#five shows remaining!!! two updates left!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hihello-pinky · 3 months ago

Text

Sight (6)

Suna Rintarou x F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintaro had to learn this the hard way.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, explicit smut (unprotected, rough sex) -> lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 6k+

Finally, an update! Thank you for staying with this fic despite my very slow updates. There might be 2-3 parts left before the end; depends on your answer to my question at the end of this chapter! haha (wink, wink)

Kindly reblog, like, and/or leave a comment if you loved this chapter and let me know what you think! xoxo

part one ༘⋆ part two ༘⋆ part three ༘⋆ part four ༘⋆ part five

kofi for tips 💌 ~~

˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚ - - - ˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚

Twenty-five days.

Suna Rintarou swears he isn’t keeping track, but his stupid brain screams the number at him. It’s been twenty-five days of torture - his mind plagued with thoughts of wanting to kiss you.

Kiss you, kiss you, kiss you, kiss you, kiss you.

He’s had the urge in the past but all of those times were out of the haze of sexual intimacy. His current dilemma, which began 25 days ago, is something else.

It had been a mundane Saturday morning. The kids were already up and engrossed in the TV show they both loved so much. Suna was in the kitchen, trying to be of help as you prepared breakfast.

The menu for that day was sunny side-ups paired with hotdogs. You were trying to show him how to perfectly crack eggs open when he moved to stand beside you to look closer. Your hand slipped, spoon cracking against the egg and he laughed. You moved to chastise him and in turn, the egg white from the cracked shell plopped against him.

With widened eyes, you gasped and then, backed with a barely contained giggle, apologized to him. The sound of your laughter was sweet and the way your eyes turned into little crescents tugged at Suna’s heart.

At that moment, he badly wanted to kiss you - to feel your laughter through your lips.

Now, he finds himself at the balcony of your bedroom, eyes turned towards the moonless sky with a lollipop in his mouth. Through the open door, he can hear the faint sound of the shower and he groans, urging his mind to not stray towards other thoughts.

He feels foolish with these emotions that you’re bringing out of him. Granted, they’re not unfamiliar, but it’s been several years since he’s had these feelings. And truth be told, Suna never thought he’d feel this way again: wanting to love someone.

He knows what he’s feeling for you is more than just platonic. But Suna is also pretty sure that he isn’t in love with you.

Yet.

“Rin?” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Would you mind closing the door? The breeze is coming through.” He sees that you’re now done with your shower, robe wrapped around your body with a towel in your hand.

He bites off the remaining lollipop and chucks the stick at the small bin by the balcony. Shortly after, he joins you in the room but not before making sure the door is securely locked behind him.

The smell of your green-apple hair conditioner hits him almost immediately. It’s a scent he has ignored for years but now that he’s free from his pride to admire every little thing about you, he basks in the scent. He then makes his way to the vanity. “Do you need help drying your hair off?”

Your curious eyes meet his through the mirror and after a few slow blinks, you nod. He takes over the towel and you open a drawer to bring out the dryer.

For a few moments, your eyes watch him work with the towel, gently squeezing clumps of your hair for the last drops of water possible. Then, before passing the hair-blower to him, you say, “You’re gonna end up with cavities given all the candies and lollipops you’ve been having.”

“They’re working, though,” he replies. “I haven’t smoked in over a month.”

You smile at him. “I’m so proud of you.” And then, as if deciding on what to say next, you add, “I wish there is another alternative so you won’t have to take too much sweets.”

Maybe it’s the proud look on your face. Maybe it’s the way your lips pucker out in a cute pout. Or maybe, he’s just so tired of counting the days.

Finally, Suna says, “What about a kiss?”

The way your eyes immediately widen is almost comical. “W-what?”

Suna only laughs as he takes the hair dryer from you, the brief skin contact making you blush. He shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

“Huh?” you try to turn around so you’re face to face but he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Stay still.”

“But…”

“Y/N. Let’s dry your hair first, okay?”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Drying one’s hair is supposed to take around five to ten minutes only, but after Rintarou’s question, it feels like it’s taking an hour. It’s not helping that he’s standing so close to you, hands gently drying your hair, warmth radiating from his body.

Once finished, you immediately turn on the seat. “Rin.”

“Y/N.”

The question comes to the tip of your tongue but never leaves your mouth. You bite your lip instead and avoid eye contact. “N-nevermind.”

As you try to stand, Rintarou stops you. “You’re cute when you blush, did you know that?”

You don’t answer, knowing full well that his remark only made your already flushing cheeks redden even more.

Suna sighs before cupping your cheek tenderly, urging you to look at him. Once your eyes meet his, he rubs a gentle circle on your skin. “I want to kiss you.”

It feels like your heart is beating a hundred miles per minute. Did you hear him correctly? He wants to kiss you? Suna Rintarou, the man who never kissed you in the five years you’ve been married? Suna Rintarou, the man who didn’t bother to kiss you on your wedding day?

I want to kiss you.

A lot of things have changed in the past months but still, Suna manages to surprise you. You feel like a teenager navigating romance for the first time again.

Another gentle rub on your cheek brings you back to the present, where Suna is saying he wants to kiss you. “Well? Are you going to allow me to kiss you, Y/N?”

Your only response is a meek nod to which Suna shakes his head. “I want you to say it. Tell me that you want me to kiss you.”

He never once breaks eye contact as he says those words. The urge to look away is so strong, for you feel like the longer you stare into Suna’s eyes, all the emotions inside of you will break out. Burst into a bubble that would consume you. It’s going to be cool, but suffocating.

Instead, your eyes remain on him, trying to decipher if there’s any ill-intentions in them.

You only see sincerity… and pained longing. As if every minute you’re not asking him to kiss you is bringing him immense pain.

But kissing him… it’s going to be a big step in your relationship. Granted, the two of you have been sleeping with each other again. But kissing is an entire thing different from sex. You’ve never kissed during sex before. Kissing him now would mean…

Rin doesn’t speak with words, but the way his thumb grazes your cheek once more tells you that he’s waiting. Finally, you decide to pocket the fears you have about kissing him. “Kiss me, Rin.”

He exhales in relief as he leans down and the distance between your lips get smaller and smaller and smaller and you get the sweet taste of his strawberry lollipop from earlier.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Goodbye, 25 days. Suna thinks to himself that night, as you lay sleeping beside him.

It’s just a kiss, but he can’t stop himself from feeling warm at the memory of your lips against his.

It’s just a kiss, but he feels like he’s on top of the world.

It’s just a kiss, but when he finally falls asleep that night, a stupid smile is on his face.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

In the following days, Suna learns that he has found a new addiction.

Waking up in the morning? A kiss on your lips.

Thanking you after finishing a meal? A kiss on your lips.

Saying goodbye before leaving for work? A kiss on your lips.

Seeing you after arriving at home? A kiss on your lips.

It’s not just even the feeling of your lips against his that makes him addicted to it - he’s also enamored by your reaction every time you kiss.

The way your breath hitches a little as your lips meet, and the soft sigh you let out once you part almost always bring a flood of warmth to his chest.

“Are you going out today or staying home for work?” Since you’ve been getting better, you have started to resume working again.

If it were up to Suna, he wouldn’t want you to work at all. Your current job is not demanding at all, minimal reports needed. He remembers helping you get it five years ago, when you had opened up to him about the missed opportunity after your graduation. Still, he knows you enjoy what little you do at work, so he can’t ask you to leave it.

“I’ll stay in today,” he hears your response. “I’ll visit the office on Friday.”

He makes a mental note to himself. “Okay.” And then, “Do we have any plans this weekend?”

He adjusts the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt as he hears you hum in contemplation. “Ah! Hajime invited us for Kenta’s birthday party this coming Saturday, right?”

Of course. Suna remembers the conversation two weeks before. He remembers trying to tame the jealousy brewing deep within him as the older man talked to you. He knows he has nothing to be jealous about. You’re just naturally sweet and friendly while Iwaizumi apparently started seeing someone.

“I almost forgot,” he confesses as he approaches you to where you’re lounging at the sofa. You’re currently waiting for your laptop to finish installing its update before you start work. “Do we have a gift already?”

“I actually ordered something but it’s stuck in one of the sorting hubs. If it doesn’t arrive by Friday, maybe we can drop by the mall or something?”

“Okay. I’ll go now, then. See you later.” He crosses the short distance between you, hand already cupping your face as he kisses you goodbye.

And if Suna is smiling while driving on the way to work, thinking about your goodbye kiss, then no one has to know.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Express delivery, as is turns out, do not always live up to its name. It’s now Friday and the package carrying your gift for Kenta has made no movement from the sorting hub. You’re at your table at work, waiting for Rin to pick you up after you texted him that you would need to drop by the mall first.

The children are at their grandparents since this morning and you’ll be picking them up when you and Rin go to their house for breakfast tomorrow. You look at the picture on your phone. Rintarou is splayed on the bed with the twins all over him. It’s from last weekend, when your kids had come to wake the two of you up.

Your heart is instantly flooded with warmth and joy. You didn’t think it’s going to be possible, but years later, here you are with a happy family despite of the circumstances. You couldn’t ask for more.

The notification on your phone alerts you that Rin is almost at your office building. You bid goodbye to your colleagues. As the door to the elevator begins to close, you see a woman rushing towards it. Luckily, you’re able to press the ‘hold door’ button immediately.

“Thank you,” the woman sighs in relief as she shoots you a grateful, sweet smile. She’s an unfamiliar face, which is not a surprise to you since you rarely visit the office and interact with people outside of your core department.

“No problem,” you reply while mirroring her smile, before turning your gaze ahead.

You’re about to settle on that elevator silence between strangers when the woman speaks. “For a building with over 30 floors, you’d think they have more than three working elevators.”

You hum in agreement. “The ‘under construction’ signs at the other two elevators have been there forever, right?”

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t know.” She lets out a small laugh. “I’ve only been here for two weeks. I’m in a contractual project, actually.”

The elevator doors open and you two walk out, still conversing. “Ah, may I ask what project?”

“Hitomi-chan’s passion project,” the woman replies with a smile. “I’m in-charge of photography.”

You feel foolish only noticing the camera bag slung on her left shoulder. “I see. You must be very good, then. Hitomi knows to pick partners well.”

A sweet laughter spills from her again, her cheeks blushing a little. “You’re too kind…”

“Y/N,” you reply, as you both approach the exit.

The woman extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. You can call me Serin.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Serin.”

A security staff of the building approaches the two of you. “Your husband’s car just pulled up at the parking area, Mrs. Suna.”

Serin’s grasp on your handshake falters a little. “Oh, you need to go?”

“Yes. See you around the office, Serin.”

She gives you one last smile before waving goodbye. “See you around!”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You’re only supposed to buy a gift for Kenta but two hours at the mall later, you and Suna are pushing one big cart of shopping carts each. You don’t talk as you navigate the parking space, but the exchange of smiles and grins speaks a lot.

“Why did we buy so much?” You ask as you watch Rin load the bags into the car. “We’re such impulsive buyers, oh god.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad splurging sometimes. We all deserve to spoil ourselves once in a while.”

“Is that why you bought a large fox plushie?” Your voice is laced with teasing. “I didn’t know you’re into stuffed toys.”

Suna loads the last bags before closing the door. “I bought that for you, though.” He takes your hand and leads you to the front passenger seat, opening its door. “And don’t act as if you weren’t looking at it with heart eyes when I showed it to you.”

You make yourself comfortable in the seat. “Sure.”

Suna scoffs playfully before shaking his head as he swats your hand away and puts the belt on you himself. “Okay, you’re never allowed to hold it ever, then.”

You fake gasp. “Really? Then that makes me sad.”

He leans in and kisses against the pout on your lips. “You’re so cute, Y/N,” he says once he pulls away.

“And you’re so silly, Rin.” This time, you’re the one who leans in and pecks his lips. As you’re about to pull away, you feel Suna’s hand on your head before he tries to deepen the kiss.

A small whine leaves your lips and gets swallowed by Suna immediately before he finally pulls away.

“Rin…”

You’re breathing heavily and he’s in no better situation. His eyes have darkened and the way he looks at you makes you squirm on the seat. You avert your gaze. “L-let’s go home.”

It takes him a beat to answer. “Yeah. Okay, sure.” He pulls back, squeezes your upper thigh, and then closes the door for you. You’re still not looking at him when he gets in the driver’s seat and maneuvers the car outside of the parking lot.

Once you’re on the road, one of his hands lets go of the wheel and reaches for you blindly before landing on your thigh. It stays there for a whole minute before you remove it. You lace your fingers together and place it on your lap instead.

Suna hums in contentment as he continues to drive, but not before squeezing your hand. You don’t even notice that he’s driving at the fastest allowable speed limit.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You’re glad that your children are at your in-laws’ house as you hear the incessant and loud creaking sound of the bed, paired with the headboard’s rhythmic slamming against the wall. Rintarou is groaning against your lips as his hips are working overtime in thrusting against yours.

“Fuck,” he whispers before capturing your lips in another frenzied kiss. “You feel so damn good, shit.” He’s heavily breathing and making lots of noise than usual.

You would have called him out for it if you were doing any better. “Ah, Rin, ah… right there.” Your words are cut off as he kisses you again.

Tonight’s sex feels different. It’s not only because it’s the first time you two are kissing during the deed. Right now, it feels as if Rintarou wants to tell you something through his actions.

His unforgiving thrusts continue, the onslaught of pleasure throughout your body unending. You already know you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him to be less rough. He’s hitting all the right spots and all the sounds that you’re both making are only adding heat to the room.

“It feels like your pussy wants to swallow me whole.” He pulls back slightly so he can see the probably messed up and fucked out expression on your face. “I love the way it pulls me in. Fuck, you’re so tight. Feels so fucking good!”

His words bring you to an unexpected orgasm and you whine with volume. It doesn’t deter him as he continues his hips’ movements. His lips are quick to silence you as he begins to move inside of you faster.

You should probably feel embarrassed with the sloppy, wet noises that your bodies are creating but it just feels so good. Your head is empty and all your mind can do is chant his name repeatedly.

Rintarou. Rin. Rintarou. Rin. Rin. Rintarou. So good.

“Louder,” his word snaps you out of your daze. It’s when you realize that you’re now moaning his name out loud. Ironically, you feel flustered and look away from him.

His hand starts roaming around your body and settles on your left breast before he pinches on the nipple. “Look at me, I want to see you come.”

He guides your face towards him and you two meet eye-to-eye. The room feels too hot but you ignore it, trapped in your bubble of intimacy with your husband. You’re stuck with letting out little whimpers and small exclaims of “ah, ah, ah”s as Rintarou continues to move inside you.

Unlike his earlier kisses, he plants a sweet peck on the side of your lips before pulling back. “Do you feel good? Are you okay?” His voice is now soft, a stark contrast to his rough thrusts.

You can only nod before a gasp of pleasure leaves you again.

He chuckles against your lips before aiming a single hard thrust, forcing a louder moan out of you. “Am I making you feel good, Y/N?”

You nod repeatedly, hands gripping him harder. The dig of your fingers on his skin makes him groan sexily. “Fuck, answer me. Do I feel good inside you, wife?” Another well-aimed thrust.

“Y-yes, yes!” you finally let out. A sniffle. “It’s so good. More please, Rin. I need more.”

Rintarou doesn’t deny you and quickens his pace, giving you what you want.

And everything feels right. This is what things should have been. The both of you giving and taking. The both of you feeling good and taken care of. You and Rintarou. Rintarou and you. Under a happy spell.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

The last time you were at a party setting with Hajime, things didn’t end well. However, you feel like today is a good one. For starters, you don’t have the underlying pressure of making sure everything goes smoothly. And to make things better, your husband has not left your side ever since your family arrived at the venue.

Risa and Ryuu are happily playing with all the other kids while you’re at the parents’ table, making small talk with the other guests. An older couple - Hajime’s relatives, you think - comments on how you and Rin look good together.

You thank them, turning to your husband’s shoulder to hide your blush. Instead, you see him smirk teasingly, an arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

The party goes well. Food, games, gift-giving…

Hajime finally sits next to you with a small sigh, the two of you barely exchanging more than a few words within the past hour. “This is tiring but very rewarding.” He’s staring at the direction of his son. “All for Kenta’s happiness.”

As if feeling his father’s eyes on him, the boy turns to your direction and waves, a toothy grin on his face.

“You know, in his earlier years, I only felt resentment towards his mother.” Hajime’s voice is tender. He rarely talks about the mother of his son, her being a touchy subject. “But now, all I feel is gratefulness and pity. I’m thankful because without her, I wouldn’t have Kenta. I pity her, because she’s missing out so much on how wonderful and amazing my son is.”

You can’t say you truly understand what he’s feeling. Still, you acknowledge to yourself that your children do seem to be merrier ever since Rintarou joined the three of you, bonding all the time. “Did she ever try to reach out?”

Hajime shakes his head. “No. And my attempts to talk to her were all futile.” The sad look on his face passes quickly. “You know, Y/N, I never considered dating again. Not until Kenta’s much older. But I’m glad I took the leap recently. She already adores Kenta and he likes her a lot, too.”

You perk up at the mention of his new lover. “I’m glad to hear that. Speaking of, I thought she was coming today?”

“She said she’ll catch up because something came up with the project she’s working on.” Just then, a notification pings on Hajime’s phone. “And now we’ve summoned her. I’ll go meet her at the door.”

You watch as your friend eagerly makes his way through the crowd. It’s then that you decide to go on a powder room break to freshen up. On the way, you bump into your husband who’s returning from the restroom. He tucks a hair behind your ear. “You good?”

You look up at him, smiling. “Yes.” It’s crazy, really, how a simple gesture from Rintarou makes your heart flood with happiness.

He mirrors your smile, a bit of mischief laced in it. Rin leans closer to you and asks, “You’re not too sore anymore?”

Blood rushes to your face and you swat at him. “Please, don’t.”

Through his arms around your side, you feel his body shake in laughter. “Okay, okay. Don’t be a blushing mess. We’re in public, Y/N.” He pulls you closer to him and plants a quick kiss on your temple. “Let’s behave from now on.”

You murmur chastising words as events from last night come back to you.

Suna had just forced you to finish drinking a glass of water, mumbling something about you needing to re-hydrate. You’re already washed up, dressed in a pair of fluffy cotton pajamas.

“Good girl,” he murmured before placing the empty glass on the bedside table. He then propped himself up against the headboard, making sure the blankets are covering you.

The praise made you smile like a shy young girl and Rin opened his arm. You didn’t allow yourself a moment of hesitation, immediately going towards his warmth. He squeezed the side of your waist as you snuggled against him.

The post-sex bliss was still surrounding you both. “What are you thinking?”

The sound of his heartbeat was calming, and you didn’t realize it had been slowly lulling you to sleep until Rin repeated his question. It’s been happening a lot lately - him initiating conversation, wanting the two of you to build good communication.

Maybe it’s the domesticity of snuggling in bed with your husband, or the way his hand had traveled upwards to where it’s rubbing softly against your back. You weren’t exactly sure what spurred you to answer candidly. “I’m thinking that I really like you, Rin. A lot. But I guess you already knew that.”

He hummed in confirmation. You weren’t expecting anything back, you knew it’s only been a few months. But much like he’s been doing, Rintarou surprises you. “I’m thinking I’m starting to care about you. A lot. Though it may take me a lot more moments of introspection for me to truly know what I feel. But, really, Y/N, I care about you and I want you to know it, in case I haven’t been clear.”

The hesitation in his voice almost made you melt. He didn’t need to say it, to be honest. You’ve noticed it in all the ways he had been changing in the past several weeks. Trying to quit smoking, spending more time with you and your kids. Opening more communication between you two.

Still, the verbal affirmation is welcomed.

“Thank you, Rin,” you murmured sleepily against him. “For all your efforts.”

You vaguely heard him whisper the words back to you before you drifted off to sleep.

You pull back from hiding your face against your husband’s body and crane your head back. He inspects your face briefly before saying, “All good, you no longer look like a ripe tomato.”

You fake glare at him and remember where you two are. You look around and see Hajime introducing someone to his guests. Beside you, Rintarou pulls out his phone after it pings. He begins typing his reply with one hand, the other reaching for yours.

One of the things you have learned about your husband in the past months is that he can be clingy. You grasp his hand and intertwine your fingers together.

As Hajime approaches you with his new guest, your eyes widen. “Serin?”

Two distinct sounds reach your ear.

Serin’s gasp.

And the sound of a phone crashing on the floor.

Rintarou lets go of your hand as he bends down to pick his phone up.

“Y/N? What a lovely surprise. You’re friends with Hajime?” Serin is quick to give you a hug. “Such a small world!”

You smile at her and then your at friend. “This is… wow.” You turn to Rintarou who’s now back on his feet. You reach for his hand back but he puts both his hands inside his pockets.

The look on his face tells you that his phone must have experienced serious damage.

“Serin, this is my husband, Rintarou. Rin, I met Serin at work yesterday, I didn’t know she’s the girlfriend that Hajime has been talking about. This is a nice coincidence! Don’t you think so?”

The woman blinks slowly before she smiles slightly at your husband. “Nice to meet you.”

To your surprise, Rintarou ignores her extended hand. Instead, he gives her a curt nod before promptly excusing himself outside.

You mask your concern and turn apologetically to Serin and Hajime. “Um, I’m sorry about that. Maybe he’s upset about his phone.”

Serin purses her lips in a small pout. “No worries, Y/N. Let’s talk again later, I want to go to the birthday boy now.” She shoots you a dazzling smile before dragging Hajime by the hand towards Kenta’s direction.

You sigh. As much as you’re delighted that Hajime’s girlfriend is the same nice woman you met yesterday, you can’t help but worry about Rintarou.

After a quick glance at your kids who are engrossed playing with their friends, you follow your husband outside.

Rintarou is restlessly pacing back and forth and though you’re not that physically close, you can see his brows knotted in worry.

“Rin?” He pauses at your voice and looks at you with slightly wide eyes. He doesn’t offer any words.

“Are you okay?”

He blinks a few times. “Yeah.” And then, “Just needed space to breathe.”

There’s a moment of hesitation - as if he wants to say more but decides against it. He resumes his pacing and you quietly slip back inside.

The rest of the party goes relatively well and you’re glad that you’re able to spend time and converse with the other parents from the playground. Moreover, the happy giggles and wide smiles of your children filled your heart with love.

Soon enough, Rin’s earlier actions get pushed to the back of your mind.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

It wasn’t particularly a long day but as soon as you got Risa and Ryuu to fall asleep, your body starts demanding you to rest.

You barely make it through showering. Once you’re done for the night, you move to settle on your shared bed with Rintarou to see him all quiet. He’s sitting on the bed, leg impatiently tapping on the floor.

“Rin, what’s the matter?”

He looks up, your eyes meeting briefly before he turns away. “Nothing.”

In the past, you would have let it go, afraid that you’d push the wrong buttons to set him off against you. But now, given how things have changed between the two of you, you want to talk.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left Kenta’s party. Is something bothering you?”

It takes Rintarou a very long time to respond. When he does, it makes you think you may have misheard him.

“Sorry? What did you say?” You ask, your voice gentle despite the tremors and dread building inside you.

His response comes again, louder and clearer this time. “You.”

“Rin?”

He looks you in the eye this time as he stands up. It’s only then that you noticed he hasn’t changed out of his clothes yet. “You. The one that’s bothering me.”

You shake your head as you begin to step closer to him. “I don’t understand.”

Rintarou scoffs. “Of course you don’t.” He swats away the hand that tries to touch him and it leaves you freeze in surprise.

He then makes his way towards the balcony. And you’re still standing there, left alone in the room, dumbfounded and confused.

Oddly enough, this feels like a deja vu.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

At the beginning of your forced marriage to Suna, you knew there was a slim chance that you two would get along. He hated you, and deep down, though you never voiced it out loud, you also resented him for taking advantage of you and getting you pregnant.

But now, looking back at the past few months, you think that your relationship might actually work. He’s no longer treating you horribly. In fact, he’d been extremely nice, getting involved in preparing for your kids’ arrival, being supportive and caring, and overall acting friendly.

For this night, you decided to cook him a simple dinner. He had texted you earlier in the day that he’d drop by Osamu’s newly-opened restaurant to give his congratulations. You had told him it’s okay if he wanted to celebrate with his friends but Rintarou insisted that he’d much rather spend the evening with you.

You knew not to get your hopes up, that he’s just being a responsible father and husband. Still, your traitorous heart beat wildly at his last message, looking forward to seeing him come home.

Four hours later, however, the dinner you prepared is cold and you’re seated alone at the living room couch. Waiting for Rintarou who never came home at the time he promised.

Your eyes were drooping, drowsiness almost winning the long battle you’ve been having against it. Finally, the door opened and Rintarou came in.

He looked utterly wasted.

You stood up in the fastest way possible for a heavily-pregnant person. “Rin, what happened? You weren’t answering my texts and calls. I was so worried.”

He looked up from tossing his shoes to the side. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed, probably from drinking. “Fuck off.”

The words surprised you, the venom in them strong enough to make you take a step back. You were able to regain your stance nonetheless and moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Huh? Are you okay, Rin?”

“Don’t call me that.” He glared at you before swatting your hand away. “You ruined everything. Everything.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “What? Rin, I’m confused. What happened?”

He didn’t answer you and instead began walking towards the stairs. You were hurt and confused but you didn’t want the night to end with him ignoring you.

Being pregnant, it took you longer to arrive at your now shared room. When you opened the door, you saw that it was already a mess. Broken things everywhere, confirming your suspicions from the sounds you heard on the way to the room.

“Rintarou, stop!” You tried to tell him but he whipped so fast to face you that your feet froze on the spot. “Leave me the fuck alone! You ruined my life, my everything!”

You remained unmoving, fists clenched at the sides. “I don’t understand. Can you calm down, please?”

He grabbed an ornamental vase that you had placed on the dresser and threw it on the floor.

You stared at the flowers from your garden. Lying, broken, and mangled. “Rin, I’m getting scared. Please, let’s talk about what’s wrong?”

“You,” he finally responded. “You’re the most wrong thing in my life.”

