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m2ok · 9 months ago

Text

Golden Salvation Pt.2

pt. 1 Pt.2

cowboy!Ghost x m! reader

A/N: There will be one more part to this just to wrap everything up :)

Your pulse thundered in your ears as the stranger loomed closer, hand gripping lethal iron at his hip. Fight or flight instincts kicked into overdrive - this was no ordinary burglary; you could see it etched in every predatory line of his body.

This man had come for blood, your blood.

Slowly, you raised your hands in a gesture of peace even as your mind raced. One wrong move and you’d be pushing up daisies come morn. These were the dark shadows Simon lived in, the enemies he’d made through his notorious work. And now they were coming for him...through you.

.“Don’t want no trouble, mister,” you said, keeping your tone calm and even like you didn't know why this man was here. As if there could be any other reason for someone to break into a home as dingy as your own. “Just a simple bartender is all – barely got a dollar to my name”

This snake didn't need to know how deep your bond with Simon went, especially since hiding your relationship was the only way you could see to get out of this situation.

The man cackled at your words, rolling his eyes as the smile dropped and he stalked closer to the bed, aiming the gun at you as he cocked it back with a sickening crack.

“ Mhm... as if you weren't all nice and cozied up to him not mere hours ago – ya really think im gonna believe you?” He gave you a mocking grin

“No no im not stupid sweetheart. Im not here to collect any of his debts from you – I care more about the eight men o’ mine your Ghostie killed. Those boys were my family, he didnt think twice about that though when he shot em’ dead where they stood. Figure I should make him feel the same hurt I do, hm?”

“You won’t hurt him none-” You tried to reason “His heart don't belong to me, he won’t spare a second glance past this cabin. Hell, He's probably halfway across the desert by now” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, lies seeping through your lips at the risk of your life. You knew what you meant to Simon, no one else was able to get into his space as you did- at least not if they wanted to walk away with their life.

The man's smirk dropped, new anger burning in his eyes as the grip on his gun tightened, “I saw the way that mongrel looked at you, you’re his boy and that's clearer than any mountain river” he scoffed, finger moving from the side of the gun to rest on the trigger.

You closed your eyes, praying in your head, but not to any god. No, your prayers were aiming for Simon's rescue, praying that he would somehow know you were in trouble and come rescue you from it.

Simon sat astride his horse on a dusty ridge, watching the moon rise silver over the desert wastes. A half-smoked cigarette dangled idly from his lips; he’d been nursing the same thoughts over and over since dusk fell heavy as a shroud across the badlands.

Thoughts of you.

Somewhere deep in his gut, an uneasy feeling roiled. Like an invisible string tugging at his soul, trying to tug him back the way he came. Simon growled low in his throat, frustrated with his own foolish longings. You’d made your stance clear – this life wasn’t for you, not truly. And he had no right to ask you to join him.

And yet...

A crack suddenly split the still night air. So faint and far that any lesser man may have missed it entirely, but not Simon.

In an instant he was vaulting onto his horse’s back, boots pounding twin paths in the dirt as they flew towards the distant lights of your little town. Another shot rang out, louder now, and Simon’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

He knew that sound – deep in his bones he knew something was horribly wrong.

Choking the reins in a near stranglehold, Simon rode as if all the demons of hell were nipping at his horse’s hooves. Towards you. Towards salvation or damnation, he did not know. But by God, no son of a bitch was gonna harm one hair on your head if he could still help it.

Help was coming- you just had to hold on.

The man fired the gun, a sharp sting hitting your side before it blossomed into agonizing pain. You let out a pained cry, one hand instinctively going to land on your wound while the other covered your mouth to muffle your sobs. Your hand was soon coated in dark crimson, entire body shaking with adrenaline as the man cocked the gun once more.

“Was gonna just end you, but I figured I should make this painful the same way he did. Should fill you with so many bullets he won’t be able to recognize you” he hissed, aiming the gun at your other side.

Simon was little more than a blur of dust and primal fury as he crashed through the remains of your splintered front door. For a split second, time seemed to freeze – taking in the scene with a single, piercing gaze.

You,curled onto the bed clutching a bloody wound. And him. That snake. Gun pressed sickeningly against your body as he spewed his venomous threats. With an almost guttural roar, Simon’s Colt leapt into his hand like it was part of his very being. Two blooming shots rang as one; his aim was true as bible scripture.

The intruder pitched backwards, scarlets blossoms exploding from where his eyes once were. He was dead before he hit the floor.

But Simon saw none of it. Already he was at your side, tatty serape ripped and pressed desperately against your weeping injury. Brown eyes wild and scared met your own, and for a moment the steely outlaw facade slipped entirely.

“Darlin’...” he choked, voice thick. “Talk to me, baby. Stay with me now, ya hear?” Working frantically to stem the flood, Simon tangled scarred fingers gently through your hair, anchoring you to this world with his touch alone.

“That’s it…keep breathin’, just keep breathin’” His voice dissolved into ragged prayers mere ghosts could hear. Help was still minutes away - but for now, you had Ghost. And he’d be damned before he let the reaper take you from him.

You were sobbing, your brain mangled with confusion and fear as the adrenaline ran out and the full pain of the bullet lodged in your abdomen had you reeling,

Red painted everything around you, hands, clothes, and sheets underneath you drenched in it.

“Simon-” you rasped, breathing labored as you looked around with wide eyes at the gruesome scene in front of you. It was too much, you could feel your head going light- brain fuzzy and ears ringing as you fought not to close your eyes.

“It hurts” you choked, trying to shove his hand away from where he was pressing down on the wound to stop the torrent of blood flowing out. “Simon I cant-” you said, throat raw from the sobs that came out.

You wanted so badly to stay with him, to be able to wake up tomorrow with him, but you didn’t know if you’d get that with the way you felt your strength leave your body.

“It hurts- it hurts” You were almost begging, for what you didn’t know. You just wanted the pain to go away.

You were terrified- not ready to die yet, and especially not like this, not when you had so much left to do. The thought alone sent a new set of tears streaming down your face, hand shaking- clutching the bleeding wound on top of Simon’s own to try and ebb the pain that burrowed deep in your skin.

Simon felt his world crumbling as your agonized crimes tore through him, sharper than any bullet ever could. Seeing you in such anguish ripped open a fissure in his battered heart, letting the demons of his deepest guilt and self-loathing spill forth in a torrent.

“I know, baby, I know it hurts…” he choked, pressing you close as if trying in vain to absorb your pain into himself. His own broad shoulders shook with ghosts of rage and grief, tears cutting rivulets through the dirt caked on his cheeks.

Goddamn it all, he should’ve been here. Should have followed his instincts and never left your side. Now it may be too late to hope for forgiveness, your blood staining his hands a brand of failure he could never outrun.

“Please, darlin’, please hold on…’ Simon begged, voice breaking as he spoke. His bandana was wrung out and useless now - in desperation he moved to cradle you fully, applying trembling pressure with his bare hands and what remained of his coat.

Distantly he heard the clatter of the approaching horses, but paid them no heed. You were fading, slipping away before his eyes, and all the strength and guns in the world couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t ye leave me now…I can’t do this world without ya…” A broken whisper, barely audible above the thunder in his ears. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, sharing the same ragged breaths, two souls more tangled than any root or vine. Hanging on a blade’s edge against the dark.

You stared up into Simon's eyes, eyebrows cinched in pain and eyes soaked with fear.

“I don’t wanna die, Simon” you whispered, voice shaky as you clung to him - like he alone could save you from this fate.

You could feel your heartbeat slowing, breathing ragged as you gasped for air that just wouldn’t enter your lungs….

Soon enough the doctor burst into the room, medical kit in hand as he came barreling over to you. He very carefully took you out of Simon’s arm with some convincing, to lay you back on the bed before he opened up his kit.

He handed you a flask filled with whiskey “You’re gonna want to drink this - it’ll help ease the pain” He said.

With shaky hands you drank the bottle, a scream ripping from your lungs as the man began to carefully dig into the wound, grabbing hold of the bullet with sterile tweezers before carefully pulling it free.

With practiced care he cleaned the wound, a harsh whimper leaving your lips at the sting of pain before the wound was stitched up and bandaged.

You were shaking, sobbing so hard your throat was raw and your lungs burned - the pain was unbearable and a large part of you wished you could just die to get away from it.

The doctor had you drink another flask, the alcohol numbing the pain receptors in your brain just enough to allow you to fall into a light sleep.

