back. Things will be different this time Y/n. - He sighed one last time and without giving a verbal answer Y/n slammed the door hard in his face, walking again towards the bed, still feeling the heat of tears on her cheeks

❦❦❦

Aemond could barely sleep throughout that night. He just stayed clear sitting on Aegon's couch, replaying everything that had happened as if it were a movie. Each time he wished he could take back what he said, but never could he.

And still driven by sadness and fury, he took the car keys and left the apartment without even telling his older brother. Speeding through the streets of Kings Landing with only one destination in mind.

-Mr. Targaryen, you can't just come in like that. - Oto's secretary screeched, looking slightly wide-eyed at Aemond, who just ignored her, muttering a dirty word as he threw open the door to Oto's office.

-How can you do that? - Aemond hissed, slamming the door behind him and striding toward his grandfather's desk. - How can you announce this lie without my consent?

-It was the wisest decision. - Oto gave little or no importance to his grandson's anger, continuing to write something down in a notebook, barely looking him in the eye when speaking.

-It wasn't your decision to make! - Aemond's eyes shone with barely contained fury as his hands trembled close to his body, being pressed so tightly that his nails left half-moon marks on his palms. -You had no right!

-You're still young, Aemond. - The eldest finally put down the fountain pen and looked at his grandson. - When we are young, we often don't know how to steer the boat of our own lives, we don't know how to make the right decisions! And we often get lost.

-We need someone older and wiser to guide us through the stormy ocean that is high-class life. Someone to make the difficult decisions for us. - He rested his hands on the tabletop with a very firm voice. - I made this decision for you, because I will not allow you to throw everything we worked for in the trash for something as insignificant as a foolish and childish love.

-What I feel for her is not a foolish and childish love! - Aemond hissed, also resting his hands on the table and staring at his grandfather, his eyes shining with barely contained anger. - I will deny all of this today!

-If you do that, Alicent will die of shame, Aemond. - Oto spoke firmly, staring at him. - Your mother spent hours on the phone apologizing to Floris for her behavior. To make her be reasonable and stay by your side through all of this.

-What do you want? Shame your mother? Humiliate Floris Baratheon by leaving her like that?

-I didn't ask for any of this! - His hands shook as his teeth pressed together so tightly that they grinded. - It's not my fault, it's yours!

-What did she say to you yesterday? - The eldest faced Aemond firmly, crossing his hands with his arms on the table. - She probably asked you to throw everything away and just crawl around her… the typical egocentrism inherited from her father.

-Y/n is not like her father! - Aemond shouted muffledly, clenching his hands on the table and squinting his eyes tightly. - You don't know her and I won't allow you to talk about her like that!

-I'll go to this ball with Floris, because she doesn't deserve to be involved in all of this! - He hissed in an angry voice. - But after that I'll give it a week and I'll announce that we've rushed into the engagement.

-A week is too little! - Oto shot him a glare. - Do you think waiting just for that will solve anything?

-And what do you plan to do about the rest afterwards? Go out with your cousin and tell everyone that you're involved? - The oldest laughed ironically.

-To ruin your career in business and mine in politics? - Oto stood up on the table, furious, glaring at him. - I forbid you to do that! Do you hear me, Aemond?

-That's your life! - He hissed in a hateful voice. - Learn to deal with it! - As Oto spoke, Aemond had the impression that his grandfather grew in size, making him feel like a 10-year-old boy again. - You were born into this family and you have to act according to what your position demands.

-If I lose her because of you… - He murmured, his gaze lost and full of pain. - I will never forgive you, grandfather.

And without listening to anything else that Oto could say, Aemond turned his back and left the older man's office. The urge to go to Y/n again haunted his thoughts like an insistent ghost, but fear made him restrain himself and return once more to Aegon's apartment.

-You know, it would have been good to let me know that you were leaving early today after all that talk yesterday. - The eldest rolled his eyes and sighed, throwing himself into an armchair with Sunfyre close behind him as soon as Aemond walked through the door.

-I didn't know if you had gone after her again, gone to talk to the septon or thrown yourself off the top of a hill.

-Neither of the three. - Aemond muttered without paying attention to Aegon's provocation and also without saying where he went. - But I need a favor.

-As long as it requires minimal effort, doesn't compromise my physical integrity and doesn't make me late to pick up Jae-Jae from school… - He shrugged, raising his eyebrows and curling his mouth downward.

-I need you to go to my apartment and feed my cat. - Aemond sighed, still unwilling to enter the apartment.

-Cat? - Aegon looked at him confused while Sunfyre tilted her head to the side. - Since when do you have a cat?

-Sunday. - He murmured melancholically, looking at the floor.

❦❦❦

The rest of Y/n's day was nothing but pain. She could barely bear to look at her phone for fear of seeing some news report talking about Floris and Aemond's engagement, but she kept it close to her anyway, waiting for him to call. Until she realized that Aemond didn't even have the number for that cell phone and couldn't call even if he wanted to.

Some time passed and the bedroom phone rang. Y/n almost fell out of bed to answer it, and when she did, her voice was anxious and breathless, her face filled with hope. But all that went away as soon as a female voice apologized for the inconvenience and asked if she would confirm her presence at the family's charity ball that would take place on Friday night.

-No. - She sighed against the phone with her eyes saddened again as she slid the phone back into its cradle.

Everything passed in a strange blur and dark memories of hateful days came to her mind without asking for permission. Night fell and she didn't even notice the darkness that swallowed the city with the curtains so tightly closed as they were. And when she fell asleep, she was still wearing the same yellow dress, tightly clinging to the hotel duvet while tears still ran down her face.

The next morning Y/n was still in the fog of sleep, tormented by dreams that seemed more like nightmares. She woke up with a start when she heard someone knocking on the bedroom door. And holding her breath as she felt her heart skip a beat, she ran to the door.

Being invaded by disappointment as soon as she opened it, when she came across a smiling red-haired girl carrying a cart with a carefully arranged breakfast.

-Thank you, but I didn't ask for this.

-They said in the kitchen to bring the coffee to your room, madam. - The girl looked down and stopped smiling. - I'm just following orders, if you want I can take it back.

-All good. - Y/n forced a smile at the girl. - Don't worry, you can leave it here.

The redhead entered the room with the cart and widened her eyes slightly when she saw how messy the adjacent room was.

-If madam wants, I can ask someone to come and clean up the hall so you can be more comfortable. - She offered, her eyes still a little shocked, and Y/n, who was distracted looking at the newspaper on the cart, didn't even hear the question to which she nodded positively.

-Have a good day, madam. - The girl bowed her head in respect and left the room, leaving her alone, and Y/n didn't even answer, still staring at the headline on the front page of the newspaper.

The engagement of the decade? How the marriage between Targaryen and Baratheon can help in the merger of two of the largest companies in the country.

And right below a black and white photo of Aemond and Floris at what looked like a party.

She didn't touch the food. She just went back to bed and curled up once more, hugging her body tightly as if that could prevent the almost physical pain she felt.

Hours passed and Y/n was still lying in bed clutching the pillow when she heard the door opening and at the same moment she raised her eyebrows and getting up. Her curiosity passed almost instantly when she heard two female voices and realized that it was just the maids cleaning the room adjacent to the room.

With a sigh, Y/n just lay down again, hugging the pillow even tighter, feeling tears in her eyes once again, and seriously thinking about calling Aemond to apologize and beg him to come back. Until the whispers of the chambermaids reached her ears.

-I heard that the dress Floris Baratheon is going to wear is so bright that it would blind the sun if the ball were held during the day. - Y/n heard one of the maids whispering to another as they cleaned the room and her stomach twisted.

-About the damn dress? - The other whispered back. - I heard that the diamond in the ring Aemond Targaryen gave her is so big that they sold a branch of the company in the south to be able to pay for it!

-If that's true, then he must really be in love with her.

Y/n's blood boiled in her veins upon hearing those words, she didn't even hear the rest of the conversation between the two women, feeling as if her heart were beating in her ears and raising her furious eyes from the ground for the first time in the day.

If Aemond thought he could show off with that bitch like she was a trophy and not suffer the consequences he was sorely mistaken. She wouldn't let that happen. She would go to the annual charity ball and give him a taste of what she was feeling.

Still heartbroken, Y/n got up from the bed, wiping her tears hard, she needed a new dress that was good enough… good enough to outshine not just one, but all the stars in the sky. As soon as the door closed and the maids left the room, she reached for her cell phone and dialed a number that she was very familiar with from calling so many times to make requests.

As the phone rang, she opened the curtains of the beautiful window with a panoramic view of Black Water Bay, feeling her eyes burn with fury and the golden sunset sun that was beginning to fall over the city.

-Olena, my dear, how are you? - She smiled forcefully into the phone, using the friendliest voice she could muster with so much anger and sadness in her own heart. - I need a dress for tomorrow night!

❦❦❦

Friday morning flooded Aegon's apartment, illuminating every corner and crevice, except for the large living room, which had its curtains firmly closed since Aemond had sat on the couch two days ago and remained there without moving for practically anything. Just staring at the table, the wall or the ceiling as if they could give him answers and solutions.

When Aegon went downstairs to prepare Jaehaerys's breakfast he sighed and threw his head back at the sight of his brother still looking the same as the night before.

-Okay, that's enough! - He croaked, jumping off the last step and heading towards Aemond. - Look, you've been wearing the same suit for like three days. - Aegon grimaced, wrinkling his nose.

-And that's none of your business. - Aemond muttered without even looking at his brother, making him snort in anger.

-Listen, you didn't eat, you barely slept, and I don't even know if I saw you drinking water. - The oldest enumerated on his fingers, looking at him leaning against the water green wall of the apartment. - If you keep this up, it won't be long before I'm going to be arrested for concealing a corpse.

Aemond just ignored him, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

-Okay, I've lost my patience. - Aegon walked over to the drinks table where his cell phone was. - I'm still the big brother and if I don't eat a sandwich, take a shower and wear clean clothes… I'll call Helaena.

-Fuck you, Aegon. - Aemond closed his eyes firmly with anger.

-I'm serious. I'm going to say that you've been on my couch for three days without showering or moving and she's going to freak out and leave the turtles and her other weirdnesses just to come see you.

Aemond rolled his eyes angrily and let out a hiss of indignation, he hated it when Helaena worried. The last time was enough.

And seeing that his brother was serious, he got up and walked towards the guest room to finally take a shower. When he finally came down the stairs, Jaehaerys was drawing a syrupy smile on his pancake with little blueberry eyes and a strawberry nose. While Aegon poured juice and prepared two sandwiches, he hummed a song and nodded positively at something his son said.

-Uncle Aem! - Came the little boy's excited voice. - I got the best grade in the class in art once again!

-My teacher even told Daddy to put me in a drawing class! - He swung his legs over the counter. - Isn't that right, Daddy?

-Yes, it is, little mouse. - Aegon ruffled his son's hair, smiling and holding out the plate with the sandwich to Aemond.

-That's amazing, Jae, really amazing. - Aemond smiled melancholy as he remembered how excited Y/n had been when she was enrolled in the drawing class years ago. And as he bit into the sandwich, his heart ached and he wondered if Y/n had eaten the food brought to her in the room.

-Are you going to the ball tonight? - Aegon raised his eyebrow as he watched the younger one.

-I have to go. - Just like the last few days, he didn't look his brother in the eyes when he spoke.

-At least try to get some sleep. And not on the couch, lie down in the guest room and get some rest or you'll have a syncope in the middle of the party.

-Daddy, what is sinky? - Jaehaerys tilted his head to the side, his cheeks stained with maple syrup.

-When Uncle Aemond goes days without sleeping and falls flat on the floor like a fool. - Aegon explained, making a funny face as he wiped the laughing little boy's face.

After breakfast, Jaehaerys dragged Aemond by the hand up the stairs and practically forced him to lie down on the bed with soft sheets. Scolding him in a gentle way that reminded him of Helaena, saying that he would not let him have such a "sinky" and that he would take care of him.

And when the little boy left the room with Sunfyre in tow, he closed the door carefully and whispered in a sweet, childish voice.

-Sleep well, Uncle Aem.

He felt his heart tighten at the prospect of forever losing the dreams he had dreamed of his entire life and now perhaps could never have.

❦❦❦

Y/n was walking out of Tyrell with several bags hanging from her arms while keeping a serious look on her face to keep from breaking down. The hotel driver was waiting for her in front of the store in a black car, and when she put the bags in the back seat to get in, she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

-Cece, dear! - She greeted with forced joy and a sweet smile on her lips.

-Doing last minute shopping for tonight?

-Yeah! I've been so busy the last few days that I haven't had time! - She rolled her eyes, smiling and putting her right hand to her temple.

-Completely normal. - Cece rolled her eyes. - Where are you going to get ready?

-Missy Misaria obviously. - Now it was Y/n who rolled her eyes as if that were obvious.

-What do you think about going to the ball together then? - Cece arched her eyebrows and smiled interestedly. - I'm also going to get ready there, and then my brother will come by with the driver to pick me up. Our parents will arrive early, you know… business.

-Oh, that would be great! - Y/n narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she heard her speak, and a small smile appeared on her lips.

❦❦❦

Hours later Aemond left the room, he hadn't slept well, but at least he had stretched his back and tired body. As soon as he passed in front of his nephew's door he frowned when he heard the singing coming from the bathroom, and opening the door he found Aegon washing Jaehaerys' hair in the bathtub while the boy sang and struggled in the bathtub to make more foam.

-Are you getting ready for the night? - Aemond frowned since it was at most 3:00 pm and the ball only started at 6:00 pm.

-I started early. - Aegon shrugged. - I need to comb Jae's hair and dress him so I can take a shower and get dressed.

-And what are you going to wear? - Aegon looked him up and down, since Aemond was wearing shorts and a shirt borrowed from him.

-I could even lend you one of my suits, but I don't think you'll be well received at a gala ball with your shins out, Mr. Big Guy.

Jaehaerys laughed as he usually did when his father made a joke, even if it wasn't funny.

-Listen, sooner or later you'll have to come home again… - He shrugged, making a mohawk with shampoo in his son's silver hair. - Maybe it'll even help you think about what to do.

Taking a deep breath and deciding to follow his brother's advice, he said goodbye and left his brother's home, heading towards his own apartment.

Aemond could barely look around as he entered. Everything was exactly the way she had left it when she left, the blanket on the sofa, the glasses on the counter, a half-eaten peach on the computer desk.

He ended up letting out a sideways smile when he realized that Vhagar was lying lazily on the couch, completely asleep. And feeling a little relieved, he put more food and water in her bowls, since what Aegon had served was almost gone.

When he entered the room, he saw Lys's unpacked bags lined up on the floor, and with a melancholic smile, he opened the one containing the orange sweatshirt and the white blouse, sighing when he realized that the sweet smell of her skin was still stuck to the fibers of the fabric.

And after gently placing the clothes on the bed, he took a deep breath and then headed towards the shower, trying not to think about her body clinging to his while they both bathed and exchanged passionate kisses.

The shower was longer than he expected, and there in the safety of his own bathroom, completely alone, a few tears ran down his face, mixing with running water falling from the shower.

Shortly after drying himself with the towel still wrapped around his waist, he picked up a small golden key and the clothes on the bed, walking to the living room. Just like he usually did when he was sad, Aemond opened the heavy curtains in the living room and let out a sigh as he looked at the horizon at dusk.

And taking a deep breath, he left the clothes on the shelf and put the key in the lock of the wooden chest, but as soon as he did so, a notification sounded on the cell phone that had been left in his room. Feeling a slight thread of hope, Aemond walked quickly towards the cell phone, but when he got there he only sighed in disappointment when he read what was written.

Find floris at her house! - Grandpa

-Hell. - He muttered, pressing his eyes tightly closed and heading towards the closet to get dressed.

Nothing there seemed to have the same shine without her, he never felt that it actually did, but at that moment it seemed that what was already black and white had become just gray.

He dried his hair and tied it back, leaving the rest loosely falling down his back. And right after putting on his shoes, he heard Aegon's voice calling him by name in the hallway. After Aegon was quiet, Jaehaerys' voice sounded right after, imitating his father, but shouting "Uncle Aemy", making him roll his eyes.

-We are no longer in the age of conquest. - He muttered grumpily as he opened the door. - They already invented the doorbell.

-Are you coming with us? - Aegon chose to ignore him, something that was very common on his part.

-I need to get Floris.

-Oh… I see. Then we'll see you later. - He suddenly nodded seriously.

-Bye uncle Aem. - The little boy waved and Aemond smiled sideways when he saw him wearing a suit as he walked all pompously to the elevator imitating Aegon.