His words felt like dagger to your heart. You couldn’t understand what was happening. Things have been going well…

“I hate your existence in my life. I hate this. I hate that I had to marry you. I hate that you’re pregnant. I hate-”

“Please don’t say that,” you begged, tears flowing down your face. “Don’t.”

Rintarou laughed emptily. It pained you to see how angry and sad he looked like. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To talk about what’s wrong? It’s you. So here’s what’s going to happen: since you’re adamant about keeping the babies, then fine, go ahead.

“But I want you to know that this marriage will only be words on a paper. Do not expect anything from me. I will never be your husband. I will never be your friend. You will never mean anything to me. I will never love you. Understood?”

You could barely see him through the stream of your tears. You wished this was just a bad dream and that you’d wake up soon.

“Answer me!” Rintarou yelled. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

He kicked at the broken vase by his foot. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

The memory claws at your heart and you clutch at your chest. It seems like everything from the past is repeating but this time, the pain is multiplied ten-fold.

You can’t help but ask yourself as you stare at the fox plushie on your hands.

What really happened?

Can you really not be happy with Rintarou?

You lift a hand to wipe at your eyes. The other loses its grip on the toy and it drops onto the floor. You wipe your tears one more time before leaning over the bed to reach for it. It bounces against your strained grip, going further out of your reach.

It seems like the fox plush is mocking you.

You tiredly go down the bed to pick it up. However, once it’s back in your hands, you decide to just lean your back against the bed’s side instead of climbing back onto the bed.

You haven’t felt this tired in a long time. Not even during your recent fight with Rintarou months ago.

You close your eyes to fight off the tears that have resurfaced, tears that never really stopped forming in your eyes. To your dismay, you’re unable to ward them off, so you’re left crying, tears escaping your closed eyes.

And as you succumb to the darkness brought by your closed lids, you wish for the pain to be gone the moment you open your eyes.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Outside, Suna shuts the balcony door behind him before he leans against the railing. He can hear the faint sounds of your crying but wills himself to ignore them.

Instead, he stares ahead at nothing, hoping something can drown out your sounds of sorrow. He curses under his breath until he reaches into his pocket, hand clenching tightly on the item.

Not long after, with the backdrop of the dark sky devoid of moon and any stars, the tip of a lit cigarette burns bright like a blaze.

to be continued.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

I hope you liked this update hehehe. Question! Do we resolve things quickly or go down the hard path (and curse Suna along the way?) LET ME KNOW!

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added or if you changed your user): @warrior-of-justice @alisa--things @wolffmaiden @kurookinnie @simp-nerd-16 @alex-is-100 @k4g3hika @harukaaaaa172993 @themoonreflectsthesun @lvjycrow @cantbedenied @sweetlikerockcandy @sirimiripetrichor @yamiakari-chi @noideawhothatis @nervouscoffeetaco @lovemyfamily4ever-blog nervouscoffeetaco kamukayakmonyet yuqixidle ieathairs cantbedenied gariben beomeomgyu esmeisdrunk-blog 123j456l iluv-ace semitje @justablogforreblogs @alienvarmint @itohsi @tamimemo @mshope16 @jeonsfizz @syndyj @susuarin @ssc7514 @tkooooop @lialoveskaisersomuch @dilucsleftshoelace @bakingcuriosity @appepel @arusio

284 notes · View notes

httpknjoon · 1 year ago

Text

(re)starting over again | kth; 11

plot | Your four-year relationship with Taehyung was going well and strong. Until he was involved in a car accident, resulting to him losing some memories. By some, it means everything that happened five years ago. Things he remember? His friends, his bakeshop, and his ex girlfriend from the past. With that, you tried to keep up, restarting over again.

words | 2.8k

genres | fluff, angst, amnesia au

pairing | taehyung x reader

warning/s | -

note | AAAAND WE'RE BACK! it's been a month since the last update! consider this as a new season for mc and tae :)) u might find this chapter a little fast-paced or not idk.. let me know ur thoughts! enjoy reading <;3 ps. sorry for the errors!

main masterlist | series masterlist

A couple of years passed, two to be exact, and a lot of things happened. The bakery became more crowded. It was renovated and had a larger space instead of moving the entire bakery to another place. They began hiring extra help, usually part-time working students who used to be customers in the shop too.

Also, turns out that Jimin has a kid. Taehyung met Jihoon just a week after his best friend learned about his existence. Jihoon is a carbon copy of his dad, Taehyung thought. His eyes disappear when he smiles. Now, they have a little baker running around the kitchen usually on weekends.

Aside from those changes, Taehyung now lives in a studio apartment just a five-minute walk away from the bakery. He moved in just weeks after you left. The said apartment is not that big, just enough for him to rest in after work. Jimin commented that he treats that place like a hotel since Taehyung didn’t really personalize it to make the ambiance like a home. The whole place was plain, not even considered minimalist. Just plain. The walls were untouched. It was off-white when Taehyung came and it remains the same now. He didn’t really bother to invest anything in the place.

The house you two bought and lived in is still being taken care of. By him. Taehyung cleans up there once a week, just in case you reach out to visit home again and maybe talk about what to do with it. And when he feels like it, which is almost rare, he sleeps on the couch in the living room. He never really entered the guest room, which became your bedroom after the accident, except the time he got home after Jisoo and Namjoon’s wedding. That room was spotless, just like how you left it. The only things you left that night were on your vanity table; your house keys, the vintage pearl ring he bought you back in the flea market, and a folded paper.

The letter says, “Feel at home, this house is yours too. Paint the walls with the colors you like, buy new furniture, and fill the frames with new memories. Just please don’t sell it. I’ll try to reach out as soon as I can. For now, live the last years you missed.”

He never painted the walls with another color as he found the shade of blue that spreads around the house perfect. He never bought any furniture and still kept the same ones you had. He thought it fit the theme of the house and his preference. And yes, the picture frames show the same photos they originally had. It felt home that way for him. But he chose to move to the apartment because he always felt like he was missing something. The house is cozy and comfortable. But whenever he tries to lie on supposedly his bed, it feels empty. Once, he tried playing jazz music around the house, but it just got lonelier so he turned it off and just continued cleaning.

But he did try to keep up and look back at the things he forgot through his friends and the things he found at the house. Jimin, Namjoon, and sometimes Jisoo were patient with his questions. Jisoo, your best friend, was understandably distant from him at first after you went away. But she adds details to the stories Namjoon tells and later, became amiable with him. Jimin’s mom still looks after him and brings him food when she visits the city. There were a few times she mentioned Taehyung’s mother but he didn’t really care about her. So he ignores it.

“You know, you’re a handsome man. Don’t you have any lady?”

One of their common customer, a man in his seventies once asked him. It was not the first time someone asked him such a thing. He always shakes his head with a smile as an answer. It would lead later with an offer to meet someone they know. Taehyung would shyly and kindly decline these offers, saying he really doesn’t feel like dating for now. It’s true. The idea of him dating someone else felt wrong. It was like his own body rejected the idea as he felt uneasy with that thought.

“So, it’s that time of the year.”

Taehyung was pulling his third pan of cheesecake out of the hot oven with his oven gloves when he heard Ava, their longtime part-time staff, say that. She sounded amused but not surprised. He looked up and saw her leaning on the door frame with her arms crossed. She had a smug smile on her face.

“I swear, you should just declare this particular day as Cheesecake and Banana Bread Day just to make it official,” she added, teasing.

Taehyung looked at her, unimpressed, “It’s selling. In fact, my cheesecakes are one of our best sellers here… What are you doing here anyway? Go back to the front.”

He scolds her, she just rolled her eyes, unbothered. Ava was one of the students who knew Taehyung even before his accident. She went from being a loyal customer to a reliable staff of the shop. She has been enjoying the pastries in the shop ever since she was twelve and now, sixteen, she also enjoys getting into small banters with her older bosses. She is usually candid, and not shy to share her thoughts. Taehyung sees her as a little sister most time.

Given that she began working here after you left, Ava doesn’t really have an idea why Taehyung bakes a few batches of cheesecake and banana loaves on this specific date. She doesn’t know you and that you are celebrating your birthday today. Taehyung learned about that fact after his phone notified him weeks after you went. Since then, he has baked your favorites on your special day.

It’s the third time now. It’s probably a slim chance but he hoped to see you around the bakeshop, enjoying pastries. But so far, he hasn’t seen you around. In fact, he hadn’t even heard from you ever since that night. He thought he saw you a year ago in the subway when he came to Incheon to go sightseeing, but he lost you before he could take a second glance. He didn’t know where you moved since he respects your space but he wondered if you really moved that far. He wonders about you every now and then.

Jisoo posted a short clip in her Instagram Stories months ago. It’s just a clip of a long trail and he swore he heard you in the background noise of that clip, telling your best friend how tired you are from hiking. Then, the clip ended.

“Not because it’s best selling you would make a ton of it. It’s something about demand and supply– I don’t know,” she conceded, breaking Taehyung’s train of thought. “Anyway, I’m here because someone called on the phone, asking for you.”

Taehyung’s heart stopped for a second. His hopes almost blasted out of his soul but he tried to stay calm before asking Ava, “Who is it?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a woman. They said they want to specifically talk to you.” she replied, unaware that the man in front of him was holding his breath. She continued, “They are actually waiting on call right now.”

Taehyung almost sprinted to the front desk of the shop. Still in his mint green oven gloves, he reached for the telephone. His heart is beating fast while his gut is twisting tight. He paused when he realized he had nothing to say. He doesn’t know what to say if it’s you. Are you going to talk about the house? Should he greet you with Happy Birthday first and offer you your favorite cheesecake? Maybe you won’t like– Stop.

Taehyung took a deep breath before exhaling. He spoke, “Hello, this is Kim Taehyung, co-owner of The Sweet Spot. How can I help you?”

“Oh, hi.”

His heart dropped. Okay, relax. He told himself. It’s not you.

There were nights when Taehyung would find himself awake. And tonight is one of those nights. He just lay on his bed, staring at the blank ceiling. He always had trouble falling asleep, maybe a side effect of his accident. He doesn’t know anymore. But he knows that it makes his head go crazy with random thoughts when times like this happen. And now, he thought of something.

That’s when he picked up his phone and keys, along with his coat. He drove away from his apartment.

The bell above the door rang when he entered the convenience store to pick up a few beers and chips. His cold hands stayed in his coat’s pockets as he looked around the store, waiting for the clerk to scan his stuff. Just when the worker was about to say the prince, the bell clung again.

“No, wait. I’m just really hungry. Wait for me… Yes, I have money here.”

Everything went quiet and suddenly all that he could hear was that voice. Your voice. He’s sure of that. He looked back and saw a woman’s back going into one of the aisles. His heart raced once again. You’re here?

“Dude, you okay?” the tired clerk asked, looking at him with heavy bags under his eyes.

Taehyung looked at him, and broke out of his headspace, “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry.”

He pulled out his cash and paid. He can still hear your voice like you were talking with someone on your phone.

“Do you want anything– Oh, the honey-butter chips I want ran out of stock.”

Taehyung looked at the chips in his hand. He looked at the clerk who also looked at him like they understood each other without saying anything. Taehyung placed the chip back on the counter.

“Just give this to the girl,” he whispered before turning his back.

He didn’t look back. A cool blow of wind brushed on his face when he walked out the door. For a second, he inhaled and exhaled again to calm his nerves. He got in his car, putting the pack of beer on the other seat. As he started the car, his eyes landed on the side mirror.

Yes, it’s you. Definitely.

You just walked out of the same store, still on your phone, as you walked away grinning with your honey butter chips. You walked on the other end of the pathwalk. Taehyung pursed his lips and drove away.

His lips remained sealed but his head was exploding with questions. That was the closest he had seen you since the night you said goodbye. How are you? Why are you in the city? Did you live around here? It can’t be. Jisoo told him you left the hospital you used to work at.

Instead of driving back to his apartment, Taehyung ended up parking in front of your deserted house. He had his beer with him as he turned the key on the doorknob. He stepped into the said home feeling colder even though he still hadn’t removed his coat. He placed the drink on the center table in the living room and plugged in the TV for background noise. He put on a random show, which happens to be FRIENDS.

Opening a can, he sat on the couch, pulling a couple of books he left under the same table. Photo albums and scrapbooks. You never told him such things exist in here, he just found them after cleaning around the house. It was personalized by you and him. He could tell by the design and handwritten captions.

Almost everything was documented through photos and other knick knacks like receipts from a movie you two saw together. Browsing through the pages of it, it felt like looking at other people’s relationships even though he was in the photos himself. In one of the photos, he saw himself with a camera. He didn’t even know he had one. He tried searching around the house for it but he never found it.

You had more solo portraits in the said books than him. He figured out why. Maybe he really loved capturing you as his subject. You looked the same in every picture: happy and in love. Most of your pictures were candid, taken without you knowing. Then, a handwritten date by him will be seen below it. Each photo was adorable. Some are just random ones. You were brushing your teeth or showing off your colorful scrubs (which was written in the caption: BOUGHT HER YELLOW DUCKIES SCRUBS I THINK SHE LIKES IT).

Taehyung spend his sleepless nights like this, looking back at what he missed. He read through articles before that the possibility of getting his memories back is a hit or miss. So he learned to just go on and maybe accept how things became. He tries to move forward at the same time he tries to look back. It’s quite confusing sometimes.

IT’S HER… I’M SURE

That was the caption in one photo of you dating just weeks after you two moved into this house. In the picture, your back was turned as you sat in front of your vanity table. You can be seen fixing your hair while looking at your reflection. Taehyung’s eyebrow raised with the caption. He wondered what it meant. He turned the page to the next one but was greeted with nothing but a blank page. Turns out, that was the most recent one.

“The main branch of their restaurant is somewhere in Incheon. I’ll send you the address after the call.”

Taehyung listened to Jimin through a loudspeaker call. His hair is still damp from a shower. Standing in front of the mirror, he compares two coats that would suit the rest of his outfit. He felt the need to look presentable tonight.

“You will meet the owner herself, Ashley. She said you can just introduce yourself to the host and he’ll lead you to your table… Ava kept the samples in the shop. She said she put them in different Tupperware so you can spot it right away.” Jimin instructed.

“Okay, okay.”

He heard his best friend sigh on the other line, “I’m sorry for the short notice, Tae. I totally forgot Jihoon will be staying with me tonight.”

Tonight, Taehyung will be meeting a special client. It’s the one who called a couple of weeks ago, during your birthday. it‘s a big restaurant that is planning to put the bakeshop’s products on their menu for dessert. Specifically, the cakes. The head chef was the one who brought up their product to the owner, whom he will meet now. Jimin initially agreed to meet the said client but his co-parenting schedule had some shifts. Just an hour ago, Taehyung learned he’d be the one meeting the client. It’s not like he had plans anyway. So, he immediately prepared himself.

After picking the clothes, Taehyung blow-dried and brushed his hair. His best friend sent the main address minutes later and so he left his apartment. He first drove by the shop, which closed a little earlier today. A lot of cakes were made for sample. It includes Jimin’s Carrot Cake, his own cheesecake, and six other more. Taehyung left with a brown bag of the samples.

His fingers tapped with the beat of the song playing on the radio as he drove his way to the restaurant. It was a peaceful night on the road.

This will be the first time Taehyung will be going back to Incheon since that time he went sightseeing. He stayed there for just three days before, it was days after his phone notified him about your supposedly fifth anniversary. His emotions were all over the place because of the aftermath and the demanding work in the bakeshop around that time. So he asked Jimin for a very short break. He still hasn’t got a car then so he took the subway throughout the whole time. It was during his last day there when he saw a glimpse of you in the crowded subways of that city. He remembered you were in your scrubs, your hair was cleanly kept in a low bun, and you were walking opposite of his direction. Then, he blinked. You were gone in the crowded place.

“Good evening, sir.”

Almost forty minutes later, Taehyung arrived at the restaurant, Starry Night. He was greeted by the host as he entered the elegant place. It has a great ambiance, romantic. It is a fine-dining restaurant and seems like a perfect spot for dinner dates.

He said his name when he was asked. And while the man looked down at his guest list, Taehyung’s eyes traveled around the place. And not even a minute in, his eyes stopped at someone who he felt had been staring at him.

His eyes widened at the sight. A stunning woman, clad in a black dress, stares back at him with surprise. His mouth ran dry, he had to gulp. Now, he’s sure. He’s sure.

It’s you.

taglist rules

RESTARTING OVER AGAIN TAGLIST [🔧🔨 ]

@iamkookiesforyou @aianloveseven @hoodalmighty @taebangtanbabe @kthsmoon @nooojaaam @hiimnothing @hiqhkey @annenakamura @taebangtanbabe @shin-ie @prlan @zzztaegizz @starlight-night0 @teddybeartaetae @http-fayeradise @kiwuki @tannies-luv @fuckthinking @betysotelo18 @honsoolgloss @aurorathi @paulaaa97 @satisfied18

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @ficluvr613 @misshale21

#bts angst #bts x reader #bts series #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung au #taehyung series #bts amnesia #taehyung amnesia #bts established relationship au #taehyung established relationship #restarting over again kth

260 notes · View notes

emilykaldwen · 5 months ago

Text

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nineteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: It's been a really hard month, ya'll, but here we are! We made it. Agonizing over this chapter positively drove me mad, but so many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend and @darkwolf76 for their love, support, and eyes on this to help me feel a little less insane. Go give them both some love!

CHAPTER NINETEEN - When It's Pulling Me Under

Alicent breaks and tries to mend. Jace tries to find Helaena. A twist within the thread.

“Cassandra Baratheon has bled.”

The queen’s rooms were quiet. Rich green and black drapes hung open as wide as they could to allow the light in, but the panes were closed to the cool fall breeze. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dancing along the decorative stone swirls along the mantle. The usual gaggle of women that occupied the room had been absent these past few days - her court having dispersed to deal with multiple assignments for the daily running of the castle and the wedding. Alicent looked up from the parchment before her, releasing her lower lip from the intensity of her gnawing teeth. Her gaze met Lady Lysa’s from where the elder woman looked up from her own sheaf of parchment.

“I will go and speak with Lord Beesbury on these matters, Your Grace,” she said softly, rising in a whisper of apple red silk, her usual caul replaced by a barbette and veil given the cooler weather. The way the woman turned her head, reaching for her papers, reminded Alicent of her own mother in such a swift and sharply unexpected moment, that Alicent’s chest clenched and stole her breath. Lysa Fossoway was her beacon of normalcy over the past years, but she was not her mother.

How desperately she wished her mother was here. How keenly that feeling sharpened as the other woman left and Alicent remained here, alone, with Lord Larys Strong.

His firefly-handled cane thumped softly against the rich rugs scattered about her solar and he took a seat on the chaise, settling himself down like a vulture, waiting to feast. On her secrets, on her thoughts, on wherever his tightly guarded whims struck him. Yet, she had few that she could call confidant, even if she dare not call him friend.

“Good.” The snap of the wooden pen box punctuated the single word as Alicent put away her ink and tucked away the parchments that Larys so curiously watched. “Lord Borros insisted that we have this engagement sealed before the new year and the wedding.”

It felt like when Viserys dragged himself to High Tide to present himself to Lord Corlys to beg his heir’s hand in marriage for a sullied Rhaenyra . It was beneath him, it was unbecoming, and it was exactly why, Alicent felt, Lord Borros felt he could demand the way he did.

‘I am not beholden to my father’s oaths, but I will not be taken for a fool’, the man had said. No sons of his own yet, Alicent knew that it was not his fear of being taken for a fool that had brought him blustering and demanding, but the fact that his sister, his only sibling, had sons. Both, to Alicent’s knowledge, were unwed. There existed a possibility for Helaena, one she would have to revisit later.

For now, her attention focused on the fact that it appeared Borros Baratheon thought that Vhagar would be enough of a deterrent for his sister’s sons to claim the Storm Throne from his own children.

“So that is what is to be then? Aemond to the storm, to match the tempest inside of him.” Larys tilted his head in the thoughtful way he had, his hands folded along the top of his cane. “Better, maybe, than risk quenching his fire in the snows perhaps.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “Snows?”

“Only a turn of phrase, Your Grace. There are many eligible women in the realm to tie our Prince to. The Stormlands keep him close, rather than the cliffs of Casterly Rock or even the isolated northern houses. Northern houses, such as House Karstark offer little, while Storm’s End grants you a realm. Better than his sister as well, although I have not heard Prince Aemond express those wishes in some time.”

Alicent rolled her eyes and went to pour herself some of the mulled wine from the carafe by her window. “House Karstark, or any of the other Northern Houses, would do little for Aemond.” As for Helaena, she too had noticed her son’s waning insistence over the past few months in regards to such a betrothal. She hoped that he too realized the futility of such an endeavor.

“And it isn’t as if Lord Borros could not take another wife should-”

The clatter of her goblet on the table cut off the direction of Larys’ ponderings, and she turned on him, a sick and ugly feeling in his chest. “It is unseemly to speculate or wish for such things, my Lord Confessor,” she said tightly. “My son will marry Lady Floris. Aemond will have a position and income here at court, regardless of what the future holds,” she whispered. “He will make a fine Hand.” When her father could no longer be Hand to Aegon, Aemond would be an ideal successor.

“And Daeron could serve the crown much like Ser Criston. Now everyone is taken care of.” A soft chuckle filtered into the room and sent a shiver up Alicent’s spine. “You have done well for your children, Your Grace. It is good that they at least have a mother who cares for them so.”

“Someone has to. If my son is not his father’s heir, then he should be taken care of. The realm knows too well the idleness of second sons and unhappy brothers.” She shook her head, unflinchingly meeting Larys’ disquieting gaze and the amused curl of his mouth. “If the king would not even be amenable to the idea of Aegon being his sister’s heir, then something must be done.”

A pulse of a headache thrummed behind her eye. Aemond chafed already beneath his brother, beneath the duty that had spurred him to his lessons, to his training, but she knew Aemond would want more. He hungered for more and she could not give it to him. Would her ambitious boy be content with his child married to Cassandra’s heir? ‘He would have to,’ she thought, though her fear persisted. This was the cost of duty.

“Have you only come to speak of Lady Cassandra’s state of non-pregnancy, or have you come to drop news that Helaena is with child.” The pointed non-question was sharper than she might have normally intended but the onset of having to tell Aemond, her angry, precious son, would give her a fit the way anything difficult aggravated her husband and king.

“All goes accordingly, my Queen,” Larys said, nonplussed, and if anything, the amusement was lingering there. Alicent hated the small feeling it gave her. No, not small, she realized; not small as how her father or even Viserys made her feel.

Larys made her feel trapped.

“Very good then. If there’s nothing else, Lord Larys-” The sharp, heavy knock on the door mercifully broke into the tension and Alicent could barely contain her desperate tone. “Enter!”

Gwayne was the most welcome sight behind the door, his doublet so deep green as to be almost black, the fabric of his gray shirt poking between the ties of his sleeves. The silver buttons were stamped with the High Tower and the flames atop it. The angles of his face reminded her so much of Aemond, but she could see all of her boys in that face. The sharpening of Aegon’s jaw, Daeron’s nose. Warm, brown eyes took her in before looking over her shoulder as Larys scraped his way to standing.

“Ser Gwayne,” the lord greeted and she felt, more than saw, her brother stiffen slightly. Gwayne had not been here long, but his dislike of the Master of Whispers had been a decisive one. Her brother was firm in his manner, much like their father; once lost, no good favor could be regained.

“Lord Larys. I’ve come to pull our Queen from these shady interiors to take a turn in the fresh air. I’m sure you also have much to attend to.” Not that the solar itself wasn’t brightly illuminated, stained glass windows sending streaks of colored light about the room, and Theraxis, Abby’s cat, was sprawled in a patch of warm light that the stained glass windows turned his gray fur purple and orange.

“Who would I be if I kept her Grace from spending time with her much missed brother,” Larys said, inclined slightly to Alicent. “I shall take my leave then. Good day to you both.”

As soon as the door shut, Gwayne’s blue eyes, their mother’s eyes, pinned her.

“I mislike you having private conference with that man. Where is Lady Lysa? Or Cole?”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “You mislike.”

“I do.” He seized an apple from the basket on the table. Brown hair, once sandy blonde as Daeron’s in youth, fell into his eyes. He kept it short, as Aegon, and the sight of him had her wonder if things would be easier had her eldest looked more like her. “He is a foul man, and I do not like the way he watches you.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s protestation. Touched as she was by his protectiveness, it was too many years too late. “Well, Lord Larys is the Master of Whispers for a reason. There is a certain unsettling that comes with the position.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes this time and bit into the apple, the fruit crunching loudly. “I still do not like it.”

“You do not have permission to pass judgment and disapproval as you made the choice to leave.” Resentment rose ugly in her throat, her voice not her own; a fragile thing, a girlish cry. Her nails scraped along her wrist as she turned away from him to her desk, eyes unseeing as she reached for the first paper. “I had to make my own protection.”

“Ali-”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You left.” Then I lost Rhaenyra. “And do not claim it was your injury. You couldn’t wait to flee back to Uncle Rodrik. How sad it must have been for you to instead be sent back to the Tower.” Instead of staying there, with her, so she would not be alone, so their father would not be so bold as to push and press and bear down upon her. Bitterness dripped from her voice and the sound of tearing filled her ears. Alicent looked down to see how she’d torn the acceptance from Dragonstone for their presence at the wedding.

She felt like she would be sick.

A strange sound escaped her throat. It sounded like a growl or a wounded whine. Alicent could not be certain. What she was certain of was Gwayne’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her bones together as she felt like she would shatter. Her brother said nothing and for that she was grateful.

Fear tangled between her ribs, pulling them apart and compressing them just as tightly so she felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter what. Gwayne held her tightly, held her bones together, kept her body from bursting into a thousand shards. She gasped for air, tears hot in her eyes but refusing to fall. At some point, they ended up on the floor, the deep green of her skirts pooled around them as she leaned into her brother and he rocked her much as he did when she was young, when they would play knights and dragonriders in the gardens, when mother was there, and she’d fall and scrape her knee, or he had whacked her too hard with the stick, or Rhaenyra was angry when her moods got the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwayne said softly, so softly she could barely hear it and her nails bit into the thick fabric of his doublet.