Simon sat vigil at your bedside through what felt like hours, not letting go of your limp hand once. Your cries of pain echoing loud and endlessly in his mind, driving spikes of pure anguish deep into his soul.

He watched in heavy silence as the doctor worked, breath caught tight in his chest, hardly daring to hope. But then - your ragged breaths evened out, color returning sluggishly to waxen cheeks. Alive. You were alive.

It was nearly two hours later when the man was done, wiping his hands on a rag as he stood up on shaky legs.

“He’s stable” The doctor said simply

Choking back sobs of relief, Simon buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of gratitude-laced kisses amongst salty tears. “That’s it, darlin’...you fight. Got too much left to do in this world.” he’d whisper to you, voice so soft only you could hear

“Most important thing now is cleaning that wound twice a day lest it get infected. If it does…” The doctor ordered, his words trialing off though his intentions were clear. He put down a set of bandages and cleaning solution on the nightstand for Simon’s use.

“It’ll take a long time to heal, I reckon” The doctor said “but my work is done here, y’all know where to reach me should he take a turn for the worst” He said, tilting his hat to Simon before he gathered his tools and headed out of the shabby cabin.

Simon took the doctor's words as gospel, nodding along to every word before the man left. He spent the next few hours cleaning up the mess that was now your little home. He dragged the body out back to deal with fully in the morning, cleaned your sheets and changed you into new clothes, boarded up the broken window, and finished by fixing the door that he had come barging through.

His own hands were gentle as churches doing their appointed duty, cleansing and dressing the angry wound each time without fail. Whatever it took to coax your stubborn spirit back to the land of the living.

Days bled into each other without notice. All that mattered to him now was you. And slowly, so slowly - full color seeped back, fever broke its hold. Eyes fluttered open to meet his own once more, full of pain but oh-so-blessedly alive.

“Hey there, sunshine…” Simon whispered hoarsely, like a parched man dying of thirst at an oasis. Finally, finally, he allowed himself the ghost of a weary smile.

You were going to be alright. And by God, he’d spend his last days making sure of it.

You slowly sat up, a soft whine leaving your lips with the movements as you aggravated the still raw wound. “Simon” you mumbled as you held his hand, reaching over to take a swig of the whiskey on the nightstand to ease the searing pain.

You rested your head back against the pillows with a soft sigh. It had been a few days now, and the pain was still a dull yet constant ache in your side.

You took the sight around you in, everything was clean and neat including your bedding and clothes. Even the floor had been mopped, the only reminders of your near death being the hole in your side.

“Simon you did all this?” You asked simply, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Simon huffed a soft, weary laugh at your question, gently squeezing your hand just to make sure you were really here and he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Course I did, darlin’. Weren’t about to let ya recover in filth,” He replied gruffly. Truth be told, tending to your every need had been the other thing keeping his demons at bay these long days and nights.

Keeping busy spared him time to think - and thinking led down paths too bleak to tread. Like how terrifyingly close he’d come to losing you forever.

Holding your gaze with quiet intent, Simon softly brushed calloused knuckles along your cheek “Reckon it’s about time i started pullin’ my weight ‘round here proper. Ain’t no safe place for ya out here alone” A question lingered in the subtle quirk of his brow, the hopeful yet wary gleam in tired eyes. After all that had passed between you both, was there still room for him at your side? A Ghost finally ready to lay his soul to rest, if you’d have him.

You could only hum softly at his words, sleep still filled in your bones. You didn’t answer him, instead you patted the empty side of the bed “Come sleep next to me, Si. You need the sleep” You said, your words a silent confirmation that you still wanted him.

Simon gave a soft grunt of approval, too weary in body and soul to do anything but obey your gentle prompting. Careful not to jostle your healing injury, he stretched his long limbs out beside you with a satisfied sigh.

It felt strange but right, sharing your space in such an intimate way after so long living apart. Like the final piece of a puzzle slipped neatly into place.

Turning his head, Simon watched you watch him through half-lidded eyes, drinking in every beloved feature as if to confirm this wasn’t some whiskey-fueled dream. Reaching out, he lightly touched the graceful curve of your cheek before letting his hand come to rest against the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“Sweetest sound there is,” he murmured, voice sleep-roughed and thick with meaning. A tousled head tucked itself beneath your chin with a contented sigh, tension seeping from tense muscles.

Come what may with the light of dawn, for now all was peaceful. You were alive, you were safe. And against all odds, Simon had finally come home to roost.

You held him close in your arms, gentle fingers carding through thick hair as you let his head rest against your now steady heartbeat. He needed the comfort, you could tell, and you were more than happy to give it to him.

“Rest now, Si. I'm not going anywhere. Can’t get rid of me that easy” You assured, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

It was a funny thing, holding such a toughened man in your arms, keeping him close and coddled despite the almost laughable size difference.

SImon made a low sound of gratitude at your soft reassurance, melting bonelessly into your gentle embrace. Your gentle fingers winding through his hair brought forth a wave of lethargy he’d fought to stave off this long week past. But no more - here in your arms, he was finally allowed to let his guard down.

It still struck him sometimes how two souls so disparate could fit together so seamlessly. But you’d always had a way of easing even his most ragged edges, soothing demons he thought long beyond taming. Lithe as you were in your current state, your strength ran deeper than any show of force ever could - and he found solace there like nowhere else.

“Missed this…” he mumbled, so soft it was barely audible even in the stillness enclosing your little world. One arm curled protectively around your middle, thumb brushing idle patterns against the slowly healing wound beneath the bandages.

A prayer of thanks on parched lips, Simon let weary eyes slide shut. Sleep rose like a gentle tide, carrying him off to oblivion sheltered in the piece of heaven he’d begun to call home. You’d brought him back from the brink of darkness once more, anchor in the storm. And for that, he was eternally grateful.

#cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod x male reader #male reader #fanfic #ghost cod #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x male reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

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In honor of pajama Jamil, Fellow should drop his nighttime routine too.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“My nighttime routine?” Fellow repeated your words slowly. They made sense apart, but not together.

He was squashed on a thin, dusty mattress, shoved away into a corner of an attic. Fellow had shed his suit and top had for a sleeveless shirt, boxers (red and white vertical striped, like a classic carnival tent), and ratty socks, a big toe poking out from a hole. Next to him, Gidel laid on his side in an oversized shirt and pants, yawning.

Night had descended, leaving only the golden circle provided by a waning candle as a light source. You leaned closer, out of the darkness and into the illuminated safety of their corner, nodding.

“Hah. I was shocked when first saw those fancy schmancy ‘routines’. Thousands of thaumarks on skincare products, entire yoga sessions before bed, preparing a set of clothes for sleeping in, feasting and then passing out from a food coma… Who has the time or energy to commit to those?!

“Giddie and I, we do the basics. If we can find a source of water—a river or something—we’ll wash in there. Ah, and we’ve gotta have dinner beforehand, in case any of it spills on our clothes. Then we’d have to wash those off too. We tend to eat fast. Can’t let food sit around uneaten for too long, or it’ll go bad.

“I keep some things for our travels, but it’s not much. We’ve whittled down our last bar of soap to a few scraps, and I think we’ve just about squeezed all we can out of our last tube of toothpaste. Our toothbrushes are getting pretty ratty too, we’ll need new ones soon…”

The candlelight seemed to make Fellow appear older, especially when he spoke of his hardships. The darkness of his pupils more intense, almost pulsating, his weariness put on show.

“We’re lucky to even have a place to sleep tonight. Worst comes to worst, we sleep under the stars in the clothes we wore during the day. That’s all we have to really call ours: the clothes on our back and the freedom that comes with it.”

A weak thread of joy sounded in the mention of freedom. Lighter, breathier, like a bird in flight, unbound by the land.

“Some nights,” Fellow admitted with a bitter laugh, “it’s hard to sleep at all. If it rains or snows, if we haven’t had a decent fill of food from the day’s work… The cold, the hunger, the dread of an uncertain tomorrow, keeps us up.”

“That sounds rough,” you frowned. “How do you manage to fall asleep like that?”

“I have my ways. When reality is too hard to deal with, you’ve got your imagination to fall back on for a distraction. We’ll look at the stars, try to find shapes and meanings in them, talk until we’re tired.” Fellow prodded Gidel with a finger. “Right, Giddie? Remember that story I told you about a girl with the matchsticks? And the big bear in the sky?”