❦❦❦

As soon as Aemond stopped the car in front of the Baratheon mansion, the butler opened the door and Floris came down the small stone staircase in the entrance hall to meet him, wearing a yellow dress and with her hair tied up. The butler ran to the car and opened the door for the girl to get in, and she frowned as she looked at Aemond.

-That's it? Couldn't you have at least bothered to order a limo? Are we going in your car? - She glared at him as Aemond left the mansion grounds.

-I didn't have time to think about it. - Aemond hissed slightly irritated, squeezing the steering wheel with both hands.

-But of course not! You were too busy embarrassing me. - She rolled her eyes in disdain. - Do you think people weren't asking me things all the time? That my friends aren't whispering when they think I'm not listening?

-Your friends are all treacherous snakes who would kick you in the back if they could. - He mocked irritably, speeding up the car.

-And what are you? - She bit back.

-I never promised you anything! - He growled, turning towards her angrily. - You knew from the beginning that I didn't love you, our parents decided this relationship.

-No, but at least your mother assured me that you weren't some creep who went around fucking your own cousin. And now look at this… - Floris widened her eyes at him, tilting her head to the side and then making a face. - You two make me sick!

-So why don't you just end it all? - Aemond growled angrily, glaring at her as he stopped at the traffic light.

-Because you know I need this as much as you do! - She almost screamed in anger, waving her hands. - I'm the second daughter too, my older sister will probably be the future CEO of Baratheon Industries, but if I married you my father wouldn't think twice before leaving me as the main heir.

-Your mother called me and assured me that it was all a misunderstanding, that it wasn't what it seemed.- Floris made a childish voice and pouted while imitating Alicent. - She thinks I'm some kind of idiot and that I don't see what's happening in front of me!

-I can't marry you! - Aemond said abruptly, stepping on the brakes, making the car behind him honk loudly.

-What? - Floris hissed, her eyes flashing. - Listen here, the engagement has already been announced, your mother and grandfather assured us that we'll get married and solve all this. So I think you better calm down and go back to the real world where we live and no septon in the world is going to marry you off to that lunatic cousin of yours!

-Don't you dare say anything against her! - Aemond growled, his voice dripping with anger, and he pressed his eyes tightly together.

-Then I talk about you! No one will ever accept this in high society, and if you bring this madness to light… you'll be burying yourself and your career. - She rolled her eyes as if Aemond was an imbecile, and he didn't say anything in return, just driving faster than the streets of Kings Landing allowed.

-At least pretend to be happy tonight. - She practically growled, opening the door for herself as Aemond handed the keys to the event valet minutes later.

❦❦❦

The hall was decorated with everything that was finest that night, and the many guests who arrived looked at everything in amazement, each year the Targaryen ball was more beautiful than the year before.

And even with so much beauty Aemond didn't care, even when they walked the red carpet moments ago and the camera flashes almost blinded him at the entrance of the event all he could think about was Y/n, what she was doing at that moment and how he would beg her forgiveness on his knees at that moment if he could.

Floris' golden dress shone even more with the camera flashes and she smiled robotically as she posed correctly for the photographers, making sure to leave the farce that was that ridiculously large ring in evidence.

The two went down the stairs, crossing the hall side by side with rigid postures while Floris forced joy and greeted back everyone who congratulated her on her engagement, while Aemond just nodded and thanked him in a taciturn way.

-Can you at least pretend a little better? - Floris hissed just for him to hear without taking the smile off her face and Aemond had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

-That's my best. - He spoke almost monotonously while staring at a fixed point on the wall with an almost lost look, making Floris snort and with a fake smile pat his shoulder right after walking towards the younger sisters.

The anger for being at that ball and not by Y/n's side corroded his veins and without thinking much after Floris walked away he just approached the bar still with that lost and unfocused look and took the first drink he saw the boy behind the counter preparing for the Gods know who.

-Little brother, I don't know if you noticed, but this isn't water. - Aegon raised his eyebrows, moving closer when he saw Aemond drink the second glass.

-Mmmm. - He deliberately ignored what the older man said, going in another direction.

-Aemond considering the fact that you have the alcohol tolerance of a squirrel I think it's better to stop. - The eldest took the glass from his brother's hand and exchanged it for the glass of champagne he was carrying with him, drinking Aemond's drink in one go and making a face when he almost choked.

-What the fuck are you drinking?

-I don't know. - Aemond rolled his eyes, more grumpy than usual, his voice stopping at a growl. - I just took it from the bar.

Suddenly a strange commotion began outside the hall where the photographers from the magazines and newspapers were positioned looking for the best angle, leaving some of the more attentive guests looking in the direction of the main door.

It was then that moments later a strange silence briefly took over the hall, only the soft music playing in the background, until low murmurs began again and louder conversations returned soon after.

And when Aemond looked towards the door he saw her entering the hall in a long blood red dress that still left a lot of skin on display, as it had a huge side slit on the leg and thin straps that led to a reasonably deep neckline. Her skin seemed to glow under the lights of the hall and Aemond's heart skipped a beat as he admired her.

Her beautiful silky hair was tied in an elaborate hairstyle and her neck adorned with a necklace with hundreds of diamonds, and the realization that she was not wearing her beautiful sapphire made Aemond's heart ache. Still, she was certainly the most beautiful of all those present, and that was the only certainty he had that night as soon as he laid eyes on her.

-Take a picture, it will last longer. - Aegon had a mocking look on his face as he took the glass of champagne from his brother's hand and downed it in one go.

The sparkle in Aemond's eyes disappeared almost instantly the next moment, because behind Y/n entered Jason Lanister and with a smile crossed his arm around her waist, guiding her through the hall through the people.

At that moment Aegon was sure, if he hadn't taken the glass from Aemond's hand he would have broken the stem with the amount of force he was squeezing his own hands.

❦❦❦

-What in the name of the seven hells is she doing here? - Oto growled angrily at Alicent as the two watched Y/n descend the stairs next to Jason. - Didn't you say she didn't confirm her presence?

-And she didn't! - Alicent scolded with wide eyes. - I checked the list twice.

-I should have suspected she would do something like that! - Oto muttered angrily, almost pulling out his own hair as he ran his eyes around the room, observing each person's reaction to Y/n's arrival.

And to make the man's mood even worse, Daemon appeared at the top of the stairs accompanied by Laena and his pre-teen daughters.

-The gods should have forbidden this damn man from reproducing. - Oto swore furiously heading towards Aemond and Aegon with Alicent at his heels.

Having difficulty moving through the hall without being stopped to talk to almost every guest who greeted him, when Oto and Alicent finally reached their final destination, Aemond and Aegon were no longer alone. Viserys, Daemon and his family were with them.

Jaehaerys was now at Aegon's side, looking curiously at the unknown people he had already realized were family.

-Oto, it's been a while. – Daemond smiled mischievously. - I hope you've resolved your problems with the party officials.

Oto hated Daemond with all his might, and not content with messing up Oto's life personally, he had to leave an heiress in his place when he finally left.

-And I hope you've learned to behave better in the face of fatherhood.

Before Daemon could answer, Rhaenys and Corlys joined him, all smiles at seeing their daughter and granddaughters.

-Oh, Laenor can't come, he's been working too much lately, you know? - Rhaenys rolled her eyes affectionately as she spoke of her eldest son.

Viserys was all smiles as he talked to his cousin and brother, and Aemond barely heard what was being said, just looking in Y/n's direction, not missing a single movement she made. Until a soft voice called him and he looked away.

-Little brother, is everything okay? - Helaena looked at him worriedly with Daeron by her side, and Aemond forced a smile and ended up nodding to the older sister.

Helaena was beautiful in her own way, wearing a light blue dress full of details that looked like scales. Her hair was a little tied up and a little loose, full of hairpins that looked like small sparkling leaves or shiny beetles.

-It's okay Hel, don't worry about me. - He muttered, looking again at where Y/n was, but she had disappeared.

Aemond looked around, feeling his stomach churn momentarily, and when he finally turned back, he saw her approaching with Jason by her side and a sweet smile on her face.

-Y/n, dear! - Viserys hugged her. - I thought you weren't going to come, how good the joy of your presence gave us.

-Jason was kind enough to offer to accompany me, uncle. - Y/n lightly laid her head on Jason's shoulder and Aemond felt his palms tingle.

And as if nothing else was needed, Rhaenyra came all smiles towards them all, accompanied by her husband and her insufferable children.

-Uncle, I heard you're engaged, I never imagined this day would come. - Luke mocked, making Jace laugh. And even though she was mad at Aemond, Y/n wanted to slap that little idiot on the head for talking to him like that.

Normally Aemond would be angry, but he didn't even process Luke's words, too concerned with where Jason's hands were on Y/n's waist.

-Oh, how good it is to see our family all together after so long. - Viserys's eyes shone with a smile, seeming oblivious to all the tension in the hall.

-I want a picture! - He smiled even more, waving to one of the photographers and guiding Alicent closer to him. - A family picture!

And still with tense looks, everyone gathered in front of the photographer, Viserys in the center with Alicent on his left and Rhaenyra on the right. Harwin hovered beside Rhaenyra like a shadow three times her size, his hand resting on her shoulder protectively as Jace, Luke, and Joff stood in front of their father together.

Daemon stood next to his favorite niece and her husband, standing next to Harwin with Laena at his side and their two daughters in front of them. And to stay close to his youngest daughter and granddaughters, Corlys stopped beside Laena, gently pulling Rhaenys to stand in front of him.

Behind Alicent, Oto hovered with one hand on his daughter's shoulder and a serious look on his face. Beside Alicent was Helaena, smiling happily as she adjusted her golden flower tiara. Beside her, Daeron smiled discreetly, smoothing his hair with the palms of his hands and whispering something softly to his older sister.

Aegon stood behind Helaena with Jaehaerys in his arms. The boy looked curiously at his aunt and just by looking into his eyes, you could see that he was considering the idea of ​​taking one of the shiny hairpins from Helaena's head, but his father was too busy keeping his eyes on his younger brother to notice.

Aemond stood beside Aegon, looking deadly serious as he clenched his jaw so hard that the older man thought he could hear it creaking. His gaze was clearly directed at Y/n, who was staring back at him in the same way.

Whenever Viserys asked for photos like this at charity balls or even at simpler events, Y/n would run to Aemond's side with a smile on her lips, and they were so close that there was barely room for an atom, but that night she looked away and walked towards her father, stepmother and younger sisters, receiving a sweet smile from Laena and a discreet curve of lips to her father. Daemon placed his hand gently on Y/n's shoulder and she stood before him with Baela and Rhaena on her left side.

The eyes of everyone at the ball were turned in that direction, and even a layman could notice the glares exchanged between Aemond and Y/n, while Alicent and Oto looked worriedly at both of them.

The flashes went off blinding them all, and as soon as the photos were taken everyone separated at the same moment.

-Don't worry Oto, I've been overcoming the challenges of parenthood every day, but I assure you that at least I don't intend to pimp my daughters for social positions. - Daemon whispered only for Oto to hear before moving away.

-You insolent man! - Oto hissed furiously as Daemon walked away.

-Helaena! - Y/n's excited voice rang out as she gently hugged her cousin. - I missed you so much.

-Ah Y/n, I felt you too! - The eldest gently tilted her head as she spoke. - Do you know that I work at the beach now? - She rambled excitedly. - Those little turtles I told you about once are finally being protected.

-That's great Hel, I'm so happy. - Y/n hugged her once again and Helaena smiled, reciprocating softly as was her custom.

Until Jason said something in a low voice to Y/n and guided her in another direction. At the same time Aemond went after the two, feeling his head exploding with anger and frustration when he saw that filthy man touch her waist. But before he could reach them, Aegon stepped in front of him, stopping him discreetly.

-Aemond, what are you doing? - He gave a fake smile to those watching from outside and took a glass of champagne from the tray that was passing by.

-I'll do it the old way. I'll cut off his hands and then make him swallow them. - He hissed with so much anger and seriousness that Aegon swallowed hard, not knowing if his brother was serious or not.

-Alright, take it easy, knight of the realm. - Aegon frowned. - Public dismemberments were banned about 500 years ago.

And before Aemond could say anything else, Floris appeared in the middle of the crowd, burning him with her look of fury that was visible even with her hiding it behind a smile.

-Mrs. Stark loved my ring and found it in extremely good taste. - She said in a falsely gentle voice. - She wishes to greet us.

And crossing her arm through Aemond's in a firm grip, she practically dragged him towards the Stark table. The two once again received a shower of congratulations and greetings for the engagement, which made Aemond's stomach churn as his eyes frantically searched for Y/n among the people, never losing sight of her for more than a minute with her being easy to identify in the red dress.

Until the inevitable happened and the two couples met in the hall, staring at each other vehemently.

-Floris, my dear, it's been so long since I've seen you. - Y/n smiled cynically.

-Really a long time, Y/n. - She looked at her up and down bitterly. - I didn't think you would come back so soon, I heard that you were going to become a septa.

Y/n frowned and almost choked upon hearing that, but she recovered almost instantly.

-Who made you think such a thing?

-Your aunt? - Floris arched her eyebrow.

-Although she doesn't look like it, Aunt Alicent has a very good sense of humor. - Y/n forced a smile as she gave Aemond a prickly look, who barely noticed the conversation, too busy glaring at Jason.

-It's a beautiful dress, but from what I can see, it's not a famous signature. - Floris teased Y/n with a look of superiority as she pointed out her dress.

-Oh no, my dear, it's from Tyrell, the new collection hasn't even been released yet. - Y/n smiled provocatively, pouting slightly. - I'm a personal friend of Olena Tyrell, she insisted that I choose a more recent one.

-Yours, on the other hand… Yves Saint Martel, isn't it? Two years ago… - Y/n sighed cynically, her hands on her hips, smiling internally when she saw the angry look on Floris' face, so Olena was right about the dress. - I would have chosen something better for such an important occasion.

-Come on, Jason, I want to talk to Cece. - She pulled him away, leaving without giving Floris a chance to respond.

❦❦❦

-Floris is stunning. - Pia murmured to Jane, enchantedly observing the dress with a golden fabric that shone as if hundreds of tiny diamonds were sewn through the fabric.

-Yeah, it's a shame her fiancé is more busy mentally murdering Jai Lanister than asking her to dance. - Elyrio rolled his eyes, carefully observing the movements around the room.

-Just look at their skin. - Lion arched his eyebrow. - I knew she would be as tanned as him, in person she looks even more sunburned than in the photo in that magazine.

-I think that if he could kill Jai, he would have already killed him. - Jane whispered, observing Aemond discreetly and feeling a little uncomfortable with the strength of the anger that emanated from his gaze.

-He's having an affair with his cousin and Floris probably knows about it. - Pia murmured slightly astonished, as if even after all the previous assumptions this was a shock.

-They both announced their engagement. - Nia spoke without even a drop of the certainty that was in her voice a few days ago when talking to her friends.

-That doesn't stop him from cheating on her. - Elyrio shrugged, taking a sip of champagne as if that was totally obvious.

-Did you see Flo's face at the opening of your sister Nia's restaurant? - Jane arched her eyebrow a little tensely as she remembered. - I asked her about Aemond and I thought she was going to strike me down alive.

-Did your sister tell you if Floris told her anything? - Lion looked at her, bursting with curiosity.

-No, she didn't tell me anything, but I think Floris just didn't tell her. My sister wouldn't be able to hide something that big from me. - Nia still seemed shocked by the situation as she watched the glances exchanged between Aemond and Y/n, who were walking with their respective partners through the hall, but didn't even seem to know they were there.

-Even better, did you see the photo of Y/n leaving his building shortly after the engagement announcement? - Elyrio brought the subject back to Y/n and the photo that had been almost more talked about than the engagement. - He seemed to be out of his mind! Disheveled and crying in public, I've never seen her do that, not even when we were kids at school!

-From what I've heard, the rumor circulating among the hotel staff is that she disappeared after she arrived in the city and came back on the day of the engagement announcement, locked herself in the room and never came out again. - Jane muttered

-I heard that Aemond went there! - Lion shrugged. - But I don't know if it's really true. The driver was telling our cook that he heard it somewhere, so I'm not sure.

And the trained eyes followed Aemond as he moved away from Floris and headed once more towards the bar, followed closely by Aegon.

-Wait a second, was Aegon dancing with Cece's aunt? - Elyrio whispered with wide eyes, starting a new gossip in the group.

❦❦❦

-I hope your bloodlust has reduced after that walk. - Aegon put his arm over Aemond's shoulder, and the youngest removed it in the next instant.