“You could have stayed,” she cried, her fist hitting his bicep. “You could have stayed, I needed you!” Her brother had nothing to say to that, he only squeezed her tighter as she finally wept, her fears tumbling out of her. “Why did he do this to me if they do not matter to him? They’re his blood too and he never cared, he never cared. He begged for sons! He begged for them and I gave him sons and it didn’t matter so what was it for?”

Alicent wept bitter tears, pushing and biting her fingers into her brother, who sat there, quiet and unmoving as she tore into him. The months, the years bubbled up in her, all the shattered dreams and the fear and the confusion, the immeasurable pain that had stripped away everything inside of her until she was whatever she was now, a stranger to herself. “They’ll kill them, Daemon or whomever seeks to curry favor with Rhaneyra, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and they treat me as if I’m mad.”

She wasn’t mad. She knew that she wasn’t, everyone knew that she wasn’t, but much like the king never put Lord Corlys in his place all the times the man stormed out of the Small Council, Daemon perched as a vulture on Dragonstone for months without recourse until he stole an egg, Rhaenyra escaping recourse and being covered for her indiscretions. Had Alicent’s own children be fathered by Ser Criston, to pass off as trueborn children, her own fate would not be so kind.

Why had no one sought to protect her, the way the king, mercurial in his affections towards his eldest child to begin with, still protected Rhaenyra?

Alicent did not know how long they sat there, the gasping and the tears, the undulating pressure around her middle ebbing and increasing until it finally started to fade. Gwayne’s hand slowly stroked her back in soothing motions, his cheek resting upon her head. As the silence grew and her sobbing eased, her brother finally spoke.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And if you wish me to stay with you instead of accompanying the boys to Harrenhal, I will.”

She shook her head. “Aegon will need you. Guide him, help him. He’s doing so well, I’m so afraid that he will slip…”

“You are afraid of everything, aren’t you?”

Alicent scoffed, wet and stuffy nosed. “I am being realistic. I need someone there who will tell me if I need to intervene-”

“Alicent.” Gwayne shifted, his voice sharp enough to draw her attention and she looked up at her brother, meeting his blue eyes with her own brown. Gwayne had their mother’s eyes, the Reyne eyes. Would her grandchildren hold those eyes as well? Or would Aegon’s Valryian gaze overpower them? “Let him grow. Let him have a chance away from here.”

“And if something happens to him?” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it so hard it hurt. Her brother’s mouth twitched in a smile. Sad, fond.

“He cannot thrive if you are tangled around him like a choke vine.”

“And what of father?” she whispered, harsh and unnerved.

“I’ll handle father,” Gwayne reassured, or attempted to do so, but Alicent felt the fear pulse inside of her, the uncertainty at what felt like a foolish promise. His eyes searched her face for several moments and Alicent, unnerved, reached up to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to gather her wits. “Alicent? Do… do you want your son to be king?”

Alicent’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and she pulled back from her brother to stare at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she shut it with a click of her teeth that longed to nash and rend those around her. A fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes but did not fall this time. She pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt in her bones.

“Aegon may not want it, but it is the only way to protect us. Viserys will not. Rhaenyra will not. I tried. I did, and I never thought she would hurt the children but…” Alicent shook her head, the fear still there, still acrid and painful. “Her callous disregard of my son, her brother’s maiming. And what they did to Laenor?” Her voice was a whisper, the fear, the shock of it that still stuck with her. “It was Daemon, to be sure, but Rhaenyra knew. And it’s that which terrifies me. Rhaenyra doesn’t have to give the command, or even raise the blade or-or bring Syrax to exact her justice. Daemon and whatever other lords seek to curry her favor will do what they think needs to be done, and that is to keep my children from being a threat, from being beacons of rebellion regardless of them being part of it or not. And if none do it for her, she will be forced to do it.”

Aegon may not want his sister’s throne, but Aemond? Her precious boy had received a grievous injury, but his sire, his father and king meant to protect him, had not cared. That night on Driftmark showed the court how utterly vulnerable Alicent and her children were, and her father had been right. She had to fight for them in a way she never had before. Aemond had risen to the challenge beside his mother, a protector, but also quiet and feral in ways that frightened her, in ways that sometimes reminded her of the way Daemon Targaryen used to stride about - a siren song of strength compared to his elder brother.

If to truly protect them meant putting her first boy, precious in his own ways, her little Aegon who was finally smiling again, on the throne? To protect them? Then so be it.

Let all they’d been through, let all she had been through, be worth it, let it mean something. Mother and Father above, please just let it have been for something.

“They speak of the great insults done to our House,” Gwayne said softly, leaning against the foot of her bed, one long leg sprawled out before him, the other bent to lean his arm on. “To not name your son heir, then why take his Hightower bride?”

“I wonder, had he married Laena Velaryon, if he would have named her son heir,” Alicent said, frustration edging into her voice. “Corlys Velaryon would not tolerate his grandson not on the Iron Throne-”

“Which is why House Velaryon has not broken with Rhaenyra,” Gwayne finished with a snort, but there was no amusement in it. “The Sea Snake wants to make a name for his house. These Valyrian politics - but what man doesn’t?”

“Viserys doesn’t,” Alicent rolled her eyes and Gwayne met her gaze, the pair of them snickering like children. She felt the tension in her chest ease with the laughter, better than tears, and pushed at her brother’s knee. “It’s guilt over Aemma Arryn’s death and the king is a stubborn man. He is easily run roughshod but when his mind is made…” She shook her head. “Had father not pushed, maybe it would have changed. But father made him feel like a fool, and Viserys cannot abide that.”

“It was not just father, though,” Gwayne pointed out. “Our house pushed for it, yes, but whispers and confusion have run rampant through this realm since Aegon was born. Women do not sit the Iron Throne. Seven Hells, Jaehaerys held a council because he could not decide between a granddaughter or grandson. What power does House Targaryen truly have if they must beg the lords of the realm to decide their succession when it should be clear, the way the rest of the realm does?”

“Dragons,” Alicent pointed out softly. There were so many dragons now, many from Vhagar, a few from eggs that Meraxes had laid - she recalled from Aemond’s excited speeches, a thick tome of dragon lineages clutched in his arms. “They have dragons.”

Gwayne’s hand reached up, fingers warm against her forehead as he pushed away a loose curl. “You are just as fierce,” he told her. “If not more.”

“Stop,” she muttered and pushed at his knee before they rose and she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

The children were scattered that morning. Helaena was in the gardens with little Floris and likely Jacaerys skulking after her as he’d taken to doing when council meetings weren’t in session. He had behaved well enough, from what she had seen and what had been reported to her. Bastard born he may truly be, Jacaerys had always treated her daughter kindly. There was frustratingly little she could do with the boy now, for word would trickle back to Viserys, who would feel like he needed to roar to make himself feel in control before retreating back to his lair.

She knew that Aemond kept watch, although her boy as of late had been distracted. When not in his studies or the training yard, he was hardly to be found. Which left Aegon and Abrogail, and at least she knew precisely where they would be then.

The weeks following the festivities had seen a change in her son, and one that Alicent wasn’t sure how to feel. The dalliance with the Lefford girl aside (no bastard had taken root, and the girl had been given a place in her household until such a time a match could be made), as well as whatever foolishness he’d engaged in with Cassandra Baratheon, Aegon had performed admirably. His spectacle making tried her patience, but won admiration through the court. No longer her little boy, her first son, Aegon had come into himself in a way that Alicent had not thought him capable of, and feared that it would not last.

For all the pain that ached and clawed inside her ribs at the sight of them, the displays of affection between her son and Abrogail had also proven fruitful, and she did not sense any facet of artifice between them. When her son smiled down at his betrothed, an easing sensation coursed through her, as if the tightly spooled coil inside of her was able to release gently.

Relief. Relief that this might, in fact, work out better than she hoped.

Perhaps the girl had been right in defending Aegon, yet Alicent still held her breath, did not let her relief grow unbound. Aegon often threw himself into new pursuits, at least once upon a time. He’d let it consume him and just as she thought she found what he needed to truly take responsibility, the novelty wore off and then there they were, back where things began, her son drunk and dunked in a horse trough to sober him up.

They found the children in the small, family dining hall. Abrogail’s ladies were clustered on a set of low chairs and chaises that had been brought in. Lady Desmara Crane and Lady Merei Thorne sat on either side of Lady Wylla, silk and lace across all their laps as they worked on Abrogail’s trousseau. The Riverlands girls that Abby had taken for ladies had returned home in order to get their own things and order, and would meet the wedding party at Harrenhal. Alicent regarded their dresses - all different, and made a mental note to ensure that uniforms denoting their statuses as ladies-in-waiting were taken care of when the seamstress came for the next wedding gown fitting.

The dancing master stood at the edge of the parquet floor where her son and cousin stood, the minstrels in the corner with the Targaryen drum and other instruments. The room was cool in the early afternoon, the torches out, the curtains fluttering gently in the fall breeze. Samwell was sweet voiced, and had been in court since her wedding a score ago. He was not a particularly tall man, still plump, but the years had sharpened the roundness of his face. He still composed, but now served as a dance master, leading the court in new dances. Samwell had taught the children as well, and as Alicent watched him, his feathered cap of red and black striping bobbing in time with the music, it felt as if she were transported to a godswood and a song she never wanted to hear again.

Samwell’s exasperation was palpable, and Alicent could see the pink flushed along Abrogail’s face all the way up to her hairline.

“You go left,” he instructed her sharply, the cane he held to keep the tempo cracking loud enough to cause the children and herself to jump. “The prince turns right, as the flow of air. You are receiving him, my lady.”

“Left,” Abrogail repeated, fingers twitching in the pale blue damask of her gown. Aegon gestured in the direction she was meant to go in and the music resumed. Aegon had the steps down, but Abrogail struggled to follow the beat that was so different to the normal court dances. Alicent wondered if it was some memory of Old Valyria that thumped through her son’s veins, for she recalled that Rhaenyra and Laenor’s rehearsals had gone quickly. Alicent had mercifully been saved from such a dance, for the king had not wanted to perform it again.

A short ‘Ow!’ escaped Aegon and he jumped away as Abby apologized for stepping on his feet. Alicent sucked in her lips to hold in a laugh as Abby glared at him, snipping at him, “You are ridiculous.” Alicent clapped her hands and the music stopped, bows and curtsies from those gathered before her.

“Thank you, Master Samwell. I think that’s enough for today,” she said, watching Abrogail’s shoulders sag in relief. “You may resume on the morrow. No progress can be made when one is so frustrated.” She watched the girl open her mouth and then shut it quickly, eyes downcast. As the minstrels gathered their instruments, Alicent released her brother and approached the pair. Aegon had moved closer to Abrogail, curling a long, red curl around his finger.

Whatever her son was saying to her, Alicent could not hear, but she took the time to appreciate their closeness in a way she had not allowed herself to before. They had behaved themselves admirably in the weeks of festivities. Even as jealousy curled in her gut from the shattered dreams of her girlhood, the worries that had plagued Alicent’s days had eased as she saw how well they had gotten on, how favorably many in the realm looked upon them. Many had come to her, speaking highly of the match, how clear the pair were fond of one another.

How rare that very thing was in so many unions across the realm.

Alicent feared. She feared from the moment her eyes opened to past the time her eyes closed, feared for the safety of her children, and their happiness, unfairly, she knew, was not at the top of her concerns. To know that this might keep her son safe, to know that for the first time in years too many to count on her own hands, her son looked happy…

“I am half convinced the dance only makes sense to those with Valyrian blood,” Alicent said, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to reassure her cousin. Abrogail’s features scrunched up uncertainty.

“Should we also not do a Riverlands dance as well?” The uncertainty left her, a small curl of a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she eyed Aegon. “I’d like to see how well you perform that.”

Alicent pursed her lips at her son’s indignant look. Abrogail was not pregnant, there had been no scandals, no whispers. Whatever the girl had done to influence her son appeared to be working, the words she had said in such anger had taken root as Alicent had hoped. Aegon had thrown himself into good presentation, regardless of whatever dalliances her son had engaged in with Lady Cassandra.

“You are marrying a Targaryen, and with that comes certain expectations and obligations,” Alicent said carefully, her fingers running along the deep sleeves of her deep green gown, fingers tracing along the golden embroidery of the cuffs. “The might of the Targaryen House will be on display.” The girl nodded, eyes averted respectfully and Alicent watched her son continue to wind one of the long, red curls around his finger. He tugged on it, drawing her attention.

Alicent looked away to watch the minstrels leave the hall, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the ladies continuing to work on their sewing. “Your brother is not here? Nor Helaena?”

“Daeron is with Helaena in the gardens. He has no interest in dancing,” Aegon rolled his eyes as Gwayne did. “He’s twelve.”

“Aemond is in the training yard with Ser Criston,” came Abrogail’s soft addition, reaching up to bat Aegon’s hand away from her hair. “He’s training for the wedding tourney.”

Aegon snorted. “Even though he complains how tourneys are nothing to real war.”

“Do not think you’ll escape the training yard with me,” Gwayne teased him. “Just be grateful I won’t have you out at sunup, given your newlywed status.”

Abrogail flushed. “Is-is everything alright, your Grace? Did something happen?” Aegon’s eyes swiveled curiously from the girl to her and Alicent smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“We would announce it at dinner, but I had hoped to speak to Floris.” she shook her head. “Lord Borros has agreed to the betrothal between Aemond and her. Obviously not for a few years - she is only a girl, but it will at least give time for her and Aemond to get to know one another.”

‘You had been only a girl’, Alicent thought. It was why she had fought so hard against her father to wait just a little longer before betrothing Aegon and Abrogail. To give the girl more time, the way her mother would have wanted, the way that it had not been afforded to her. She would do what she could for Floris.

And hopefully give Aemond time to come around to the idea.

Alicent sighed. Hopefully, her second son would be in a more receptive mood after hours having Ser Criston exhaust him with drills. “I shall go find your brother and hopefully catch him before he flees for Vhagar. Floris will be easy enough to speak to, if her sister hasn’t found her already.” She reached out, stroking Aegon’s hair, pushing the silver strands out of his eyes. The way he stiffened did not go unnoticed, and her heart ached with guilt. Her hand dropped, her smile tight and Aegon gave her a slight bow, Abrogail bobbing her own curtsy, a murmured ‘Your Grace’ whisper soft.

The moment Jace saw Aemond dominating the training yard, he felt his stomach drop and promptly went right and through the tunnel towards the gardens. While things with his uncle had been only filled with tension, Jace knew when to pick his battles and that was one he did not need to dive into.

The terraced gardens of King’s Landing featured in some of his earliest memories, when things were simpler, when the animosity and the tension hadn’t suffocated them all. In the gardens, the rest of the world fell away, much like how he felt when he rode Vermax, his jade wings skimming the waves of the sea, the salt wind in his face. The suffocating stench of King’s Landing was not so bad here, and while one was never alone - too many servants, too many lingering lords and ladies, all to ever truly be hidden - it was still a reprieve and Jace made his way down to the third terrace where the fountains were. With the fountains were mud, and he knew that Helaena would be there with her jar to dig up little things to feed her collection.

The first thing Jace heard was the laughter of children, and he spied Floris Baratheon swinging a stick rather aggressively at Daeron, whose eyes were wide in shock at the battle cry she let out. A grin broke out across his face as he gathered himself, and swung his stick back with equal fervor. Baela’s ladies - minus his step-sister who was still at High Tide - were gathered on the stone terrace along with Helaena’s new lady, eating cakes and gossiping.

Helaena herself crouched beside some of the large stones, a jar beside her as she rolled over one of the stones. Her hair was bound in a simple silver braid hung over one shoulder, her deep green gown embroidered with silver moths turned muddy and damp from the wet ground. Jace watched her pick a worm from where it clung to the stone and set it carefully away.

“Fish with feathered fins,” she said as Jace approached and he noticed her gaze was focused on her work, fingers twitching, the words nonsensical. He had not seen the expression on her face in years, had thought, mayhaps, her moments had abated over time as she grew older.

It was not the case. It was not something the princess had grown out of, and he remembered with clarity of a frantic, sobbing fit she’d had when they were children. Helaena was meant to be handled gently - Jace remembered his mother saying as much when they were young, not long after Daeron had been born. He should treat Helaena kindly, and respect when she did not want to be touched, and be mindful of loud noises. And so he did, stern with Luke when he would screech in excitement or indignation, snap at Aegon when he raised his voice. It had been the two of them playing in the halls of the Red Keep, playing a game of hide and seek, and he’d found Helaena, frozen in the hallway to his mother’s room, tears streaking down her face, clutching something to her. It had been nothing, but she would not drop her arms, and not knowing what to do, Jace had gotten his mother. Belly round with Joffrey, she’d come out, concern etched on her features and together they sat on the ground with Helaena, his mother not touching her but speaking to her in calm tones.

“The rats, the rats, the rats are coming,” Helaena had whispered in a frantic mantra.

“The rats will not hurt you, hāedus. I will go to Lord Lyonel and we will ensure there are more ratcatchers employed. I promise.” His mother said firmly and clearly, not dismissing the concern, her gaze towards him.

“And if we find a rat, we will get Abby’s cat to help catch them,” Jace had promised with a nod.

She was not crying here. She was distant from the world around them, and focused on something that wasn’t the little bugs she was dropping into the jar. Helaena was so far away and Jace kneeled beside her. The ground was wet and cold and promptly began soaking into the wool of his trousers. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation and remained beside her, curls in his eyes and reached for the scurrying little bugs to drop in the jar.

“Fish with feathered fins and storms of ivy,” she whispered. “Not that one. The red ones get ignored.”

Jace started when he realized she had addressed him in the middle of her whispers and dropped the red pill bug back onto the soft earth. It eagerly burrowed back into the soil, vanishing without a trace.

“Shall we find you a fish with feathered fins?” he asked her softly, a slight jest in his voice as he attempted to draw her back into the present moment. Helaena did not reply to him but shifted the jar better between them and he went about pulling up the next large stone to pull the bugs from beneath it.

“Promises shatter in ice,” Helaena said.

“What?”

Heleana drew back to sit on her heels, the rock falling back in place and her hands covered in mud. Her gaze appeared to fix on them and Jace watched her quietly, the sounds of Daeron and Floris’ laughter filling the garden. It felt ominous to him, the feeling rushing in like water behind a broken dam.

Tentatively, Jace lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Helaena, come back to me,” he urged gently, thumb stroking against the soft wool. “You’re going somewhere and I haven’t any idea how to follow you.” He would if he could, for he knew that whatever plagued Helaea was a frightening place that she should not traverse alone, even tethered to Dreamfyre as she was.

All he could do was reach for her, and hope that she heard him.

Helaena slowly blinked, as if the act itself was something she had to remind herself or force herself to do. Jace swallowed and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Daeron and Floris were still chasing one another with their sticks, and the ladies were occupied with their chatting. He frowned with an uncertain feeling. Should her ladies not be attending her? Or did they think it best to leave her be? A sharp inhale of breath drew his focus back to Helaena. She pulled away awkwardly, hands fluttering and fingers flexing.

“I…” Helaena looked lost, confused, and she stared at him but did not meet his eyes, mouth opening and closing, words unable to escape her. Jace shook his head and kept his hand to himself in her clarity of not wanting the touch.

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

“Helaena?”

Abrogail’s voice carried past the hedge and she came around the bed, mouth tight, gripping tightly to Wylla Karstark’s hand. The dark haired woman looked pale, face tense as she followed.

“See?” Jace said, hoping it would comfort the princess. “Abrogail’s here.” Would that help? He felt impotent, helpless, useless in the worst possible way.

Abrogail and Wylla dropped to the other side of Helaena, the mud and damp soaking into the hems of their skirts. “How long has she been like this?” Abrogail asked, voice quiet but firm, blue eyes searching the princess�� face before looking at him.

“Since before I came.” Abrogail reached for one of Helaena’s hands, spreading her fingers out and gently stroking each of them to keep them from bending back into the anxious claws they had been. The ease of the motion spoke to how often they’d done it, Abrogail pressing her thumb gently into Helaena’s palm to ease the rigidity.

“Helaena? What is the matter?” Abrogail leaned in and Helaena did not meet her gaze but drew back, pulling her hand away and clutching both to her chest. A sound escaped her throat, small, a growl perhaps? Or a whimper? Helaena’s silver braid swung and she sharply changed direction, shifting to her knees to grab Wylla’s hand.

“Silence doesn’t mean the grave,” Helaena hissed. Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, brow furrowed in confusion as Helaena leaned in, pinning Wylla in place like a moth on one of her boards. Jace could see how tightly she gripped the other’s hand.

“Your Grace?” Wylla whispered and Helaena grabbed her now with both hands, shaking her head. Abrogail met Jace’s eyes, confused, before her gaze went to the ladies sitting on the terrace. The confusion turned to incredulity.

“Have they been sitting here this whole time?” she asked him in a calm voice, and the familiarity of it hit him in the chest. Her voice was calm, but there was nothing calm in the words. There was a quiet anger simmering beneath those words, brightening her gaze, and it reminded him so much of Ser Harwin that it took his breath away. Gentle and fierce.

Jace knew immediately that she meant, and he felt his own jaw tick as his understanding of the situation shifted. He nodded, holding her gaze, feeling a tempest inside of his chest. “I’ll stay here,” he promised and Abrogail’s gaze softened along the edges, her hand reaching out as if she meant to cup his cheek before she stopped herself. Hand still in the air, her fingers curled and with another nod, she gathered herself up to do whatever it was she meant to do.

“Don’t.”

Abrogail stilled, awkwardly half standing, Helaena’s fingers gripping her wrist. “What?”

The princess dropped a hand from Wylla to reach for Abrogail’s wrist. “Don’t,” she repeated, her head tilting, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“But, Helaena-”

Helaena yanked Abrogail’s arm hard enough that the unbalanced girl toppled over with a wet slap and Abrogail grimaced as the mud and wet soaked into her more uncomfortably. “They are supposed to be tending you.”

“And they are. I sent Margaery away before Jace came by.” Helaena sounded more exasperated than the annoyance that filled her actions and she gestured for Jace to hand her the jar of bugs. “You mustn’t lecture them.”

“I-” Helaena gave her a look and Abrogail shut her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry.” In the quiet after the words, Daeron gave a shout and Jace saw him hit the ground hard, his stick sword flung out of his hand as Floris Baratheon stood over him, her own sword pointing right into his face. The ladies cheered and clapped for Floris, and offered their sympathies to Daeron. Helaena huffed and let go of Abrogail’s wrist.

“Jace was here and I was fine. Thank you, Jacaerys.” His cheeks flushed beneath her unblinking gaze, chest warm, even as the confusion of what had all happened still stormed inside of him. “He came exactly when I needed. Not too early, nor too late. I am capable of expressing my own needs.” Abrogail flushed for different reasons, fingers twisting. “What is it?”

Abrogail looked to Wylla. “The queen came to our dancing lessons-”

“Was it about how you keep stepping on Aegon’s feet?”

“I didn’t step - No!” Abrogail’s nose wrinkled with annoyance. “‘Tis not my fault dances are so complicated and that my feet do not behave. No.” A deep breath, another look, this time in the direction of Floris and Daeron. “She said that Aemond and Floris are now betrothed, she was going to find Aemond and then you.”

The silence held. Then, “Even though Wylla and Aemond have been kissing everywhere?” Helaena asked.

“But she’s eleven,” Jace protested.

The words hung in the air while it was Wylla’s turns for her cheeks to flush and Abrogail to stare at her. Jace also looked at her, surprised that Lady Wylla would even want to voluntarily get that close to Aemond, let alone kiss him.

“You’ve been kissing Aemond? And you didn’t tell me?” Abrogail’s incredulous voice was hushed so as not to pull the attention of the others.

Wylla shrugged helplessly. “It hasn’t been everywhere,” she muttered beneath the attention. “And this isn’t the point. I…” Wylla shook her head. “Prince Jacaerys is right, Floris is a little girl, does she mean to send them both to Storm’s End?”

“At least it isn’t Cassandra,” Helaena said with a frown. “No, they will not be sent to Storm’s End. Floris is my ward. She will stay with me for as long as I can keep her.” A sigh. “Floris has many years before she is to be married. Who's to say the betrothal will even last?”

Wylla looked uncertain. “You sound sure of yourself.”

Helaena looked at her. “I’m not. But Lord Borros is feckless and mercurial, he may change his mind if it means he cannot betroth Cassandra, or if he has a son.” Jace did not know if those were truly Helaena’s opinions on the matter, or if she was mimicking what her mother had said.

“Can you not break it as you did yours?” Abrogail asked. Helaena shook her head.

“Breaking my betrothal to Aegon should never have worked, and it was because our grandfather already found it distasteful that he convinced our father to break it on the eventual promise that Aemond and I might marry, and that also isn’t happening. Obviously.”

The look on Wylla’s face was one of confused near-disgust, one that Jace had seen in many outside of their family. Most found it objectionable to imagine kissing their own siblings, and Jace himself could not imagine kissing Luke if his brother had been born a girl, so he perhaps understood that.

Besides, none would find it strange if Helaena was only his cousin, for the blood they shared was the same in that regard.

“Floris will not mind if you keep kissing Aemond, Wylla, do not fear that,” Helaena continued, tightening the lid on her jar.

Wylla sputtered, glaring at Helaena. “Respectfully, Helaena,” she said, not even giving her the proper title, and Helaena looked up from her jar. “I do mind. I will not be some paramour, or continue some ill-fated dalliance with your brother just because Floris doesn’t mind. Floris is eleven and she deserves to be treated respectfully, not to mention I deserve it. I will not be shamed, or the newest subject for court gossip.” She sniffed, and Jace could not tell if she was trying not to cry, or if she was so angry she could spit. Abrogail rested a hand on Wylla’s back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Helaena shut her mouth, brow furrowed, and looked at her jar of bugs. “If Aemond suggests such a thing, I will cease everything. I will not allow him to do that to me, nor anyone else. I will push him out of a window for such a thing.”