Gidel nodded sleepily. Another yawn—his lids were heavy.

Fellow’s own eyes fluttered. He, too, yawned, catching the dregs of sleep that had fallen over his companion.

“Haha, looks like you’ve talked yourself tired already,” you said, careful to keep your volume down. “I’ll let you guys catch up on your Zs then.”

“I’m not tired,” he insisted, but there was little fight in his voice.

“Shhhhh, shhhh. It’s okay. Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a better day,” you gently coaxed.

His lids lowered, flickering in a futile effort to stay awake.

The dying candlelight compelled him. The steady and soft cadence of your words, a lullaby.

Fellow fell asleep, Gidel hugging him as though the fox were a massive stuffed animal. He slumped, nestled the boy protectively.

“… Good night,” you murmured.

You blew out the candle, sentencing the room to the realm of darkness and dreams.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Fellow Honest #Gidel #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Reader #self insert #a fellow in need is a friend indeed #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #Ernesto Foulworth #Gino

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disco-archetypes · 3 months ago

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SHIVERS - All around you, rain falls on the great city of Revachol. Rain drips from the eaves and floods the gutters, washing the filth away.

SHIVERS - Winter's grip on the city is loosening. The spring thaw is here.

YOU - Finally. What now?

SHIVERS - Your shirt sticks to your chest. The shoulders of your disco blazer grow heavy. The cold finds its way in under your skin. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

YOU - What is in the west?

SHIVERS - Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.

SHIVERS - The ruins of a half-sunken seafort crumble on an inlet. Beyond the Bay of Revachol, ghosts rise into the sky.

YOU - Who are you, ghosts?

SHIVERS - The skyscrapers of La Delta, the financial district. Faint golden light seeps from the office windows.

YOU - What is down the shore?

SHIVERS - Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once seized by revolutionaries. An old wooden church stands on stilts above the water.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - Coal City, end of all lines.

YOU - Run your fingers through your dampened hair.

SHIVERS - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance.

YOU - What's in the east?

SHIVERS - The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.

YOU - Clench your teeth to stop shuddering.

SHIVERS - Behind the gates -- heaps of supply crates. Red and blue metal shipping containers slick with rain. The Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour is an artificial mountain range. Immense wealth resides within, and immeasurable poverty in its shadow.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - La Drisienne, King Dris's Passenger Harbour. Cruise ships flanked by dock arms. Cranes watching over the mouth of the river distributary.

YOU - What is across the distributary?

SHIVERS - Couron, the lower middle class. Distributary after distributary cuts the city blocks in half. Seven-story buildings trail off into the rain.

YOU - What is beyond the Couron?

SHIVERS - A silvery curtain of rain over the houses. The class divide.

YOU - What's in the north?

SHIVERS - Capeside apartments -- tower blocks crowd one another, 4.46 mm bullets still lodged in their war-torn stone walls.

SHIVERS - Hallways collapsed from the mortar hits of a war that was lost long ago. Clotheslines go to waste in the rain. Radios play.

YOU - And closer to here?

SHIVERS - A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Filthy water pools around a body. Droplets of rain slip from the dead man's cold cheeks.

YOU - What's in the south?

SHIVERS - A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.

YOU - What's on the other side?

SHIVERS - The road ascends; a raised motorway loops above the ghetto. Beneath its concrete columns -- a sea of rooftops, woodwork, and tar stretches northward. Four-story buildings as far as the rain can fall. The snows melt in Jamrock.

YOU - Why am I not there?

SHIVERS - To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.

YOU - What am I doing here?

SHIVERS - Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.

YOU - Where do I live?

SHIVERS - On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

SHIVERS - YOU CANNOT RETURN.

YOU - Shudder, look further...

SHIVERS - In the rain-swept distance above the rooftops of Jamrock, a re-purposed silk mill stands perched above the motorway exit. Precinct 41 hunches in the rain.

SHIVERS - Your vision blurs. You wipe your face with your hand. The rain stings your eyes, making you look up and blink.

YOU - What's above?

SHIVERS - More coalition aerostatics. Way up there -- where rain forms -- rotors flutter silently. Your sight clears.

YOU - What's below?

SHIVERS - Collapsed storm drains. Old sewage systems flooded with rainwater. Hidden weapon caches from the Revolution. Doors leading down to Le Royaume -- the catacombs to which, for three centuries, they delivered the blue-blooded dead.

YOU - "Motherfucker." [Finish thought.]

SHIVERS - These spring thaw will not last. The winter will return to Revachol.

#disco elysium #physique #shivers #harry du bois #yeah sorry for posting the entire shivers check #its an absolute monster of text and worldbuilding ut i love it a lot :]

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idkyetxoxo · 2 months ago

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Criston Cole - A Dragon Ride

Summary - Born to ride dragons, she is determined to share her passion with Criston. Despite his initial hesitation, he becomes captivated. As they descend into a secluded valley, she draws him into a dance of wonder and intimacy, revealing the true magic of dragon riding.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!)

Word count - 2018

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Dragon riding was in my blood. From the moment I was born, it was clear that soaring through the skies on a dragon's back was my destiny. The exhilaration of being so high above the ground was unmatched by any experience on land. It was pure magic.

"Ser Criston, how about today?" I asked as we walked together. His sigh was heavy, a mix of resignation and reluctant amusement.

"Princess, when will you cease this incessant questioning?" he asked, exasperation lacing his voice.

"Never," I replied with a mischievous grin. He halted abruptly, and I stopped too, watching as thoughts flickered across his face.

"Very well," he finally said. I gasped, barely daring to hope.

"Does this mean you'll join me?" I asked eagerly, my heart racing.

He nodded. "I will," he affirmed. My smile stretched wide.

"Quickly, shed your armour and meet me at the dragon pit!" I called, sprinting away before he could change his mind.

Bursting into my chambers, I shouted, "I need my dragon-riding attire, and make haste!" My handmaidens moved swiftly, their hands deftly preparing my outfit.

As they laced up my boots and adjusted my riding leathers, excitement bubbled within me. The thought of sharing the thrill of flight filled me with joy.

Moments later, I thanked my handmaidens with a radiant smile and dashed out of the room, heart racing. The dragon pit loomed ahead, and with each step, my anticipation grew.

Criston was already there, armour discarded, a mix of determination and apprehension on his face.

I approached Silverwing, who greeted me with a soft, melodic coo that resonated through the air.

"Gevie," I murmured, fingers brushing her iridescent scales. Beautiful.

Silverwing's response was a deep, rumbling purr, her eyes closing in a blissful half-lid. Her presence was both soothing and awe-inspiring.

"Come, Ser Criston," I called, motioning for him to join me. He approached cautiously, his gaze fixed on Silverwing. "She will not harm you," I assured, guiding his hand to her silvery skin.

He hesitated, his fingers hovering before finally making contact. Slowly, he began to stroke Silverwing's hide, growing more confident. A faint smile tugged at his lips as Silverwing nestled closer.

"She's magnificent," he murmured, wonder in his voice.

I smiled. "She is. And as gentle as she is powerful."

We stood together, immersed in the moment. The connection between rider and dragon was something sacred, a blend of trust, respect, and mutual understanding. Seeing Criston experience this for the first time filled me with a deep sense of satisfaction.

"Are you ready for our flight?" I asked.

He nodded, eyes never leaving Silverwing. "I am," he replied, his voice steady and resolute.

I climbed onto Silverwing's back, feeling the familiar surge of excitement. Ser Criston followed, settling behind me with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

With a powerful beat of her wings, Silverwing launched us into the sky. The ground fell away, and we soared higher, the wind rushing past us. Criston's grip around my waist tightened with exhilaration.

We flew over forests and rivers, the landscape a blur beneath us. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything. The sense of freedom was intoxicating, and Criston's grip relaxed slightly as he began to enjoy the ride.

After what seemed both an eternity and a fleeting moment, we descended into a hidden valley, pristine and unspoiled by human touch. Lush foliage encircled a sparkling lake, its clarity reflecting the serene tranquillity of the landscape.

Silverwing landed gracefully, and we dismounted, our feet touching the soft grass. I turned to Criston, eyes sparkling. "How was it?"

He took a deep breath, eyes wide with amazement. "It was as you described and more—the thrill, the beauty... beyond words."

I beamed at him. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Dragon riding is not just an activity, it's a part of who I am. Sharing it makes it even more special."

Criston nodded, thoughtful. "I understand now. The bond with Silverwing, the freedom... it's magical."