-Mmmm. - Aemond almost growled, drinking another glass of champagne in one go, making Aegon scratch his head apprehensively.

The minutes passed and Aegon watched Aemond while Aemond watched Jason and Y/n. And when the urge to go to the bathroom became too much to bear, Aegon waved to Daeron discreetly and the younger crossed the dance floor towards them.

Aegon just gave him a look and Daeron nodded, standing next to Aemond while the older brother went to the bathroom.

-Hey big bro, I think it's best not to drink anymore. - Daeron smiled very kindly, advising Aemond who just rolled his eyes and took another sip from the glass.

But then moments later he saw Y/n walking alone towards the bathroom, and without thinking twice he put the glass on the counter and went towards her.

-Where are you going? - Daeron said trying to be casual and failing miserably, making Aemond roll his eyes deeply.

-To the bathroom. - The oldest continued walking but stopped abruptly and without turning around he growled. - Daeron, I swear that if you follow me into the bathroom I will kill you, and then Aegon.

The younger brother just swallowed hard and let him go while watching from afar with wide eyes as he took a sip of champagne to disguise himself, almost choking as he drank from Aemond's glass realizing that what was there was clearly not champagne.

❦❦❦

Y/n was walking towards the bathroom when she felt a strong hand pulling her into the dark hallway next door, and she almost screamed but as soon as she felt the touch on her skin she knew almost instantly that it was Aemond pulling her.

-What do you think you're doing? - Aemond growled at her as soon as they arrived in the corner.

-I just came to the ball, It's not a big deal. - She laughed carelessly as she spoke venomously.

-With Jason Lanister? - He hissed softly, getting even closer to her and Y/n could smell a slight smell of alcohol on his breath.

-Did you drink whiskey? - She whispered with concern, bringing her palm to his face, momentarily forgetting her anger.

-That's not the point. - He muttered, still enraged. - He's always been following you around like a stupid dog! Get away from him right now!

Y/n's anger resurfaced redoubled with those words.

-Who I hang out with is none of your business anymore. - She hissed angrily, pulling her hands out of his reach. - And don't you dare touch me again!

-Jason has been very kind to me tonight. - She mocked, her smoldering eyes hidden behind a sweet smile. - A true gentleman. Maybe I'll give him a kiss at the end of the party as a reward!

-You won't let that fucking bastard touch you! - Aemond shouted muffledly so that only the two of them heard

-Oh really? And who's going to stop me? You? - Y/n sneered, throwing her neck back. - I think you're too busy receiving your engagement congratulations for that! - She growled and left him alone and furious in the dark side hallway.

That was the problem with Y/n and Aemond knew it, she was too sweet for her own good. But even the gentle beast can bite when it feels threatened

❦❦❦

When Aemond returned, Aegon and Daeron were arguing lightly and the older man sighed in relief when he saw him.

-Thanks to the gods.

Aemond couldn't even express his anger, he just rolled his eyes and ignored the two of them, feeling that the only thing that would make him happy that night was to strangle Jason Lanister. And to make things even worse, he felt an unwanted touch on his right shoulder.

-Darling. - Floris called him in a sweet voice that didn't match the angry look in her eyes at all. - Your mother asked us to take more pictures.

She pulled him by the hand away from his brothers, leading him towards one of the ball photographers. Amidst the smiles for the pictures, Floris subtly touched his chest between his shirt and jacket, caressing it affectionately and after the last picture was taken the girl smiled and left a soft kiss on Aemond's chin. Making his stomach turn, not with pleasure or joy like when Y/n did it, but with pure repulsion.

And while Floris pretended very well, walking and smiling among the people, he just went back to the same corner with a vacant look, barely noticing that Daeron had disappeared and only Aegon was there watching him.

-Listen… - The older man sighed, staring at him. - This whole shit show is going to be over soon and then we can just go home and be quiet…

-Daddy… Daddy… - Jaehaerys arrived, pulling on the hem of Aegon's jacket. - I need to go to the bathroom!

-Just a second, little mouse… - Aegon looked around, looking for Daeron in the crowd, but couldn't find him.

-I know what you're doing and I don't need a babysitter. - Aemond practically growled, still looking in the direction of Y/n and Jason Lanister.

-Stop staring. - Aegon hissed, pulling the youngest to the corner. - It's already getting bizarre, people are noticing. -Mmmm. - He rolled his eyes, taking another glass of champagne.

-Daddy! - Jaehaerys called once again with a demanding voice and jumping with his eyes closed.

-Daddy's going, just a second, little mouse, I swear… - He smiled at the little one as he spoke softly, then turned to Aemond.

-I'll be back in five minutes. Try not to burn a hole in Lanister's forehead just with your withering glare in the meantime. - Aegon whispered hurriedly, then hoisted Jaehaerys by the armpits and picked him up in his arms, heading towards the bathroom.

-Idiot. - Aemond rolled his eyes in a bad mood as he watched his brother disappear into the hallway.

Aemond's blood was almost boiling in his veins. He watched Jason from afar with his body pressed against Y/n's while he murmured things to her, as if he had any kind of intimacy with her. Hatred made his stomach boil, and he gripped the stem of the champagne glass so tightly that it could very well break.

❦❦❦

Y/n's eyes were burning, she couldn't tell if it was from anger or jealousy, the only thing she knew was that seeing Aemond next to Floris Baratheon all handsome and hot while they took all those pictures of them made her want to jump on Floris and pull out every single strand of her hair.

The moment Floris Baratheon touched his chest and then kissed him on the chin in public just like she always did in secret, Y/n felt like an arrow of pure hatred had pierced her heart, and she had to hold herself back from crying in public.

But that's when her mind lit up and Y/n got even angrier, that wasn't Floris' fault. This was Aemond's fault. And if he thought things could be like that, she would give him a taste of his own medicine. At that very moment she swallowed all her anger and put on a mask of smiles and satisfaction for everyone around her.

And minutes later, when Jason Lanister asked her to dance again, unlike the other times, Y/n broke into a sweet smile and accepted the request. As she walked to the dance floor, she had to contain her victorious smile when she felt Aemond's gaze burning against her back. Y/n only forgot one thing, Aemond was not very good at being subtle when he was angry.

Jason was dancing very close to Y/n, certainly much closer than the music playing at the moment required. And she smiled and feigned satisfaction as she moved with him across the dance floor, when Jason spun them around and she could see Aemond and momentarily Y/n's heart raced. The look of murderous jealousy on his face almost made her moan in satisfaction.

And suddenly Jason spun her around again and she lost sight of him amidst the other people in the room. Jason got even closer and discomfort and repulsion took over Y/n when he firmly squeezed her ass, that was only good when Aemond did it.

But she didn't need to think about it twice, because she had barely finished thinking about what Jason had just done and Aemond had already pulled him off her by the arm with his face contorted in fury and punched him in the face making horrified screams ring out throughout the Ball.

tag list: @afro-hispwriter @fan-goddess @strangersunghoon @zenka69 @callsignwidow @amanda08319 @alesswift-blog @marialikescherries

Final notes:

Aegon blinked for a second and Aemond is finally going to attempt his murder! I hope you enjoyed it!! 💕💕

Next Chapter

[kindheart525]

Awhile back, I entertained the idea that Allan Red perhaps had a dysfunctional upbringing, one filled with messes and a lack of personal space that led him to be the extremely organized and independent critter we know and love today. At the time it was a vague concept, but I found it super intriguing and have decided to finally tackle it for myself. If you know any of my MLP work you know I love making family/backstory headcanons like this, so it was only a matter of time before I started doing it with the smiley guys.

The difficulty of Allan’s life started with the divorce of his parents. His father, Red Red (pronounced Ray-d Red), is much like who his son grows up to be: a financially stable critter who organizes his life in spreadsheets and keeps his home very clean. His favorite drink is water and he’s generally boring and unremarkable. Despite this, he is the most hated man in the city. As a lawyer, Red was tasked with defending a critter who was notorious for being charitable and friendly to the whole town…until a legal misstep got him the death penalty. It later came out that that guy was a serial killer (he was executed over a parking ticket) but the damage was done. When he divorced his wife, everyone sided against him in the custody battle, not over his parenting abilities but because of his “crime” of condemning a beloved icon. But also Red’s busy work schedule is not conducive to parenting and he’s generally not great with kids, treating them like mini adults more than anything. He could have fought harder than he did but his lack of emotion contrasted with his ex wife’s heartfelt pleas turned the favor towards her.

Red’s story is kind of silly lol but his ex wife’s is much less so. Despite getting primary custody of her son, Lucy became kind of a wreck after the divorce. She hopped from job to job despite her ex’s generous child support payments, but she was overall managing alright…until she met Kevin Costner (not to be confused with the actor). He was a gruff man but she saw a warm heart in him, especially since he had a son of his own to care for. But in reality, he’s an alcoholic who’s horrible with money and doesn’t pick up after himself. His son Topher is shaping up to be the same way but perhaps worse, as he seems to break things on purpose and scream constantly just for the hell of it. Allan had the misfortune of sharing a bedroom with him in their parents’ tiny house, and he couldn’t get any peace with him around. Topher stole his things and got up in his space and would not give him an inch to himself. Kevin (or “Bastard Kevin” as Allan calls him) disciplined Allan for standing up for himself much more harshly than he ever corrected his son. Lucy made excuses for the both of them and tried to make them bond as a family, but that wasn’t happening. Even when Allan caught her crying about how she’ll never be able to retire or have a clean house, she insisted, and still insists, that Kevin is the love of her life. She couldn’t be convinced to leave him. Nobody was ever hit but it was still a bad situation. Allan, who initially felt the sting of his father’s supposed “abandonment,” quickly put those feelings aside to focus on surviving each day in the Costner household.

To make matters worse—or better, depending on who you ask—Lucy ended up pregnant with Kevin’s baby. Cassadee (legally Casserole because Kevin was drunk filling out the birth certificate) is the apple of her mommy’s eye. Lucy was thrilled to finally have the daughter of her dreams, a girl to balance out the male energy in the house. But to Allan she was just another source of noise and messes, and he was unlucky to be tasked with much of her care since Kevin and Topher were useless and Lucy was barely holding it together. This time only solidified for Allan that he never wanted to be a father. In fact, he wanted to be as far away from children as possible. He wanted to live alone like his father, who he was finally starting to sympathize with.

Allan eventually struck out on his own. He worked his ass through college, financially supported by his father but trying hard to become completely self-reliant and finally pursue his dreams of becoming an engineer. Once he was an adult he did everything to stay out of Mother and Bastard Kevin’s house, not even joining them in quarantine when the pandemic hit. Now Allan is doing well, living each day with relief that he gets to go through life mostly on his own terms. Even the chaos of work usually rolls off of him because at least it’s not like what he grew up with, although he’s very particular about keeping everything in order and can get rather defensive in personal confrontations. Mother and the other Costners still ask him for money, but he doesn’t feel obligated to give them any because Bastard Kevin is guaranteed to drink or gamble it away. 

None of that is Allan’s responsibility anymore. He’s got his own life to live now.

[abiiors]

persephone - matty x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is kinda loosely based on the myth of persephone and also this is just one interpretation of it, obv several exists in the media :) and like matty's barely hades lmao, this is mostly just the connection of persephone, demeter and spring ♡ cw: this contains themes of parental neglect, dysfunctional families, emotional abuse/neglect and alcoholism, and they're very much PRESENT and DETAILED. this isn't angst but it's def bittersweet (emphasis on the bitter whoops) wc: 5.1k

the first word she learns is “mama”. 

she has a faint memory of this—a woman with shining brown hair, smiling and cheering at her. everything is blurred around the edges and filtered in through a haze. everything has a foggy white quality to it but the woman’s eyes are crystal clear and looking at her, focused solely on her. she has a memory of others laughing and clapping along, encouraging her to say the word again and again. 

mama.

the brown haired woman looks tired—she’s young and, looking back, barely even an adult. but the woman smiles at her and coos along. “mama,” the woman says in an exaggerated baby voice and points to herself. 

“mama,” she babbles again at the woman she now recognises as her mother. the woman gives her a bland smile, playing with her almost absently. the woman even lets her grab onto her fingers and bite on them—not that it counts much as biting, she barely has teeth at this point. 

the next memory she has is of an older man with a freckled happy face and salt-n-pepper hair. he throws her up in the air and catches her until she’s giggling and breathless and light as air. he's often at their dining table, peeling pomegranates.

mama says she can't eat them yet—they're of course a choking hazard for a baby her age. but the old man peals it for mama, because mama looks happy when she sits next to him and pops the seeds into her mouth, sighing at the sweetness.

“these are delicious, daddy,” mama says to him and he smiles at mama with all the tenderness in the world.

when mama needs a break from her, he takes her to the nearby pond, and lets her touch leaves and rocks. he points at the tiny things in the water and says a word she barely recognises. 

fishies.

he clicks his tongue and waits for her to imitate the word, but she only claps her hands and says “mama” again. 

the man laughs. “let’s get you home to mama then.”

the younger woman gets mad at him when they get home though. mama grabs all the treasure—their entire day’s hard work—and puts it away somewhere where she can never reach it again. 

the man grumbles about it too but she’s far too young yet to understand words and tone, much less full blown fights. all she knows is a distinct sharp feeling of fear when mama snatches her away from the old man’s hands and puts her away in a room alone. 

there are white bars around her that she can’t climb, even though she cries and cries and screams for mama. even when a pungent smell fills the room and she feels uncomfortable wetness in her onesie. 

but mama doesn’t come. and the old man’s voice can’t reach her anymore. there’s only the sound of her cries and an eerie music box lullaby that plays on repeat as if it would ever be enough to pacify her.

mama doesn’t come for hours. 

years later, she’d know why mama can’t be bothered. 

the last time she calls her mother “mama” is when she’s seven years old. 

it’s rained all night and the backyard is wet and muddy. mama grimaces the moment she looks out the window but for a seven year old girl, it’s the most fun thing to ever exist. mama makes a sound of disgust when she runs outside, whooping with joy and slipping and sliding in the mud. 

all she wishes for is a companion now—a sibling or a dog or a cat, she’s not picky. a friend works too, but she’s not entirely sure where someone gets those. 

“if you get mud on my carpets, i swear!” mama shakes her fist from the back door but she can’t care less.  

she’s drenched in mud and having way more fun than she’s had in days. so much so that she doesn’t even realise when mama shakes her head and goes back inside. 

the winter chill is almost gone, there’s even a few little saplings sprouting from the ground and she can’t wait for the whole backyard to be filled with weird little weeds and wallflowers. she can’t wait until it’s warm enough to sit outside in the afternoons and make her little witchy potions from mud and weeds and flowers and see if any butterflies would be curious enough to land near her. (or maybe even on her like they do in the movies she’s seen!) 

she forgets the movies for a moment, though. today is the best day a girl could have. 

her grampy—her grandpa—is supposed to visit too, and she knows he’s going to bring treats; sweet honey from the hive on their farm or tiny red strawberries that dribble juice down her chin. she knows he’ll sit in their kitchen and peel her a pomegranate (she can eat those now!) and tell her about the new calf on the farm. (she’s asked this story twice now but it only gets better each time) it’s all so exciting that she even forgets about her aversion to the kitchen for a bit, forgets how a pit opens in her stomach every time she has to be in the kitchen with mama. 

she can’t wait for the after, but right now she runs through her backyard again, whooping and cheering and smiling. 

she’s slipping and slipping, just like before. the fence comes closer, her little mind tries to calculate the distance, her feet try to slow down but the mud’s grown too slippery and she just can’t stop, can’t put her arms up in time. 

her jaw collides with the fence with a sickening crunch. pain flares in her mouth along with the sharp coppery taste of blood. it almost makes her gag and she tries to spit it out. something white falls on the ground, covered in blood—her first tooth, the one that’s been loosening for days. 

she stays curled on the ground, covered in mud, sobbing and spitting out more blood until her saliva runs clear, then she somehow shuffles inside, hoping mama would have a magic fix. 

mama’s eyes widen the moment she walks in, dried mud crusted around her feet, blood on her chin.

“what the fuck?!” mama yells, the glass in her hand jostles dangerously and the dark liquid inside almost splashes out. mama’s words also have an unnerving, slurred quality to them but she’s too much in pain to care. 

“what’s wrong with you?!” mama screeches again and gets up. through tears, she manages to splutter out what happened. she shows mama the tooth, (girls in school have told her about the tooth fairy) but mama only smacks her hand away. 