Jace smothered his laugh into a cough at the imagery of such a threat, and had to keep from offering to assist the lady.

Helaena pressed her lips together, a little snort escaping her. “I would like to see that. He does need it sometimes,” she allowed. “I will see what mother says when she comes.” Her fingers drummed against the jar, and still, Helaena did not meet anyone’s eyes, still caught in whatever in between space that plagued her, but her words were more present, and that was truly what mattered.

Sitting there on the cold, wet ground, Jace wondered what his mother would say about all this. He had been sent to King’s Landing not just to serve on grandfather’s small council, but to be her eyes and ears amongst the viper’s nest. Any piece of information, no matter how small, could possibly become crucial to her cause. But as he sat there, Helaena’s hand drifting to rest near him, it felt like a further betrayal to reveal the conversation, even though he had, more or less, been a part of this. It wasn’t as if it had been overheard and none of the women knew he was there. They had none, and spoken openly regardless.

He could put off writing. At least for now.

AND WITH THAT! We are on our way to Harrenhal! I'd love to know what you loved about this chapter, and what you're looking forward to! Any questions or curiosities? ALSO! WE are sooooo taking bets on what (if anything?) is going to go wrong at this epic Westerosi Royal Wedding. And if you aren't sure what to say, drop a dragon emoji in the comments so I know you were here <3 and as always, thank you for being here. I appreciate each and every one of you.

[Next Chapter]

59 notes · View notes

theladyofbloodshed · 8 months ago

Text

Hunt x Nesta - Chapter 8

The sounds of the shower roused Hunt from sleep. Since Nesta had discovered that her cell could access music at any moment, she was unstoppable. A symphony blasted through the wall; violins were reaching their crescendo alongside a barrage of brass instruments that were accompanied by a flurry of percussion. Then the cannons came as she turned off the shower.

Releasing a groan, he rolled onto his side to check his cell. Eight messages. All from Nesta at various points in the morning whilst he still slept. Each one made him laugh.

‘Hey, when you text, you don’t need to write an address line or a sign off. I know it’s from you because I have your contact saved,’ he explained as she entered with a towel wrapped around her body.

‘What do you mean?’

Hunt motioned for her cell that was churning out another classical song. ‘What am I saved as?’

Nesta paused the music. ‘I don’t know. Plus five zero five eight two-’

He yelped like he’d been shot and threw himself down. ‘You didn’t even save my number? Do I mean nothing?’

‘I don’t know how.’

With Ruhn’s number, he showed Nesta how to save it. He pulled a photo from the web of Ruhn being arrested before he was legal to drink – of course, his daddy had the charges scrubbed but the photo remained – and saved him as the Prince of Pricks.

‘There, now try with me.’

A devious smile flitted over her lovely face as she stood in the middle of the room typing at the speed of a snail.

‘That index finger is getting quite a workout,’ he commented.

Surprising him, she raised her middle finger.

For the second time that morning, Hunt collapsed back onto the pillows, laughter rumbling out of him. ‘Who the Hel taught you that?’

‘We have that in my world.’ She flashed the phone towards him.

His contact name had been updated to Orion Athalar – my favourite angel along with as many emojis as the name would allow. The picture was of him shirtless with ridiculously fluffy wings.

‘You said you’d deleted those, liar.’

‘I’m leaving today. I need a memory to keep.’

‘You’re taking the cell with you to plug in where exactly?’

Nesta shrugged and pressed it to her chest. ‘I will invent electricity in my world so I can always look at these photographs.’

There was no doubt in his mind that Nesta could do anything that she set her mind to. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person she’d be if she stayed in Lunathion. They’d stayed up late in each other’s arms talking for hours; Nesta had wanted to know everything about him and the land she was leaving behind. They’d talked about university for over an hour with Nesta needing to know what could be studied, what the fees were, who could study, when it could be studied, and what happened upon graduation. Hunt had listened to her talk about Prythian but most of it left him seething. Nesta couldn’t tell him anything about the place she lived because they stuck her in a fucking house and cut off her funds so that she was entirely dependent on the king and his lackey. That one, Cassian, he’d quite like to meet so he could knock him into next week. She’d grown upset when she talked of her sister whose pregnancy would cause her death. Beyond kidnapping a couple of surgeons and a midwife, Hunt didn’t know what to do to help. The male, Cassian, who forced her on a hike as punishment for telling her sister the truth deserved to be punched. He didn’t like any of these fae males, but this one sounded like the worst.

He'd even come clean about Micah and the awful things he did to inch towards freedom. In a way, Hunt wanted her to be repulsed or to pull away then at least it would soften the blow of her departure. But this damn female just said that she understood why he did it and held him a little tighter.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

Nesta snickered. ‘Don’t tempt me, Hunt.’

It wouldn’t be that hard to adjust. He’d grown up in a time when technology was near enough non-existent then emerged from a dungeon and everybody had cell phones or were driving cars. He’d cope again going backwards. Anything was possible with her at his side. But maybe Hunt would cause a few too many fights with the fae that ruled her.

‘Just stop letting them put you in danger and using you. Or I’ll fly all the way there and kick their asses.’

Hunt sat her down on the edge of the bed to start drying her hair. She was nervous about him doing it although he thought he did a fabulous job of his own. Truly, he was desperate to do it. Nesta was leaving back to a world where the male that she was tangled with didn’t seem to care for her at all. He needed to show her that males could be gentle – that it was a choice not to be caring. He wanted to dry her hair and take care of her because that was a male’s duty – not fucking her then leaving with his seed still dripping from her.

Vik was expecting them when Hunt took Nesta through a private entrance into the Comitium that was strictly for workers only. Worker was laughable. The slave’s entrance was a better name for it.

‘The sword and the Harp as promised. And I don’t need to remind either of you that it would be a good idea for Nesta to return today, do I?’

‘No, mom,’ Hunt replied, kicking her boot lightly.

‘And I needn’t advise you that walking through Lunathion with a sword will likely have you arrested.’

Hunt frowned. ‘Danika Fendyr and Ruhn Danaan do it.’

‘They’re leaders of the aux and will be the heads of their species one day,’ Vik said.

Sensing Hunt was about to argue with Vik, Nesta rested a hand on his forearm. ‘I’d rather spend my last hours here with you rather than in an interrogation room.’

‘I’d still be there. We can play cops and robbers.’

‘Gross,’ muttered Vik before she turned back to her computer.

For once, Nesta had left most of her hair down. She’d pulled it from her temples with a twist and a couple of hair pins. Paired with a pale blue summer dress, she was utterly stunning. But his dreams of strolling through Lunathion with her again hit a snag when Micah’s name flashed on his cell.

‘You should answer that,’ she said, peering at the name.

‘I want this day with you.’

Nesta pushed the phone towards him. ‘I’d be glad for time with my thoughts. Answer that. Do whatever it is you need to do. We can meet later.’

‘I’ll fly those to the hotel,’ he said, gesturing to her returned items.

Nesta kissed his fingers then strode into the sun, hips swaying as she went.

***

How many different ways could Nesta try to convince Hunt to leave with her – or for him to ask her to stay. She didn’t want to impose. She’d done that enough already on his life. But if Hunt asked her to stay… No, she couldn’t. Feyre was dying. What sort of sister would she be if she left her in those final moments?

Nesta sighed.

The same sister they all believed her to be; worthless, spoilt, and needing redemption.

A shadow bumped into her arm then a figure took up the seat beside her on the bench. Ruhn Danaan wore his typical black jeans and t-shirt with a pair of sunglasses to protect his hungover eyes from the bright sunlight.

‘It’s very loud,’ he said, wincing.

Children were playing at the park where Nesta’s feet had taken her to. Their squeals and joy made her think of the children who never stood a chance in Prythian; the ones who were exposed to war, Illyrian girls who were clipped and beaten.

‘I didn’t think you would come.’

‘And miss the chance to say goodbye?’

Following Hunt’s advice, Nesta had sent a text that merely asked Ruhn to meet her – and she received a reply asking who it was in return. Then another saying if they had once had a date, he wasn’t the sort of guy to want to settle down and he was sorry.

‘I need to return this.’ Nesta held out Tristan Flynn’s credit card. ‘I’d like to keep the cell phone. If that’s alright.’

‘Of course you can. Flynn will be devastated you gave this to me and not him.’

A messenger otter scurried along then stopped in front of Ruhn, brandishing a letter. Nesta couldn’t stop her fawning.

‘Tharion Ketos. What a weasel,’ he muttered, pocketing the letter.

‘I wish we had those.’

‘Mer?’

Nesta tutted. ‘Otters. We have otters, but not ones that wear little jackets and deliver letters.’

Ruhn gave a slight laugh then folded his arms over his chest. He looked at her, really looked at her. ‘You don’t want to go back, do you?’

Everything suddenly felt hot and painful. Nesta tipped her face upwards, blinking as quickly as she could to keep from crying. Ruhn stroked her bare arm.

‘I can’t sugar coat it. My father will not stop until he finds out who you are. You’re technically under his jurisdiction as one of the fae. Hunt is a slave – there isn’t much he can do for you. If Micah sells his ass to Sandriel, he won’t be here.’ Ruhn winced. ‘Is it really better here for you than there?’

Yes, she thought. Because I can be somebody here. I can study and learn and be my own person without history trailing me. And I’d have Hunt.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I know I have to.’

‘Let me walk you back to your hotel at least.’

Despite the beauty of the day, Nesta had gone cold and hollow with every step closer to the hotel.

Nesta steeled her wounded heart. She held the pieces together even if they felt like they would shatter from the force. It wasn’t fair.

‘How much would it cost to buy Hunt?’

Ruhn let out a whistle. ‘The Umbra Mortis?’

‘What if I offered my Harp or my sword?’

‘It might sweeten the deal but Hunt Athalar is one of a kind.’

Visions of her putting on the Mask or Crown and forcing Micah to release Hunt to her came to Nesta. It was a bad idea, but a tempting one. There had to be some way for them to be together. Maybe destiny was forged by their own hands.

‘That Harp of yours,’ Ruhn said. ‘It wouldn’t be related to the Horn, would it?’

‘Why would it be?’

Ruhn shrugged. ‘It’s just that the Horn went missing the other day. I came to see you just afterwards and you looked pretty panicked. Then Athalar appeared looking sweaty just after there was a freak lightning storm at Luna’s Temple.’

‘How odd.’

‘Odd indeed.’

On an instinct, Ruhn grabbed the strap of her dress with two fingers at the edge of a busy road without a crossing. Nesta hadn’t quite mastered it yet, but she knew not to walk out now – but his care was appreciated.

‘I heard it’s broken anyway,’ Nesta said with an airy tone. ‘It wouldn’t be any use to the person who now has it.’

‘Unless they knew how to create Made items like a magic sword that doesn’t like me.’

‘What would it mean if there was somebody in Lunathion who could create Made items – theoretically, Ruhn?’

The hotel came into view and they slowed their pace to finish their theoretical conversation. Ruhn pretended to stroke an imaginary beard then slung an arm around her as they walk so he could lean towards her ear and speak in a whisper.

‘If the Asteri knew there was somebody with those powers in Lunathion, they’d be the public’s most wanted. And Hunt Athalar would be ordered to bring them in dead or alive. I don’t think that theoretical person would want the Umbra Mortis in that situation, would they?’

There was no telling if Hunt could disobey direct orders although she knew he’d try. For her, he’d try. And she couldn’t do that to him.

At the doors to the hotel, they stopped opposite each other. Amidst the vibrant colours of his tattoos, Nesta could make out damaged, scarred skin.

‘I’m sorry that it can’t be the way you want it.’

Nesta offered a half-smile that felt like a veneer slapped over a rotting foundation. ‘Do any of us ever get what we deserve?’

‘Maybe in another life.’

This was her other life, her other chance. When Ruhn embraced her, she didn’t know how to respond because the males here treated her with kindness without expectation.

‘I’ll tell Flynn you love him. He can peddle that story about unrequited love to simpering females.’

‘Goodbye Ruhn.’

***

Five names. Five names for him to kill.

Hunt felt sick from it. Sick with himself. Because five on one night was more names than he usually had in half a year. He shouldn’t rejoice in death, but it would shave off a little more of his debt.

He was wrong for it. Wrong for being glad that he could exchange a life for his debt.

Nesta deserved better than that. Better than a slave. A killer. A worthless male.

When he met her in the hotel room, he didn’t mention that he could smell Ruhn Danaan on her clothes despite her desire to spend time alone. He’d let her keep that secret if he could keep his. She might have held him last night and waved away his debt to Micah as something he couldn’t control, but it was Hunt’s action that led him to this point. Nobody forced him to lead a rebellion. And it wasn’t just killing. A single bullet to the head was merciful; the sorts of death Micah had him enact would send Nesta running from him.

Hunt bundled up his grief and disgust. He could hold it back for a few hours. Give her a good few hours before she returned. Let Nesta go home beneath a golden sky rather than his storm.

‘I did something. I think.’

Nesta held out the Horn to him which was glowing with an iridescent light. Faintly, he could feel a thrum of magic through his core.

‘How?’

‘The sword is a Made item. Made by me. I was Made by the Cauldron then took its power.’ Nesta swallowed then looked at him. ‘I fixed it Hunt. It can open to new worlds. It’s a safer bet than the Harp. I fixed it.’

‘If anybody could fix a relic that is thousands of years old, it would be you,’ he said, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

Every now and then, a silver flame would skitter across the instrument that she clutched in her hands. The Harp would hum in unison with it. Whoever – whatever – Nesta was, Hunt didn’t care.

‘Are you going to blow it?’

Despite her nod, Nesta didn’t move for a while, just stared at him with wide eyes.

‘It’s alright if you’re scared. I’ll be with you.’ He kissed her forehead and the Horn buzzed between them like a hornet. ‘I’m talking to Nesta, not you.’

*** ‘Ready?’ She wanted Hunt to call it off, to tell her to stay at his side until the stars fell. No matter his warnings about the Asteri or Micah or the Autumn King, none of it could be as bad as what was waiting for her in Prythian. A vengeful queen, a sister who was to die, and a high lord who only wanted her to suffer. It didn’t matter what danger she faced in Lunathion because with Hunt at her side, anything was possible. There was no storm they couldn’t weather together.

Hunt squeezed her knee. ‘Ready. To the stars.’

Pursing her lips, Nesta touched the horn to her lips and blew.

A pathetic, raspberry echoed through the horn.

She glanced at Hunt, heat building in her cheeks, and saw that he was screwing his face up. After a moment, he burst into riotous laughter.

‘What was that?’ He asked between his booming laugh.

She found herself laughing in answer, infected by his merriment. ‘I’ve never blown a horn before. I don’t know how to do it.’

Hunt slapped his thigh, trying to right himself. ‘Not like that!’

The pair of them lost it. Whatever tension had been clinging to the room soon evaporated as Nesta tried again and again to put her lips towards the horn. Each time she pouted or made a trumpeting noise, Hunt roared with laughter, setting her off too.

‘Stop looking at me because you’re putting me off.’

Tears rolled down Hunt’s cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut although a large grin spread across his handsome face.

Nesta pulled out her phone and searched how to blow a horn. In a world where knowledge was at her fingertips, it seemed terribly wasteful not to utilise it.

‘Maybe the Horn is still broken, Starlight.’

But it couldn’t be because her magic had been drawn to it and the Horn had been buzzing with possibilities since.

‘I can do it,’ she insisted.

‘I know you can,’ he replied, touching her leg again. ‘Not looking again.’

Easing out a breath, Nesta formed her lips in the shape her cell phone told her to. A low, well-held note emitted from the top of the horn.

Hunt whispered her name.

Near the wall, a great portal had opened, its edges rimmed with her silver flames. Rather than offering a view of Crescent City, Nesta saw into the library in the House of Wind. There was her favoured arm chair with the foot rest pulled close by. A little stack of books that she’d pulled out a couple of weeks earlier was upon the three-legged table.

‘You did it,’ he praised, stroking her cheek. ‘Is there anything you can’t do, you wonderful girl?’

Nesta grasped for him, too emotional to speak. Her hands reached for his face, pulling it to hers to kiss one final time. Strands of his hair fell onto her cheek as they kissed and she stretched out a hand to brush the inside of his wing one last time.

‘Mother above, what the fuck.’

She leapt away from Hunt, startled by the voice.

Lucien Vanserra stood in the library opposite them, peering into the hotel room, a full cup and saucer held in his hand.

Hunt braced his legs then lightning wreathed his body.

‘No,’ Nesta urged. ‘This is my sister’s mate.’

His voice took on a lethal edge. ‘This is Rhysand?’

‘Definitely not,’ called Lucien.

‘Elain’s mate. The eye.’

‘The eye,’ confirmed Hunt, finally taking in the golden eye and the scar rippling down Lucien’s face which was paler than usual.

‘We thought you were dead or kidnapped or trapped in the Prison.’

‘Surprise,’ Hunt said drily.

They passed the bag through first to test it. Lucien, baffled and muttering to himself, waited on the Prythian side to accept it. Maybe it was odd to keep all of the clothes from Lunathion as they’d have no place, but Nesta didn’t want to part with anything from her week there. Everything was taken from her in the war, so she wanted to keep this.

When the Harp and Atraxia were passed through safely, she said it was her turn.

The portal was too high for her step through easily so Hunt lifted her over it and Lucien, gingerly, accepted her on the other side, lowering her to the floor as if she was a sack of potatoes.

‘I think if I blow the Horn again, it will close it.’

She lifted it near to her lips. ‘Don’t make me laugh this time.’

‘It’s my last chance. I have to,’ Hunt insisted, brown eyes sparkling with joy.

But when Nesta did press the Horn closer, the amusement drained from Hunt’s expression, accepting it was the end.

A single note emitted and the flames collapsed in on themselves, leaving Nesta with a view of the tall windows in the library. She dropped the Horn then sank to her knees and wept.

#hunt x nesta #hunt athalar #nesta archeron

82 notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 1 year ago

Text

Frankie to the rescue

A Frankie Morales drabble inspired by @secretelephanttattoo who suggested that "Frankie welcomes you home after a long day of travel...."

Written in half an hour after a long day of travel so any mistakes should be ignored. Also, I had no suitable Frankie coded pic to use so if anyone has a suggestion, please link me and I'll update the post! Thanks to @secretelephanttattoo for finding the perfect pic in five seconds flat!

Word count: 690

(and what do you know, i can write short stuff too!)

You groan as you watch the conveyor belt slow down and come to a halt. Two bags remain, none of them yours. An eleven day business trip, a fourteen hour flight back home from Japan, delayed of course, and your luggage is a no-show. The lost luggage counter is mercifully open despite the late hour but it takes the bored attendant an extraordinarily long time to fill in your claim and give you a case number. Or maybe it just feels extraordinarily long when you’ve been on the go since you left your hotel in Tokyo over twenty four hours ago. All you want is to get home and take a long shower and sink down into your own bed, next to your own Frankie.

Frankie…soft brown eyes, even softer brown curls, warm smile and large hands that always seem to find exactly the right spot on your body for whatever you need. He’s waiting at home, probably in bed already at this late hour, but you know he’ll wake up the second you put your key in the lock. He’ll come padding through the house in his boxers, let you shrug your coat off and then envelop you in his long arms. You know what he’ll smell like as you press your nose against the warm skin on his broad chest, clean cotton, rich wood and that apple scented fabric softener he always buys.

You tuck the receipt for your poor lost luggage into your shoulder bag and start heading towards the exit. Passport control waves you through, thank god for your citizenship, customs is empty at this hour and you stagger, bleary eyed, into the arrivals hall. There should be a driver waiting for you, company perk, and you just hope he’s still there after the delay. But none of the waiting drivers in their neat uniforms hold a sign with your name and you groan again and pull up your phone to see if you can get an Uber.

“Ma’am, your car is this way,” the man behind you bends unnecessarily close to your ear and you almost drop your phone. An arm comes out to steady you, hooking around your waist and pulling you close. You’re just about to shove him away with a shout when his warm eyes find yours, his patchy beard a little bit neater and trimmed since you left, lips already close to yours, half pulled up in a smile, ready to kiss you.

“Frankie…” you sigh and his lips find yours, soft, warm and tender as they press against you, parting slightly to taste you under his tongue. It’s his long arms around your waist, one palm sliding up your back to hold you close against him as you wrap your own arms around his neck, finding those soft curls under the edge of his ball cap.

“Vida mía,” he mumbles, pulling back a little to lean his forehead against yours, “I missed you so much, I told your PA I’d pick you up instead of the driver, couldn’t be away from you for a minute longer.”

“I missed you too, Frankie, my love, so much,” you whisper, trying to take in all of him as the late night airport bustle fades around you. His hands are warm through your coat, his breath smells of cinnamon gum and coffee and his arms around your back hold you so tight that you’re on your toes, reaching up, melting into him.

“Let me take you home, mi amor,” he slides his hand down and takes yours, “and show you how much I missed you.” His lips slip down from your lips, down over your jaw, the bill of his cap making you tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. He nuzzles into the crook of it, his mouth tasting the warm skin, teeth biting just a little, making heat rush through you as soft moans slip out from your both. His fingers tighten his grip around your hand and he pulls away a little, tugging you with him towards his truck..

“Now,” he growls, his eyes suddenly dark and needy.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales fanfic

166 notes · View notes

galvanizedfriend · 6 months ago

Text

Klaroline WIP Wednesday

This is my humble contribution to this wip Weds! It's a tiny little snippert from the next chapter of Speed Dating, which has been sitting untouched for way too long. Genuinely hoping this might give me the will to keep going because I am this 🤏 close to the finish line (before editing starts and the finish line gets away from me again but shhhh, we're not going there yet).

She doesn't see Elijah again for the next two days. Whatever he's in town for, he either glides around the apartment like a ghost or their schedules are totally at odds. If not for the extravagantly fancy woolen overcoat by the door and what she has quickly learned is a very particular brand of moodiness for Klaus, she would've thought he'd already left.

It's probably for the best, considering the horror of that first meeting, but curiosity is an unscratchable itch. Elijah has intrigued her for years, more so than any of Klaus’ other siblings. Putting a face - well, a little more than a face, really - to the person is a given, but she can't help the desire to dig deeper. It’s in her nature to be nosy. About him, about Klaus, about the whole family.

Despite the fact she's lived with one and been friends with another for years, the Mikaelsons remain a mystery to her. The more she knows, the more confusing it gets. Nothing about them seems to make much sense, and Caroline hasn't even decided if that's a super-rich, children of the 1% thing, or if the Mikaelsons are especially wacky even among their peers.

After two days, though, she's just about lost hope of bumping into Elijah again. She doubts he'll be staying for much longer, especially with Klaus' cordial show of hospitality. Not that Elijah seemed bothered - being rude to siblings for no apparent reason seems to be one of those things that are normal by Mikaelson standard. It's just how they operate.

She's just back from a shift at the hospital, idly scrolling through her Instagram while she waits for the microwave to deliver her sad leftover dinner. Bitterly, she realizes it has been months since she last updated her feed. Her last photo is with Tyler, for crying out loud. Should she even keep it there? What's the etiquette for when you break up with someone for no earth-shattering reasons, the relationship just fizzling out and running its course? Is it rude to delete all evidence of him from her social media records? Is it expected? Will he be upset? Has he deleted her from his social media?

In fact, now that she thinks about it... Is Tyler even seeing anyone?

"Huh," she mumbles to herself, fully internalizing in that second how truly messy her life has become that she hasn't even cyber-stalked her ex to know what he's been up to since they broke up. That's a whole new level of rock bottom unlocked, right there.

"Miss Forbes?"

Caroline nearly drops her phone when she looks up to find Elijah standing by the kitchen door. She swears to God the man is unnaturally feline; she didn't even hear him approach.

Unlike in their first encounter, he's now fully clothed and, unsurprisingly, he looks just as good as he did without a stitch on. Maybe better. His suit looks as though it was sewn directly onto his body by an Italian master tailor. The range of that man.

"Hey!" She cringes at her high pitch, standing up straight.

His smile is affable as he steps further into the kitchen. "Do I interrupt?"

"What? No. I was just scrolling."

Caroline feels suddenly very self-conscious of just how crazy frumpy she must look standing in front of Elijah. The man is a poster boy for wellness and prosperity, while she is... Well. Not.

Suffice to say she's wearing a Timberwolves t-shirt from her long-gone cheerleading days in high school with at least five visible holes on it.

"I've been meaning to apologize for that horrid incident the other day," he starts. Caroline wouldn’t have brought the incident up, assuming he would rather forget it ever happened, but if it causes him any measure of discomfort to have been butt naked in front of a complete stranger, he does not show, which - now that she thinks about, is something else that feels very Mikaelson-esque. They do all seem to be incredibly comfy in their own skins. "Niklaus warned me that you would be home soon, but my despair for a proper shower was stronger than caution. I should've been more careful."

"You don't have to apologize. It's fine. It was nothing." That would've been a good place to stop. A very mature and dignified let's leave it at that and never mention it again. But her stupid mouth just keeps going. "I see naked people all the time at the hospital. It's totally unremarkable." Elijah's eyebrows inch upwards into a mildly curious expression. "I don't mean that you are unremarkable!" she corrects, and then, getting immediately horrified at the implications, adds, "You're not - I mean, you're ok, you're - obviously. Not that I was looking, I wasn’t - I just mean - You know what? I'm just gonna shut up now." She snaps her lips sealed, half-wishing that a hole would open underneath her feet and suck her into the magma of the earth.

#klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaus x caroline #kc fanfiction #klaroline wip wednesday #yokan writes #or tries to #it's possible i'm having a lot of fun with Elijah in this chapter you guys

52 notes · View notes

badfanfictionaire · 18 days ago

Text

“Breaking news out of Indianapolis tonight. We come to you with an unfortunate update about the so-called “Clean Slayer”. Police are confirming there was another attack last night and two more people lost their lives. Once again we are asking the public to remain vigilant as the hunt for this ruthless killer continues. We will have more information for you on our nightly update coming up at 10 PM…”

Chrissy stares at the face of the woman on the TV screen, the latest victim in a string of recent serial murders. The woman, identified as twenty-five-year-old Claire Doyle, has shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair with thick bangs, and gorgeous blue eyes. Her boyfriend, Derrick Wimbly, was twenty-eight, with wild dark brown hair and big brown eyes.