We sat on a weathered log at the water's edge, the lake stretching out before us, shimmering slightly. Its beauty was intoxicating, beckoning me closer.

A sudden, playful impulse surged through me. I sprang to my feet and ventured toward the shore, eagerly wading into the cool embrace of the lake.

"Princess, your clothes!" Criston called, concern in his voice. I glanced back with a mischievous grin.

"Then I suppose they're a problem," I replied, turning to face him.

His brows knitted together in confusion as I kicked off my boots, the soft thud against the ground echoing in the quiet. I slipped off my gloves next, maintaining eye contact as his eyes widened, surprise and intrigue flickering across his features.

"Princess, what are you doing?" he asked, a mix of caution and curiosity in his voice.

A soft laugh escaped me as I began undoing the fastenings of my attire, the fabric sliding down my shoulders.

His gaze dropped instinctively, but a smile danced on my lips.

"I'm getting in!" I declared, stepping into the water. With a final breath, I submerged, letting the lake embrace me.

Emerging, I floated on my back, gazing at the vast sky. "Come join me! I promise I won't look," I called out.

True to my word, I closed my eyes, savouring the moment, the gentle lapping of the water around me soothing my spirit. I opened my eyes only when I felt him nearby, and my heart swelled as I saw the awe in his gaze.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" I said, looking around at the serene landscape, where the water mirrored the sky and the trees whispered secrets in the breeze.

"It truly is," he replied, his voice filled with wonder, as we both soaked in the tranquillity of our surroundings.

We drifted closer, the water binding us in a gentle dance. His eyes softened as they met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. He reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face, the touch tender and electric.

Without a word, he pulled me closer, our bodies aligning as his lips found mine. The kiss was slow and exploratory, the cool water contrasting with the heat of our connection, making every touch more intense.

As we broke the kiss, I took his hand, guiding him to the shore. The water glistened on our skin as we emerged, the world around us bathed in the golden light of sunset. I led him to a nearby bed of grass, lush and inviting.

"Princess," he murmured, a mix of adoration and desire in his voice as I pulled him down beside me. His hands found my waist, pulling me close. His eyes roved over me with both reverence and hunger.

"Ser Criston," I murmured, capturing his lips in another passionate kiss. Our bodies moved together, and I slowly crawled into his lap, feeling the heat and anticipation build.

"Princess, are you certain?" he asked, breaking the kiss briefly, concern and desire mingling in his voice.

I nodded, lifting my hips slightly. He was already hard, and I felt a thrill as I aligned our bodies. With a slow, deliberate motion, I lowered myself onto him, a gasp escaping as he filled me. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through me.

I rocked back and forth, trying to find the perfect rhythm, but the moment's intensity made it difficult. Sensing my struggle, he took charge, laying me on my back and hovering over me.

Drops of water fell from his hair onto my skin, mingling with the beads of sweat that had begun to form, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the moment.

"Allow me," he whispered, positioning himself. He entered me again, and I gasped at the renewed sensation. His thrusts were slow and measured at first, sending ripples of pleasure through me.

"Faster," I urged, breathless with need.

He quickened his pace, his eyes darkening with desire. Each thrust became more urgent, driving us both closer to the edge.

My hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles tensing with each thrust. His pace grew more insistent, driving us higher. My breath came in ragged gasps, the tension within me coiling tighter.

Just when I thought I couldn't take more, he withdrew, kissing down my body. His lips left a burning path on my skin.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trembling with curiosity and need.

"Trust me," he murmured, his breath warm. He continued downward, his mouth finding the most sensitive spots. When his lips reached my core, I gasped, overwhelmed.

His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, exploring and teasing. The pleasure built intensely. My hands found their way to his hair, my fingers tangling in the wet strands as I encouraged him to continue.

"Just like that," I moaned, arching toward him. His movements became more focused, each flick of his tongue sending shockwaves through me.

"Oh Gods, don't stop," I pleaded. "I need more... I need."

He responded with a hum, the vibration adding a new layer of sensation that made my toes curl. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as he intensified his efforts.

"Please... please," I whimpered.

The release was sudden and powerful, leaving me breathless. I cried out his name, my entire being consumed by the sensation. He didn't stop, his tongue continuing to work its magic, drawing out every last bit of my climax until I was left trembling and breathless.

As I lay in the afterglow, he moved back up my body, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. I could taste myself on him, the intimacy sending another shiver through me.

"My turn," I whispered against his lips, a playful smile dancing on my face.

With a gentle push, I guided him onto his back and straddled him, feeling his eager hardness pressing against me. I took my time, savoring the moment as I positioned myself over him.

Slowly, deliberately, I lowered myself onto him. A moan slipped from my lips as he filled me completely. The sensation was exquisite, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure. I started to move, finding a rhythm that sent waves of ecstasy through us both.

His hands gripped my hips, guiding me as our bodies moved in perfect harmony. Leaning forward, I rested my hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

His eyes locked with mine, the intensity of his gaze amplifying the sensation.

"You're incredible," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "Just like that. Don't stop."

"Does it feel good?" I asked breathlessly, quickening my pace.

"Yes, oh Gods, yes," he panted, his grip tightening on my hips. "Keep going."

I relished his praise, feeling a surge of confidence. As I leaned in to kiss his neck, I nipped at the sensitive skin, drawing out his pleasure. His breaths grew ragged, his voice straining as he expressed his need.

"I need more," he admitted, his voice strained.

"Tell me what you want," I teased, slowing just enough to draw a moan from him.

"I want everything," he growled, his eyes dark with longing. "I want you to cum for me. I want to feel you lose control."

His words were like a match to kindling, igniting the fire within me. I increased my pace, riding him harder, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. His hands roamed over my body, adding to the sensation as I drove us both higher.

"Cum for me," he urged, his voice raw with need. "I want to feel every shudder, every wave of your release."

"Yes," I gasped, the tension inside me coiling tighter. "I'm so close."

"Let go," he whispered, his eyes burning into mine. "Let me feel you."

The coil of tension inside me snapped, and I was overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure so intense that it left me breathless. My body convulsed around him, a cry of ecstasy tearing from my lips.

He followed moments later, a deep groan escaping his lips as he found his own release. His movements became erratic, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. We clung to each other, riding the waves of pleasure together, our bodies perfectly in sync.

As the aftershocks of pleasure began to fade, I collapsed beside him, pulling him into my arms. We lay there, tangled together, the cool grass beneath us.

"So, which dragon ride was better?"

A/n - Silverwing watching from a distance like 🤨 also this isn't exacly how I imagined the execution of this one but I'm too lazy to fix it now

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd s2 #hotd masterlist #masterlist #team green #criston cole #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole

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zerun0 · 1 month ago

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"The Colors of Us" — Viktor x Y/N (Gender-Neutral)

And this is my third story on the universe of Arcane !

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I more than happy to receive suggestions, and advice on how to improve my work.

Heavily inspired by — "What happens in the bathhouse... " by LinkyDinks —

— ! WARNING NSFW (+18): ! — Established relationship, sexual themes, Flirting, Hot tub, Teasing, Masturbation. — Word count: — 2,9k (Full uncut version on AO3)

Piltover was a city of progress. Tall spires of metal and glass soared above, glittering with the promises of science and invention. Airships cut through the sky like graceful birds, and beneath their flight, the streets bustled with a mix of inventors, artisans, and scholars from the prestigious Piltover Academy. Among them was Y/N, an artist, seeking to find their place in the city of progress through the lens of creativity, which often felt out of step with the methodical precision Piltover demanded.

Art was Y/N’s form of rebellion, a splash of chaos in a place where everything had its place and function. Though some in the Academy dismissed their work as frivolous, others—like Viktor—saw the genius in it. Viktor, with his brilliant mind and soul shaped by invention, had always been a reserved but sharp-eyed companion. To Y/N, he was more than just an intellectual ally; he was a kindred spirit, even if they expressed their gifts in drastically different ways.

It was rare that Viktor took time away from his work, so when Y/N invited him out for a quiet evening in the upper levels of Piltover, it was a surprising to see the tired one accept it.

"Just one night,” Viktor had said in his soft, accented voice. “I think... I could... we, we both could use a break.”

— Small time skip: Around 7:24 pm —

As they walked together beneath the glittering streetlamps of Piltover’s wealthiest district, the air crackled with the shared energy of anticipation.