“i told you not to get mud on my carpets. who’s going to clean them huh? not you, you’re useless. you’re all useless.”

more tears fall on her cheeks and she looks at mama, horrified. but mama slams the glass hard enough on the table that a crack goes through it. she’s worried mama’s going to yell at her more, but mama only yanks the mop from the corner and waits for her to move out the way. 

she takes the hint, grateful it didn’t get worse. she tries not to get the mud onto anything else but a little gets on the bathroom tiles anyway. 

under the hot water, she finally lets her sobs free and scrubs her little body until the skin is all red and raw and stings from the temperature of the water. until each stream of the showerhead feels like a bb bullet. 

then she gets on her hands and knees and scrubs the bathroom floor clean, occasionally flicking her tongue over the now-empty spot where the tooth used to be. it tastes vaguely salty, and it still aches but not as much, definitely nothing in comparison to her jaw which is turning a nasty shade of purple. her tooth’s still safe on the counter, though—free of blood and mud now. gleaming white. 

at least that’s the saving grace of the day. at least she’ll get a visit from the tooth fairy. 

grampy cancels his visit—his knees hurt, mama says—but she tries not to be miffed about it. she’ll make sure to get grampy something nice with the money from the tooth fairy. 

that night she gingerly places the tooth on the bed, carefully places the pillow on top so that the tooth is protected from all sides. nice and snug. 

then she closes her eyes, dreaming of tiny fluttering wings and shiny pennies. but the tooth fairy never visits at all. 

her mum ages rapidly in a decade. by the time she’s seventeen, her mum’s already gone grey—unravelling at the seams, fraying with each passing day. not that anyone’s seen her mum in days. or months even. her mum’s not coherent enough to hang out with people most of the time. 

she’s started spending less and less time at home. it helps to have a part time job on top of school—a place that delivers chinese food. a couple guys from her school work there too, not that she really knows a lot of them. except one. 

matty. 

he’s the one person she’s ever considered a friend. 

the one person who’s been worthy of that title. 

matty’s all casual smiles and laughs—he flirts shamelessly and kisses people on the cheeks when he gets drunk. he offers her fags and spliffs even though she always denies them. he nicks leftover chinese so they can eat it in his car, giggling and laughing, way prouder of their heist than they should be. 

the food tastes better when she’s with him. everything’s better when she’s with him—even the shitty, off-brand beer he keeps buying. with him it tastes like expensive champagne. not that she knows what champagne tastes like to begin with, but she imagines the bubbles settling on her tongue feel like his laugh spilling from his lips. she imagines it tastes like the sparkle in his eyes.

matty looks at her differently too—she’s not stupid, she knows what interest looks like. 

she’s been the object of fascination since she turned thirteen and developed boobs seemingly overnight. she shies away from attention most of the time—wears t-shirts twice her size, keeps her hair a bland brown. she barely even looks at boys or men who tell her she looks mature for her age. but when matty looks at her, it’s different. 

when matty looks at her, she wants to be seen. 

“you sure it’s okay for us to be out so late?” he asks one night when they’re sat in his car. the world around them has already gone quiet—it is a school night after all, she should be in bed too. but she sees the cigarette dangling loosely between his lips and for a second she forgets to respond. matty quirks and eyebrow and she realises she’s been staring at his mouth. 

“my mum won’t mind.” her response is a bit curt, but she leaves it at that. there’s no need to mention that her mum’s probably drowning in wine by now, tripping and spilling the liquid onto floors and sofas and carpet. 

“she must be chill,” matty hums to himself and takes a drag of his cigarette. she watches him hold it into his lungs, some of it escapes through his nose and curls around his face. 

she keeps quiet, unwilling to get into that topic of conversation. 

“i’m thinking of dropping out,” matty says quietly once the cigarette turns into a tiny stub. his voice is carefully neutral, monotonous. she whirls to look at him, jaw practically dropping to the (dirty) floor of his car. matty stares straight ahead, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. 

images flash in front of her—walking the school corridors alone, eating lunch alone, doing her homework alone. working at her job alone. 

alone, alone, alone. no one but her mum around her again. that wretched fucking woman occupying every atom of her existence.

“did you h—”

“i heard you.” her voice has gone quiet now but there’s an edge to it that doesn’t go unnoticed by matty. 

“and?”

“and what? if i said no, would that convince you to stay?”

she doesn’t mean to sound so sharp, so bitter. certainly not so selfish. but an ugly feeling bubbles up so deep inside her that all the excitement from before just dies—all the butterflies from just a moment ago, now dead and rotten, making her feel nauseous. 

“no but—”

“i don’t want to tell you why it’s irresponsible, matty. frankly, i don’t know if i believe that myself but… it’s… it’s big.”

his face falls further and further the more she speaks. with each word she wants to press a hand to her mouth, wrap it around her throat so it would strangle everything else that’s about to come out. with every word she wants him to tell her to just shut the fuck up, that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. but matty only looks at her and a different sort of quiet spreads around the car. 

“you think this… this thing you’ve got going on. music. you think that’s enough?! you play for fucking retirement homes, matty! you play for old people who probably won’t even remember what they heard twenty minutes later. and you want to–what? you want to leave your education incomplete? you want to leave a-levels and school and your job? you just want to…leave?”

which is the real problem. 

he gets the luxury of leaving. 

she gets the misery of staying. 

“thanks,” he says dryly, trying to roll his eyes. she catches the extra shine they now have, she catches the way his throat bobs. and suddenly the car is so stifling she can’t stand it anymore—can’t stand the taste of the nasty, cheap beer and the too-salty, too-greasy chinese they’re eating and she can’t stand the cliche, indie rock music playing at low volume. 

she can’t stand him anymore. 

“i need to go,” she says curtly, wiping her hands on her jeans and already halfway out the door when matty grabs her wrist. 

“wait—”

“what.”

“n-nothing.” it’s the first time she’s heard him stutter, first time he’s ever said something without sounding completely sure of himself. “let me just drop you home.”

it’s also the first time he’s offered to do that. 

“i have my bike.” besides there’s no need for you to see the state of the house right now, no need to come across that belligerent woman in case she’s still conscious. 

“it’s late.”

she can’t really argue with that logic. it is almost 11 at night and she might not live in a very shady neighbourhood but it’s still not the safest at this time of the night. still, she doesn’t want matty driving her around and dropping her home. that feels too vulnerable. besides, she just wants to be away from him.

he’s leaving anyway, she might as well start practising that from now on. 

“i’ll text you when you get home,” she mumbles and forces her wrist out of his hand. 

she’s out of the car and slamming the door shut before he can even protest. she’s marching across the empty road and to her bike before the absence of his warmth registers, before her body realises that she can no longer feel his skin against hers. 

before she really has a chance to let anything sink in. 

matty honks and she hisses. 

“what!”

“i’m following you home.” and then the little shit rolls up the window. 

she has half a mind to stubbornly wait him out, see how long he stays if she just refused to move but that’s a stupid plan. like it or not, it’s happening. he’s following her home. 

like it or not, she’s going to have to let him. 

“i’ll only accept your apology on one condition.”

it’s two days later that they’re back in his car—her with a guilty conscience, matty with a smug smile. 

“ugh, if you’re about to be a boy about it!”

“you haven’t even heard me out yet!”

the pit in her stomach shifts, the hollow cavity catching in her throat until she has to forcefully clear her throat and blink rapidly. it’s not that she’s completely forgiven him for wanting to leave, she hasn’t completely given up on that yet either. but she realises the way she went about it was perhaps…a bit shitty (okay it was definitely a lot shitty) 

“spring dance”

“what?!”

the words jerk her out of her thoughts so violently that she almost forget about everything else for a second. the spring fucking dance. 

matty healy, the boy who nicks chinese food and drinks cheap beer and wears ripped, skinny jeans wants to go to the spring dance. 

“right don’t look at me like i’ve asked you out to a strip club—”

“that’d be more in character—”

“oi! just… let me speak!”

and so she shuts up, puts her hands under her thighs so she won’t impulsively chew on her nails while her crush is…trying to ask her out. 

matty rolls his eyes at her and the fond smile on his face takes her breath away. 

“i want to do it. i want one last cheesy school experience before i…” he trails off, maybe not wanting to finish that sentence for her sake. or maybe because it affects him more than she thinks. “and i want to do it with you.”

“me? ooh like i’m special or something.” she tries for it to be teasing and playful, but the words come out sounding so hopeful that it knocks the breath out of her. 

“don’t pretend,” matty’s voice goes all quiet then. serious too, and suddenly he can’t meet her eyes. “don’t pretend like you don’t see it.”

“see what…”

there’s a lot in her life that she pretends not to see—half the things at home, sometimes her failing marks, sometimes the way other people look at her and whisper. but he is the one person she can’t pretend with. can’t pretend to not see the way he looks at her and acts around her. can’t pretend to not notice the way his touches linger and his smiles last longer. 

even now, she can’t pretend like he’s not looking right at her lips, leaning in a smidge at a time. wishing she’d close the gap. 

involuntarily, her eyes flutter shut. anticipating. 

she wants to feel it so fucking bad—his hands on her waist, his fingers on her skin. she wants to feel his faint stubble against the palm of her hand, his lips on hers. most of all she just wants to feel him close, to feel his breath on her skin. 

matty jerks away and a loud horn of a car breaks the spell. 

“fucking dicks!” matty rolls the window down and yells at the retreating figure of teenagers in a car, one of them even flips him off and next to him she seethes. 

fuck this, fuck everything. why can’t she just have nice things. 

why must someone come and ruin it every time. 

it takes them both a minute to breathe and settle down and meet each other’s eyes again. even then there’s a slight pink tinge on his face that makes him look adorable. 

“sorry about that…” matty mumbles and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “so…spring dance?”

“i’d love that.”

she hopes the smile she gives him is genuine. she hopes he sees it plain and simple all over her face—all the words she hasn’t said and cannot say. 

matty smiles wide. “then i forgive you.”

and it’s like a weight gets lifted off her chest. 

“you look pretty,” her mum’s eyes roam over her body, eyeing her from head to toe, flicking over certain places again and again until she almost feels naked—like the blush pink fabric doesn’t even exist. like her mum sees right through her. 

years of this has taught her that it’s not a compliment. if anything, it’s just another trap, so she focuses on her reflection in the mirror and smiles with as much warmth as she can muster. “thanks!”

her mum reeks of wine already, maybe even a little weed but it’s nearly not enough today which is surprising. she would have expected her mum to be at some bar by now. 

“i’ll be a bit late. don’t worry i have my keys though.” 

then she scoffs to herself. when has her mum ever worried? 

“who’s taking you? to the dance.”

“wha–? oh. uh, just a few friends. only met them recently.” she winces, trying to get the last of the curls in place, trying not to be too cagey in front of her mum. she doesn’t want her mum to think she’s hiding something—mostly because it never ends well, and she can’t be arsed to deal with another screaming match right now. not when there’s a ball of anxiety and anticipation in her chest, wound so tightly that it’s slowly choking the air out of her lungs. 

she just wants to be outside. she just wants matty to see her, to call her pretty and maybe even kiss her. 

she just wants this one night with him. 

just one. 

her mum huffs and stumbles into the room. everything about this woman wants to make her shrink away—the days old stink of sweat and alcohol and cigarettes, the grime under her fingernails, her beady stare… 

even when her mum’s fingers twirl around her curl, she fights not to shrink back, to slap her mum’s hand away. 

“you look pretty,” her mum repeats. “prettier than i did when i was your age.” 

her stomach churns at the cruel edge to those words but her mum isn’t done yet. “huh–not so easy to be pretty with a seven month pregnant belly. like a fucking whale…”

and there it is. 

her fault that her mum was robbed off having normal teenage experiences. 

“right, mum,” she smiles shakily, “need to get going.”

it’s almost a miracle that her mum doesn’t say anything else. mum just backs away and lets her gather her things. she quickens her pace, heart beating in her throat, hands trembling when she picks up her small purse. 

it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay

“don’t spread your legs for that boy.”

she freezes in place, almost out the door.

“wha—”

“act dumb again and i’ll make sure you never see that boy again.” 

“mum…” she swallows harshly, prays that the tears pricking her eyes don’t spill down her cheeks. then she nods and books it out of there. better to go before her mum changes her mind. 

better to go before leaving becomes impossible. 

matty makes her forget all of it. 

the moment she sees him, the shakiness in her limbs disappears, her heart thuds in her chest for all the right reasons. he’s in a suit. a fucking suit that makes him look all grown up and handsome but then his unruly curls go all over the place and suddenly she’s laughing with the boy she’s had a crush on. 

no matter what he wears and what he looks like, he will always be that boy.

the school auditorium is full of flowers—some fake, some real. all the girls around her look stunning, dressed in colourful pretty gowns. it’s all spring incarnate. 

all night he dances effortlessly, twirls so many people around him like he’s friends with everyone. and maybe he is—he’s certainly always been so much more popular than she has. she should be the one leaving. 

but she also can’t help but stare. she wonders if he is a daydream, something her lonely mind conjured up during hours filled with boredom or after long, exhausting fights with her mum. and suddenly, he is looking right at her. sweat makes his white shirt stick to his body in the most flattering way possible, makes his sweaty curls fall into his eyes until he can barely see straight.

stop ogling! 

“staring is rude, you know?” he walks—no, saunters—over to her. suddenly, there’s not enough air left in the giant school auditorium. 

“you’ve been staring too,” she counters. and she’s right. all night she’s caught his long lingering glances that make her feel like she’s coming alive. 

like a flower blooming in spring. 

“you kinda make it hard not to stare.” so does he, she thinks. but everything, from his half smile to his relaxed posture, tells her not to inflate his ego further. she stifles the faint blush creeping up her face and shakes her head bashfully.

“come on,” he says. 

at first, she doesn’t realise what’s happening. then he whisks her away to the dance floor and her shriek of surprise turns into one of delight. she has never danced like this before but that night they dance till her heart pounds in her ears, till she can’t stand straight anymore. then they sway softly, in spite of the rock and roll playing in the background. 

“you’re beautiful,” matty smiles at her, sincere and real. 

if she discovers anything about herself that early spring night, it would be her love for dancing. it’s a feeling she’s never felt before—something that almost feels like…freedom. it’s foreign at first, all the blood coursing through her body at the speed of lightning. she tries to keep track of how many times she shrieks and laughs and jumps in excitement. all of it until matty picks her up and twirls her around. 

round and round until she’s breathless and light as air and fucking free. 

somewhere after that, she loses count. at the end of the night, her dress clings to her and matty can’t stop staring. can’t stop letting his eyes roam all over her until he’s grinning himself. his smile is boyish. perfect. and just as she’s getting self-conscious, he pulls her closer. 

“you’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

next thing she knows, matty is holding her softly against the wall and kissing her bare neck. he softly caresses her waist through her dress and she shivers against the warm spring breeze. she can feel him shaking too, almost like he’s…nervous to do anything more. to actually kiss her and shatter the moment. she can’t have that, can’t let this moment slip through her fingers. 

“kiss me,” she pleads and matty moves in an instant, his warm mouth capturing hers. like he was only waiting for her permission.  

his lips are a little chapped. far from perfect and yet electricity zings through her all at once. if it weren’t for the wall, her legs might have given out from under her. she might just be a heap on the floor, surrounded by all the spring flowers. 

matty kisses with such reckless abandon that it steals her breath away. kisses her until her heart swells in her chest, ready to burst. her fingers tangle themselves into his hair and she kisses him back with everything in her. she can’t care less about how public this is, there’s only him in this moment. 

only the two of them on a warm spring night suspended in this one moment.

she almost whines when matty pulls back. annoyed beyond belief that he’d pull away now. 

“mat—”

“it’s late.”

“it’s not!”

“it is, love.” suddenly his voice has gone gentle, almost quiet. matty pulls his old phone out of his pocket (with the screen cracked and all) and holds it in front of her. the screen flashes with 11:17

shit where did all the time go?

matty makes no move to untangle himself from her arms, still pressed against her. in her ead she forms a childlike grudge against his phone. if it weren’t for it, they would have never known what time it was…

“i hate this.” her voice comes out thick with tears and something wet hits her nose. “i don’t want to go, i don’t want you to go. please.” but even then she knows how unfair it is to put him in this situation. 

matty’s caresses her cheek, wiping away her tears, smiling at her like she’s the most gentle precious thing in the whole world. 

and maybe she is. in his world. 

“you’ll finish school too,” he says, voice a low murmur, “and then you have a uni to attend. so much shit to do. god, you’re brilliant enough to get everything you want.”

but it’s you i want. still she doesn’t say it. not just yet. 

she nuzzles his palm instead, placing a soft kiss on it. “i hate spring. i wish it was autumn instead. i’d be starting uni at least.”