“This is fucking insane,” he says, clicking the TV off, “How has no one caught him yet? Are they not getting my tip line calls? I couldn’t spell this out for them any better if I tried!”

Chrissy finishes toweling her hair dry and sits next to him on the bed, folding the towel on her lap.

“That’s what, six people now? Someone has to stop him.”

“We don’t even know if it is Jason,” she says gently, “It’s just a theory.”

“How could it not be? Who else is going to go around killing off every couple that looks like us ?”

Chrissy shrugs. “It could be a complete coincidence.”

“Babe,” he sighs, “This “Clean Slayer” went out of his way to find three nearly identical couples in this area. And I get it that some serial killers probably have weirdly specific types, but don’t you think this is a very specific type to have?”

Chrissy worries her lower lip in thought.

“Plus, our five-year reunion would have been two weeks ago. That could have triggered this,” he explains, waving a hand at the TV.

“Do you really think Jason would kill people over the fact that we’ve been together for five years?”

Eddie looks at her fondly. “Princess, if anyone stole you from me, I’d probably start killing people. So, yeah, I do think you’re fucking insane ex-boyfriend, who threatened me on numerous occasions, is crazy enough to kill surrogates of us.”

“...D-do you think he would have killed us if we showed up to the reunion?”

“I don’t want to think about that,” he says with a shiver.

Five years ago in May they’d made their relationship official at graduation. Probably they didn’t need to make a spectacle of it, but Eddie wasn’t exactly known for being subtle. So after Chrissy walked the stage, he’d met her at the stairs and dipped her dramatically before kissing her in front of their entire class. They hadn’t seen Jason that night, they’d left for Indianapolis as soon as they’d been able to make their way out of the gymnasium, but they’d heard rumors Jason was livid. Up until that point, he probably thought he could win Chrissy back somehow. But, you snooze you loose, and Eddie had already locked Chrissy down as his very own.

“Let’s just get some sleep,” he suggests, taking her hand and kissing her bare knuckle where her ring normally sits. Instead, it’s in a pretty ceramic dish on her nightstand for safe keeping while she slept.

“Maybe he’ll run out of steam, or they’ll catch him… He has to screw up eventually, right?”

“Right,” he assures, tugging her down on to the mattress with him.

When they wake, the TV has the faces of another couple on the news. Both thirty years old. This time it was evident the killer had a harder time finding someone who met Chrissy’s description, because the woman’s hair looked sloppily box-dyed and like someone had cut it with kitchen shears.

“That’s two blocks from here,” Chrissy says pacing.

“Still don’t believe it’s Jason?”

“This isn’t going to end until he finds us, is it?”

“Or we find him,” Eddie says.

Chrissy stops and stares at him.

“What? I’m just saying. If we find him first, we have the upper hand.”

“And then what? We kill him? No, Eddie, I-”

“Hey, woah there sweetheart, breathe for me,” he says, taking her shaking hands in his.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

“I know, sweet girl, I know.”

He holds her while she cries into his tee shirt, until her shoulders stop shaking and she lifts her head to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

“We have to stop him, you’re right.”

“There’s my brave girl,” he says, kissing her hair, “And we don’t have to kill him, ok? We’ll just leave him as a little gift-wrapped present for the Indy PD.”

“And now for some happier news, just this evening we have word from the Indianapolis Police Chief that the “Clean Slayer” may have been captured. The current suspect in a string of brutal murders over the last few weeks is identified as Jason Carver, a twenty four year old man from Hawkins, Indiana…”

👻👻👻👻

(Read on AO3)

#stranger things #eddie munson lives #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie x chrissy #edssy #hellcheer #hellcheer week 2024 #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham lives #chrissy cunningham

21 notes · View notes

succcession · 2 years ago

Text

Not Another Weekend Out

Kendall Roy x f!reader (smut) 1.8k words

AN: this is my first story ya'll go easy, but its simple soft dom Kendall stuff so I hope you all enjoy♡

Lately it had felt like every weekend with your boyfriend Kendall Roy meant you spent the night walking into some abandoned looking warehouse in Queens. Or occasionally a glamorous but to be honest, boring night club in Soho.

Where did he even find these parties? You thought to yourself as you strapped on your high heels, mentally preparing for another night of being Kendall’s arm candy.

Kendall wasn’t always like this though. Of course, you were well aware of your boyfriend’s heavy partying “habits”. In your first month of dating, he showed up to your apartment three times in the middle of the night. High off of a combination of god knows what, reciting Harvard level love poems at your window. You soon realized the parties were just a part of the Kendall package.

However, it felt like for a minute you two had started to get truly…close! He began taking you to five star restaurants as opposed to the typical nightclub. Updating you about his schedule, sending “I miss you texts”. You two even had a weekly ritual of falling asleep to 90s cartoons! He had been working out more and doing cocaine less. Why the sudden shift backwards? Was it all in your head? Is he really just a rich, party addicted, man child? Your anxious thoughts began to spiral as you stared at your reflection in his grandiose bathroom mirror.

“Fucking Beautiful” your mental spiral was interrupted by the grasp of Kendall’s arms squeezing tightly around your waist while placing soft kisses down your neck.

He seemed to instantly notice the fake smile you put on and the slight sigh that left your lips. Kendall could always tell when you were upset. It was like he was an expert at reading your body language after years of navigating his complex family.

The Tom Ford suited man turned you around to face him and his soft hands lifted your chin up to meet his eyes. “What’s up? What are you thinking?” He expressed flatly.

“Nothing Ken, I just-“ his lips instantly, forming into a frown. While his almost angelic eyes remained softly looking down at you.

God, he looks so hot when he pouts, you thought. You considered for a moment just forgetting everything. Saying fuck it and just going out. But you were genuinely starting to fall for Kendall and it seemed important at that moment to tell him how you felt.

“I just don’t think I feel like going out tonight” you said, doing your best to sound sweet as opposed to disappointing.

“Oh uhh yeah well” Kendall stumbled.

“I was hoping to maybe spend time with just you Ken…” you smiled up at him, reaching for his tie to pull him closer for a soft peck. Kendall quickly deepened the peck wrapping his arms lower around your body and stepping closer to trap you between him and the bathroom counter.

“Mm look at you, so cute and needy for me” Kendall said, as his hand moved up your back, grabbing a handful of your hair and gently tilting your head back to leave soft kisses on your neck. “You know… if you want me. You should be a good girl and just tell me.” Kendall whispered in your ear. His harsh kisses along your collarbone paired with his words cause a soft moan to slip from your mouth.

Kendall took a slight step back holding your face in his hands. Your lips both parted and nearly brushing against each others as he looked down at you.

“Tell me what you want y/n.”

A soft breath left your mouth before you stumbled to get the words out.

“I..mm. I want you Kendall. Right now” This wasn’t exactly how you intended for this conversation to go but you definitely weren’t upset at his reaction.

“Good girl” Kendall softly drew the words out in response.

Pulling you closer yet again into another deep kiss. The intensity of his lips against yours increased along with the butterflies in your stomach. The way he seamlessly switched between gently caressing you, as if he was too rough you would break. To devouring every inch of your body with kisses and love bites. Squeezing your ass, gripping your hips and thighs, his hands were everywhere. Before they eventually landed on your dress zipper. The room filled with heavy breaths and sighs, your clothes feeling more like a barrier every second.

As Kendall began roughly pulling your dress down your body, your hands swiftly reached up to begin loosening his tie. His large hands quickly interrupted yours, enclosing around your fingers, roughly bringing your hands back to your side and behind your back as he spun you around. Faced again with your own reflection in the mirror. Although, this time instead of negative thoughts of Kendall, only the thought of his tongue carelessly licking your clit filled your mind. Kendalls dark eyes stared into your reflection as his hands journeyed down your body. His rough finger brushing over your clit, stopping to draw light circles as he toyed with the hem of your lace thong.

His hands slowly slipping underneath the fabric made you gasp and drop your head down. Kendall was quick to object to that reaction, roughly grabbing your face with one hand, returning your eyes to his hard gaze.

“I want you to watch yourself cum for me” “okay?” Kendall firmly demanded while slipping your thong down your thighs.

“Yes..please.. I want to cum for you” you managed to get out as you felt Kendall's middle finger begin to slowly slip into your pussy. His solo finger easily slid in and out and Kendall quickly added in a second. You could feel your wetness spreading as it slowly began to coat the inside of your thighs.

Kendall was nearly shocked by how quickly you were ready for him. Your soft walls were already beginning to tighten around his fingers, and the lewd echo of your dripping cunt was almost too much for him as his growing cock strained against his pants. But he couldn’t help but tease you a little more.

“God this little pussy is so fucking wet for me. Do you really need my cock that bad?”

“Mm- yes Ken..please” You pleaded with him. One of Ken’s biggest turn ons was begging, and at this point you wanted to rile him up. His aggressive yet tender tone behind all his words was driving you crazy. You could feel your pussy throbbing, needing more than just his fingers inside you.

“I want to cum all over your cock! God, please ken… fuck me!”

Kendalls hands withdrew from your body as he began undoing his belt, and lowering his dress pants.

“Sh sh sh” Kendall hushed into your ear before leaning down to spit on your pussy. Rubbing the head of his dick in between your folds.

“How do you still sound so fucking innocent while your begging me to fuck your little pussy?”

Kendall couldn't hold back his moans as looked down at his dick spreading your wetness, from your slit to your sensitive clit. His teasing was growing unbearable and you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing your ass further back, closer to Kendall. This was quickly met with a hard slap on your ass. The whimper that left your mouth nearly sounded pathetic.

Kendall began pushing the thick tip of his dick painfully slowly into your pussy. His head dropped to fall against your shoulder and you could feel deep breaths leave his body as he tried not to already cum in your tight pussy. God, the way you stretched around his length slowly squeezing every inch of his dick made him feel like your pussy was made for him. Like you were made just for him. To hold, and kiss and fuck however he wanted.

Kendall pulled out slowly before roughly snapping his hips forward slamming against your ass. He kept this slow yet aggressive pace as his hands made their way up your body and to your tits. He gently pinched your nipples, squeezing the small buds between his fingers. Earning multiple high pitched squeals from you encouraging him to quicken the rate at which he was thrusting into you.

“Omg Kendall, your cock feels so good inside me, so fucking good” you moan.

“Oh look at you. You take my cock so fucking good baby don’t you? Mm fuck, look at how pretty you look while you get fucked. God, you make me so fucking happy baby”

His patronizing tone echoed in your head and you continued doing your best to maintain eye contact with Kendall in the mirror. It was turning you on even more watching yourself become undone for him. Mascara beginning to run down your face as Kendall continued roughly fucking into you.

You could feel your eyes rolling back as that familiar warmth of your coming orgasm grew in your pussy and Kendall could feel your release coming as you tightened around him. He watched as your attention from him began to fall as you came close to finishing. But he was going to make sure you watched yourself cum all over cock and grabbed a handful of your hair and roughly pulled down returning your gaze to your reflection.

“Aw don’t look away now baby. You were being such a good girl for me. Don’t you want me to let you cum all over my cock princess?” he says. The final pet name made you shiver “Yes Ken, please I am going to cum. Please let me cum on your cock” you cry out clenching around him. Your voice, so desperate and needy, whining for his permission to let go.

“Mm cum, cum for me baby.” He praises in your ear, leaving soft kisses on your temple. Still maintaining his brutal pace. Desperately, your hands grip the bathroom sink in front of you feeling your hips involuntarily grinding backward onto Kendall as you feel yourself pulsing around him, milking his hard cock. “Good girl, my good fucking girl” he praises you through your orgasm, all the breath and weight leaving your body. Kendall’s thrust gains aggression before finally stuttering as he finishes into you deeply, dropping nearly all of his weight onto your back.

Kendall hovers above you for a moment letting out deep breaths, staying deep inside of you. Now coming down from your high, you study your two reflections in the mirror. How, Kendalls arms are wrapped so tightly around you. The feeling of his chest rising up and down against you with every breath. You wanted to savor this moment. Hold onto the feeling of him pressed so close against you for when he was gone again.

Eventually Kendall slowly pulled out of you with a soft sigh, peppering kisses along your neck. “I’ve been doing some thinking. And uh.. I think we should stay in more weekends”.

#kendall roy #kendall succession #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy smut #succession #succession season 4 #kendall roy x you #kendall roy oneshot

203 notes · View notes

silentkasama · 2 months ago

Text

R1999: Just Reports (1.9 Lead-up In-game Activity)

in-game activity where a report is unlocked each day for five days; each day you are made to enter a password. you are given a code, enter the corresponding letters and that's the password. you get 400 clear drops, 5 picrasma candy, and other goodies. happy first anniversary, r1999

Day.1 (pw: boring)

/Survival Report

Congratulations on successfully completing the test. Those that independently cracked the code are deemed to have a highly developed left brain and are considered to be able to read the report on their own.

The following is the information contained in the report: None. In accordance with Laplace guidelines and the assigned task of deciphering the incantation, regular progress updates will be provided over the next twenty-two hours to document and verify advancements.

Summary: Currently, vital signs remain confirmed

Day.2 (pw: mrfishjar)

/Observation of the Teamlead

Based on internal data at Laplace, writing reports is considered as the second most effective way to prolong the perception of time; reading reports is the first.

In this report, I have noted that the teamlead showed signs of anxiety and became unusually irritable during our decoding operation. As part of my duties and out of personal interest, I will continue to monitor any fluctuations in the teamlead's emotional well-being.

Conclusion: It is generally accepted that straight lines represent relaxed eyebrows, while curved lines indicate a smiling mouth. The complete deciphering of facial expressions is fast approaching.

Day.3 (pw: msuncanny)

/Observation of the Director

I understand that the reader may not have enough free time to continue reading this report unless it is necessary for their job; my apologies.

The following is the content of the report: The director appeared emotionally stable when presented with the interim results of the decryption operation. Correction: I cannot confirm any noticeable emotional fluctuations in the director; they seem to be stable for the time being. Further observation will be temporarily suspended.

Summary: The expression system is the same as the masks, and after a right-brain assessment, I can no longer trust the verifiability of the emotions conveyed by this system.

Day.4 (pw: ihatearts)

/Day of Art Appreciation

Aside from upholding confidentiality obligations, the main purpose of the code is to weed out people with highly developed right brains, such as certain artists and arcanists.

The following is the content of this report: Efforts to decipher the pictorial messages sent by the investigators were unsuccessful. A proposal to go outside and turn into oil paintings to better connect with the artwork was rejected.

Summary: I strongly believe that combining cryptography with the works of Leonardo da Vinci has the potential to create a unique form of literature that would captivate and engage a wider audience.

Day.5 (pw: goodbye)

/Application for Leave

This report assumes that the reader has most likely skipped the first four reports. As a precaution, it is highly recommended that the reports be read in chronological order to fully grasp the information presented here.

The following is the content of the report: In praise of the director's efficiency oriented approach, and given the limited manpower in the technical support team, I have decided to temporarily stop writing reports and transition to another role.

Just a side note: I am quite intrigued by the Kingdom of Numbers on that island, as shown in the external intelligence. I'm thinking of applying to visit the island and talk to the natives about cryptography after today's events.

if you know where to look at previous similar activities, could you please point me to them? thank you

#posterity #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 #r1999 #r1999: version 1.9 #r1999 lucy

19 notes · View notes

darklydeliciousdesires · 6 months ago

Text

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Seven.

Second update is here, besties! This is basically shaping up to be a novel, the 20th chapter just begun in the writing and I am loving every last second of creating their story! Just to note, too, the song Picses that is mentioned is a real song, by the band Jinjer, the musical claim for Jade's voice and Seventh Gate on a whole. Give it a listen, it's beautiful.

Big thanks to my tiny audience for your commitment to reading. I see a few of you liking it but remaining quiet. I would so love to hear from you, if you'd be so kind to drop a little comment, and even better, add a reblog to help me get a bit more exposure. Thanks guys :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,047

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Ahh, he has arrived. Dogs, come on. This show of frenzy is not becoming of you.”

Patrick Brody; he could never just greet someone with a simple hello, letting his son into the house on Christmas morning. He at least gave Adrien a big hug while he was being dived all over by two very excitable Pit Bull terriers, though.

“Merry Christmas, pop,” he spoke with affection, his dad nodding and smiling.

“Same extended in return. Now, your mother is in the kitchen, if you will excuse me, I am slowly working myself through what’s left of my Tanqueray while I ruminate on Keats and a little Joy Division. It’s great to see you, though. I’ll be out when the food is done.”

Ahh, he was in one of his moods, chasing a slither of melancholy. Why he’d chosen Christmas morning to do such was beyond Adrien, but he was used to the strange habits of his fiercely intellectual father. The last time he’d visited, it was Sangria paired with The Rolling Stones and a book on the art of John Williams Waterhouse.

Truly, there was nobody like his father. Or his mother.

“Is that my boy?”

“Sure is,” Adrien called, placing the large bag of gifts he’d brought beneath the tree in the lounge, walking down to the kitchen to see her emerge, her arms held wide. “Merry Christmas, ma.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” she spoke, pulling him into a hug. “Is your father still absconding?”

“He is,” he confirmed, giving the dogs a little more attention before following her down the hall.

“You know, I thought he’d get out of that whole tortured artist bit when he hit thirty,” Lois voiced, hurrying back into the kitchen to check on the gaggle of pots occupying the stove. “Never damned well happened!” Turning the burners down, she glided to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine with raised eyebrows. “I got this or beer? Up to you.”

“I’ll take a beer, but let me, mom. You have enough to do, or I can stir something?” He made a move off the high stool, watching his mother race towards him, waving her hands.

“You will stay away from the cooker, Adrien Nicholas Brody!” she warned, unscrewing the top and handing him the bottle. “You’re a liability.”

His face was a picture of affronted. “Says the woman who’s set fire to her own hair how many times?”

Pointing at him, she waved her finger, starting to laugh softly in spite of herself. “Fucking smart ass, is what you are.”

“I get it from you, ma,” he teased, reaching for Ginsberg’s giant head when the dog made it clear he required further petting, Bukowski pottering around in the hallway, shaking the hell out of a brand-new chew toy. Moving over to the balcony, he turned the key and slid the door, letting himself out into the cold Christmas morning, lighting up a cigarette.

“Still smoking, huh?” his mother observed, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start bitching. Not with how many you used to chain a day,” he warned, raising an eyebrow.

Picking up her wine, she felt confident to leave the food for five minutes, joining him out on the balcony. “Wasn’t going to. I could do with one. Gimme.” Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled the pack out, Lois taking one and leaning to the light he offered, the smell of the lighter fluid mixing pleasantly with the tobacco. Taking a long drag, she immediately looked more blissful.

“Oh, full tar. Good boy,” she sighed, kissing his shoulder as she rubbed his arm.

“Not my choice, I stole them from my girlfriend,” he confessed, watching her eyes widen.

“Excuse me, son of mine?” Her exclamation was coupled with the usual wild gesticulating, arms flying expressively. “Girlfriend, you just drop that in there casually, that there’s a girlfriend on the scene now?”

He laughed softly through his nose, looking out across the white landscape below. “Yeah, there’s a girlfriend. It’s been three and a half months now.”

Lois wound her hand expectantly. “And? Name, age, what does she do? Please don’t tell me it’s another bullshit model who doesn’t know shit from Shinola. I can’t bear the idea of you bringing another pretty dullard into my goddamned house!”

“You liked Sofia,” he protested.

“Sofia was well read, she was interested in other cultures, she’d travelled. She was an anomaly. Anyway, we don’t talk about her any longer! Tell me about the girl,” she demanded, her eyes full of excitement.

“Her name is Jade, she’s thirty-one, and she’s the vocalist for a band called Seventh Gate. And she acts as well.”

Lois paused, her wine glass almost reaching her mouth, her other hand moving to grip, and then softly shake his forearm. “You’re dating Jade Burton?”

Wait. How did his mother even know who she was? “Hold on, you know who she is?”

Her finger thrust towards the kitchen, her entire arm waving. “That new canvas I have out in the hallway? I painted that listening to Black Electric Wasteland.”

Their second album, but how... how did his mother know that? “Who are you, and what have you done with Lois?”

“Oh, come on! You know I listen to rock! I’ve got Sabbath and Def Leopard albums in my collection,” she exclaimed, taking another drag on her cigarette.

“Yeah, but Seventh Gate is way heavier than that. It’s the musical equivalent of having a safe dropped on your head.”

She snorted into her wine glass. “And how the hell do you know? You only listen to music made by fellas with gold teeth who wear jeans nine sizes too big!”

He couldn’t help but snort a laugh at that. “Because that’s how I met her. I got talked to going to the Rock and Iron festival with Lewis while I was in LA. The first time I met Jade was when she jumped onto the barrier and screamed about in an inch from my face.” That particular revelation delighted his mother, imagining it. He went on to explain a little more, how he’d met her properly backstage, thought she was incredible and swiftly decided in a moment of madness to join the tour for a week.

“Good for you, god! You didn’t do anything like this in your teens, you were always so focused. Why not in your thirties? And look what came of it, you’re dating a legend! Oh, mother of pearl, that girl’s voice!” Flicking her finished cigarette over the rail, she bustled back inside, locating her phone and swiping around, putting it in the dock and pressing play. “I love this song. Pisces. Please tell me you’ve heard it?”

He had, since it had been in their setlist on tour. They stood silently as they listened to the opening bars, Lois softly singing along to the melodic opening, clasping a hand to her chest. “I adore her! All of them, such talented girls!”

Adrien was still stuck in the realms of huge surprise that his mother had not only heard of Seventh Gate, but was a fan, too, when the kitchen door opened, his father walking in.

“Interesting harmonies, and the chord progression is stunning work. Who is this?”

“Adrien’s girlfriend and her band. They’re the girls whose music inspired my painting!” Lois replied with enthusiasm, continuing to softly sing as her husband topped up his gin. “You’ll never believe what he did, Patrick. Meets her at a show and then, he just hops on a tour bus with her for a week. Just like that!”

His father paused, eyebrows raised. “You and five women absconded to a bus for a week,” he mused, sipping his gin. “A lesser man might make a joke about such setting tongues wagging, but it feels a little too low brow.” Another sip of gin was taken. “How is your tongue, by the way?”

Patrick Brody; he was a man entirely too witty for his own good.

Adrien closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. “You’re fucking terrible.”

“I’m an effervescent delight. And you? You’ve now officially cemented yourself as a groupie.” Closing the fridge, he stood for a moment, tapping his foot as he continued to listen. “Yes. I like it, mmhmm.”

Adrien couldn’t help but grin. “Just wait for the chorus.”

His dad looked curious for all of five seconds, before the tempo changed drastically, both musically and vocally. “What in the?” he exclaimed, wide eyed, scratching his chin. “That’s a woman?”

“Yep,” Adrien confirmed, “that’s my girl.”

He listened a little longer, sipping his drink. “Does she need a priest? It sounds like she has a demon.”

Immediately, Lois pointed at the door. “Get out of my kitchen at once, you lousy philistine!” Their little double act had their only child laughing quietly, thinking his dad truly wasn’t all too wrong. After all, he’d likened that ripsaw roar to something hell had spat up too upon first hearing it. “When can I meet her?”

He knew he’d have that question directed at him sooner rather than later. “I’ll arrange something with her and get back to you. I have five weeks before I’m away again, we can come over one afternoon, or meet you guys in the city?”

“I’d love that, yes. So, tell me more about her, then,” she requested, her eyes lighting up. She could see it so clearly, how smitten her son was. “She’s British, isn’t she?”

“British-Sicilian. She was born in Palermo. Arrived three months earlier than expected while her mom was over there visiting family, backpacking with her dad.”

“Oh!” she cried, resting a hand to her chest. “She was a little preemie baby? How dear.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “almost didn’t make it, weighed about three pounds when she was born. I like to think she defied all the odds stacked against her, though.” He smiled, thinking of her fortitude, her toughness to do the job that she did, and at the standard she did it. “She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

Lois studied him for a moment, beginning to nod. Finally, he’d met the one who she sensed wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry. “I’m going to love her, aren’t I?”

Watching that sly smile, he looked away for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah. You really, really are.” She left all talk of the new girl there, going back to the cooker and inquiring over how everything else was in her son’s life as she stirred and tinkered.

Meanwhile, over in Harlem, Jade found herself in a similar surrounding. Except in her family, you pitched in, or you got the hell out of the way.

“Steven!” Gemma yelled, her husband jumping a foot in the air. “If I have told you once, I have told you a million times, stop stealing the turkey skin!”

“Why? You don’t like it, Rachel is a fussy vegan, Jade doesn’t care, and Marco isn’t even here. Allow a man to have his simple pleasures, my little snap dragon,” he teased, winking when his daughters began to laugh, Jade making a snappy motion with her hand towards the back of her mother’s head. It was very weird, for her brother not to be there, this year staying in LA with his new boyfriend, Jack and his family.

“Your parents like it, and I finally have the skin nice and crisp, so it’ll give your mother one less thing to complain about,” she replied, physically hip bumping Jade down a little as she poured cream into the potatoes, ready to mash into a pulp.

“Go, go on, out of my way!”

“You called me in to carve the bird, Gemma,” he reminded her, taking the large knife the younger of his daughter’s passed over to him.

“Well then do it instead of standing there slowly making a start on eating it!”

Jade quickly finished her potato-based endeavours, reaching for the bottle of scotch on the side, topping up her mother’s glass and adding ice from the fridge dispenser. “Mum, drink that before you give yourself a heart attack and thus make dad have to work on his day off.”

“Open heart surgery on the tiles with a carving knife,” he chimed, examining the blade. “I think I could make do.”