"The Grand Hotel" was nothing short of breathtaking. It stood tall, adorned with the finest Piltover could offer—gilded archways, lush tapestries that draped the walls like fine paintings, and crystal chandeliers that gleamed in warm golden hues. For an artist, it was almost overwhelming, the richness of it all. But it also held the charm of something fleeting, a place far removed from the gritty streets and the cold laboratories.

“Quite the place, isn’t it?” Y/N mused as they entered the lavish lobby, stealing a glance at Viktor. He looked as composed as ever, his face framed by his dark brown hair, the glow of the dim lights making the sharp lines of his features seem even more striking.

He gave a rare, almost shy smile. “It is… a bit excessive. But I thought perhaps it would make for a change of pace.”

They made their way to the front desk, where a young attendant greeted them with impeccable manners and a smile polished like the marble floors. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, they were handed a key.

“Your suite is on the top floor,” the attendant said, bowing slightly.

Y/N’s had mentioned nothing about staying at a hotel, much less in a suite. Viktor's curiosity piqued. It wasn’t like him to indulge in luxuries like this. His usual quarters were cramped and bare, filled only with his inventions and research papers. Still, Viktor followed without complaint, knowing Y/N’s always had their reasons.

The elevator ride was swift and silent, taking them to the topmost floor, where their suite awaited.

The room itself was a masterpiece of elegance, but Y/N’s eyes were immediately drawn to the massive window that stretched across one wall, revealing a panoramic view of Piltover at night. The city’s lights glittered like stars, reflecting off the calm waters of the river far below.

“Wow,” Y/N breathed, walking toward the window, captivated by the beauty of it all.

Viktor followed a few steps behind, his cane tapping gently against the marble floor. He stood beside them, his golden-brown eyes quietly taking in the view, though Y/N suspected his thoughts were far away, perhaps on some new invention or scientific discovery. Still, there was a certain calmness about him tonight, a softness that made Y/N’s heart flutter.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Viktor said, turning to face them. “I didn’t realize you knew such places existed.”

His tone was light, but there was something deeper in his gaze as he looked at Y/N. Something unspoken, but undeniably present.

After a shared dinner in the suite’s private dining area—a delicious meal accompanied by wine neither of them usually had time to enjoy—Viktor excused himself for a moment. Y/N took the opportunity to wander the room a bit more, letting their fingers trail along the silk sheets and finely crafted furniture. A door to the side caught their attention, and they opened it to reveal a luxurious bathroom.

And at its center, a large, marble hot tub.

Y/N's eyes widened. It was set in an alcove surrounded by lush plants, steam already rising from the warm water. It looked like something out of a dream, a place meant for relaxation, indulgence, and... something more.

A soft knock on the doorframe pulled Y/N from their thoughts. Viktor stood there, his jacket now discarded, leaving him in a simple shirt and trousers. His eyes flickered toward the hot tub, and a faint blush crept up his neck.

There was a silence... then Y/N spoke — “Would you like to join me?” Y/N asked softly, stepping closer.

Viktor hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “A-are you sure?”

"I would be more than happy" — Y/N said, their hand fixing a strand of hair in Viktor's face, you had flirted before, but you felt bold and courageous today.

Y/N started to undress as they watched Viktor's face turn red, the scientist tried to avoid looking upon their bare, naked body. But a few curious glances found their way towards Y/N, as they turned and approached the hot tub.

The warmth of the water was immediate, soothing, and Y/N felt their body relax as they sank into it. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the room, casting long shadows that danced across the marble tiles. — "Now... will you join me, handsome?"

Viktor hesitated, red, and stuttering for his dear life, as he could not think straight. But soon nervously removed his clothes as if his desire took control of his movements. — Then followed them in, moving carefully due to his bad leg. Once he was settled, a small sigh escaped him as the heat worked its way through his tense muscles and pounding heart.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the gentle ripple of water and the soft crackle of the candles. Viktor leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closed, and Y/N couldn’t help but watch him. He looked different like this—vulnerable, almost human in a way that the world often didn’t allow him to be.

Y/N’s fingers twitched. They had an overwhelming desire to touch him, to capture this moment not with paint, but with their hands. And so, without thinking too much, they shifted closer, their hand brushing against Viktor’s.

His eyes fluttered open at the contact, a question in them, but Y/N merely smiled. Slowly, cautiously, Y/N raised a hand to cup Viktor’s jaw, their thumb grazing the line of his cheek.

“You’ve been tense,” Y/N whispered. “I can feel it.”

Viktor didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head ever so slightly, leaning into the touch. It was as if he were starved for it, for that gentle connection, though he rarely allowed himself such indulgences.

“It’s difficult not to-o be,” he replied, his voice soft yet so nervous. “But with you… it is e-easier.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the admission. They shifted even closer, so that their knees brushed under the water, the steam swirling around them like a veil. They could see the faint rise and fall of Viktor’s chest, his breaths a little shallower now. Under water an clear erection as he looked to Y/N eyes.

“Let me help you relax..” Y/N murmured, their voice low and intimate.

Viktor swallowed, his throat bobbing under Y/N’s hand. He didn’t protest, didn’t resist, and that was all the permission Y/N needed.

With slow, deliberate movements, Y/N slid their hands over Viktor’s shoulders, feeling the tension there, the strain of years spent hunched over workbenches and machines. They began to massage the knots from his muscles, fingers working with gentle pressure all the way down to his most intimate areas, holding it gently and seductively. Viktor’s breath hitched slightly at first, but then he let out a soft exhale, his body slowly melting under their touch.

“Y/N,” Viktor whispered, his voice a little ragged now, filled with something more than just gratitude. It was want, need—things he rarely expressed, but that Y/N could feel in the way his body responded to their touch.

Y/N leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Viktor’s jaw, just below his ear. They felt him shiver, though the water was still warm. The heat between them was palpable now, a simmering tension that neither of them seemed eager to break.

Viktor’s hand came up then, tentative at first, but soon firm, resting on Y/N’s hip beneath the water. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were afraid to break the spell between them. But Y/N welcomed it, their body responding instinctively, leaning into his touch, as they continued to masturbate the shy one.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were their soft breaths and the faint lapping of water against the sides of the tub.

Then Viktor’s lips found Y/N’s, tentative at first, his breath shaky with uncertainty. He was gentle, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters of a world he rarely allowed himself to enter. But the warmth of Y/N’s touch, the reassurance in their closeness, softened his reservations. Y/N responded with equal tenderness, their lips moving against his with a quiet, unhurried rhythm, savoring the moment.

Viktor’s hand, trembling slightly, found its way to Y/N’s waist beneath the water. His touch was tentative, but there was a quiet intensity to it, his fingers curling around their side as if anchoring himself. For a moment, he stopped their partner's hand from touching their intimacy, afraid to break too early. His forehead resting against theirs as they both caught their breath, the silence between them thick with anticipation.

“You don’t have to hold back,” Y/N murmured against his lips, their fingers tracing the edge of his collarbone. “Not with me.”

The next kiss was different. It was still soft, still careful, but there was a need behind it now, a slow-burning intensity that hadn’t been there before. Viktor’s hand, once hesitant, moved with more confidence, sliding up from their waist to the small of their back, pulling them closer as his lips parted, deepening the kiss. Y/N responded in kind, their arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair as they pressed their bodies closer under the water.

Y/N could feel his restraint slipping, the careful control he usually held onto crumbling as their hands moved over him, as their lips met again and again in a heated, desperate rhythm. Viktor’s hands slid lower, his fingers tracing patterns on their back, their waist, the feel of his touch sending shivers through Y/N.

Their hands roamed over each other, exploring, searching, the water lapping gently around them as they moved. Viktor’s hand slipped under the water, resting on Y/N’s thigh, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through them. Y/N gasped softly against his lips, their own hands moving to mirror his touch, fingers brushing over the sensitive skin of his hips.

Viktor groaned softly, the sound low and desperate, and it only spurred Y/N on, their touches becoming bolder, more confident.

“I’ve-e wanted th-h-his… for so long,” Viktor murmured against their lips, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a vulnerability that made Y/N’s heart ache.

Y/N kissed him deeply, their hands cupping his face, their thumbs brushing his cheeks as they whispered back, “Me too, Viktor.”

For a moment, everything else faded away. There was no Piltover, no Academy, no responsibilities or pressures. There was only them, tangled together in the warm water, their lips and hands exploring, their hearts pounding in unison. It was slow, it was heated, and it was perfect—two souls finding solace in each other, in the quiet spaces between invention and creation.