“and you will,” matty reassures again. “you’re going to do so many things.”

“you won’t be here to see them…”

and there it is, all the things she’s been holding deep inside laid bare. matty looks at her for a long time and smiles sadly. “who said that? i’d find you, we will keep in touch. isn’t spring meant to be about new beginnings and all that? so why don’t we start a pact?”

“that’s a silly idea,” she teases but even then she’s eager to know what he means. 

matty ignores it. “stay here for spring and summer, finish school. i’ll find you when autumn comes.”

“you’d really do that?”

“who’s gonna help you move into uni halls huh?”

through tears she laughs. only matty could make it sound so exciting. only matty could make her hate it so much less. 

she doesn’t trust herself to speak anymore so she kisses him instead. he tastes like peaches, mint and something sweet. the very first boy she’s ever loved. the boy she will always love. 

he’s leaving soon, she knows it. who knows maybe she will wake up tomorrow and he will be gone. she feels all that passes between them and she tries to send all her longing and all her yearning down that bond. for a brief second she is determined to make matty stay through sheer willpower. 

but that would be the most selfish thing she’s ever done. and so she smiles and lets him go. 

matty might be leaving but she’ll always have this one warm spring night. even as the clock inches towards midnight and a new day threatens to arrive.

for a brief moment she wonders if she can make time stand still. this one moment stretched into eternity. 

but the minutes tick by anyway. and tomorrow comes anyway.

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 5: The Haunted House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, no Willis this time yay!!! 🥳

Word Count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Every house is haunted, not just by phantoms of the past but by the ghosts of what could have been. They live in shadows, in doorways, in the periphery of your vision; you walk through them like smoke or mist. Their blood—pooled and pulseless—is a cold spot in a sweltering room, their fingerprints are the woodgrain swirls of floorboards. If you listen closely, you can hear them at night in the chorus of the cicadas and the owls and the wet westbound wind. They whisper questions you’ve never been able to answer: Have I made the right choices? Have I done the best I could? Is love a myth or does it only exist for other people? Am I a prisoner of the past or the future or myself? Why have I never been chosen?

In the bathtub, you stare at the pale blue walls veined with cracks like the legs of a spider. On the tree swing in the front yard—here long before you moved in, inherited from the effort and care of another family’s hands—you skim your bare feet over emerald blades of grass and watch the lightning bugs appear at dusk. In Cadi’s room, you play the Nintendo when she asks and try to forget who gave it to her; and when she asks about Aemond, you say he’s busy with work, because how else can you explain his absence to a child? In the kitchen, you break eggs into glass bowls of vanilla, sugar, flour, butter, baking powder, but you keep getting pieces of shell in the mix, something that almost never happens anymore. You snap, grab an egg, pitch it against the refrigerator where it explodes into calcium carbonate shrapnel and sterile yellow gore.

Amir looks up, startled. Behind his rectangular tortoiseshell glasses, his eyes dart between you and the viscera that stains the refrigerator door. At last he says softly, seriously: “What is it you liked so much about him?” Implicit in this statement are others: You’ve never liked a man this much. You’ll never see Aemond again.

You study your palms, tools of creation, tools that destroy. “I spend every second of my life consumed by responsibilities. The house, the car, the bakery, the bills, Cadi, Willis, myself, even you. There’s no one to tell me what the right thing to do is. There’s no one who can carry the weight for me. I can’t show it when I’m tired or frustrated or scared. And so to have someone who—even for an hour, even for fifteen minutes—could take care of me, and make all the decisions, and convince me to trust him…it’s the closest I ever get to being at peace.”

Amir gives you a sad, vanishingly small smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” And you wet a dishcloth so you can begin to clean up your mess.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday, and you’re coming home after delivering cakes for a birthday party down in Thibodaux. Your car radio is blaring Message In A Bottle by The Police. When you roll into the gravel driveway, the red Audi Quattro is waiting for you: parked right beside the house, like he belongs here, like he owns it. You throw open the door of your Chevy Celebrity and rage up the sloping, groaning steps of the front porch.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. There is an ambient humming, a chill that raises goosebumps on your bare arms. When you rush to the kitchen, you find an air conditioning unit in one of the windows, a metal box that turns the Fall-Down House into a tundra. They’re sitting at the hastily-cleared counter: Aemond leafing through the ledger book containing the financial records for the bakery, Amir beside him sipping a glass of sweet tea. Aemond glances up at you and then back down at the pale green pages, the lines of his face intense, focused. Amir greets you with a nervous titter, hiding behind his sweet tea. Ice jangles in the glass.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Our new air conditioner!” Amir says, overjoyed. “The customers are going to love it. No more waiting around in a stifling kitchen. You know how miserable it gets in here during the summer. We won’t be able to get rid of them! They’ll be purchasing cupcakes by the dozen just to have an excuse to get out of the heat!”

Aemond is still scrutinizing the ledger. “Why aren’t you buying in bulk?” he asks Amir. “The shelf life on things like sugar and flour has got to be six months at least.”

“We don’t have the liquid capital. We can’t spend cash if we don’t have cash.”

“And all these business expenses—mixers, coolers, pans, blenders, knives, the gas you burn when you make deliveries, the water you use to wash dishes—those are all tax write-offs, right?”

Amir hesitates. Aemond is aghast, his eyebrows shooting up into the blonde hair that shags over his forehead. The strands are damp with sweat and curling at the edges; he’s been working hard. He’s the one who heaved the air conditioner up onto the window ledge. His Marlboro jacket is draped over the back of his barstool. He’s wearing jeans, a black MTV t-shirt, and his Adidas sneakers.

“Please tell me you haven’t been paying income tax on money you aren’t actually keeping.”

“I didn’t know what we were allowed to write off, I was petrified to make a mistake! I don’t want to end up in Rikers!”

“They don’t put people in Rikers for tax evasion. You’d only go to minimum security.”

Amir rolls his eyes. “Well now you’ve convinced me.”

You are betrayed, furious. “You’re showing him the book?”

“He’s very bossy,” Amir says, slurping his sweet tea. “As you know.”

Aemond asks you, making notes on a legal pad he’s commandeered: “Do you have an IRA?”

“A what?”

“An IRA,” Aemond repeats slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “An individual retirement account.”

Should I? Could I? What the hell is that? “Um. I don’t think so.”

Aemond sighs, exasperated. He jots down another bullet point on his legal pad. “You need one.”

“I need you to get out of my house.”

“Shh!” Amir pleads. “He bought us an air conditioner!”

“Do you know how much that’s going to cost us in electricity? The bill is going to go through the roof. We’re not going to be able to afford this. And he doesn’t care, because he hasn’t even thought of it. Drop an oil rig into a lake and solve the unemployment crisis. Throw an air conditioner in a window and buy someone’s loyalty. He doesn’t understand us. He doesn’t care about us. He’s not capable of it.”

“I’ll pay for the electricity,” Aemond says. Now he’s looking at you.

“Get out,” you demand.

He seems—perplexingly—to be genuinely wounded. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Get out!”

Aemond stands, walks to you, backs you up until your shoulder blades hit the refrigerator. The metal door is cluttered with Cadi’s drawings, secured there with multicolored alphabet magnets: dinosaurs eating people, Rambo, astronauts rocketing to the moon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond is so close you can smell the cigarette smoke and cologne and sweat on him, see the smudges of ink on his fingers. His right eye travels all over you, defiant and hungry. His left eye—and you only notice when there’s no space left between you—is an impassive, glassy, not-quite-identical blue that never moves. It’s an imposter, and a very good one; but it’s not him. You think, unable to say it: What happened to your face? Who hurt you? Instead you strike out to shove Aemond away with both hands.

“Get out of my house—!”

“You want to get rough with me? Will that make you feel better?” he murmurs darkly, ignoring your palms when they collide with his chest, his collarbones, his jaw. Your flesh can’t hurt him, it can only graze his skin like stray bullets. “You want to hit me? Go ahead. I’ve had worse. I promise you I have.”

“I hate you!”

But you haven’t said the right word, and you both know it. He grabs your wrists, holds them still, whispers low and menacing into your ear as you struggle to rip your hands out of his grasp. “I dreamed about you all night. Tying you down, stretching you open. I want that. I think you do too.”

“I don’t want it,” you hiss; but already you’re imagining him on top of you, inside you, in control of you, and to resist that is like trying to fight the instinct to seek water, sleep, sunlight.

“Then tell me to stop.”

You glare up at Aemond, raging, burning. His gaze locks with yours and stays there. You are suddenly aware of the heat of his fingers linked around your wrists, of the pressure of his hips against yours as he pins you to the refrigerator. You can’t say it. I don’t want him to stop touching me. I don’t want him to leave and never come back.

Again, Aemond dares you: “Tell me to stop.”

From the kitchen counter, Amir is gawking at you both, his eyes huge, stunned, painfully uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he doesn’t look away. “I’m not leaving,” he informs Aemond. Just in case you’re weak enough to agree to something you’ll regret later; just in case you need a friend.

The spell breaks, the curse lifts. Aemond releases you and takes several steps back. He breathes deeply, running his fingers through his damp hair, composing himself. “You’re a good person,” he says to Amir.

“Thanks. I’m afraid I can’t return the compliment.”

Aemond turns back to you. Now he’s penitent, measured. Already, a part of you misses the weight of his bones on yours. But that’s not why Aemond is here. “Let me talk. Let me explain.”

No, you almost say. I’m not interested. I don’t want you anymore. There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me feel at peace with you again.

Instead, after long moments colored by waning sunlight and the whirring of the new air conditioner in the window: “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re on the tree swing, gripping the ropes and swaying slightly back and forth as you push off with your bare feet, rocking from your heels to your toes and then back again. Aemond lights a cigarette and takes a drag as he sits cross-legged on the grass in front of you. Amir keeps peeking out from between the blinds of the living room windows. Aemond glances around the yard, and you realize he’s searching for the alligator. His Marlboro jacket is folded neatly on the ground next to him.

“The gator’s not here right now, Aemond. She’s probably over in the trees. She’s not going to hurt you.”

He nods, but he doesn’t seem convinced. He fidgets restlessly with his cigarette.

All that money, all that power, all that ecological ruin, and he’s petrified of a five-foot gator that’s probably never eaten anything bigger than a pelican. It’s ridiculous. You smile weakly. “I think you have a phobia.”

He gestures to his scar, to his ruined left eye. “I’m afraid one will sneak up on me and I won’t be able to see it.”

He’s never spoken like this to you before, acknowledging his limitations, his impairment. He’s trying to be honest. He really is. “Where’s Christabel?”

“Back in the U.K.”

“When are you getting married?”

He shrugs, uninterested. “A few months from now, I guess. July. August. It doesn’t matter. I’m not really involved in the planning.”

“You’re a cheater,” you say. It comes out less accusatory than mournful. Why did you have to disappoint me? Why did you have to ruin this?

Aemond is dismissive. He puffs on his cigarette. “Everyone cheats.”

“No they don’t.”

“Everyone from my world cheats,” Aemond amends. “You marry for money or status or land or whatever, to prove you can snag someone who should be above you, to make your parents proud of you, to make sure your children have the right last name and titles. Then when the novelty fades—and it does, it always does—you find passion elsewhere.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s aristocratic. Poor people get divorced two or three times. They have public brawls and call the cops on each other. We just have a different solution to life’s inevitabilities. My mother cheats with Criston, Daemon and Rhaenyra cheated with each other, I cheat with you, Aegon cheats with…I couldn’t even list them. A lot of people.”

Aegon. So that’s the debaucherous brother’s name. “Not all fancy rich people cheat. Prince Charles doesn’t cheat.”

Aemond bursts out laughing. “Of course he does! He’s been fucking Camilla Parker Bowles since like 1970!”

Your stomach sinks. Poor Diana. “I thought they were just friends now.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what the tabloids say.” He inhales smoke—cancerous, lethal—and then exhales it in a grey gale like fog. “I think they stopped for a few years after he got married. But presently they spend as much time as they possibly can rendezvousing at all their friends’ country estates. Charles and Diana are miserable, but they’ll never split up. She’s entertaining herself with a cavalry officer named James Hewitt. Who looks suspiciously like Prince Harry, by the way.”

“And who does your father fuck on the side? Nancy Reagan?”

“He prefers the memory of a dead woman to my living mother. I’d say that counts as infidelity.”

The photograph Aegon showed me on the Targaryens’ refrigerator. Rhaenyra’s mother. And what else had been on that refrigerator? Pictures of the rest of the family? Old sketches and report cards? Souvenirs? A calendar with upcoming birthdays circled or starred? No. There was nothing. You consider Aemond with a disorienting blend of pity and barbed, venomous frustration. “I’m sorry Viserys has never been a good father to you. But that’s not an excuse to ruin other people’s lives.”

“Look, what you did…” Aemond begins with sizable effort. He puts the end of his cigarette out on the sole of one of his Adidas sneakers. “To walk away from something you believe isn’t right when everyone else is telling you to stay…that’s not easy. And maybe for you it didn’t feel so insurmountable because you’ve had to learn how to survive painful things on your own before. But all I’ve ever done was break my own bones so my father would notice me. I don’t mean that as a metaphor. I’ve fractured my ribs, my hands, my skull. And it’s still not enough. Love isn’t given in my family. I have to earn it. It’s all I know.”

“You could learn something new.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t. That’s not a language I speak.”

Exactly how bad of a father was Viserys Targaryen? “Aemond, what happened to your face?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

You study him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be my Camilla,” Aemond says.

“No. No way.” But you’re amazed by how badly you want to say yes. One word and he’ll touch me again? One word and I can have him back the way we were before? It doesn’t seem possible to resist that. It’s not something that should be expected of any mortal.

“I want to be around you. I want you to keep making me feel the way you do, because it’s…it’s…it’s not something I get from anyone else. And I want to make your life better. I have the ability to do that.”

“Because you’re an oil tycoon.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees. “I was born to be one, and so I am. But even if I wasn’t—if I refused, if I died—it’s not like the trillion-dollar industry would just disappear. There’s Jade Dragon, sure, but there’s also ExxonMobil, Shell, British Petroleum, Chevron, Valero, Marathon, a hundred others. Someone would be drilling on Lake Verret regardless. But the person in charge might be less scrupulous than I am. I’m doing the best I can here.”

“Were you in Ketchikan when the spill happened there?”

“No. I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project. It was a fuckup, it was Jade Dragon’s fault. But my father is the one fighting it in court. I have no control over that.”

Someone else’s project…

“Come to my house tonight,” he says.

“No, Aemond.”

“Then come over on Saturday.” And you think: He remembered which days Cadi is usually with Willis.

“I don’t want to be your mistress.” I want to be more than that, oh God, I want so much more. You think of Christabel touching him and wrenching nausea cuts through you like a blade. You imagine Aemond’s hands taking off her clothes—zippers, buttons, ribbons, belts—and you feel like there’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to stop it from happening.

“We’re from two very different words,” Aemond says calmly, sensibly. “And it’s going to be impossible for us to understand each other unless we make an effort to learn about where we’ve come from. You’ve invited me into your home, your business, your family, and I’m very grateful for that. Now I need to do the same. And I think if you see more of my life, you’ll realize why I make the decisions I do and what it would mean for us to be together. Because in my experience, husbands and wives aren’t soulmates like they are in books or movies. It’s someone else who you actually…” He breaks off, then continues once he’s decided on the phrasing. “Spend most of your time with.”

Part of you knows that this arrangement would be hopelessly inadequate; you would feel like you were settling for less than you want, you would feel unchosen. But the louder part of you is clinging to it like a life raft. I want him to touch me again. I want him to make me forget about everything else. “I’ll think about it. Visiting the house, I mean.”

“Please do,” Aemond says. “How was Cadi’s weekend fishing?”

He really does listen to you; he remembers things. Even things you mention once and then never again. “She loved it. Willis knows more about the bayou than I’ll ever know about baking. They caught three catfish, four breams, and a bass, and then they made them into fish sticks. Thank God she has one parent who can cook. Even if Willis thinks Hungry Jack mashed potatoes are a vegetable. You know what he puts in the pot instead of milk? Coffee creamer. Cups of it.”

Aemond doesn’t seem pleased to be reminded of Willis’ existence. He says, rather mechanically: “I’m really glad Cadi enjoyed herself.” He grabs his Marlboro jacket, rises to his feet, scans the yard for the alligator. She’s made an appearance at last: she’s sunbathing about ten yards away, nowhere near close enough to be a nuisance. Still, Aemond frowns. Then he clears his face and looks back to you one last time as he strides towards his Audi Quattro. “And Cupcake?”