The family all paused to laugh, Gemma taking the drink passed to her gratefully, wrapping her arm around her daughter’s waist. “Thanks, buba.” Taking a sip, she then widened her eyes. “Rachel!” Check what time we’re on. I need to put the beans on at the very last minute, so they don’t overcook.”

“Can’t, mama. My phone is in the lounge.”

“Check mine,” Jade spoke, “It’s on the counter.”

Illuminating the screen, Rachel took in the time, as well as something else notable. “It’s two twenty-one, and sis, why do you have a picture of Adrien Brody as your screen lock? Are you fangirling?”

“No,” she beamed, “but I am dating him. That’s the news I had to share before I got wrapped up in the Christmas chaos.”

Immediately, her right eardrum was almost blown out. “What the utter bloody hell, Jade Lucia? You’re... and... seriously? Adrien Brody, really?”

“Mum, you’re making it sound like he has two heads, or like I have. I’m not sure which is worse,” she chirped, reaching for her wine and taking a big gulp.

Gemma nudged her with a soft elbow. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it! So, come on. Tell us everything!”

“Not everything,” her dad mumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I wanna know everything,” Rachel piped up, nodding towards the door. “Get out, dad. I wanna hear if he’s good in bed or not.”

He instantly looked mildly mortified, scrunching his eyes tightly shut. “Pretending I didn’t hear that,” he sang, shaking his head, “wishing you were still two and six instead of these grown women who let penises near you.”

Jade almost choked on her wine for her laughter, Steven finishing his very neat and precise carving, nothing less than anybody expected for a surgeon to accomplish. “I am leaving you to your women’s talk. I shall be in the lounge, eating my nougat.”

As soon as he was gone, two sets of eyes turned to her. “Tell us everything!” they both spoke at once, Gemma especially excited as she bounced on her heels a little. Her darling mother still had that silliness of youth about her, a very young fifty. With preparations all done for the moment, they stood and listened as Jade regaled them with the story, even grabbing her phone to show them the picture taken literally at the exact moment they’d first met, Jade bellowing a scream right in his face.

“What, so he just blew off his commitments and got on a bus with you?” her mother cried, sipping her drink, looking absolutely delighted.

“He did, and yeah. We fell in love,” she confessed, beaming as they cooed, Rachel moving to hug her.

“That’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard! Aww!” she spoke, kissing her sister’s cheek fondly. “You’re keeping it quiet, I gotta say. Haven’t seen any pictures of you guys together in the press or anything.”

“Well, we haven’t been out together much,” she admitted, fiddling with her necklace, one he bought for her three days previously when he came back into the city. “There have been a couple, though.” A little lament sounded in her sigh, knowing of course it would happen sooner or later, being that she was relatively well known, and Adrien of course very famous. “Thank fuck there wasn’t any after what happened with Jen. Nobody got pictures of him there, which I’m glad of. I don’t want anything like that possibly impacting him negatively.”

Gemma’s eyes widened. “He was there when it happened?”

Gulping at the memory of that terrifying day, she fortified herself with a mouthful of wine. “He was. He’s the one who found her. He saved her life.”

The eldest of the Burton women let out a little gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. “God above, I can’t imagine how I’d react.”

“Horrible as it was for him, he was probably the best person to find her,” she admitted, “he’s very steady and pragmatic, very calm. He doesn’t get flustered easily at all. I doubt any of us would have thought to check for her stash, Jess’s weed too and get rid of it so nobody got arrested and made an already nightmarish situation a thousand times worse.”

“What a good guy, wow. And how is my beautiful Jen now?” Gemma asked. Jen had always been her favourite, looking at the kitchen table and being able to picture her there, drumming upon the surface with a couple of pencils as a gawky, fifteen-year-old kid with bright pink hair. That very brownstone was where Seventh Gate had begun, their rehearsals confined to the basement, the girls all coming over after school every day to practice for hours.

Jade smiled, remembering her last phone call with her. “She’s doing okay. The first week withdrawing was hell, but better than it could have been since she wasn’t a long-term, substantial user. She’s doing the twenty-eight-day program but is open to staying longer if she feels like she needs to.”

Feeling a little teary, she took a breath, stilling the little emotional vortex that began to swirl. Of course, true to her nature, she only let herself feel it momentarily before she hardened herself. “I’m so proud of her. She was just like, ‘I have a problem and I need to get help in fixing it, because I ain’t going out like that, I’m not scaring you guys that bad ever again’, so checked herself into Urban Recovery in Brooklyn as soon as she got back to the city.”

She remembered how small and broken she’d looked the day after her overdose, seeing here there in hospital, trying to remain upbeat. Jen never cried, the epitome of a tough New York girl, but as soon as she’d seen Adrien, she’d burst into tears, apologising for putting him through something like that and thanking him over and over for saving her life.

Speaking of the man himself, after they had both spent the day with their families, they met up again that evening at Jade’s apartment in the West Village, Adrien flecked with a sprinkling of snow as he arrived. Christmas in New York was her favourite time of the year, loving watching it tumble from the sky through the two floor to ceiling windows in her living room.

The space was airy and light, yet sumptuously cozy, candles dotted around lighting every surface, a very big but tastefully decorated tree in the corner of the apartment, the warm white lights twinkling beautifully against the minimal ornaments. They shared a bottle of red wine while exchanging gifts, Jade buying him a whole heap of things she knew he liked, his favourite perhaps being a little crochet doll of a bald, bespectacled man in an orange robe on a bicycle. It took him a good five minutes to stop laughing.

“His holiness on a bicycle, oh god, I love it!” he hissed, reaching for the last gift in the pile.

“Now this one has had me riddled with anxiety over whether you’ll like it or not, and I just have to hope to hell that you do!” she spoke, Adrien opening the paper with curiosity, pulling out a white label record from within.

“The boy from Queens?” he spoke, looking at the title written on there with a Sharpie, nothing else denoting anything. “Who’s it by?”

Pointing at her record player in the corner, she smiled. “It’s an original collaboration. Put it on and find out.” Heaving himself off the couch, he walked over and did exactly that, placing the vinyl down atop the player and switching it on, carefully lining the needle up. As soon as he heard the opening beats, he spun to stare at her.

“What did you do, Burtie?” he spoke, his smile beginning to spread. His mouth then fell open completely, hearing the vocal intro that was Method Man himself, dropping rhymes over his beats.

Burtie. She loved that particular cute little nickname, breathing a huge sigh of relief at his reaction. “I played him some samples of those beat tracks you sent me, shared a few lyrical ideas to tailor it, added to it, and we recorded it upstairs after you’d left last week. You do not even want to know how much it cost me to get it pressed at such short notice as a one off, but you’re worth every cent, my darling.”

Standing there listening, the clever lyrics all relating to him, he was floored. Utterly stunned. “This is the best gift anyone has ever gotten me!” he spoke, nodding his head, “damn, that’s so sick! Baby, thank you so much. Seriously, this is the best.”

“Isn’t it, though? And you’re welcome,” she beamed, elated that he was enjoying something she’d worked so hard on collaboratively. It was always great to hang out with her friend, having Clifford there for nineteen hours straight working on it. Getting to work with him on something so personal up in her little recording space had been an unforgettable experience, though.

Once the track had finished, he came back over to her, lifting up the large gift he’d brought for her, giving her a kiss before sitting down beside where she was comfortably resting in her gigantic bean bag. “Here, I’d say I hope you’ll like it, but I know you definitely will.”

Taking it from him, she propped it back against her large coffee table, picking at the corner before gently tearing the paper. The squeak that bubbled in her throat as she clasped a hand over her mouth made his stomach prickle with joy, watching her so excited.

“Oh my life!” More of the canvas was revealed, Jade flapping her hands as she bounced a little, eyes widening. “Oh my fucking god, Adrien!”

“And I’m deaf. Again,” he joked, pushing a finger against his ear and giving it a little wiggle to stop the ringing her scream had evoked.

Her mouth hung open, looking between him and the painting, more noises of approval sounding. “You bought me a Beksinski original?”

Zdzislaw Beksinski was her favourite artist, the Polish painter and photographer whose medium was dark and macabre, the original painting discovered by Adrien after scouring the internet, finding it for sale through a private collector. It had been worth every single ounce of hassle in getting it shipped over from Germany, the insurance, the customs debacle, the mild heart attack he’d suffered at hearing it might not arrive in time for Christmas, just to see the look of such pure, unfiltered happiness on her face.

“He... he touched this,” she whispered, her fingers gently gliding over the ridges of the oil paint, every swirl and groove, shaking her head in amazement. “Baby, I love it. Thank you! Come here, my handsome mans.” Pulling him into her arms, she showered him with kisses, utterly delighted to have received such a thoughtful gift. She shuddered to think what he must have shelled out for it. Beksinski’s work went for tens of thousands.

Admiring it as she leaned back against his chest, she honestly couldn’t remember the last Christmas she’d felt quite as elated as she did in that moment, in the arms of her love, cozy and warm as outside, the snow continued to cover Manhattan in a thick blanket of glistening white.

“I got you something else, too.” Picking up a small package, he handed it to her, Jade feeling something she instantly recognised within. Pulling it out, there in her hand lay a looped up, long coil of dark blue bondage rope, her grin widening so much, he couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Put your hand in my bra right now and check out what just seeing this has done to my nipples.” He obliged, giving the left one a little stroke. It was like a bullet. “Okay we’re going to bed right now.”

It was the exact reaction he’d been looking for.

#adrien brody fanfiction #adrien brody smut #adrien brody #adrien brody fanfic #adrien brody fic #adrien brody x ofc #sky full of stars #adrien and jade

19 notes · View notes

emilykaldwen · 8 months ago

Text

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Six

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

CHAPTER SIX - HERE WITH ME

Up here, Alicent Hightower did not seek to use her to control her son. Up here, Aegon did falter beneath the fate of his family’s choices. Up here, they could simply be; Aegon, Abby, and Sunfyre amongst the clouds, where nothing could ever hurt them.

The late morning sun was shining warm and bright, and the gravel courtyard outside the Dragonpit felt as if it was baking as Abby followed Aegon out of the carriage, taking his offered hand to help her down before he quickly dropped it. She fingered the golden buttons on the leather riding jacket the Queen had given her, the pad of her thumb dragging along the imprint of the high tower embossed on each one. The lining of the frock was a deep, verdant brocade, similar to the elegant pattern the Queen often wore at feasts and at court. Soft fleece lined the cuffs and the neck to keep the chill of the air at bay. It was an awkward fit, but not uncomfortable given that it was not made for her.

Helaena had brought up her lack of actual riding gear that was meant for her, and not modified hand me downs. “She’ll be the wife of a dragonrider and a princess. Abby should dress the part,” Helaena had said idly and the truth in the statement had rung clear in the room. The Queen had been reluctant to speak about why she had such a garment. The leathers had been neatly folded and wrapped in protective cloth at the bottom of a trunk and the melancholy look in her brown eyes had kept Abby from inquiring further as she accepted the gift.

The carriage left, Sers Arryk and Lorent remaining behind on their horses, who whickered and pawed uncomfortably on the ground when the dragon emerged from the pit.

Sunfyre was a breathtaking sight.

All dragons were, truthfully. Even growing up among the clutch, even having ridden them, they still astounded her. Sunfyre arched his neck, calling out a warbling greeting and shaking out his wings. She giggled as the beast almost trotted in the way Theraxis did when she called her cat sweet baby. Sunfyre’s purrs and chortles of glee were only matched by Aegon’s sullen quiet melting away as he rushed to close the distance with a loud whoop of greeting.

The dragon’s head bent down to knock into his rider and Aegon’s arms embraced his snout, rare Valyrian words flowing from him. Abby kept her distance until it was safe to come closer, her hands having finished buttoning up her coat and now folded in front of her. A surge of affection coursed through her at the bright sound of Aegon’s laughter, and when he looked at her over his shoulder, arm out to beckon her closer, she did not hesitate.

“Rytsas, Sunfyre,” Abby sang out in greeting and Aegon guided her hand to Sunfyre’s warm snout. It had been months since she’d been there, and her already awkward Valryian felt even more hesitant. “Olvie gevie iksā,” she said in crooning tones pulled sort of purring sound from Sunfyre that sent her giggling. She gently scratched at his scales the way Aegon showed her, right around the curve of his nostril. “I’ve missed you very much,” she said, and pressed a kiss against his nose, the scent of dragon musk filling her senses and the heat of him almost too much. “Thank you for letting me ride you today.” Aegon made a sound beside her, and she scoffed. “He doesn’t have to let me ride him, so of course I should thank him.”

“Do you thank everything that you ride?” he asked, innocence lacing his tone, and Abby glanced over at him in confusion.

“You mean like the horses? Of course I do! It’s called being polite,” she said primly. “You could stand to use your manners more.” Aegon’s lilac eyes flashed with amusement, mouth half curled up as if he was enjoying a joke she wasn’t in on. Abby pressed her lips together as the meaning dawned on her, which turned Aegon’s half curl into an impish grin. “You are utterly ridiculous.”

He tilted his head towards her and his hands moved closer to hers along Sunfyre’s snout, scratching and stroking. “I’m not the one calling Sunfyre a good and beautiful boy and speaking to him like a kitling.”

Abby rolled her eyes, unable to help the smile on her face. “But he is a good boy. And don’t think that just because I don’t speak much Valyrian that I don’t know that you are telling him the same thing. Jealous?” She cocked her head and reached up to stroke her fingers along Aegon’s jaw with a laugh. “Aegon, you’re such a good and beautiful boy. Thank you for taking me riding.” Not that he had given her much choice in the matter, but she didn’t really mind that much.

Aegon’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink to match his eyes and he made a noise in his throat. It was amusing to hear Sunfyre make another purring sound at the same time, a pleased kind of growling noise that Abby could feel vibrating through her. She quite enjoyed making Aegon blush, even if she wasn’t sure what caused it. Aegon’s hand snapped up to catch hers, thumb caressing her palm through her kidskin gloves and pressed her hand firmly back to Sunfyre’s snout.

“Umbagon,” he commanded, and Abby wracked her brain to remember what that meant while Aegon moved back towards Sunfyre’s gleaming saddle and went to work fiddling with the saddlebags.

Abby huffed and leaned in to Sunfyre, murmuring, “He was telling you to stay, not me, right? You know, he was very mean to me the other day.” She pressed closer, resting her cheek against the dragon’s scales as if it were Helaena she was whispering her woes and injustices to. “I know he was scared and upset and it wasn’t really about me, but it still hurt my feelings.” Sunfyre rumbled softly, as if he could truly understand her, and he turned his head to bump into her. She stumbled back but leaned in all the same to keep her balance, for it wasn’t the first time he had done this, and she pressed another kiss to his snout. “It’s okay, I forgive him.”

“Forgive who?” Aegon called as he climbed back down from the saddle. She startled at the fact that he might have heard her. “Māzigon,” he commanded her again, tugging at her hand as soon as she was within reach. “Up you get!” He gripped her waist to help her climb up onto the joint of Sunfyre’s wing. From there, it was a relatively simple feat to grab onto the side handles to boost herself into the saddle and situate herself. It really wasn’t unlike getting on a horse in that sense.

Sunfyre shifted beneath her and Abby grabbed the hand grips in front, her belly sloshing with nerves. Her thighs tensed along the saddle to keep her balance and the sound of buckles drew her gaze down to where Aegon was doing up the leg straps. He’d explained, once, that the reason he did not need them was because he didn’t have to worry about Sunfyre bucking him off. There were a set of leather straps with sturdy iron clasps on the ends to hook along one’s belt to keep from accidentally falling from the saddle.

A new rider would have to be quick, and Aegon and Sunfyre were of one soul it seemed. When Aegon rode Sunfyre it was like an extension of himself. Abby remembered his quiet practice on a spare dragon saddle set up in the stables to see how fast he could get those leg buckles done before his first flight. Like Aegon, Sunfyre was incandescent with joy and had shot off in eager excitement at the prospect of dancing with his rider. Aegon hadn’t even had time to fasten the belt hooks and had his grip not been so tight, he might have fallen. Now Sunfyre was patient enough to stay still (outside of rocking back and forth on his feet like an excited pup) while Aegon tethered Abby in.

‘You,’ he’d told her, with all the confidence of a boy five and ten as he did the straps up the first time. ‘Need to stay on at all costs. You could fall off at any moment.’

‘I’m not the one who tried to ride drunk yesterday,’ she’d countered and he’d nearly yanked her off the saddle and sent her on her way.

Now, Abby busied her hands with hooking herself onto the saddle while Aegon climbed swiftly up beside her. It was as if he simply floated up compared to her awkwardly hoisting and wriggling her way into the saddle. She instinctively shifted forward to make room, and as Aegon slid in behind her, Abby became distinctly aware of how little room there actually was for them both. A soft exhale escaped her. Aegon’s hands rested on her hips to pull her in closer - as if she wasn’t close enough already. Heat suffused her cheeks and she wished that she did not blush so easily. With her hair braided tightly back, there was no hiding behind her curls. In the saddle as they were there was no way to put any proper distance between them.

A part of her did not actually mind it. That part of her was a sleepy thing she was growing aware of, something that had been with her before but now stretched awake inside of her.

Sunfyre made a chirruping kind of sound like he was talking and the vibrations of it thrummed through her. Every shift of movement from the dragon made her aware of how close they were pressed against one another, from the way their legs were pressed together all the way up to how his cheek brushed against hers when he leaned over to tug at her waist straps.

“Good job,” he told her, his breath brushing against her ear. Abby swore her flush deepend and a sense of pride combined with that warm feeling from the closeness. “Ready?” Aegon leaned over, pressing her forward as he wrapped his black gloved fingers right over her own, still covered in verdant leather and resting on the handles.

Her belly swooped, from Sunfyre’s shifting or the way Aegon blanketed her was yet another mystery. “Can you ask him to go fast?” She asked softly as the dragon keepers backed away, Sunfyre’s wings spreading and flexing, his head turning to and fro to test the wind along his face. Aegon chuckled and his nose briefly nuzzled against her ear.

Abby was now certain of how crimson her face had gone.

“Ask him nicely,” he said, mouth close to her ear and she shivered instinctively. Amusement filled his voice and the dragon made his own warbling sound, as if he too knew what was going on.

Abby huffed, searching her mind for all the Valyrian she knew, and then decided it didn’t really matter. “Dear Sunfyre, would you pretty please fly fast the way I like? It would make me very happy if you did, because Aegon was mean to me the other day for no reason.”

Aegon made an indignant sound, and Sunfyre lifted his head, arching his golden, gleaming neck to let out a call toward the sky, wings extending before he started forward and took off.

Aegon whooped with glee and Abby screamed in fearful delight as Sunfyre left the ground, wings beating and steeply vertical. Her stomach could not make up its mind if it wanted to remain on the ground or up in the sky with her. Held steady by Aegon’s grip, Abby released the tension in her arms, letting his weight press into her and not fighting it. the pair leaning forward as one did a horse going uphill; the fastest, deadliest horse imaginable.

Aegon’s hollering and shouts of joy caught on the wind, and as the cold tore tears from her eyes, she grinned at the way his head was thrown back, joyously calling in time with Sunfyre. It was so different from the anger and fear that had coalesced inside him for the past fortnight. Never did Aegon look happier and freer than he did on dragonback.

“What?” he asked her after Sunfyre evened out, higher than the tallest towers of the Red Keep they lazily circled around, and Abby realized she was still watching him. Her face was warm, eyes red from the tears, but she could feel her smile breaking across her face and Aegon laughed. “What is it?” he asked, reaching up a gloved hand to brush her tears away, his own forgotten about.

She crinkled her nose, feeling shy with her encouragement and the feeling of being pressed so close to him. Aegon's eyes were bright, a half smile tugging on the corner of his mouth and dimpling his cheek.

“It’s just good to see you happy. You’ve been… very much not lately,” she said, and shifted against him, hips wiggling to find a different position.

Aegon shifted in turn, his hand falling from her cheek to grip her hip to still her. “Are you going to tattle about that too?” He didn’t sound angry or put out, his voice more an amused resignation.

“No,” she promised, sincere and mischievous all at once. “Just to the one who truly matters.” Abby leaned forward to scratch at Sunfyre’s neck just past the saddle horn.

“I’m going to wake up one morning to find you his new rider, and I’ll be the one needing to be buckled in.” His mock annoyance made her giggle. Aegon’s hand moved drag around her waist and haul her back and she settled with a soft sound. Not that she would complain much - even bundled up, it was chilly up here, and Aegon’s warmth could be felt through the layers between them.

“Stay,” he commanded again and she huffed. Sunfyre chittered and Valyrian flowed past Aegon’s lips, against her ear, and she couldn’t quite catch all that he said with how quickly it came. Sunfyre gave another chitter and she was given the distinct feeling that the pair were talking about her, no matter how foolish the idea might sound.

“I’m staying, I’m staying.” She almost teased him about needing a cuddle, but physical affection was never something she joked about amidst the clutch. Not when it was already so rarely given by their mother, and never from their father, or Uncle Otto. Abby would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it, being tucked up against him. She could smell the scent of lavender and mint on his skin, the leather of his jacket and the smell of rain that clung to them both from the clouds. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying being cuddled into his arms, for she no longer received that kind of affection either. Always giving. Never receiving.

Except now, as Aegon held her to him like she might slip from the saddle if he didn’t.

It was comforting and familiar; even with being leagues in the sky, the warmth and scent of Aegon around her, and Sunfyre beneath her, made her feel safer than with both feet on the ground. Nothing could harm her up here. Nothing could steal her away from the people she loved and cared for. Aegon wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not when he took such care to make sure she stayed in the saddle. His arm tightened around her waist, head resting against hers while Sunfyre lazed about the sky like a seagull or a hawk, letting the currents carry them southeast and away from the city.

Time lost all meaning up in the sky with just the three of them. Abby leaned further back into Aegon, her head tilted back on his shoulder, and closed her eyes to let the sun kiss her cheeks, now growing chilled from the height.

“Where are we going?” she asked, feeling dreamy and so vibrantly awake all at the same time. She lifted her arms out as Sunfyre dipped, laughter bursting from her when her stomach swooped up to her throat at the sudden descent. Aegon’s laughter joined her, and he grasped her hands to get them back on the saddle horn. It was a lazy, gentle descent all things considered, but Sunfyre was playful in how he rose and fell in an ever tightening circle.

The Kingswood lay before them and eventually the dragon settled on the ground. It was a gentle landing, but it still rocked the pair of them. Aegon slid down first to release her leg straps and Abby took the time to unhook herself and let the nauseous feeling settle lest she vomit all over the poor dragon. It was always like that when coming back down for a ride. Once the nerves settled and the ground became a truth once more, everything wanted to come barrelling up. Abby carefully swung her leg over and made her way back down the same way she’d climbed up. Aegon’s arms enveloped her when she jumped from Sunfyre’s wing joint and she pressed her face against his shoulder as he gently swung her around and down.

“How’re your legs?” he asked, tugging at the tie that held his hair back from his face. Moonlit curls fell into his eyes, obscuring them somewhat and she nodded, reaching up to push his hair from his face.

“Good, just a little queasy is all.” Aegon nodded and lifted his fingers to his mouth, tugging his gloves off with his teeth and headed back to the saddle to retrieve whatever he’d stored in the bags. Abby licked at her lower lip, tilting her head to watch how his arms flexed when he climbed up. His jacket was a little too tight for him in the shoulders, and she could practically hear the creak of leather as he dug around the saddle bag to pull another satchel out.

They were betrothed.

He was going to drape her in the cloak of his house and kiss her in the sept.

Abby inhaled and pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks, as if that alone could stop the blushing. It wasn’t like she’d never kissed Aegon before. She’d kissed him on the cheek plenty of times. He’d even kissed her on the mouth, once, as children in the godswood, until they were caught by Septa Lyserra, who’d yanked her away and slapped her soundly for being wanton, for playing games they had no understanding of; how shameful it was when she was the princess’ companion.

She thought about the Queen’s disapproval, the look that she was leveled with, and the guilt when she slapped Aegon and then grabbed her and shook her until her teeth rattled in her head.

Aegon tossed his hair back from his eyes, the silver glinting gold in the afternoon light and hopped down in a smooth, practiced motion that had Abby’s eyes flitting down to the way his thighs flexed to absorb the impact.

“What is it?” He asked with a confused laugh when he caught sight of her, and she shook her head, wisps of hair that the flight had pulled from her braid catching about her cheeks.

“Nothing! Just worried when you jump down, that’s all.” She cleared her throat and gave him a smile, bringing her hands down from her face. “What do you have?”

“Lunch,” he said with a self-satisfied look. “I wanted to… ah.” He jostled the bag in his hands as he approached, a flash of uncertainty on his features while he tried to find whatever words currently escaped him. Sunfyre made a soft, purring sound behind them, moving further into the sunlit glen they’d landed in and contenting himself like a cat in the sun and flowers.

There was an urge to cut in, to smooth away the awkwardness that enveloped Aegon in the moment, but despite admiring the way his throat arched when he turned his head to avoid eye contact, she was still sore about the garden. It was frustratingly easy to forgive Aegon for all that he did, because there was no one else to do it. Truthfully, she did not mind it, for someone needed to be on his side; someone in Aegon’s life that did not feel the need to judge him, or condemn him, or hurt him.

Yet, Aegon had hurt her. Even if he hadn’t meant it. And though if he never really apologized for the hurtful things he did, he wasn’t the only one. Aemond and Helaena didn’t apologize either. Abby supposed it was something about being royal, and being a Targaryen.

The words tore at her throat, begging to be released. “It’s alright, Aegon, there’s nothing be sorry for.”

Abby pressed her mouth shut.

Aegon swiped another hand through his hair, then reached out for her gloved hand. But didn’t take it, not yet. She looked at it while her own fingers were folded demurely in front of her. His fingers twitched and she didn’t know if by not meeting his eyes, she was making it easier for him, or protecting herself.

Both, perhaps.

His fingers flexed in the air as if he could grasp her fingers by intent alone and he curled them into a fist, drawing back and letting out a long sigh.

“I didn’t think you were upset anymore,” he said with only a slightly sullen tone.