Now, there was simply Y/N on the skinny scientist member, their touch subtle and gentle, as they did their best to drive Viktor into their release with rhythmic movements ... up... and down, like they painted a masterpiece of pleasure.

And then, with a quiet gasp, Viktor’s body tensed, his grip on Y/N tightening as he reached the edge, his breath catching in his throat as the tension finally broke, as he allowed himself to cum, as all his fluids mixed with the water.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Viktor allowed himself to relax completely. His head rested against Y/N’s, his lips barely brushing their neck as he let out a soft, contented sigh. The vulnerability of the moment settled between them, and Y/N could feel the quiet gratitude in the way Viktor held onto them, the way he let himself simply be there, with no pressure, no expectations—just them.

They pressed a soft kiss to his temple, letting their lips linger there for a moment before they whispered, "Viktor… maybe we should get out of here."

He stirred slightly at the sound of their voice, blinking slowly as if coming back to the present. His cheeks flushed, not just from the heat of the tub but from the lingering embarrassment that seemed to settle in the air now that the moment had passed. Viktor shifted against Y/N, his body weak from both exhaustion and the vulnerability of the night.

“I… yes,” he murmured, though his voice was soft, almost hesitant. His hand, still resting gently on Y/N’s side, trembled ever so slightly. “I think that… would be wise.”

Viktor sat up a little, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Y/N’s gaze, his usual reserved demeanor slipping back into place, though there was still a softness in his expression

Y/N stood, the cool air hitting their skin as they stepped out of the tub, offering Viktor a hand to help him up. He hesitated for a moment, his golden-brown eyes flicking up to meet theirs with a hint of sheepishness, before taking their hand. His legs felt unsteady as he rose, and Y/N could feel the slight tremble in his grip as he steadied himself.

Once they were both out, Y/N handed Viktor a towel, watching as he carefully dried himself off, still avoiding eye contact. His cheeks were still flushed, and Y/N could see the faint quirk of a shy smile on his lips, though he did his best to hide it.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked softly, stepping closer and resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Viktor nodded, though he let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “I am… perhaps a bit more tired than I anticipated.” His voice was quiet, a little breathless, and Y/N could tell he was still processing everything that had just happened.

“Then let’s get you to bed,” Y/N said with a warm smile, their hand sliding down to lace their fingers through his, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Viktor’s eyes met theirs for a brief moment, and he nodded, clearly relieved by the suggestion.

Together, they made their way to the bed in the center of the room, the sheets looking impossibly inviting after the intense heat of the hot tub. Viktor sat down on the edge first, his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of his usual stoicism had been lifted, leaving only the exhaustion of the night.

Y/N slid in beside him, wrapping their arms around him from behind, pulling him gently into a soft embrace. Viktor leaned into their touch, his body instinctively relaxing against theirs. The tension that had built up over so many years, in both his work and his emotions, seemed to melt away in the quiet safety of Y/N’s arms.

He let out a soft, almost contented sigh, his head resting back against Y/N’s shoulder. “I… I never thought I would feel this… close to someone,” Viktor admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in his words cutting through the air like a confession.

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, holding him tighter. “You deserve this, Viktor. You deserve to be cared for, to have someone by your side.”

He smiled weakly, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned more fully into their embrace, his exhaustion catching up with him. “Perhaps,” he whispered, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “But I… I do not know what I would do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” Y/N whispered softly, their hands tracing light circles on his chest as they cuddled closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#viktor #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane fanfic #smut

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fanficapologist · 8 months ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Seventy-Five

The ride back to Harrenhall was filled with a sense of hope and anticipation, buoyed by the discovery of the dragon egg. Maera rode atop Ēbrion with a renewed energy, the wind whipping through her hair as they soared through the skies.As Ēbrion propelled them forward with powerful beats of his wings, Maera felt a surge of exhilaration course through her veins. She clung to the dragon's saddle with determination, her eyes scanning the horizon with newfound optimism.

The landscape below rushed by in a blur of greenery and winding rivers, the sunlight casting a golden glow upon the land. Glancing across the vast expanse of sky, Maera spotted Aemond flying on Vhagar alongside them. His figure was a distant silhouette against the backdrop of clouds, his dragon's wings slicing gracefully through the air.

As they landed back at Harrenhall and made their way to the castle gates, Maera and Aemond were filled with a temporary sense of excitement and camaraderie. The tension that had lingered between them seemed to melt away in the exhilaration of their adventure. Maera spoke animatedly about their discovery of the dragon egg, her green eyes alight with enthusiasm as she recounted the details of their flight and the breathtaking sight of the molten rock. Aemond listened attentively, his own excitement mirroring hers as they shared in the joy of their discovery.

Entering the courtyard, they were greeted by a flurry of activity and a sense of panic among the guards. However, as Maera and Aemond approached, relaxed and seemingly unaware of the commotion, the tension in the air dissipated. Maera couldn't help but giggle at the reaction they had caused. It was clear that their absence had been longer than expected, and the sight of them returning unharmed eased the worries of those within the castle walls.

Ser Adrian, Maera’s brother-in-law, approached them first, his blue eyes reflecting genuine concern. “We thought something had happened,” he confessed, his freckled face flushed with relief.

Maera couldn’t suppress her amusement. “Something did happen, good-brother,” she replied, a playful glint in her eye. Aemond grabbed the dragon egg from under his arm and proudly presented it to the onlookers. With a blackened shell and flecks of green, the sight of the rare and precious egg elicited murmurs of awe and excitement from those gathered around, their eyes widening in wonder at the remarkable discovery.

“Gods, even if it doesn’t hatch, it’s worth a fortune,” Ser Adrian remarked, his tone tinged with bewilderment.

“It will hatch,” Aemond asserted firmly, his confidence unwavering, earning a playful nudge in the ribs from Maera’s elbow.

Maera interjected with a gentler tone, her words carrying the weight of tradition and expertise. “What my husband means is that Targaryens are skilled in the art of hand-rearing dragon eggs and hatchlings,” she explained, her voice a soothing counterpoint to Aemond’s sternness.

As they made their way back to their chambers, Aemond’s hand rested protectively on Maera’s back, the warmth of his touch a comforting presence amidst the turmoil that surrounded them. For a fleeting moment, they found solace in each other’s company, their shared mission bonding them once more.

However, their temporary respite was shattered when they turned a corner in the corridors and came face to face with Alys, her swollen belly unmistakable beneath her green dress. “You have both returned unharmed. I’m glad,” the witch greeted them with a saccharine smile, but Maera couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered within her.

The Princess’s heart pounded with trepidation as the witch's cat-like eyes lingered on the dragon egg cradled beneath Aemond's arm. "Is that...?" Alys began, her voice tinged with bewildered curiosity. The weight of Alys's fixation filled Maera with a sense of dread, her fingers instinctively reached out to Aemond's forearm for support, though she hardly noticed her own actions.

A knowing grin spread across Alys's lips as she clasped her hands together, her words dripping with eerie reverence. "It seems the Gods favor you, Prince Aemond. This is undoubtedly an omen from them." Maera's jaw clenched as Alys's gaze flickered momentarily to her before settling back on Aemond, her fingers absently tracing the curve of her swollen stomach. "What a powerful Prince your son will be as a dragon rider," the witch mused, her words hanging heavy in the air.

The Princess’s silent anger simmered beneath the surface as Alys brazenly requested the dragon egg for her own child, despite it not being a true Targaryen. The audacity of the request fueled Maera's disdain for the woman who had meddled in her marriage and sought to undermine her at every turn. Unable to tolerate Alys’s insolence any longer, Maera braced herself to speak out, but to her surprise, it was Aemond who broke the tense silence.

“Indeed,” he replied calmly, his tone devoid of emotion, causing Maera’s eyes to widen in disbelief. Surely he wasn’t entertaining Alys’s absurd notion. The One-Eyed Prince’s gaze shifted from Alys to Maera, his single violet eye piercing through her with a depth that left her breathless.

For a moment, their silent exchange spoke volumes, a silent understanding passing between them before Aemond returned his attention to Alys once more. “The egg will be placed in the cradle of my trueborn child,” he declared firmly, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.

Alys's reaction was immediate, her expression momentarily stunned before morphing into a mask of disbelief. Maera couldn't help but revel in the sight of shock on the witch's face, a small victory amidst the swirling currents of uncertainty that surrounded them.