You peer up at him, shielding your eyes from the late-afternoon sun. “Yeah?”

“When you come to the house…” He grins. Not if. When. “Bring your swimsuit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You cut the engine and survey the grand entranceway of the house that the Targaryens call The Last Desire, words in Greek that you couldn’t pronounce. The blue merle Great Dane—Vhagar, you recall, yet another bizarre foreign name—is lurking between the towering white columns of the wraparound porch. “Fantastic,” you mutter, stepping out of the car. It’s Saturday, 2 p.m., hot and muggy and cicadas screeching in the southern live oaks. Green anoles dart across the cobblestones and freshly-painted white wood of the porch. Whooping cranes, haughty and fragile, ogle you with reptilian yellow eyes.

You pause when you reach the bottom step of the porch. The Great Dane growls at you, her lips curling up to show long fanglike teeth. You’re carrying two bakery boxes stacked on top of each other: one contains a dozen blueberry pie cupcakes, the second filled with fresh Cap’n Crunch Treats. You glance around for someone to assist you with the hostile dog situation. You have no interest in attempting to shove her away like Alicent did on the day of the engagement party.

Blessedly, the head butler materializes in the doorway and beckons you inside. When Vhagar snarls as you approach, the butler pulls a small plastic water gun from the pocket of his black dress pants. “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” he tells you, and then squirts the dog several times. Vhagar reluctantly lopes away. “Please allow me to escort you to the pool. Mr. Targaryen instructed us to be on the lookout for you.” Then he breezes into the house without checking to make sure you’re following him.

You trot after the butler through the white-and-gold foyer, the deep red living room, and then out into the garden. There is a long row of neon green lounge chairs on the side of the pool opposite of the water slide. Three of the chairs are occupied. Helaena is stretched across one wearing a frilly one-piece, floral with ladybugs; her chameleon is perched on the top of the adjustable backrest. Alicent is in the chair beside her, dressed in a turquoise blue coverup that matches the pool water and reading The Silence of the Lambs. They both wave nonchalantly, seemingly unsurprised by your presence. And then there’s Aegon. He’s smoking a joint as a black boombox beside him plays The Cure’s Why Can’t I Be You? You place both bakery boxes on a table shielded from the sun by a large green umbrella.

“What’s in there?” Aegon asks. He’s wearing pink plastic sunglasses, a radiant fuchsia sunburn, and a Speedo patterned with pineapples. His ferret is curled up in his lap and napping.

“Blueberry pie cupcakes and Cap’n Crunch Treats.”

“Yes! Pass me one of each.”

“Don’t be rude, Aegon,” Alicent says dully, turning a page of her book. “She’s not a servant.”

“She’s a literal baker. I’m asking for baked goods.”

“Dear, I’ve been singing your praises to every single person I cross paths with in this jungle of a town,” Alicent tells you, ignoring him. “Have you noticed yet?”

You hand Aegon his treats; he marvels at the miniature blueberry pie placed atop the cupcake frosting before scarfing it down. “I think we’ve had more customers than usual this week, now that you mention it. Thank you so much! Amir and I are more grateful than we could ever express.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do, love,” Alicent says. Criston appears with a strawberry daiquiri and gives it to her, complete with a swirl of whipped cream and a little pink toothpick umbrella pierced through a wedge of lime. Criston wears a pair of roomy Hawaiian board shorts and his single gold earring. Alicent takes a sip. “Heavenly! I am completely revived.”

“Helaena, would you like one?” Criston asks.

“Yes please.”

“And one for Aemond’s friend too, please,” Alicent says. Criston nods and hurries off again. Nobody asks if Aegon wants a strawberry daiquiri. He gnaws moodily at his cupcake and then when it’s gone moves on to the Cap’n Crunch Treat. Helaena’s chameleon snatches a dragonfly out of the air with its tongue. Alicent shudders.

Aemond’s friend? Friend?? You sit down on the lounge chair next to Aegon, still wearing your pale pink coverup. He tells you: “Aemond should be back soon. He got a phone call and had to swing by the rigs after lunch but he didn’t think it would take long.” Then Aegon smiles toothily, and you notice he has residual white powder around the corners of his lips and just inside his nostrils. “It’s good to meet you properly this time, now that I’m aware of all your talents.”

“You know about Aemond’s…uh…preferences?”

“Oh yeah, and I knew he had a girl. He always has to have a girl. I just didn’t know it was you. He doesn’t usually bring them around the family.”

You steal a glimpse of Alicent and Helaena. If they’re listening in, they’re doing an excellent job of not acting like they are.

“I think we should address this,” Aegon says.

You are stymied. “Address what?”

“It would never work, me and you.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Aegon says. He flourishes a hand melodramatically. “You need a dom. I am, lamentably, an irredeemable sub. I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”

“Okay, Aegon.”

“I just needed to break the tension.”

“I think you’re imagining that.”

There are footsteps, the slapping of flip flops against the cobblestones, and then someone who looks like a younger, more cheerful, more sober Aegon arrives at the pool. He is dressed in royal blue swim trunks that stop at his mid-thigh; his wavy blond hair is down to his shoulders. Like his family members, he also does not seem at all surprised to see you. “Hi,” he says, shaking your hand. “I’m Daeron. I didn’t get to introduce myself at the engagement party. I’m sorry about that. I was entangled in a very competitive tennis match on the courts out back for most of the day.”

Alicent asks: “Daeron, love, would you like a strawberry daiquiri when Criston reappears?”

“Yeah, Mum, that would be great.” He parks himself on the available chair beside her and begins asking about her book. As they chat, a blue macaw flaps through the garden and uses its long, leathery talons to claim the backrest of Daeron’s lounge chair.

“It’s so sweet of you to take an interest in my reading, Daeron,” Alicent gushes. “None of my other children ever do…”

Aegon groans loudly. Everyone ignores him. Criston arrives with two strawberry daiquiris, one for you and one for Helaena. You take a sip through a plastic straw with several loops in it: icy cold and jarringly sweet.

“And one for Daeron too please, Criston,” Alicent requests. “Did you hear that he just got another article published? It’s about evaluating rock wettability.” Her tone suggests that she has no idea what this means; nonetheless, she is ardently enthusiastic.

“That kid is going places,” Criston says admiringly.

Aegon counters: “That kid’s had phone sex with Michelle Pfeiffer.”

You laugh, thinking that it’s a joke. Daeron just gives you a sheepish smile. Oh, you think. Not a joke.

Criston hustles back inside the house. An old man passes Criston as he strolls out to the pool. He looks around blearily, like he’s hungover or has just woken up from a nap or both. His bloodshot eyes skate over you without much interest. He squints at the pool floats that bob in the rippling, crystalline water, sparkly rings and an assortment of foam noodles and a giant cartoonish alligator.

“How was Kiribati?” Aegon says.

“Much better than here. This goddamn humidity!”

“I can’t believe you missed the engagement party, Father,” Alicent says glumly.

“Oh no, how could I! I’ll never have any way of knowing what transpired!” He plops down onto a chair near the end of the row. His bare feet are gnarled, his toenails long and yellowed. “Let me guess. Cake was served, champagne was toasted, people bragged about their stupid hobbies and their ugly children, that girl scuttled about with her perpetually-startled eyes and asinine comments. Do you remember when she tried to give me her condolences when she learned your mother passed away years ago? Why would I want some moonstruck idiot’s condolences? She didn’t know your mother. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Christabel is very young,” Alicent offers gently.

“She’s very something, that’s for sure. Very useless. Very irritating. This family would be in a much better state if Viserys wasn’t the one making all the decisions. His judgment has declined precipitously.” He casts a poisonous glare at Aegon. Aegon pretends not to notice.

“I like Christabel,” Helaena says. Her chameleon gobbles up a butterfly that ventures too close.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” The old man’s voice is kinder now. “You see the best in everyone. But dear Helaena, we are in for a lifetime of insipid simpers and vapid conversations.”

“A lifetime?” Aegon says. “So not much longer for you, Grandfather. What a comfort.”

The old man glowers at Aegon. “We should have left you in Alaska to have your throat slit by those animals.” And you hear Aemond’s words reverberating in your skull: I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project.

Aegon is rolling himself a fresh joint, accidentally spilling sprinkles of weed on his slumbering ferret. He snorts. “I don’t care what Alaskans think of me.”

Daeron says: “Aegon, you poisoned 1,000 square miles of the ocean.”

“The fucking ocean,” Aegon mutters. “What do we even need the ocean for?”

“Vacations,” Otto says.

Helaena adds: “Sushi.”

Daeron is distressed. “Actually, the ocean is super important.”

“Why are we talking about the ocean?” Aemond asks as he strolls through the garden and pauses by the edge of the pool to dip a foot in to test the temperature. He’s wearing black swim trunks and nothing else, just his skin, just his scar and his glass left eye. He sees you, smiles, goes to the bakery boxes and lifts out a cupcake. He sits down on the edge of your lounge chair as he licks off the wave-blue frosting. No one makes any comment, and no one brings up Aegon’s role in the Ketchikan oil spill again.

Criston returns once more with a strawberry daiquiri for Daeron. “Well, I’ve just about killed the blender, so hopefully we don’t need any more—”

“But Criston!” Alicent cries. “What about Aemond and my father? Perhaps they are in need of refreshments.”

Criston sighs. Crestfallen, he looks at Aemond. “Do you want a strawberry daiquiri?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just have a few sips of hers.”

Aegon says: “Can I get a pina colada?”

Criston turns towards the old man. “Otto? Daiquiri?”

“No, but if you could immediately teleport me back to the South Pacific, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Pina colada??” Aegon says again.

“Okay, Aegon,” Criston snaps. “Calm down. Let me figure out if we have any more coconut cream.” Alicent’s part-time bodyguard and personal assistant, part-time babysitter, part-time affair partner vanishes into the house yet again.

Aegon lurches to his feet. “No one listens to me,” he tells you morosely. “You see that? No one remembers. That’s how you know they don’t care.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Alicent tells Aegon, not looking up from her book.

“Wait, someone is missing…” Otto muses, stroking his beard.

Aegon staggers to the edge of the pool, drags over a sparkly turquoise inflatable ring, and flops onto it. He paddles himself out towards the center of the pool. His ferret bounds after him, leaps into the water, and swims until it reaches Aegon, wriggling through the blue like a golden-furred snake. “Hey Sunfyre, you wanted to come too?” Aegon lifts the soaked ferret from the water and places it on his chest, soft and sunburned. “My bad. I assumed you’d prefer dry land.”

Otto—cantankerous and grating—looks around, baffled. “Wait, where’s Viserys?”

“He’s inspecting some of the rigs out in the Gulf of Mexico,” Aemond says as he finishes the cupcake and takes a slurp of your daiquiri. “He won’t be back until the end of the week.”

“Thank God,” Aegon exclaims from the middle of the pool.

Alicent changes the subject. “How long have you been baking, dear?” she asks you.

“Forever, basically. But I started getting serious about making it a business when my daughter was really young, about nine years ago. Now Amir and I sell hundreds of items a week, sometimes thousands.”

Daeron is nodding along, but he appears a little confused. He has gotten himself a Cap’n Crunch Treat and is feeding pieces of it to his blue macaw. “And you do that because…you want to?”

“Well I have to pay rent.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“And I could have been a checkout girl at the Doller General, or worked seasonally harvesting soybeans or sugarcane, or begged my ex-husband to get me a job in the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office…but I wanted to do something that didn’t make me miserable. And something that was really mine, that I chose.” Aemond is watching you thoughtfully. The other Targaryens are a tad interested but far more perplexed. They can’t understand work the way you do. They can’t understand money as something that must be counted.

“Brilliant!” Alicent declares at last. “Well, maybe one day we’ll have you making six cakes for Helaena’s engagement party, who knows!”

“It would be my absolute pleasure. Do you have a potential husband hanging around, Helaena?”

She giggles, covering her blushing face with both hands. Her chameleon creeps down to cling to her shoulder, as if to make sure she’s alright. Its conical eyes flit in random directions, an unmitigated freak of nature. You should have more compassion for it.

Aemond grins. “Helaena is responsible for no less than three broken engagements. She can’t commit.”

“And she’s only into guys who look like Aegon,” Daeron adds.

“No!” Helaena objects. “That is such a lie, that’s not true!”

“Evander?” Daeron says.

Helaena pauses to think. “Okay, yes, he looked kind of like Aegon.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Alicent frets, nibbling at the fingernail of her pinky.

“Dimitri?” Aemond says.

“Oh no,” Helaena moans; but she’s laughing too. “Oh no.”

“Sebastian?” Aegon says, and now they’re all howling.

Otto shakes his head. “Freud would definitely have some thoughts about this.”

“Bloody hell,” Helaena whimpers, swiping tears from her face. Her chameleon nudges her jaw with its shimmering, blue-green muzzle. “I totally only date guys who look like Aegon.”

Aegon shrugs from where he’s floating in the pool with Sunfyre. “Good taste, I’d say. Fuck them all, homegirl.”

“Aegon!” Alicent shouts, scandalized.

Criston dashes out of the house and to the edge of the pool, clutching a pina colada that is swiftly melting. “You better paddle yourself over here, kid. I don’t offer in-water delivery.”

“You’d do it for my mother.”

“Probably. But you’re not her.”

Aegon groans as he splashes around without making much progress. “Okay, okay, give me a second…”

Aemond turns to you. “How do you like the house? I realized I never got the chance to ask last weekend.”

“I like all the stained glass, and I like that every room is a different color. The living room is red, the dining room is yellow, the kitchen is teal, Aegon’s bedroom is black—”

“Wait, how do you know?” Aemond is alarmed.

You chuckle. “No, no, not like that. I was lost and looking for a bathroom.”

“Didn’t do anything,” Aegon announces from his pool float. “Didn’t do it, didn’t try it, didn’t even think about it. Well…maybe I thought about it. But I definitely did not do anything.”

“Okay.” Aemond exhales, relived. “Close call.”

“What color is your room?”

He’s not going to waste the opportunity to extend an invitation. “Let me show you.”

On the same floor as Aegon’s punk rock bedroom and the lilac bathroom, you trail Aemond to the end of the hallway. At last he opens a door to reveal a room that is a deep, vivid blue like sapphires. The bookshelves that touch the ceiling are filled not with texts on engineering or the energy industry but histories of people whose names you don’t recognize. He has a massive wooden canopy bed swathed in dark blue velvet patterned with circling koi fish made of stars. He has a writing desk, a wardrobe full of suits, a television with an extensive VHS collection. The stained glass windows are a whirlpool of cerulean, navy, aquamarine, indigo, steel, azure. When you peer through the glass, you can see the gleaming currents of Lake Verret and the twisted dead ends of the bayou that forms at its edges, treacherous and untamed.

And when you start to feel that if Aemond tried to grab you, undress you, tie knots around your wrists you wouldn’t stop him, you tell him that you want to go back outside to the pool; and Aemond listens, and he doesn’t try to touch you even once.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, two days later, and Aemond calls to ask if he can bring you and Cadi dinner. He shows up with all the trappings of what he insists is real Italian food, doubtlessly prepared by his family’s private chefs: focaccia, caprese salad, ossobuco, risotto, Bolognese, panna cotta. He forgets the red wine, so you drink sweet tea instead, the three of you crowded around the kitchen counter, ceaselessly passing dishes back and forth while the little pink Panasonic boombox plays You Spin Me Round by Dead Or Alive.

“Hey Mom?” Cadi says as she chomps on a hunk of focaccia.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever cook dinners like this?”

There’s a tiny little gut punch, something you’re used to swallowing down even if it bruises you to the heart, to the bones. She doesn’t know any better. You can’t cry, you can’t get mad. You shrug, dispassionate. Aemond glances over at you, abruptly tense but not saying anything. “Well honey, it’s probably because my job can be really busy sometimes, and I spend most of the day in the kitchen, so when dinner time comes around the last thing I want to do is cook. But we always have food to eat, right?”

“Yeah. Like Amir’s leftovers or frozen pizza or something. But all my friends’ moms cook nice dinners most nights. Can’t you do that? When I go to Michelle or Erica’s house for dinner their moms make barbeque ribs, gumbo, seafood boils, etouffee, tasso ham, homemade macaroni and cheese, like real dinners. I want us to have that too. What if my friends want to eat dinner here sometime? I can’t bring them over and then just throw some Swanson’s meals at them.”

Aemond has put his fork down on his plate and is clasping his hands together, trying to figure out what to say. But he shouldn’t say anything. It’s not his place.