“Well, sometimes you don’t always think,” she replied and finally raised her eyes to peer at him and his taken aback expression. Aegon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish and she was tempted to laugh at the expression had the moment not been what it was.

“You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?” Sullen tones were replaced with a peevishness that was more suited to Aemond than Aegon, and that got a soft snort of amusement from her. She found she rather liked this change of not immediately comforting him and reassuring him that all was well and good between them. The Queen’s words still clung about her like a sticky film, and there was the lingering adrenaline from daring to speak her mind - carefully as she could - that made Abby think that maybe she enjoyed feeling this way. She tilted her head, chin up, and met Aegon’s gaze with her own calm and expectant expression.

Aegon arched a brow at her in return, curiosity lit in his lilac gaze, and Abby did everything she could to ignore the way her belly did the swooping thing it did while they rode Sunfyre. There was a streak of pink across his nose and the tops of his cheeks and it made his pale dusting of freckles stand out, as well as along his hairline from the bright sun. He didn’t burn as easily as Helaena or herself did.

“I wasn’t looking to hurt you that morning,” he finally said with a sigh and he shifted the picnic bag in front of him. “You were doing that thing with your smile that drives me mad and I needed to get you out of there.”

“What?” Confusion overtook the distraction of his freckles and she felt herself at a loss for words. “What on earth did I do? Does my smile upset you so much that you seek to deride me for it?”

“No! That’s not what I meant.” He took a step forward, his hand lifting and it hung there between them. “You do this thing where you’re upset and you just keep smiling and acting like everything is alright.”

Abby had no words, and it was her turn for her mouth to open and close like a guppy. Flustered and confused and not at all sure how she was even meant to respond to it. “But isn’t it alright?” she asked. Her voice had gone high pitched with her confusion. “We know each other! We do like each other, Aegon! There are worse situations for us to be in!”

“I know that! I just-”

“You could be married to Helaena! Then Aemond would have to become a kinslayer because he’d lose his mind!” She continued, ignoring him. She didn’t know why, and really, she was supposed to be giving Aegon room to apologize, but the idea that her smile upset him so much? It confused her. It irritated her. “I don’t want to go to Faircastle only to be attacked by a Greyjoy fleet and made into some thrall or salt wife, let alone be any closer to my sister! She despises me!” Of that, she was most certain of. “Or be married to Lord Tully’s grandson who's old enough to be my father!”

Aegon took a step forward and hooked his fingers in the black belt of her jacket. The smell of his soap, that soothing lavender and mint, and the scent of dragon filled her and she found herself momentarily helpless to deny him and bat his hand away.

“You wouldn’t be a salt wife,” he said in a still, quiet tone that she hadn’t heard before and it threw her, leaving her softly stuttering. His eyes were downcast, focused on the way his fingers held onto her. “Sunfyre and I would come and rescue you.”

Even at her indignation, even as his tone dipped in that low way, Abby couldn’t help the way her mouth twitched, amusement threatening, and something she tried to force away. The desire to ease the dragon claws that had descended, to soothe the sullen expression, was as instinctive to her as breathing.

“Four days at least to get a raven to King’s Landing. I’d be on a rocky outcrop in the Iron Islands by then,” she said in a gentler tone.

There was a soft creak of leather when Aegon’s fingers tightened around her belt and he sharply tugged her closer. Abby stiffened immediately, her heart kicking up and something knotting tight and low in her belly. They were close now, not as close as they were before, but this felt different and she tilted her head back to look at him. He watched her, eyes searching her face.

“You keep doing that,” she whispered.

“Doing what?” The low tone hadn’t changed and she felt the flush of her skin deepen as if she were pressed against Sunfyre’s scales.

“Looking at me for some answer. I don’t know what you’re asking of me, Aegon.” She swallowed, tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her mouth felt dry, and the forest around them felt muffled, and it seemed like the only thing she could hear was Aegon’s breathing.

He didn’t answer immediately, but she could see how his eyes were darting over every inch of her face - every freckle, every flushed bloom across her cheeks, the way the wind had chapped at the tip of her nose.

“Do you hate this?” he finally asked. “Do you really want to be- ,” Aegon stopped then, his own tongue licking along his mouth, and she could see how his lower lip trembled, and Abby’s heart was pulsing in her throat, blood rushing through her ears. “You don’t hate me for this? For upsetting you?”

There was a painful ache in her chest. He sounded so lost, so confused. She felt a nagging feeling that he was trying to manipulate her, but she couldn’t ignore the genuine pain in his voice, for she knew it as well as she knew her own.

“Just because you upset me doesn’t mean that erases everything between us. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, Aegon.”

She swore that she heard him purr like Sunfyre when she said his name.

“You were terrified in there, and your smile was so convincing.” The quiet stillness remained, and he looked away from her eyes despite being the one to close the distance between them.

Abby blinked as the air left her lungs to join the observation that hung in the little space left between them. She couldn’t discern if it was because she hadn’t realized that was what she had been doing, or that he’d noticed at all.

Slowly, she reached into the minimal space between them to tug off her own gloves, and rested her hand along the back of his that held her belt hostage. The warmth of his fingers felt like a balm against the coolness of her own, but she focused on stroking his hand in reassurance, allowing the movement to soothe the confusion inside of her.

“So were you. That was a brave thing you did, standing up to Lord Otto and leaving… bringing me with you. I couldn’t have done it.” Even if it had ended in dismissive laughter and harsh words. She reached for his hand to deflect the attention from him. Maybe it was more than Aegon deserved, but that was who she was. Aegon’s gaze snapped to hers, then caught on her mouth. Abby was relieved; she didn’t think she could stand it if he met her eyes because she didn’t know what she might do.

“So you were upset with me, but now you’re not upset with me, and you don’t hate me,” he said, but the stillness had given way to something different. His voice had taken a deeper tone that made the knot low in her belly tighten further. “Don’t toy with me, Abby.”

Unlike everything else, his warning was unmistakable.

Abby was undeterred. “It doesn’t mean I’m not still upset, and that I’m not still hurt,” she said softly, still standing her ground on that. “But none of that changes how I care about you. I’ve always cared about you, you ridiculous boy, and I always will. I don’t know how to not do that, even against my own better judgment sometimes.”

He had grown taller than her now, the top of her head reaching his shoulder. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him and all she could do was watch him. Even when she caught him drifting closer, she didn’t move away. Aegon knocked his head into hers, rubbing a cheek fuzzy with stubble against her own; it reminded her of the way Theraxis would purr and rub his soft face against hers. A shiver of relief washed through her. She inhaled sharply and held it in before shutting her eyes and leaning her head against his. His hair tickled at her nose, and when she concentrated hard enough, she was certain she could hear his heartbeat echoing into her chest. His face pressed against her shoulder and Abby lifted her arms to wrap around his shoulders and hold him close.

The picnic bag protested at being squashed between them.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against her jacket.

She made an annoyed and put upon sound, breath fluttering at his hair with the action. “Thank you, I accept your apology.”

The knots and swooping feeling in her belly felt heady at the closeness and she pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Aegon made a sound at that. His hand still gripped her belt, the other she felt brush against her hip before dropping limply to his side and Abby found how much she liked feeling Aegon pressed against her. He was so warm, and it made her feel dizzy and they were going to have a bedding ceremony and a wedding night-

“So you brought me out here for a picnic!” Her voice was too loud to her ears and Aegon startled, eyes blinking rapidly and his face flushed as red as her own. He stumbled back and she reached for the bag to take from him but he held tight to it. “Well? I’ll set things out. You rode us out here-”

“I’ve got it!” His cheeks were flushed and he held the bag to him like some sort of shield. Abby opened her mouth to say something else but Aegon was already traipsing through the high grass of the glen towards the tree line and into the cool shadows of the Kingswood. She followed, hopping through the grass to keep up and looked back over her shoulder. Sunfyre was rolling around on his back and scratching at the ground, breathing flame on it carefully for whatever nest he was making himself to laze about in.

“Where are we going?” she called after him. The birds had begun chirping once more now that the great predator in the glen no longer posed an immediate threat. She had not been out here for some time. The king was growing ever sicker and the last hunt held had been a year or more before he’d lost the remainder of his arm. While she enjoyed horseback riding, one did not have many riding companions when said companions were dragonriders. In fairness, she supposed a galloping horse was far more sedate than soaring through the clouds.

Abby caught up to Aegon and slipped her hand into his, natural as breathing. His fingers curled reflexively around hers and she hummed in contentment when she felt his fingers tap against her.

It’s okay, the tapping signal said, and she returned it. I’m okay too.

“I was thinking we could sit by the lake,” he said with a sideways glance.

She laughed. “Are you going to push me in again? I didn’t bring a change of clothes.” A smirk crossed Aegon’s face, and the mischievous gleam flickered back in his eyes. “Neither did you - I believe I pulled you in with me last time.”

“No, we most certainly did not bring any change of clothes…”

“And we can’t fly back drenched, we’ll catch our death,” she hummed. “I guess that means we’ll have to stay out here.”

Aegon chuckled and shook his head. “I can’t imagine the fort is still up. You’ll have to make us a new one.”

“Me? Why me!” She shoved at his arm gently in indignation.

“Because I’m the prince.” Nose tilted up, amusement gentling the haughty expression on his face.

Abby rolled her eyes. “Yes, but I’ll be a princess, and it’s only right that you do it then. Provide shelter for your princess to keep her warm during the night.” She bit her lip as her words hung in the air and she felt Aegon’s gaze drift over to her again. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand and her teeth pressed down harder as if she might hide the shy smile that threatened.

“Aye, you will…” Aegon trailed off in agreement. A large log lay in the path and without hesitation, Aegon released her hand and grabbed her up by the waist to hoist her up and handed her the satchel before pulling himself up. She reached to help him and they did the same getting down.

“Thank you,” she said softly, smiling at him for his kindness when her feet touched the ground and her belly swooped again. The feel of his hands around her waist felt impossibly hot. It didn’t feel like she should feel the heat of him through the layers and she tried to tell herself that it was because Aegon always ran hot.

Yes, it was simply that and not the closeness. Not the way he gripped her with ease and the creak of leather as his upper arms flexed beneath the fabric. “I suppose Sunfyre can help keep things warm. You know, since our clothes will be too wet and the nights get cold,” he continued as if he was completely unaffected by the moment.

Perhaps he was.

“If our clothes are too wet, we’ll have nothing to wear,” she continued and took his hand again. The sound of the water birds was growing closer and she could glean the sapphire shimmer of the lake just up ahead. “I’ll have to figure out how to make our clothes out of leaves or something.”

“You know,” he drawled softly, inclining his head to hers like a secret and she tilted her own towards him. “We could just wait it out. No need for extra effort that could be spent doing something else.”

Abby’s mouth parted, words failing her. “What, you’d hunt for our supper naked?”

“Who said anything about hunting?” Aegon said innocently.

Abby thought about the tapestries that had been moved to the gallery hall, that Septa Lyserra’s scoldings had forbidden her and Helaena from observing and yet, the pair of them had done so anyway with stolen muffins in the middle of the night once.

“Well, I…” Words stuttered over her tongue but she thought it was to her great credit that she met his gaze.

“Oh! We’re here! Give me that!” Aegon interrupted, and yanked the satchel off over her head, not even apologizing when he caught the buckle on her hair, and hurried through the last row of bushes to set up whatever picnic surprise he had planned.

The lake, although Abby wanted to call it a pond, for when she thought of lakes, she thought of the endless vast reach of the God’s Eye, and everything but the ocean paled in comparison, was calm that day, with only the gentlest of waves along its glittering surface. Birds called and chased one another across the expanse of it and she sighed happily, undoing the buttons on her borrowed jacket, leaving her in the soft linen of her short sleeve shirt and her wool and leather-reinforced riding pants. It felt a bit odd to be in trousers, picnicking, but she didn’t hate it. It certainly made traipsing through the forest easier. Settling on the soft blanket spread out for them, she picked up one of the meat pies Aegon had packed. It was only barely warm, but just enough that it made for a pleasant meal.

The pair of them ate in companionable silence, looking out at the lake and pointing out the various birds and other animals they caught sight of. They sat close enough she could feel the heat of him, but just enough room that they did not bump one another. Eventually, Aegon stripped himself of his own jacket, tugging at the laces of his own unbleached linen shirt and getting comfortable. His hair fell in a gentle curl into his eyes, his features relaxed, and something that looked like contentment softened the square cut of his jaw. It was always clenched whenever she saw him in recent months, and for the first time she could truly appreciate how relaxed he looked.

She thought about the things the queen had said to her. She thought about how cruelly she’d painted Aegon, as if there was nothing about him that was endearing. Yet, the warmth in her chest settled into a comforting sort of glow. He drank, and went to brothels, he got handsy with the servants… things that Abby didn’t ignore and didn’t like. He made her laugh, which she did like. He brought her on surprise picnics and told her he was sorry and not only did he bring his favorite honey cakes, but he’d also packed her favorite strawberry tarts.

Abby wiped her hands on her trousers and took a sip of water from the skein. “No wine?” she teased and Aegon scoffed, pulling out the tart apple cider in its sweating brown bottle.

“I’m supposed to ‘dry out’,” he sniffed, and gripped the cork with his teeth to open it, spitting it out towards the water’s edge and let out a victory shout at the soft ‘plop!’ it made upon landing in the water “Too much drink and I’m liable to hurt someone.” He vaguely gestured to his face, and Abby made a soft ‘ah’ sound.

“Hey!” Aegon did not remove his lips from the bottle as he took greedy gulps, but he glanced her way. “Don’t drink all of it! I want some too!” His eyes widened and he sputtered and hurriedly tried to stop, wiping away the rivulets of cider coursing down his chin.

Abby burst into laughter when Aegon stopped gulping in an attempt to behave himself. She might have felt sorry for it if they hadn't known one another so well. She couldn't explain why it was so funny except that he'd looked so sheepish about it, as if she'd caught him trying to steal a sweet off her plate.

The surge of affection she felt for him was enough to make her blush and she ducked further into the basket to hide it from him as she giggled. She wondered if this was how Sunfyre felt before his throat glowed and he burst a stream of golden fire at whatever lovely treat Aegon brought for him. It made Abby want to push him to the ground and pepper kisses all over his cheeks. Perhaps then the sadness in his eyes could be chased away. What hubris she had, to think she could be sunlight for the falling star that was Aegon: brilliant and beautiful, streaking across the sky; burning incandescently towards whatever end was meant for him, and there she stood, her hands up, waiting to catch him.

"I shall tell you a secret," she said as she retrieved the honey cakes from the basket. Delicate fingers broke off a morsel and she lifted it to his mouth and popped it past his plush lips to feed him. A greedy touch that lingered only for a moment before she licked the honey and sought the remnants of his taste on her fingertips.

Aegon was watching her, cheeks puffed somewhat from the cake she’d pressed into his mouth, the sun turning the lilac of his eyes pink. He was terribly still and she cleared her throat, and kept going.

“I’d hoped that maybe, um… it’s terribly silly. I stole honey cakes from the kitchen the other day, thinking that maybe you’d find out that I had them. That they’d… they’d call you to me or something.” Abby broke off another morsel to feed him.

Aegon’s mouth opened automatically, her fingers catching on his lower lip. His eyes had gone heavy lidded, watching her in the way that sent fire scorching through her veins and a heated, syrupy sensation curled low inside of her.

She watched him in return, counting his freckles, pale as dusted sugar across his nose. It was intimate. She shouldn't be doing it, but she felt drunk and alive in his presence and so Abby didn't care. "I've missed you these past few months. It's like everything loses a bit of color when you're not around." The second bit was quieter - the true secret. Her face warmed and was flushing as dark as her hair so she popped a piece of Aegon's honey cake in her mouth to shut up.

Abby stilled when she felt Aegon’s calloused palm gently wrap around her bare arm. Breath caught in her throat when his thumb caressed gently - so achingly gentle - over the yellowing bruises of his fingers from the other day in the garden.

“I’m sorry for these,” Aegon whispered, and she could feel the warm, damp puff of his breath against her skin and she immediately burst into goosebumps. The shiver that raced down her spine could not be denied. Something tightened in her stomach.

Words escaped her before she could even think. The ache was growing inside of her faster than it had before. “You could kiss them better.” She swallowed harshly, eyes affixed on some sort of middle distance towards the water’s edge, when she felt the gentle caress of his mouth against one of the tender spots. Abby couldn’t breathe. Heat spread from the top of her strawberry curled hair to the tips of her toes and her mouth had gone dry, the honey cake in her hand all but forgotten. She turned to look at the top of his head while he kissed her only to find those lilac eyes gazing up at her from beneath his eyelashes.

The flash of the soft pink of his tongue, the feel of it as he carefully traced the thumb print on her skin.

“I’d rather leave these kinds of marks on you,” he teased, voice so low that she swore it vibrated through her.

“I’d rather you did too,” she replied, and her mouth was dry, and his mouth had felt so soft. Aegon’s head lifted, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “You could, if it pleased you.”

His other hand came up and took the tip of her chin between forefinger and thumb, tilting her head down more. “It would please me to please you,” he said in a faraway sort of voice and his gaze was arresting and she felt an ache in her breasts, the desire to press against him. His thumb moved up the little dip in her chin and pressed against her bottom lip. Instinctively, her lips parted only just to press her tongue against the tip.

Aegon’s eyes were black, the lilac only a thin rim of color, and she watched his own tongue darted out to wet his lips.

It was unclear who closed the distance first. Perhaps it was both of them at the same time. But one moment, Abby was drowning in his heavy lidded gaze, the next, their mouths were brushing against one another. Aegon’s tongue teased along the curve of her cupid’s bow, and she made a sound she had no idea she was capable of when she pressed her mouth to his.

Her toes curled in her boots and Abby did not know where to put her hands. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to bury them in his soft curls, or to cup his cheeks, or wrap her arms around his neck and haul him closer, haul herself into him.

Aegon’s lips were unbearably soft - she never thought his lips could feel so soft, but they didn’t yield to hers. Another soft sound - maybe an attempt at his name, Abby wasn’t sure - escaped her and was eagerly swallowed by him. He shifted against her and while he kept control of the tilt of her head, guiding her into the kiss, his other hand came up to tenderly cradle her head. His tongue licked along the seam of her mouth once more, unyielding to her touch and she gave way to him, lost in the taste and touch of Aegon. Following his lead, her fingers buried themselves into his hair with an eagerness to keep him close and she felt something rumble through him and in turn, it drew something more desperate sounding from her.

She felt dizzy with it all, the floating sensation pleasant, the aching buzz through her veins, exciting.

Aegon licked against her tongue, her teeth, the soft insides of her cheeks, guiding her through his gentle exploration before he broke away. Pink blossomed over his soft cheeks, his eyes still heavy lidded and unfocused as they darted over her face, her parted mouth, down the flushed column of her throat and resting along the slight opening of the loosened shirt laces. Words were a complete loss. Aegon made no move to say anything either.

His mouth was red and plush. Her own tingled.

The birds called across the water.

Abby wanted to close her eyes and lean into his taste again and find out what other sounds she could pull from him. The other part of her wanted to lean in, to see if she could melt inside of him and never come out. To feel him against her like a warm, soft star.

Fingers slowly drifted away from his hair and he made a mournful sound that reminded her so much of Sunfyre. She found herself smiling and Abby leaned in, mouth caressing the flushed curve of his cheek. His arms came around her then, gently guiding her forward as he lay back and she nestled against his chest, head resting over the pounding beating of his heart.

A long, relieved sigh escaped her, a dreamy sort of giggle filtering though and she felt his own answering laughter beneath her cheek.

[Chapter Seven]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon x abby #hotd fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd oc #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic

19 notes · View notes

jimin-updates · 3 months ago

Text

Spotify Updates: 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Who left the top five on Spotify Global!

A look at the global charts:

Thankfully a huge increase from the USA saved who from a further free fall:

Jimin remains at the top of all charts in South Korea, despite new releases:

In addition to causing a fall on next week’s Billboard charts, today’s streams make our goal for Jimin

to have the fastest k-pop song to one billion streams and

to have Jimin be the first k-soloist with two albums with 100 streams

Just that much more difficult.

Jimin deserves these accolades. He worked incredibly hard last year to gift us a perfect album, let’s show him how much we appreciate his gift!

#jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #spotify #spotify streaming #who by jimin #spotify south korea #Spotify USA #Spotify

8 notes · View notes

whisker-biscuit · 9 months ago

Text

The Lines We Cross: Epilogue

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

Living on.

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

“…States it has the resources to remove the body, questions still revolve around what would be done with it afterwards. Several countries have attempted to lay claim to the remains; the president of Egypt recently announced that ancient documents have been found tracing Clockwerk’s heritage back to them, although these documents have not been presented publicly. Meanwhile, negotiations with the Russian government for complete access to Krakarov has remained a constant barrier to Interpol’s ongoing investigation into the former crime leader’s activities…”

A single click of a button ended the news broadcast and turned off the TV, leaving the room in sudden silence. Inspector Fox tossed the remote on her desk with a sigh.

It had been two months since that night in the volcano. Two months since Interpol had showed up expecting a rescue and instead found their lost inspector waiting patiently by the corpse of the leader of the Fiendish Five. Two months since she had returned to Paris HQ as a hero, with superiors praising her and coworkers clamoring to work with her and Barkley expressing an emotion other than anger or stress every time he saw her. Two months of clearing loose ends and working through red tape and finalizing paperwork in order to close out a decades-long case so she could finally move to a new one.

Two months since Sly Cooper.

Every morning, the fox woke up before the sun rose and got ready for work in the same efficient routine that she’d kept for the entire time she’d been on the force. Since Krakarov, however, there had been a single change to this routine that she now did before anything else. Each and every morning, the moment she had opened her eyes, she now grabbed her phone and checked its messages instead of waiting until she was already out the door.

Each and every morning, the one number she hoped to see but never dared contact remained distant.

Today, however, was different. Because although there was no message or call or anything other than radio silence from the person she was waiting for, there was something big waiting for her at work.

Jing King had been declared innocent, and today she was finally to be released from custody.

Carmelita hadn’t seen much of the panda since Kunlun. She had been called in to testify at one of her many trials, where she had stated the facts as she’d witnessed them – that Jing had helped her find the Panda King and that she hadn’t found any evidence of her participating in her father’s crimes – without so much as glancing the girl’s way. As much as she wanted to plead for Jing’s sake, it wouldn’t have made sense for her to do so; as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Inspector Fox and Jing King were strangers with absolutely nothing connecting them.

And so, the fox had kept her nose out of it on a professional level and tuned into updates on it on every other level. Today, all she could think about was that girl and the long, private conversation they’d had. Holing herself up in her office under the pretense of getting work done until the designated time for Jing’s release was the only thing her distracted thoughts could manage.

At 3:58 PM right on the dot, she finally came out of isolation and followed a group of coworkers who were also heading out to watch the procession. Normally, such an occurrence didn’t draw much attention, but the Panda King’s daughter and her supposed innocence had been the main subject of gossip for weeks. At the very least, the crowd of curious, wary officers waiting and watching for Jing’s release provided a good enough excuse for Inspector Fox to be there too.

As people milled about in the lobby and pretended to be doing anything except loitering, Carmelita found herself left alone in HQ’s public space for the first time since her triumphant return. She was grateful for the little time she had before someone inevitably approached her, as they always did nowadays.

Which happened, as expected – but by someone very surprising.

“It’s been remarkably difficult to catch you alone lately, my dear. You seem to have quite the reputation now.”

The Contessa’s calm, rich voice filtered in from her left side. The fox turned to look at her in surprise.

“Contessa! How long have you been in Paris? I hadn’t heard anything about you visiting us here.”

“I just arrived this morning. Impeccable timing for such a popular event, it seems.” Her dark red eyes drifted slowly yet sharply across the large scattering of people in the room. “What happens to be the occasion for so many officers to be shirking their duties this afternoon?”

“Jing King is being released today. She’s –”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of her. It’s a pity she’s being let out of custody so prematurely; I would have expected a more thorough investigation for someone so closely tied to a member of the Fiendish Five.” The spider finally glanced her way, expression unreadable. “What do you think?”

“It’s not up to me.”

“No, but surely it stings at least a little bit. For them to dismiss your hard work in bringing all these criminals to justice with such a hasty declaration of innocence.”

A lifetime ago, Carmelita would have wholeheartedly agreed with more than a little righteous frustration. Now, instead, she simply shook her head and hoped her grimace would be taken at face value.

“I made my testimony, and the judges made their decision. It’s not my place to question that. If they say she’s innocent, then she’s innocent.”

“Hm...” The Contessa looked back out towards the rest of the lobby. “Barkley was right – you have changed since this case.”

Before the inspector could ask what she meant by that, a hush fell over the room as one of the elevators touched down, and a group of armed guards stepped through its open doors with a familiar panda between them. Jing King looked exhausted, but she kept her head high and her stride purposeful despite the many eyes on her. She did not even glance Carmelita’s way as her procession passed by.

She just kept walking, silent and stoic and the spitting image of her notorious father, until they were out the door and out of the building entirely.

Immediately, everyone began whispering among themselves about the sight. Some were angry at Jing’s declared innocence, as the Contessa had expected Inspector Fox to be. Others sounded disappointed in the girl’s lack of reaction to her onlookers, with snide comments about how long her façade would last against the paparazzi waiting outside. A rare few expressed sympathy, drowned out by their more worked-up associates.

Carmelita didn’t contribute to any of these conversations. She stared at the front doors, chewing her lip and wondering how conspicuous it would look to head out after them. Questions burned in her mind – how Jing was holding up; what she was going to do now that everything she knew had changed; if she had somehow been in contact with her surrogate brother despite the constant monitoring.

If she knew where he was. If she knew whether he was okay.

Beside her, the Contessa was also watching the doors. She let out a quiet, indecipherable hum, and said something under her breath.

“I wonder how much she knows about him.”

It was nearly inaudible; the fox only picked it up after so much time with a partner whose natural speaking voice was often just shy of a whisper. She turned to her superior with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing, my dear. Just pondering out loud.” The spider patted her shoulder in an almost maternal gesture, then began to walk away. “It was lovely to see you, as always. I look forward to what other great feats you achieve in the future.”