Aemond's hand remained a reassuring presence on Maera's back as he attempted to gently guide them both around Alys, his gesture signaling his desire to end the conversation with the witch and continue their journey back to their chambers.

Yet Alys sidestepped, effectively blocking the couple's path with a determined stance. "Do you think that wise?" she challenged, her tone firm and unwavering.

Maera glanced up at her husband, noticing the subtle tightening of his jaw, a sign of his growing agitation. The Prince's response was swift and sharp, his voice laced with a dangerous edge that made Maera jump in surprise. "Alys, I suggest you hold your tongue," he growled, his words carrying a weight of authority that both frightened and thrilled Maera to hear him finally stand up to the witch.

Undeterred, Aemond pressed on, his voice dripping with suppressed fury. "I have endured your presence for the sake of your sight and your contributions to the war effort," he began, his gaze unwavering as he met Alys's defiant stare. "But quite frankly, I have tolerated your disrespect, particularly towards my wife, for long enough."

Alys's cat-like eyes blazed with fury, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface as she met Aemond's gaze head-on. Though Maera harbored doubts about the witch's supposed magical abilities, she couldn't shake the sense of apprehension that gripped her at the prospect of things escalating further. The tension in the air crackled with the unspoken threat of confrontation, leaving Maera longing for a swift resolution to their encounter.

"Aemond..." Maera's voice carried a note of pleading as she tugged gently on his arm, her eyes silently urging him to let the confrontation with Alys come to an end. But her husband, consumed by anger, seemed beyond reason.

"Should the Gods desire their vision to come to fruition so desperately, they can do so on my terms," Aemond declared, his single violet eye flashing with determination as he cast a steely gaze between the two women, ensuring they both understood the gravity of his words.

Maera nodded silently, her gaze downcast but a small, relieved smile playing at the corners of her lips. It seemed her husband had finally found his clarity. Yet, Alys remained undeterred.

"But, my Prince..." Alys began, her voice tinged with desperation.

At that moment, Aemond's composure shattered, his anger boiling over as he abruptly pulled away from Maera and advanced towards the witch with determined strides. He loomed over Alys, his voice dripping with venom as he spat out his words. "Do you really think it would be placed in the cradle of a half-breed? Of a bastard to a whore?”

As Alys averted her gaze, Aemond closed the distance even further and leaned down so his face was at the same level as the witch’s, his pointed nose and chiseled features accentuating his disdain. "Do you think I would entrust a dragon's egg to a child I did not desire? To a child I was assured would never come to be?" His voice, though hushed, carried a weight of stern authority that caused even Maera to flinch.

Sensing the tension reaching its breaking point, and seeing the tremble in Alys's frame, Maera stepped forward, her hand gently settling on Aemond's shoulder. At her touch, the Prince's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, his stormy demeanor softening as he took a step back from the witch, regaining his usual stoic composure.

"We are done here," Maera declared firmly, her gaze flickering between her husband and the shaken witch. With a firm grip on Aemond's arm, she guided him away, the tension dissipating as they retreated to the sanctuary of their shared chambers, feeling a renewed sense of solidarity between them.

In their rooms, the silence hung heavy between Maera and Aemond, thick with unspoken tension. Maera could sense the seething fury radiating from her husband after is interaction with Alys, a palpable force that filled the room with its intensity. A few months ago, Maera would have approached him, seeking to ease his anger and discuss the situation calmly. But now, after enduring so much hurt and betrayal, she chose to let him stew in his rage. It was a deliberate choice, a silent retaliation for the pain he had inflicted upon her with his indifference and betrayal.

As they sat in the oppressive silence, each concentrating on their own tasks of reading and writing, Maera allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction, knowing that Aemond was experiencing just a fraction of the turmoil she had endured since the arrival of Alys. It was a bitter victory, but one that offered a semblance of vindication in the face of their fractured marriage.With the hours passing by, the oppressive tension in the room began to ease, replaced by a more subdued atmosphere. Maera remained engrossed in her book, delving into the intricacies of Aegon's Conquest, while Aemond meticulously transcribed his notes into a new ledger, his movements deliberate and focused.

The Princess couldn't help but notice the new leather bound ledger, a replacement for the one she had thrown into the hearth in a fit of anger. Part of her felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if vital information had been lost in her impulsive act. However, another part of her, fueled by pettiness, secretly relished the idea of inconveniencing Aemond, who had to rewrite his old notes from scratch. Despite the lack of verbal communication, Maera and Aemond occasionally stole glances at each other, their eyes meeting fleetingly. In those moments, there was a silent yearning for connection, a longing for the bond they once shared to be restored.

When night fell, the couple shared their evening meal together before making their preparations for bed. Maera was assisted by the maid out of her dress and into a soft nightgown, her pregnant belly more prominent beneath the fabric with each passing day. The child within her seemed particularly active tonight, its kicks a comforting reminder of the life growing inside her.

As Maera settled into bed, she observed Aemond's nightly routine unfold. He made his way to the chair by the hearth, a ritual he had faithfully followed for the past month since she had banished him from their bed. He glanced at the black dragon egg in its metal pot, sitting atop burning coals before placing the lid back on top of it. With graceful movements, he untied his straight silver hair, allowing it to cascade around his shoulders, and removed his eyepatch, revealing the sapphire glint of his remaining eye in the flickering firelight.

Sensing Maera's gaze upon him, Aemond looked up, meeting her eyes with a silent acknowledgment. In response, Maera threw back the sheet covering her side of the bed and patted the space beside her, a wordless invitation laden with unspoken longing and a plea for connection.The Prince hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his violet eye as he silently questioned Maera's invitation. Her small, sad smile in response seemed to give him the reassurance he needed. With a newfound resolve, he stood and made his way to the bedside.

Slowly, Aemond removed his sleep shirt, revealing his slim yet toned chest and stomach, a sight that stirred a sense of longing in Maera. As he sat on the bed and discarded his trousers, he revealed himself completely, his vulnerability laid bare along with his form. With a gentle hand, he removed the sapphire from his eye socket and placed the gem in a dish on his bedside table.

Maera, too, shed her nightgown, lying before him naked, just as they had always been with each other in Kings Landing when they retired to bed. His gaze lingered on her, taking in the changes her body had undergone in the past month. Her curves had become more pronounced, her breasts somehow even larger, her stomach swollen with the life growing inside her, adorned with a few blue and purple stretch marks—a testament to the journey of motherhood she was embarking on.

As Aemond extinguished the candle, enveloping them in darkness, the only sensation permeating the silence was the rhythmic cadence of their breathing, intertwining in the stillness of the chamber. A shiver coursed through Maera's body as the cool air prickled her exposed skin. Accustomed to sleeping alone and clothed since banishing Aemond from their shared bed, she now felt a chill settle over her skin.

Seeking warmth and solace, Maera inched closer to him, her body instinctively drawn to his. With a tentative gesture, she rested her head on his bare chest, seeking the comfort of his proximity. In response, Aemond's muscular arm encircled her, drawing her closer to him. His hand found the curls on her head, his fingers gently stroking them with a soothing rhythm, a silent gesture of reassurance and affection in the darkness. As Maera stirred awake the next morning, she found herself still comfortably entwined with her husband, nestled against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. Aemond's arm remained draped protectively around her, his other hand tenderly resting on her swollen stomach, eliciting a contented smile from Maera as she savored the warmth of their shared embrace.

When they entered the council room that morning, the Prince and Princess presented a striking image of unity, both adorned in attire that echoed their shared allegiance. Clad in matching black leather accented with gleaming gold symbols of dragons, they exuded a palpable sense of connection that didn't go unnoticed by the courtiers who greeted them with respectful nods and murmurs.

Seated together, Maera observed in silence as Aemond took command of the room with confidence, providing updates and soliciting counsel from the assembled advisors. Throughout the proceedings, his hand remained firmly planted on her thigh, a subtle yet reassuring gesture of their renewed bond that Maera welcomed wholeheartedly.

As each lord provided their updates on strategy and army numbers, Maera couldn’t help but notice a distinct air of optimism that seemed to permeate the room, a stark contrast to previous meetings. From what she could surmise, the reports sounded more positive, hinting at progress and potential victories on the horizon.

When Aemond finally turned to Alys for her input, Maera noticed her sitting at the opposite side of the room, her expression dark and brooding. Despite her discomfort from the late stages of her pregnancy, Alys rose from her chair with determination, her hand resting protectively on her bump as she addressed the council.