You tell Cadi, as calmly as you can: “Different families have different kinds of dinners, and that’s okay. I bet your friends’ moms don’t have cakes and cookies around all the time, but you always have tons of dessert options. Our situation looks different than theirs, but there’s nothing wrong with either one.”

“But desserts aren’t even good for kids. Dinner is way more important. You can’t say I get cakes instead of dinner, too much cake will give me diseases or something.”

“Okay, Cadi. That’s enough. Let’s talk about this later.”

“I’m just saying it seems totally unfair that my friends get real dinners and I almost never do.”

Michelle and Erica’s moms don’t work. They have husbands to support them. So they can spend all day babying a fucking tasso ham, but I don’t have that luxury. And I don’t want to be chained to a man. I don’t want to trade having a say in how my life turns out for being able to slave away over dinner for four or five hours. “I regret to inform you that I’m not like Michelle and Erica’s moms.”

“I wish you were,” Cadi murmurs, entirely unaware of what she’s done. You bite your lower lip so you don’t snap at her, or try to explain, or break down sobbing. You taste blood, hot sharp copper that blooms like wildflowers.

Aemond stands up. His barstool squeals against the sloping wooden floor. “Hey, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” he asks Cadi.

“Aemond, what…?” you begin, but he’s already headed for the front door.

Cadi blinks up at him, horrified. “Why?”

“You’re not in trouble or anything. I just want to show you something. Come on. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Cadi says doubtfully, looking at you. You give her your best reassuring smile, and she slides off her barstool and follows after Aemond. The front door opens and shuts. You don’t hear shouting, you don’t hear much of anything except the air conditioner and the boombox and the mourning doves, the long-eared owl, the cicadas, the bayou, the universe. You go to one of the living room windows and part the blinds to peek outside.

What you see is strange. Cadi is sitting on the swing, and Aemond is kneeling in front of her so they’re just about at the same eye level. You can see half of Aemond’s face; Cadi is blocking the rest. He’s explaining something to her with patient yet insistent gestures of his hands. Cadi says something, and Aemond nods and replies. He points to his scar, his glass eye, and says something else. Cadi asks a question, and Aemond hesitates. Then he acquiesces and moves closer to where she is perched on the tree swing. He reaches up towards the scarred side of his face, but you can’t see his eye. When he lowers his palm, there’s a small piece of curved, oval-shaped glass that glints in the dying sunlight.

“Cool!” you can hear Cadi exclaim, muffled through the windows that are now closed on account of the new air conditioning unit. She says something else, and Aemond agrees. You watch her hand extending towards his face, towards the injury he has revealed to her for reasons you can’t comprehend. You rush to other windows, trying to get a better view, but there’s no way for you to get a clear line of sight. Before you know it, your hear their footsteps drumming up the porch steps. The front door opens just as you’re scrambling back onto your barstool.

“Everything alright?” you say, more nervously than you intend to.

“Yup,” Cadi replies. She climbs into her seat and resumes wolfing down focaccia and Bolognese.

You look over at Aemond, bewildered. His glass eye is back in its socket. He appears composed, but you notice the fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead, at his temples, at the nape of his neck. He gives you a casual little smirk and then returns to his barstool. He picks up his full glass of sweet tea and drains it in three massive gulps.

“Hey Mom,” Cadi says, and your throat is suddenly full of embers.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Tonight is really fun,” she says. She twirls her fork in the pappardelle pasta of the Bolognese, splattering red sauce over her cheeks. “This is great. I want to do this more often.”

And the embers in your throat cool, vanish, are replaced by something vast and free.

“You really do need a new house,” Aemond says as he helps you clean up after dinner; Cadi has already abandoned you both for her Nintendo. “There are new constructions a little further down Route 401, between here and Lake Verret. Three bedrooms, two baths. Not a castle or anything, just the right size for you and Cadi. We can go look at them sometime.”

“I don’t need a whole new house. There are midcentury homes all over the place down here. They’re small, and they might need fixing up, but they’re a lot cheaper.” Then you add, because it sounds less pathetic: “And maybe it’s nice to have a house with some history, some character.”

“Old can be charming and quaint, sure. But brand new is better.”

“Why’s that?”

He smiles. “No ghosts.”

[ficzhub]

The Foreign Woman

Part 5

Aemond Targeryen x Older Myrish OC (Alexyse Majeríz)

✨✨✨✨

CW: hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, obsessive behavior, dysfunctional family, mommy issues, younger boys crush on older girl, duplicitous OC, creepy crush, jealous Aemond Targaryen, envious Aegon II Targaryen, emotional manipulation, possessive Aemond Targaryen, jealous Aegon II Targaryen, power imbalance, power dynamics, sex work, touch starved, prince/maid, bed sharing, elitism.

✨✨✨✨

Doubled

As relaxed as Aemond felt being held by his Maery for the seventh night in a row, he couldn't help but wake up a few times through the night and marvel at her face, at her closeness, at her scent that's changed slightly from when she'd first laid here and into something softer and more subtle throughout the night. She unfortunately makes sure to wake up well before the sun rises to catch Ms.Mochel before the day really began. She always kisses Aemond's forehead and leaves him tucked in his bed nice and warm before getting ready for the day to speak with her proximate. He ends up getting up not long after her, but to his regularly scheduled classes and trainings instead of following her again, despite his wish to. If he wanted to keep being someone worth his Maery's time, he can't stop doing his duties. Ser Criston Cole has begun training him alongside his older brother and the other children in the castle and its surroundings, (previously his nephews) before breaking fasts. He tries to focus as much as he can but his mind keeps trailing back to his Maery, what she would be doing now and unfortunately, for who? Where in the castle would she be now? How long until his mother finally just sets her with just him permanently so he doesn't have to share her attention?

"You seem distracted, brother." Aegon says quietly by his right, watching Ser Cole and Ser Willis dueling.

Aemond looks up at him to see his annoying, smug smirk. "Is someone on your mind?"

Aemond refuses to indulge his brother's taunts with a response, Aegon didn't need to know about Maery or if there's anything else clouding him.

Unfortunately for him, Aegon is now more than intrigued with the very effective maid. It's not as though he had been blind. The girl's beautiful, striking even. Her dark curls barely staying under her bonnet in the braid often coming somewhat undone through the day and framing her round face with the fallen pieces. Her tawny skin contrasting with her doe-like black eyes, dark lashes and eyebrows, the pink pout of her full lips. He suspects she's Dornish, one of their bastards perhaps though he can't match her accent to any he'd met.

He'd watch her now when Aemond couldn't, see her changing their linens, bending over the bed to secure the corners, preparing the oils for their baths, still getting her milk from the ranch hand in the back of the castle despite his grievous injuries curtesy of Aemond, not that anyone else knew that. But what gives him the most enjoyment is the same thing that wounds his insides. He watches as she makes her way back to his little brother's room faithfully every night for a week now and coddles him, dotes on him, asks him about his day and holds him tenderly until he falls asleep with his face pressed against her ample busom, wrapping his arms around her middle to make sure she doesn't get away from him.

It's not that he doesn't want his brother to have the comfort he needs, he's glad he does. It makes him feel less guilty about his teasing. It's that he'd kill for just a taste of the same. He doesn't know when she leaves, but never asks a single thing of Aemond as she holds him, never scolds him, only gently corrects if he ever says or does anything wrong. She hums him sweet songs and grazes her fingers over his head and his back, he imagines Aemond has never slept better while Aegon hasn't slept well without milk of the poppy since he was seven. Why must it be only Aemond that gets to experience the genuine comfort and care of a beautiful woman? Why can't he get anyone to care for him like that? Why can no one show him even a second of love without expecting anything in return? She even dotes on Daeron and Helaena, on occasion. Well, as much as one can dote on Helaena.

The second night he saw "Maery" doing that for his brother, he decided he'd ask for that the next day at the brothel. He'd go alone, without his mates and see what had him longing so badly for the girl. He went inside, had one of the girls do exactly what he asked her to do but having to get up, with her acting so clinically afterwards and paying for it not a minute later only had him rushing to get home and sobbing to himself in his bed, reaching for the strongest wine he could get his hands on to distract from the emptiness he felt flooded with. The transactional nature of it, the cold attitude of the whore after, how false it all felt, it left him feeling worse than when the queen strikes him or when his grandsire gives him that look of total derision and disappointment. At least he knows those feelings are real.

His mother hasn't held him the way Maery holds Aemond since he was five, she never looked at him like the maid looks at his brother, never asked him about his day, never hummed him lullabies or played with his hair. No one's ever given him that much comfort, he almost fears he'd be overwhelmed by it. Aemond was already considered much more tolerable than Aegon had ever been, but with his injury it's like everyone treats him with the utmost reverence and endearedness and respect. He'll never be as he was, but Aegon would give anything, including his eye, to be handled the way his brother is now.

"C'mon, too shy to tell me now?" He eggs on, shoving Aemond's shoulder. Perhaps more harshly than necessary, struggling to tamp down his jealousy.

"Enough, brother." Aemond demands, scowling at the ground.

"Boys," Ser Criston yells, making them stand at attention. He continues his demonstrative fight against Ser Willis but looks over at the two brothers to make sure they're paying attention.

Aemond glares up at Aegon, rubbing his shoulder and blush-inducingly, eager to tell his Maery about it later. Perhaps it'll even leave a bruise. Aegon's nostrils are flaring as though he's the one who hurt him and not the other way around. For a second, Aemond thinks he sees something more in his eyes than the usual teasing mischief.

Alexyse tries to get as much done as she can now that Aemond is focusing more on his duties, but she's noticed Aegon's been taking note of her recently now, too. Not as closely as Aemond, but enough to where it's creeping on her nerves. She received note from The Red Fingers just yesterday and came very close to being caught by Aegon. They're hastening her, wondering why she's gone so long without giving word to her exploits. How is she to tell them that instead of doing what's been ordered to her, she's taken to mothering the unmothered. She's a woman, and no matter how deadly, how precise and how cold they've proven themselves to be, it'll never be enough. There will always be those to doubt her abilities, who deny her skills. She sent back word of everything she's found out so far and hopes that'll tide them over with the last of the message being that she has more to come once she receives confirmation. Despite the fact that none of that information exists. It was all encoded of course, anyone who reads the note will just assume it was chicken scratch, or the dabblings of a child who just wanted to send something.

Still, this many eyes on her wasn't something she planned nor appreciates. If Aemond had been able to keep their little meetings to himself, that would've been one thing. But he watches her at every chance he gets, the other work staff has noticed and she suspects he's the reason Bylric was hurt. The poor boy is only fourteen and now it's uncertain if his right arm will ever function as it once had, which as a ranch hand is devastating.

She sits now, cleaning the floors of the children's wing with a solution of lye so to not hurt the stones and covering it with gray clay powder to seal, wondering how these people don't get sick more often. They floors before she came laid covered with "sweet rushes", a hay that sounds much more pleasant than it is, to catch everything that falls on the ground. From spit, to vomit from when someone gets nauseous, namely the prince as of late, the leakings men, likely other animals too. Ale droppings, dead animals, food scraps that lead to more rats coming in, and only the gods know what else.

If her mother or her mother's mother witnessed the filth of this place she wouldn't bother trying to clean, she'd just burn it down. The filth is more than just in the home, these people don't bathe as they should. Back in Myr the washing of one's self is daily, with aquafers that take clean, moving water all around the city. Even those without plumbing still wash daily in the rivers that start there and head downstream to the sea. The use of chamber pots shocked her, she can't imagine something more disgusting then hauling around one's own waste. Back home it's taken away by the water systems as well, the water is then disposed of using lye before being replaced in the system by fresh water. After you relieve yourself you clean your bum with a small moss page or wood pulp page sometimes even snake leaf, that you only use once before tossing it to rot and rejoin the dirt.

The scent of the city accosted her when she first arrived and it's been a struggle to grow accustomed to it. The common folk she understands. To bathe here, a large tub is required, plenty of access to clean water, most of which is stagnant here, availability of saponins is scarce, and the time it takes to bathe would cut into the day, that's not including the time to prepare for it. But she doesn't forgive the nobles. What excuses do they have to smell like onions and rot? They can douce themselves with all the floral oils they want, that won't cover the stench.

'I'm being too judgmental,' she thinks to herself 'I'm frustrated and worried that I might not complete my duty as instructed or to their satisfaction, but that is no fault of the people here.'

"Maery," Anida, a maid around her own age calls on her "The queen has summoned you to her chambers."

"Did she say why?" She asks

"Why would she tell me?" She asks with a smirk

"That's true. Thank you, I'll head there now." She gets up off the floor with Anida's help and heads to the queen's chambers with Anida taking her place.

Before she could even knock on the door, it's opened for her. The beautiful queen welcomes her in and gestures for “Maery” to sit across from her.

“I suppose you might be wondering why you’re being seated with me and not with the stuwart.” She begins

“The thought occurred to me, yes.”

“Ms.Mochel and Stuwart Ainsley have very differing opinions about you.”

‘Figures’ she thinks. That asshole Ainsley never treated her with very much respect, and clearly disliked her more than the other maids.

“I don’t know why, your grace.” She admits “Ms.Mochel always receives my work very well and has had me train some of the other maids of the keep.”

“Yes, which is precisely why I’ve summoned you here.” She says, placing a hand on Alexyse’s thigh “My sons have grown quite fond of you. Would you please tell me why, Maery?”

Alexyse didn’t know quite how she should respond to this. On the one hand, what she’s been doing is entirely inappropriate. On the other, it doesn’t seem like the queen is reacting too negatively.

“Well with Daeron all I do is be silly with him,” she begins “He’s only a boy of 6, I make small jokes as I do what’s required of me.”

“I see, and for Aemond?” She presses

“For Prince Aemond it’s a bit more complicated, your grace.” she goes “I first truly met Prince Aemond the night he lost his eye.”

At this, the queen looks down and nods.

“He put up a brave front but that night I went into his room and found him sobbing. He screamed at me to go, to leave him. He even threw something at me.”

The queen makes a small gasp

“Something soft, not anything dangerous. Still I couldn’t move from there, it was like I couldn’t understand what he was ordering me to do.”

“Then what?” Queen Alicent asks

This is the tricky part. How to tell the queen that she didn’t do her motherly duty to her son and instead left that for a perfect stranger to do in her stead?

“I must admit, what I did next was inappropriate.” Alexyse says, hoping that’ll soften the blow to both her and the queen’s ego. “I got into his bed and pressed him very tightly against my chest.”

She holds her breath and waits to see how the queen reacts, when her expression doesn’t change she continues.

“I don’t know why, I suppose it was just instinct. He’s a little boy and he was crying with no one to comfort him. He barely put up a fight before wrapping his arms around me and crying onto my chest.”

“Is that all?” She asks

“That happened that night? Yes.” Alexyse assures

“Are you why Aemond is so concerned with taking more baths?” She asks confused

Her brows furrow at this “I wouldn’t know, your grace.”

“Hmm” is all she says “What happened the following days?”

“The next night I went to change his linens and I found him there smiling at me and calling me my name. I thought the last night made him feel better and thought it would be all. But when I was going to leave and finish my work, he called me back. I told him I’d love to stay but that I had work to finish. The same thing happened the next night only he didn’t leave it at that.” She skips over the part where she stayed the second night with him too. “He went looking for me in the child’s maid’s quarters and when he found me, he woke me up and said he couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m terribly sorry about that Maery,” Queen Alicent says “I’ll make sure to keep his door guarded at night now, he shouldn’t be bothering at such hours for such things.”

“Truly it was less a bother and more a concern, your grace. I didn’t know how badly the loss of his eye had affected him. In any case, I’d rather he came to me and told me if something troubled him. Perhaps not in the middle of the night but since then he’s been trying to keep me with him while he sleeps. I leave once I’m sure he’s going to stay asleep but that’s gotten harder over the last few days.”

“Alright. Now Maery, why hasn’t it occurred to you to come to me about this?”

At this her brow furrows again in feigned confusion “Prince Aemond had told me he had gone to you about this himself. He said you’d assigned me to him and when I asked Ms.Mochel and Stuwart Ainsley, they didn’t negate it, your grace, only said I’m to do household chores while the prince is occupied but to tend to him exclusively when he’s not. I figured I needn’t bother you over something like this when my superiors and your underlings had already approved of it.”

“Well, I had been looking for a hand maid for Aemond but I was looking at noble girls. If he prefers you to them all however, I suppose that would be fine. As long as you don’t expect a noble marriage or something of that sort-“

“No your grace, of course not.”