Within seconds she was gone, and Carmelita was left wondering what she’d just missed.

The rest of the day passed without incident. She went home, thinking about Jing King and her father and the rest of the Fiendish Five until she couldn’t any longer, then fell into an uneasy sleep over worries she couldn’t name. When she woke up the next morning, the inspector diligently checked her phone, hoping that Jing’s release would be a catalyst for…something. Anything. Coming up blank was a sharp pang of disappointment.

So she went back to work, and then came home, and went and came and went and came, and never stopped waiting for a message that she was beginning to think might never arrive.

Until a week later when a buzz from her nightstand woke her up in the middle of the night. The fox groggily reached for her phone, angrily squinting at the name of whomever had dared wake her up. All anger fled immediately at the sight of a familiar nickname staring back.

It wasn’t so much of a proper text as it was an invitation – a single address and nothing else. But that was all that was needed for her to fly out of bed and start making travel plans.

Within a few short days, armed with an obscene amount of paid vacation time and an unassuming camera SD card clutched tightly in one hand, Carmelita stared up at the blocky, faded lettering of a tiny store in Nebraska. The chime of the bell over the doorframe was a welcome one as she stepped inside, as were the two employees sitting behind the desk.

“Inspector Fox!” Bentley exclaimed, nearly falling off his chair at the sight of her. There was a solid sheen of sweat across his forehead despite the cool interior. “What are you – I mean, uh, how c-can I help you today?”

Beside him, Murray stared at the fox with wide eyes and his mouth agape. Words seemed to be failing him the longer they looked at each other; his smaller coworker was not faring much better.

“It’s such a surprise to see you – I mean, n-not that it’s not great, too! Just! It’s just a surprise, is all I mean, um –”

“It’s okay, guys. I called her here.”

All three gazes snapped towards the back doorway, where a familiar masked face stepped through with a set of boxes in his hands. He wore the same uniformed shirt as the other two did, albeit with a certain blue and gold hoodie tied around his waist. Piercing brown eyes that were no longer quite so tired met the inspector’s own.

He gave her a tentative, genuine smile.

“Hey, Carmelita.”

Carmelita couldn’t help but laugh as she smiled back.

“Hey there, Ringtail.”

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

A/N: We did it. I almost can't believe it. Over a year and a half of planning, writing, and agonizing over this thing that started as a throwaway what-if scene written on a whim. Mags, if you're reading this, it's all your fault <3

Before anyone asks: no, I don't have any plans to cover the other games in this AU. If I ever do, it will be a LONG time from now because this took a lot out of me and I want to do some smaller, more manageable projects first. I'm not done with TLWC by a long-shot, though, as I still plan to finish the prequel fic and will no doubt add some one-shots as inspiration hits.

Thank you all for sticking with me and my story through all the highs, lows, and unexpected hiatuses. I'm not exaggerating when I say I never expected a response like this from so many people. Special thanks to @saikonohero and @brainsforbreakfastt for their incredible fanart and fanfic. I will legitimately treasure them forever.

That's it from me, folks. Hope you all have a good one!

#sly cooper #carmelita fox #fanfiction #the lines we cross

13 notes · View notes

kill-the-feels · 1 year ago

Text

the most dangerous thing is to love ~ ch. IV

a/n: hey besties!! it's been a hot minute since i've been on here and even longer since i updated this, but i come bearing a fun chapter so i hope you'll forgive me! i've also got the next four or five chapters plotted out, so the next few updates should be quicker in coming! thanks to everyone who's waited and loved it so far! <3 (previous part) (master list)

warnings: language, lots of snark, references to past injuries, slight horror vibe at the end

word count: ~4.9k

You crouch behind Fett as he lays flat against the edge of the cliff, eyes squinting in the blistering sunlight.

The crystal water all around you shimmers in the distance, the dark forest and cave system between you and the shore.

“I don’t see anything,” he says. You creep up beside him, mirroring his pose, lest you fall over the side.

This is the highest point on the island, a rocky hill that left the both of you winded on the climb up.

“Nothing?” you repeat. He gives you a wicked side-eye, the kind that gives a blaster bolt a run for its money, irritation at your questioning evident.

“Nothing. You’re positive it was bones you found?” You clench your jaw, his skeptical tone grating. This is the third time the two of you have been over this.

“Unless sticks are shockingly white and humanoid. And carry ancient med kits.” He snorts beside you, wiggling himself back away from the ledge.

“This little island is clearly uninhabited. And there are no signs of life. Which makes the presence of another human-”

“Disturbing, to say the least,” you interrupt. He glares at you.

“And unlikely.” You glance at the horizon. Empty, same as it has been.

“Or like us — unlucky. Who’s to say they weren’t like us? Survivors who washed up here, survived as long as they could, then died.” You paint a morbid picture, and Fett makes a face.

“This cannot be the only island on the whole planet. Someone has to be out there.” He's trying to be logical about this whole thing, but you remain unconvinced.

“Maybe. But I don’t like our odds.” Fett fiddles with a button on his wrist, and you watch as it blinks red twice, then shuts off.

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, hurrying back the way you came before you can ask any questions. ~~~ The climb back down takes the rest of your afternoon, and the two of you retreat back into the caves as night sets in, building a fire and sitting closer to it for warmth.

“We need food,” you say, halving a ration bar and passing him half. He scowls at it.

“These taste like shit,” Fett says bluntly. You nibble on the edge of it, trying to make it last, so you can trick your stomach into thinking it’s more food than it is.

“I’m sorry, I’ll have the chef prepare something else for next time,” you say, and he glares at you, his favorite pastime.

“If someone hadn’t tossed my helmet, it’d be easier to find things to eat.” You make a face, sticking your tongue out at him like a three-year-old. Always about that damn helmet.

“We could also fish," you suggest. "Got to be plenty of those.” Fett pokes a stick in the fire, ignoring you.

“Tomorrow you’re showing me where you found the bones,” he says instead. Unease slithers down your spine.

“I’d rather not go back there.” He finally glances at you, disdain barely masked on his face.

“Afraid of the nexu?” You clench your jaw, grabbing your own stick to poke the fire with.

“No.” It’s the truth. It’s not the nexu that leaves your skin crawling. It’s the idea of being back in that spot. Everything was so still and quiet, and you can’t shake the sensation that something else was there besides the nexu, watching you.

“If you found the med kit there, odds are there are other supplies. We’re going back.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and you bite off another corner of your ration bar, gathering your courage to poke the proverbial bear again.

“Why are you the one calling all the shots?” You interrupt the silence, unable to let it go. Fett doesn't respond at first, instead twisting his stick in the flames, burning a neat circle around the end. His silence is worse than his caustic arguments, because you can't argue with silence.

“I thought this was a truce.” Bitterness seeps into your voice as you try again.

“If you with your infinite knowledge of survival would like to be in charge, then by all means,” he says calmly. A small flame grows on the end of the stick, steadily climbing up its length to his hand. Fett smudges the stick out in the dirt.

The side of his mouth tilts up, just barely, and you gape. Instead of arguing with you, meeting your anger with the plenty of his own that he's got stored up, he does that.

“Did you just make a joke?” Your own stick burns, and you toss it in the fire instead of extinguishing it.

“I don’t make jokes,” he says, stretching out on his back, one hand resting behind his head. You stare at him as he throws the other arm over his eyes.

“You made a joke.” He gives you a noncommittal hum.

“Some of us are trying to sleep,” Fett says. You snatch up another stick, letting it catch fire. When it burns, you hold onto it, torn between smudging it out and burying it in Fett’s ribs.

In the end, you put it in the dirt beside his stick, pillowing your hands under your head and shutting your eyes. ~~~ “Get up.” The foot to the ribs doesn’t feel any better than before, and your eyes fly open, glare ready.

“Good morning to you too, ass,” you mutter. The sun is barely peaking over the hills but the morning is already hot and steamy, with distant creatures calling out in the jungle.

The waves crash against the rocks as you eat the half of the ration bar Fett passes you on his way out of the cave. You’re scrambling to follow, still half-asleep and vaguely confused.

“Easy,” you huff, sliding on loose rocks as you make your way up the hill. “Do you know where you’re going?”

In your haste to follow him, you put your foot down on the wrong rock, and it twists, sending you sprawling on your knees. Fett catches hold of your upper arm before you can slide too far down, hefting you back to your feet.

“We’re meant to be walking, not sliding,” he says. Blowing hair out of your eyes, you watch where you step, until the two of you reach the top of the hill, just outside of the tree line.

“Where do we go from here?” He's looking at you expectedly, like you should just know where to go. You hesitate, trying to remember.

“I was trying to head to the beach, where we washed up,” you say. “And I know I headed downwards, pretty much straight in.” You bite your lip, unsure how to tell Fett that you basically stumbled onto the spot.

He glances at the sky.

“You have no idea where we should be going,” he says. It isn’t a question.

“I know the general idea. Just… be quiet and let me think.” After the nexu attacked you, it was a miracle you managed to make it back. The green all looks the same, and you have a feeling that the less you try to navigate, the more the your instinct takes over. Plus, the cave is next to the water, so you were able to follow the sound of the waves as you got close enough.

But as you walk forward, the jungle starts to look a little less confusing, certain landmarks seeming familiar. Fett follows silently behind you, shoving leaves and branches out of his way with more force than is probably strictly necessary.

He says nothing, but gradually his breathing gets heavier, like he’s struggling to keep up, still recovering from being sick. You round the corner, into a small, open area littered with rocks.

“Let’s stop for a minute,” you say. Fett glances around, eyes tracing the line of the trees.

“Is this where you were?” he asks, leaning on a waist-high rock. You shake your head.

“No, I don’t recognize any of this. But I need a breather.” The look he gives you is not amused.

“So we keep walking.” He starts off, headed in what feels like the complete wrong direction. With a groan, you hurry after him.

“We can keep walking all you want, but I’m telling you, I need to take a breather, and so do you, and I’m not sure which way I-”

Fett takes another step forward and something clicks under his foot. He freezes and you react on instinct, holding your breath.

“What was that?” He glances back at you without moving, then looks down, lips set in a grim line. Slowly, he crouches, keeping his feet in the same position, until he can brush the leaves and detritus of the jungle away.

His spine stiffens, ramrod straight, and more telling than anything he could say with his words.

“It’s a mine,” he says, voice flat and without any emotion. He's way too calm for the situation, in your opinion. You squint at the ground, just able to make out the top of a durasteel circle.

“Why is there a fucking mine?” you ask, voice a horrified whisper. Fett looks around as he carefully stands back up.

“I don’t know. But there are probably more. Are there any under your feet?” You crouch, maintaining your position the same way he did, and carefully clear away the leaves covering the ground around you.

“I don’t see any.” Fett’s jaw clenches.

“Go back the way we came,” he says. “Watch your feet, trace your steps as best you can.”

“And you?” He eyes the distance between you two.

“Just go.” You shake your head.

“No, we can come up with something. We’re a team now, remember?” He rolls his eyes.

“As if you’d ever let me forget.” Instead of stepping away, you step closer.

“For once in your fucking life, can’t you listen?” he says, angry. “If you step on one, at best we’re both screwed, at worst, we both die.” You stop moving.

“Okay. Since we’re stuck — for now — let’s discuss: why are there mines?” You add the “for now” when he glares at you.

“You’ll be happy to know this counts as a sign of life,” Fett says. “And is one hell of a disturbing way to find out.” Thunder rumbles above the two of you.

“It definitely ranks above the bones,” you say. The wind whistles through the trees, brushing over your skin, leaving chills in its wake.

“Bones can’t kill you.” He looks above him, at the way the clouds are steadily thickening.

“What do we do?” Fett looks behind him, at the way the two of you came. He sighs, rubbing his hands down his face.

“I don’t suppose you have secrets skills with defusing bombs hidden up your sleeve.” You’d almost believe it was a joke, except you know Fett and find it hard to believe he’s joking right now. You’re certainly not laughing.

“Sorry, fresh out of that one,” you say, wiping the sweat off your forehead. Fett closes his eyes, seeming to gather himself before he looks at your fingers.

“Alright. Do exactly as I say.” He reaches for one of the pouches on his belt, pulling out a tiny blade and a little pointed rod of durasteel. When you hesitate, he shakes them at you, drawing you closer.

You move carefully, examining the ground before you shuffle your feet forward until you’re right in front of him.

“What now?” Fett crouches a little, trying to get a good look at the mine.

“Clean it off some more — carefully — so we can see what we’re working with. There should be a place to unscrew the casing. That’s what the pointed piece is for. Tell me when you’ve done that.”

Gently, holding your breath lest you breathe too hard and set the damn thing off, you scrape away dirt and leaves until the muddy mine stares up at you. There’s a raised circular section, with dirt caked into what looks like a tiny X.

“Unscrew there,” Boba says, and you flex your fingers to try and work out the shakiness.

“No problem. Anything else while I’m down here? Some refreshments, maybe?” He scoffs.

“Cut the shit and focus on what you’re doing.” You save the choice words you’ve got for him because it takes too much of your concentration to make sure the little rod is fitting correctly in the corroded X of the screw.

Slowly, it gives way and starts to twist.

“Wait until it’s almost all the way free, then switch to your fingers and twist — slowly. When you get it out, put it to the side and pry the casing open just enough to see what’s inside. Try not to disturb any wires.” He makes the instruction sound like something as simple as baking.

“How am I meant to pry it open and not disturb any wires?” The screw loosens dangerously and you quickly grab at it with your fingers, giving it the final few twists it takes to pull it all the way out. You set it and the rod to the side. Taking a deep breath, you ready yourself for the hard part.

“Get at an angle where you can see down inside without moving it too much. Tell me what you see.” You make a face, the angle required putting your face right next to his leg.

The proximity is weird and makes the situation even worse. Squinting, you try to make out what’s under the dirt.

“Bunches of wires,” you mutter.

“I know that,” Fett says, and you can hear the eye roll. “What color?”

Your head is fully pressed against his leg now, fingers trying to delicately crack open the side some more.

“Brown,” you say finally. “And a blue and white one. Maybe a black one under all that? Or a dark grey?” He huffs.

“Which? It’s important to know.” And really, it shouldn’t surprise you that Fett knows how to disarm a mine. He is the Boba Fett after all.

“Black,” you say decisively, because either you’re right or you’ll be dead wrong and blissfully dead so you don’t have to hear about how you were wrong.

“Cut the brown wire.” You look at the blade in your hand.

“Uh, not to question you, but that was awful quick. Are you sure, buddy?” He looks down at you, where your head is still pressed to his leg.

“Cut the brown wire,” he says through gritted teeth.

Slowly, you stab the blade into the gap, trying to not to touch any other wires. Your heart is racing, skin buzzing with anticipation.

Ever so gently, you turn the blade, watching in fascination as it severs the brown wire.

It is a win, you suppose, that you don’t immediately blow up.

But Fett still has to move his foot.

“Is it cut?” he asks. You nod, already carefully backing away.

“Get back here,” he says, “and cut the blue and white one.”

“I have to cut more?” You’re not proud of the way your voice whines. He glares at you, not even dignifying you with a response.

This time, you’re less careful, slicing your way through it.

“And now the dark grey one?” you ask. He jerks his gaze down to you.

“You said it was black!” Is that fear in his voice?

“I meant black, calm down.”

“Don’t touch the last wire. Back up.” You hold your breath, watching.

Your heart bangs against your rib cage as Fett slowly inches his weight off.

There’s a click and you squeeze your eyes shut. Waiting.

It doesn’t blow.

“Fuck,” he hisses, resting his palms on his thighs, catching his breath. You sigh in relief and he pins you with an unamused stare.

“Some thanks for saving your life would be nice,” you say, and he ignores you. The thunder is louder this time, vibrating against your bones.

“Let’s get moving,” Fett orders, as a few fat raindrops start to fall on your heads.

“Back to camp?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“It’d take too long. Let’s find somewhere to hunker down.” The two of you set off in the opposite direction, moving as quickly as you can as the rain picks up. ~~~ He’s damn lucky.

Squinting through the curtain of rain, Boba follows you as the two of you try to find somewhere to take shelter.

It makes him wish he had his helmet, but he’s not complaining, because he’s damn lucky.

Even now, his hands are still shaking so badly that he keeps them clenched into fists, ignoring the way his legs feel weak and wobbly. He’ll take that to his grave, thank you very much.

But still, being forced to confront his own mortality twice in less than a week is not doing great things for his mental space, especially when he has to deal with you, instead of having peace and quiet to process everything.

“Up ahead,” he calls, seeing a rocky overhang that juts out enough to offer some cover.

Cold rain runs down the back of his neck, slipping underneath the collar of his flight suit and sending shivers down his spine.

It worsens his mood, his frustration making it hard to concentrate. You slide underneath the rock, the space just big enough for the two of you to sit shoulder-to-shoulder, heads brushing the rock above you.

“I hate the rain.” Boba blinks at you as the words slip from the both of you in unison.

“Ha,” you say, nudging your shoulder with his. He shoves back, disliking the contact. “Figures we’d have something in common.” Boba scowls out at the grey curtain cutting the two of you off from the rest of the world.

Rain makes his bones ache, makes him feel cold and clammy, and it’s just so loud.

“It’ll pass,” he says, not sure if he’s reassuring himself or you. You glance at him.

“I know. But if you get sick again, I’m going to be pissed.” He rolls his eyes.

“Not gonna get sick.” You don’t look convinced, your hands twisting in your lap. Rainwater that must have been collecting above him gushes over the side of the rock, running down his side, soaking him. Boba glares, biting back the groan and unintentionally shifting closer to you.

“Easy, big guy,” you say, and he looks down to find your hand in the center of his chest piece as he ends up nearly in your lap.

“It’s getting too wet over here,” he says, glad that his brown skin hides the way he can feel his cheeks getting hot.

With a long-suffering sigh, you scoot over, towards the edge on your side, and he moves closer, hating that his options are touching you or sitting in the small waterfall.

“If it isn’t raining, it broiling hot,” you say. “I wish we could just have one day with moderate temperatures and nothing trying to kill us. No cliffs, no killer cats, and no fucking mines.” Boba snorts.

“I dunno. Mines and cliffs are easy enough to avoid. If there wasn’t any challenge, we might get bored.” You roll your eyes at him, and Boba looks away, momentarily distracted by the strange jump in his chest.

It’s the physical contact, he decides. He hasn’t had something like that in years, not since Jango died. Obviously, he’s had lovers. But it’s different, a quick release that ends just as soon as it’s begun.

The last time he sat this close to someone? And didn’t do anything else, but just sat? He couldn’t say.

“What if it doesn’t let up? Do we camp here?” You make a good point, but he’s not exactly sure where the two of you are, and the rain makes it hard to see where you’ve been. Trying to navigate your way back to camp could prove fatal.

“We don’t have to make a decision yet,” he says, giving you a non-answer that has you rolling your eyes again.

“Sure thing, boss,” you mutter, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. Your brow stays furrowed, like you’re thinking about something that’s troubling you. Boba stares at the rain, willing it to stop. It doesn’t work. It never does, but it didn’t stop him from trying when he was a little boy and it doesn’t stop now.

“How does a person like you end up on a bounty hunter’s radar?” he asks, hating the silence. You open one eye, glancing at him, unamused.

“You know how. It’s the same as it always is.” Objectively, he knows the answer. Jabba put the bounty out, so it has something to do with the Hutts. It’s why he took this job.

But he wants to know what exactly you, of all people, did to merit being hunted down, other than being a wise-ass.

You clench your hands in your lap, twisting your fingers around each other. There’s a barely contained anger there, simmering just below the surface. He recognizes it because he sees it in himself, an odd realization to have.

“That can’t be the whole story,” he prods. “You weren’t worth the fuel it took to find you.” Your jaw clenches and you stare pointedly into the rain.

“And yet, it is.” You don’t offer anything else, just take a few measured breaths in and out, calming your temper. It’s a little impressive actually, to see that you are capable of reigning in your blistering comments. ~~~ You know what he’s doing. He’s probing, trying to learn more about you. What you don’t know is why. You two might be allies, but you’re certainly not friends.

He scraps a spare blade over the side of the rock, sharpening it.

Most likely he’s asking because he still can’t believe that the Hutts are really that petty. Regrettably? They are.

Fett shifts beside you, his knee brushing yours, and you resist the urge to shove him away. You’re cranky right now, back stiff and stinging with the stitches.

And just when you’d started to dry out from the last afternoon thunder shower, here you are, soaking wet again.

Your head hurts too, most likely from dehydration and hunger, and you’re to the point where you just want to tear into something with your hands. Fett’s looking more and more like a solid target, especially if you have to keep sitting in close quarters like this.

“Something is jamming my fucking signal,” Fett says, breaking the silence. Slowly, you turn to look at him.

He shows you the same button on his wrist he was messing with when you climbed to the high point on the island. Once more, it blinks red twice, then shuts off.

“It’s not just dead?” you ask, unsure how it works.

“No, it’s not dead. This thing is meant to be used in emergencies. It’s powerful and can pick up any frequency. When it can connect. Even if there’s no one in the area, it should let me transmit something out, to be heard if someone gets near us.” You hear the unintentional emphasis on “if.” Not knowing exactly where you are in the galaxy makes this ten times harder.

For all you know, the two of you could be in the far reaches, where people rarely — if ever — make it.

“Have you been trying it out this whole time?” He gives you his signature side-eye, before slapping it a little harder.

“When I’ve been awake and able, yes. I’m not an idiot.” Your mouth opens of its own volition, the scathing reply poised to leap off your tongue, Fett unintentionally setting you up perfectly.

And just like that, it quits raining, saving you from most likely putting your foot in your mouth again and starting another fight with Fett.

The last remnants of rain drip down the branches of the trees, soaking into the ground, filling the jungle with a quiet hush. You peer into foliage, watching as a steamy mist rises up from the warm ground.

Now that the rain has stopped, it’s humid, everything around you clammy. Fett wastes no time brushing past you, slicking his hair back, the curls unruly and wet.

He peers into the jungle around you, eyes scanning the foliage.

“Does any of this look familiar?” he asks, and you’re tempted to say yes, just so he thinks you’re more useful than you currently are.

“No,” you say honestly. “I think we made a wrong turn.” Fett rolls his eyes.

“There is no ‘we’ in this. You got us lost.”

“Ehh,” you say, face screwing up. “Maybe technically, but really I told you from the beginning. I don’t know how I got there.” His scoff is filled with contempt, and he shoves your shoulder.

“That way. That’s the direction of the caves. We’ll try again tomorrow.” The prospect of spending another day hiking through the jungle in the broiling heat and inevitable rain does not fill you with joy, but you figure it’s in your best interest not to argue right now.

So you stomp forward, crashing through the foliage, generally being as loud as you can, because you’re learning that the creatures who inhabit this island dislike the noise and tend to run from it.

You round the corner of another large boulder, and freeze.

The tree.

In the misty steam rising from the jungle floor, it’s not as clear as it was the last time, but it’s definitely the tree, the same moss covering it as last time. There’s the pool beside it; you're unable to see the waterfall trickling down, but able to hear it in the hushed stillness all the same.

Fett rams into your back, nearly knocking you over, and you don’t even protest at the sudden sharp pain from your stitches.

You just keep staring at the tree, the mist moving all around, like another entity.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, unwilling to break the silence, even to tell him this is it. The sun is still overhead, and if you look behind you, you can see it peeking through the trees. But in front of you, this tree and its little haven, remain shrouded in shadows.

Your eyes fall to the base of the tree, where you know the patch of grass rests, housing the long-forgotten bones.

You force your foot forward, having difficulty picking it up, like you’re slogging through layers of mud.

You shouldn’t be here.

The words come unbidden to your mind, whispered as clear as day, like someone spoke them into your ear. Fett hasn’t moved either, looking between you and the tree. He squints at something, resting on a root beside the tree. The dark shape looks familiar, and you’re fairly certain it wasn’t here last time.

A cold wind whistles through the trees above your head, stirring the mist and rushing over your arms, like two cold hands.

You back up a step, bumping into Fett again. Something is wrong here. You shouldn’t be here. There’s a pregnant pause, the anticipation nearly killing you, everything in your body telling you to run.

You blink. Once. Twice.

The mist fades away. Gradually, the sun seeps into the clearing, the cold wind replaced by the same balmy breeze everywhere else on the island.

In the absence of the mist, you can see what the shape is.

“Is that my fucking helmet?” Fett speaks first, disrupting the silence and causing you to jump. He charges forward before you can stop him, and you have no choice but to follow, feet no longer stuck to the ground.

He snatches it up and spins on you, finger pointed in accusation.

“Is this why you didn’t want to come here? Why you’ve been leading me in fucking circles? Real funny.” You’re shaking your head, genuinely afraid, but not of him. It feels like he’s disturbing something, being too loud when he should grab the helmet and get the hell out of here.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “It wasn’t here last time. I swear.” Your eyes fall to the patch of grass, the bright green almost unnatural against the dark moss.

Is there—? Yes, just there, the white of the bone. Only, it looks like it’s been rearranged, because you definitely left that thing sticking up more.

“Fett, we need to go,” you say softly, and he must hear something in your voice that your words are not saying, because he blinks and looks around for the first time.

The leaves brush together above you, sounding like a crowd whispering. Debating something. The sun shifts again, slipping out of the clearing, and you watch as the mist starts to swirl back up. The cold returns, and you take a quick step back, as shivers race up and down your spine.

Fett tugs his helmet on and reaches for a blaster.

“Don’t,” you risk calling. “Let’s go.” You take another step back, out of the clearing, into the sunny jungle. Fett looks back at the tree one more time, before he follows you.

Neither of you speak for the entire trek back to the cave.

When the sun sets, Fett tightens his grip on his blaster, and you notice the way he stokes the fire higher, until it lights up every corner of the cave.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #reader insert #listen I know mines don't work like that but this is SW so we're pretending #I wrote this and then let it percolate over the summer while having an identity crisis #but here we are finally and doing much better <3 #thanks for reading!! <3

20 notes · View notes