Part 4 link:

@writingwenches

A03 link:

[gyllenhaalstories]

DON'T LET THE GRINCH STEAL CHRISTMAS — TOMMY CAHILL 🎄

summary: not even a christmas miracle can save a familly dinner with the cahills from turning into a debacle.

warnings: i'm quoting a scene from the movie but i'm taking creative liberties, food & eating, curse words, family feud, smut (quickie, semi public sex, pussy eating & fingering). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2440

photo credits: me (@/gyllenhaalstories) / divider credits: @/saradika & @/saradika-graphics

notes: ending a second year with a tommy fic just felt right. ❤️💚 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"This food is great, Elsie. Thank you." Tommy broke the awkward silence that loomed over the dinner table. Despite the smaller plate full of discarded peas in front of him, he still enjoyed the homemade dinner offered to him.

You opened your mouth to thank the older woman, too, for being such a lovely host but you were cut off by a wave of arrogance and bitterness that washed over your side of the table.

"Compared to what?" Hank Cahill huffed mockingly.

You helped Tommy's youngest niece and silently prayed that this would not degenerate for the sake of the kids. But of course it would. It was not a proper dinner at the Cahills if it did not end up in a screaming match. "Let it go." You leaned closer to your boyfriend to whisper those words, but your attempt at calming him down was, rightfully, vain.

Tommy dropped his fork on his plate and threw his hands up, shrugging. "Other food." He sounded defeated, knowing he already lost the fight that had barely started.

"Prison food?" His father retorted.

Tommy was a ticking time bomb around his family. Again, rightfully so. Hank just loved to handle his oldest son like a grenade, throwing him in a ditch once he started the explosion so he would not have to take the blame for the collateral damage. Tommy slammed his closed fist on the table.

"Tommy!" Sam called out his name, so quick to protect his father.

And, just as quickly, Tommy shut up. He reached his arm in front of you so he could reach to the other side, trying to reassure Maggie.

You could feel that he was fuming and he tried to hold it in so things would settle down. Instead, Hank mumbled into his plate and ate a spoonful of green peas.

Unable to handle the tension, Tommy promptly sprang to his feet and walked away to hide in the bathroom.

Nobody ever stood up for Tommy. Elsie would excuse herself to the kitchen. Grace would focus on her daughters. Sam would watch with his mind lost elsewhere and, mostly, without a care for the way his father treated his brother. Nobody truly ever ever stood up for Tommy except you. If Hank took a certain malevolent delight in being mean to his son, you took just as much pleasure in calling him out for it.

You stood up just as promptly as Tommy did and threw your napkin on the table. "With all due respect, mister Cahill..."

That sentence always succeeded in putting an angry smirk on the elderly man's face. He knew you had little to no respect for him, which was exactly what he deserved.

You looked at Maggie and Isabelle, bringing your hands to your ears so they would imitate you. They giggled as they pretended to hum a little sing-song to cover up the sound of your potty mouth. "You have no room to talk as the poor excuse of a father that you are." You took advantage of the fact Tommy was out of the room to lay the truth before his father. He would not allow it otherwise. "Tommy appreciates the hard work your wife did to prepare us a lovely Christmas dinner more than you ever could. He sure as hell didn't learn thankfulness from you and you should be glad he didn't learn how to be an asshole like you 'cause that's all you know how to teach."

Isabelle and Maggie uncovered their ears and resumed to eating and talking to each other. It broke your heart a to witness just how used they had gotten to this dysfunctional family.

You pushed your chair behind you and walked around the table. You stood by the head of it and, on the other side, there was Sam standing up and looking at you with a hint of disdain, but mostly surprise. Even he could not stand up to Hank in such a way. All the bravery and courage and praise about how he was so strong for serving his country so proudly turned into dust when it came to facing a bad guy such as his father. You held his gaze for a few seconds before you huffed, in the same manner as Hank did earlier. "So much for being a hero." You looked at both Sam and Hank one last time before you made a beeline to the bathroom.

*~*~*

You closed the door behind you and took a moment to assess the scene.

Tommy was pacing back and forth in the small bathroom. He looked tense but his demeanour softened when he locked eyes with you. He shrugged, silently apologizing.

"They'll be fine." You reassured him, easily guessing that he worried about his nieces. "You'll be fine too." Your hand reached to his cheek that you stroked lovingly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Tommy nodded, pressing his lips together. He kissed your forehead and lingered, as if he was charging his batteries up and as if they were fuelled by the sweet scent of your perfume and the warmth that emanated from you and comforted him effortlessly. "It's just that—"

You shushed him with a peck on his lips. "Let's forget about it for now, alright?" You were met with a frown and a quizzical gaze. "They're gonna keep on being annoying. They're your family, it's what they do best." He agreed with a shrug. "Your father has already ruined so many things for you. Don't let that angry old man ruin Christmas."

You heard a faint chuckle coming from Tommy. "Like the Grinch?"

You laughed along with him. "Exactly like the Grinch."

He leaned forward for a kiss. He inhaled your scent again and further calmed down. He pulled back with a grin on his face. "I thought it was good that I talked about my feelings?"

"It is!" You defended yourself quickly. It was something you put a lot of emphasis on, to help Tommy better himself like he wanted. All that pent-up anger would lead nowhere if he followed the example of his brother and father. "I'm proud of you for working on that and talking about how you feel with me. You're doing so good at talking."

He mouthed the words 'thank you' but he frowned again while you caressed his arms up and down, the sleeves of his shirt awkwardly following your movements. It took a few seconds, but he caught on. "Let me guess..."

"Enough talking for now." You moved in closer and whispered at his ear. His family made enough noise to cover whatever sounds the two of you could make. You both knew it, it was not the first time you sneaked away from them. "But..." He squinted at you. "It's not a crime to find your boyfriend hot when he's lashing out at other people, right?"

He shook his head, telling you that it was not a crime either for him to think what you did earlier was even hotter. "Yeah, enough talking for now." Tommy smirked and pressed a kiss on your lips, a kiss that got deep and rough in no time. The mood shift was very much welcome.

Your hands caressed their way up to the collar of his shirt, clinging onto it. You kept making out, only taking quick breaks to catch your breath.

Meanwhile, Tommy's hands moved down to your ass and gave it a hard squeeze. He guided you towards the vanity so you could lean on the counter, not once did his lips leave yours. Instead, his tongue invaded your mouth and he swallowed your moans.

You held his face in your hands for a moment or two, enjoying the kiss to the fullest before you moved on to something else.

He pulled his head back when he felt your hand now in his short hair. Tommy smirked and, without any resistance, he let you push down on him until he got on his knees.

"You look so pretty down there." You murmured.

You thought he was too distracted to hear you by the way he hungrily peppered kisses on the inside of your thighs, but the words you spoke sent a wave of pleasure down to his cock. That's not what he wanted to focus on right now.

The main focus was you and the soft whimpers you let out when he kissed your pussy over your panties. You were glad Tommy convinced you to wear a skirt for Christmas dinner.

He grunted, displeased by how his brain reminded he did not have the luxury to take his time. He pushed your panties to the side and held the fabric out of the way with his thumb as the rest of his hand pushed your leg open for him. He buried his tongue between your folds and let out a moan louder than yours.

You covered your mouth with one hand and bunched your skirt up with the other.

Tommy’s tongue lapped at your pussy, closing his eyes blissfully at the taste of you.

You started to move your hips, disregarding the uncomfortable counter that rubbed against your ass. You humped Tommy’s face and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his nose bumped on your clit, and as his tongue teased your entrance.

With his spit and your wetness, it was like your body was begging for him to fuck you. You had to wait for that, and he was already getting impatient. He pushed his middle finger inside of you and sucked on your clit, that was as close as he would get to feeling you wrapped around him.

Luckily for you, the Christmas music coming from the living room kept your activities safe between Tommy and you. There was no way your moans, and Tommy’s, could be heard.

But, to be even more careful, Tommy’s hand on your thigh gave it a squeeze. He flicked his tongue on your clit just how you liked it, pumping his finger in and out of you quite fast.

You abandoned your skirt to put your hand on his head and hold him in place. It was the most subtle way you could think of telling him that he felt so fucking good.

And he knew it. He pulled away for a short moment, just long enough to catch his breath and to give you one of his cocky smirks. His beard was glistening, his lips were wet and his eyes were dark with lust.

You barely had enough time to admire this beautiful sight that he was back at it. His beard burned on your sensitive skin, but, in the heat of the moment, it felt too good to stop. He was making your head fall back in pleasure as you felt the familiar tension of your orgasm approach.

Tommy's finger curled up inside you, finding that sweet spot that made you whimper. His tongue met with your clit and this time, he was not stopping. He was not stopping even if you tried so had to close your legs around him. He was not stopping even if you tried to control the pace with your hand on his head. He wanted, and needed, you to cum and he knew just how much you needed it too.

"Oh, fuck!" You moaned out, immediately biting on your finger to prevent another slip up. You wanted to tell him so badly how close you were, but it was pointless.

He already knew. He sucked on your clit and pumped his middle finger in your wet pussy a few more times until he felt your walls clench tight around him. Tommy fought against your body, just carrying you over the edge until he was convinced you could no longer take it.

Your vision was blurry aside from the little stars that were spinning around Tommy's head when you looked down. You forgot how to breathe, how to move even, until Tommy slowly slid his finger out of you and let you come back to your senses.

The sloppy kiss you shared after that was heavenly. You could taste yourself on his lips and his tongue, and it only got the two of you even more eager for what would happen the second you were left actually alone.

Tommy adjusted your panties back in their place and flattened your skirt, or, well, he tried to. You looked rough and so did he with his face shiny from your wetness.

You kissed him again, quickly, before you turned the faucet on and helped him wash himself clean as best as you could get it. While the water was running, you moved closer to his ear and asked a rather important question. "So, what's the escape plan?"

Tommy's eyes widened. Right. You guys needed a plan. It was not the first time you sneaked away like that, but he always forgot how awkward it could be. "Can you fake a tummy ache?"

"You're so clever." You chuckled and patted his face dry with a tissues.

The two of you took deep breaths and tried to darken your expression, although it was hard to shake off the pure pleasure you had experienced.

They were surprisingly gullible and believed in your lame excuse, at the exception of Maggie who whispered to her sister that you were one of Santa's elves and uncle Tommy had to drive you to the toy factory. They were so caught up in their conspiracy theory that they barely let you out without a hug, but they rushed to the front door for a kiss goodbye.

Hank looked at his son disapprovingly, Elsie promised to save slices of pie and cake to be picked up when you felt better. Grace smiled and focused her attention back on her kids and her husband.

You got out of there as if nothing happened. As if there had not been a huge fight, as if that same fight had not been resolved by Tommy devouring your pussy like it was his last meal.

A last meal that needed to be followed by dessert, Tommy's hand that was on your thigh while he drove his truck home reminded you of the rest of your evening plans. You watched him drive and you played the game of whether he could be patient enough to wait for you two to be home or if he would give up halfway and take you in the back of his pick-up.

Judging by the way Tommy was smiling and beaming, one thing was for sure: the Grinch was not successful in stealing Christmas this year.

[sohnric]

[TEASER] partners in crime – j. changmin

after a series of unpredictable events, you and ji changmin, the foster kid with a shady reputation, become partners in crime. in a world where every choice has a consequence, you two must decide how far you're willing to go as you balance on the edge of danger with the promise of a better life.

pairing: ji changmin x fem! reader

genre: criminals au. acquaintances to lovers. coming of age, slice of life. angst, hurt/comfort. thief! changmin. partners in crime au (duh). slight high school au. inspired by a real case of robbery in a jewelry store here lmao. also loosely inspired by the kdrama extracurricular!

wc: for the teaser :: 1k || for the full fic :: approx. 32k

warnings: for the teaser :: existential dread, a fake gun, robbery || for the full fic :: mentions of alcoholism and juvenile behavior, swearing, changmin's character is a little inconsistent at first. changmin is a foster child, dysfunctional families, yn's father is absent. mentions of minors going on dates with older men, a man trying to take advantage of the reader, a physical fight (with the use of a knife), more to be added as i edit lmao

SEND AN ASK/COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST! Posting when the editing is done and my beta reader gives me the approval and validation <3 (end of may??)

Eyes catching the glimmer of the silver chain in between your fingers, you press your skin into the metal and drag your nail over the stones in the pedant. You watch over the glass vitrines situated all around the store, various different shades of gold and silver staring back at you, almost laughing to your face with the prize tags slapped onto them, showing prices worth more than your groceries for the month. 

Contemplating your next decision, looking behind your shoulder to catch the security camera watching you, you think over your next steps. Angling your body so that it’s shielding what you’re doing with your hands, you gently take out the drawer that you’ve taken the silver chain out of, pretending to put the jewelry back where you got it from.

Your movements are careful, calculated. You’ve rethought this plan over and over again, birthed in your mind the moment you saw the sign ‘hiring’ on the glass door of the fancy jewelry store in the town center– made adjustments to it, tweaked it around and tried your hardest to make a good impression on your boss so she wouldn’t suspect anything– but now that you’re actually in front of the important part, the one that’s supposed to help you the most in your hunt for money, you can’t really bring yourself to do it.

Who knows. Maybe you could just keep the job– you don’t make much, though, considering you only work part-time. With the way your shifts are scheduled and the amount of time you have to put into working, you don’t really see the jewelry store as a good source of income– you are barely home and have time for anything. 

And it’s not the kind of money you need. Not at all.

Sighing to yourself, you shake your head to clear it off all thoughts– it’s time to do it. You can be sneaky. You can be uncaught. You just have to put your head to it.

Fingers shaking, you move the chain towards the front pocket of your jeans, ready to hide it in there and then sell it in the pawn shop a few weeks later to not raise much suspicion– when the sound of the front door opening brings you out of your thoughts, making you jump in surprise. Eyes snapping to the customer entering the store, you get ready to sport the kindest, warmest smile you can– to seem innocent and not at all suspicious. However, the grin stops growing mid-way as you recognise the appearance of the customer, smile freezing and turning into a concerned frown. 

This is not how you’d expect a customer of a fancy jewelry store to look.

The person is dressed in black, skinny jeans adorning their thighs, the hood of their jacket pulled over their head and a mask covering the bottom half of their face. Before you get a chance to dwell on it any further, they take out a gun– and they point it to your face.

There’s a moment in time where you feel like everything freezes. A moment in time where you just stare the gun into its eyes and wait for the person to shoot you, a moment in time where you can’t even think. Your brain clears, the only thought present at the tip of your tongue being– this is not how I imagined to go.

Your hands start shaking as you put them above your head, pupils dilating in terror. You guess this is something you should’ve expected when taking the job in an expensive jewelry store, but even though you’re aware a situation like this could exist in your timeline, you don’t really expect it. It’s like that with all bad things in life– you keep telling yourself that there’s no way something like that would happen to a person like you.

There’s no way your father would leave. There’s no way your mother’s world would crumble. There’s no way you’ll be left in charge of everything. There’s no way you’ll have to be the one to steal groceries because you can’t afford to buy food to put into your sister’s mouth. 

There’s no way a man would pull out a gun on you in the middle of your shift.

And yet, it happened. Everything.

In a moment of absolute terror, though, it feels like the world starts spinning again and the force clutching your chest relaxes a little when you stare into the man’s eyes. 

Strange, isn’t it?

There’s a sense of familiarity in his gaze. Something mirroring a weird kind of surprise, a weird kind of recognition. A million different thoughts flow through your brain, eyes scanning his figure– the skin of his hands as he grips the gun that you now recognise to be one of the kinds you use when you play airsoft, not a real one– the lean posture of his figure, but most importantly, the spark in his dark orbs that somehow invites you to do everything he tells you to. Not because he’d kill you if you don’t– but because somehow, you know this might be of gain for you.

Trying hard to play out your previous panic, riding off the erratic heartbeat in your chest, you walk over to the cash register and open the drawer. Eyes meeting with the intruder, you precisely take out the bills stacked in the register, throwing them on the counter in a careless, yet seemingly nervous manner. 

“The jewelry,” he mumbles, pointing towards the vitrines with his chin, waiting for you to obey his words. 

It doesn’t take you much to take out the drawers full of silver and gold, letting the man take whatever he pleases, his bag filled with expensive chains and rings, all while he keeps the gun on you to get the full effect. 

You could be given an Oscar for how good your acting performance was in this very moment.

Your eyes lock in another meaningful gaze, one that suggests that all cards are on the table now and you share a secret you will never be able to shake off, before he disappears out of the store into the dark. Acting stunned for the camera, you only reach for the phone when you’re certain he’s far enough to not be caught, dialing 911 and telling the line all about the robbery.

Ji Changmin chose the bad jewelry store to rob.

Or maybe, he chose the best one he could.