“I would like to bring before the council once more the matter of the Westerlands, my Lords,” Alys proclaimed, her voice carrying an air of self-importance that elicited an eye roll from Maera before she continued. “The Gods have revealed to me that the Lannister forces will remain unharmed as they journey here. Therefore, I believe assigning the Princess to patrol the western border is a misuse of valuable resources.”

Maera couldn’t suppress a scoff at the absurdity of Alys’s suggestion, quickly masking it with a discreet clearing of her throat. Glancing around the room, she noted the skepticism mirrored in the expressions of the other council members.

“I’m not certain House Lannister would share your theory,” Ser Adrian interjected diplomatically, attempting to maintain a sense of decorum in the face of Alys’s bold proclamation.

“Indeed. The Princess’s patrol of the area ensures safety in the west,” the Peake Lord concurred, his agreement echoing the sentiments shared by many in the room. Maera offered him a silent nod of appreciation for his support as their eyes briefly met.

Meanwhile, the elder Lord Vance stroked his grey beard thoughtfully, considering Alys’s words with a hint of skepticism. “And what, may I ask, is your proposed course of action?” he inquired, directing his gaze towards the witch.

Alys’s smile widened at the attention, her confidence unwavering as she laid out her suggestion. “I propose that the Princess return to King’s Landing,” she declared, her voice dripping with certainty. “I have foreseen the sky above the Keep ablaze with red and gold flames, and venom seeping into Blackwater Bay. With her in the Capital, the catastrophe would be prevented.”

Maera’s eyes widened in disbelief at Alys’s proposal. The sheer audacity of suggesting such a thing, especially after Aemond had begun to stand up for her, left Maera incredulous. It was a ridiculous notion, and Maera couldn’t help but feel insulted by the suggestion. However, she was glad to see that the room had erupted into murmurs, frowns, and shaking heads among the attending lords and knights. The notion of sending the Princess away was met with disbelief and disapproval from those present, meaning Maera had the support of the councilmen.

But there was only one person’s support she truly needed. The Princess turned to her husband, but found his gaze fixed on Alys with a steely intensity that sent a clear message of disapproval. His hand remained reassuringly on Maera’s thigh as he addressed the witch, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “And is this belief rooted in fact? Or is it just a gut feeling?” The Prince sneered, all eyes around the room locked onto his commanding figure. Alys simply blinked bewilderedly at his words. Despite her attempts to maintain composure, the shock of Aemond’s rebuke was evident on her face, leaving her momentarily speechless.

The Prince shook his head, leaning forward to rest it on his propped-up elbow. “Aegon holds the city on Sunfyre. The city watch guards the gates, preventing any invasions,” he asserted, his tone laced with confidence. The attending lords and knights nodded in agreement, their murmurs of assent echoing throughout the chamber. Maera observed Alys closely, noting the flicker of realization in the witch’s eyes as she came to the stark realization that nobody in the room supported her misguided proposal.

Undeterred, Aemond continued, his hand rubbing reassuringly up and down Maera’s leg as he spoke. “There is no conceivable reason for Rhaenyra to invade King’s Landing at this time,” he reasoned, his voice firm with conviction.

Alys’s confidence wavered visibly, her demeanor shifting from assertive to bewildered as Aemond’s words sank in. Her cat-like eyes widened in surprise, and she ran a frustrated hand through her long dark hair, a subtle sign of her discomfort and annoyance at being challenged so publicly. The witch then scoffed dismissively, her defiance evident in her tone. “You’re not listening,” she retorted, her frustration palpable.

“And why should I listen to you?” Aemond shot back, his anger simmering beneath the surface as he scanned the room, locking eyes with each council member in turn. “I couldn’t give a shit what you think, Alys. My wife remains here,” he declared firmly, his loyalty to Maera unwavering.

Before Alys could voice another protest, Maera rose gracefully from her seat, her black and gold attire emphasizing her regal presence. Her gravid form, a testament to her impending motherhood, only added to her commanding aura, a symbol of her union with the Prince and her significance in the realm.

As the Princess surveyed the room, a sense of empowerment washed over her. She felt the weight of the Lords’ reliance on her and her dragon, recognizing the shift in power that had occurred in her favor. With Aemond’s support and the respect of the assembled courtiers, Maera was no longer a pawn in Alys’s scheming prophecies, but a force to be reckoned with in her own right.

Turning her green gaze upon the witch, Maera conveyed authority and determination. It was a silent warning, a declaration that Alys’s manipulations would no longer be tolerated. With her husband’s backing, the Lords’ esteem, and her own formidable intellect, Maera addressed those surrounding the table. “Clear the room,” she commanded, her voice carrying an air of authority that brooked no opposition.

Without hesitation, the council members promptly rose and filed out of the chamber, leaving Maera and Aemond alone with Alys. The witch lingered for a moment longer, shooting a venomous glare at the royal couple before finally exiting, her departure marking the end of the tumultuous council meeting.

The room was now empty, aside from Maera and her husband. She moved from her seat and circled the table, her gaze tracing the intricacies of the map of Westeros spread out before her. The figurines representing the Blacks' forces dotted the map, a testament to their growing strength. Yet, amidst them, she noticed new green figurines, symbolizing the dragons aligned with the Greens. Her heart swelled with pride as she spotted Ēbrion's figurine placed strategically on the border of the Westerlands, a clear indication of her contribution to the cause.

As she lifted her eyes from the map, she found her husband engrossed in reading from a scroll. A sense of admiration washed over her as she took in his features, the chiseled lines of his face, the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't help but marvel at the sudden change in his demeanor, the way he had staunchly defended her during the council meeting. It sparked a flicker of curiosity within her, wondering what had prompted this shift in his stance.

"You're being particularly cruel this morning," she remarked with a small smile, acknowledging his firm handling of Alys

Aemond remained focused on his scroll, but his response carried a flirtatious undertone. "I thought you enjoyed a bit of cruelty."

Maera chuckled softly, knowing the effect her next words would have on him. "It depends on the context, issa darys," my king, she teased noticing the way Aemond swallowed at the sound of the High Valyrian words, stirring something deep within him. But her amusement faded as she furrowed her brow in genuine confusion. "Are you going to tell me what's going on? What's changed for you to challenge her so suddenly?" she pressed, her tone tinged with concern.

Aemond's gaze flicked up to meet hers, and after a moment, he closed the scroll with a heavy sigh. “You are right. I have been a fool,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. Rising from his seat, the scrape of the chair against the stone floor echoing in the chamber, he approached her with purpose. “So blinded by notions of the Gods’s Will and their plan for me, that I have allowed you endure great pain.”

Maera felt her cheeks flush under the intensity of his burning gaze, and she averted her eyes, focusing instead on the map spread out before them. She felt his presence behind her, the warmth of his body radiating against her back as he reached out to lightly graze her shoulder, his fingers brushing away stray tendrils of hair to expose the nape of her neck to him. "And in doing so, I've risked losing you," he concluded softly, his warm breath teasing her skin as he leaned closer, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine.

As Aemond's lips brushed delicately against her neck, Maera's breath hitched in her throat, her heart quickening its pace. She felt his arm wrap around her waist, pulling her closer until the Prince's body was firmly pressed against her back.

"Your sense of duty and your drive to better yourself are qualities I admire most about you," Maera breathed, her words tinged with affection, even as Aemond continued to pepper wet kisses along her neck. Despite the sensations coursing through her, she fought to maintain her composure. "But your ambition can sometimes make you arrogant and blind to logic and reason."

Aemond's mouth trailed up to her earlobe, he bit down harshly, eliciting a surprised yelp from Maera. She turned to face him, her hands finding purchase on his chest, while one of his hands settled on her waist and the other threaded through her scalp, lightly tugging on her dark brown curls.

Meeting his gaze, Maera's expression turned serious. “I do not know what she told you of the Gods’s plan for you. In truth I do not wish to know as I do not trust her with every fibre of my being,” she admitted, her frown deepening as she referred to Alys. Aemond responded with a soft hum, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip. With a gentle touch, Maera's hand traced the sharp contours of Aemond's jawline, her touch imbued with a mixture of affection and concern. "But regardless of fate, your place is by my side," she affirmed, her voice filled with unwavering certainty.

Aemond sighed in response, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. "I am unworthy of you," he confessed, his voice heavy with self-doubt.

A mischievous smile danced across Maera's lips as she met his gaze. "I know," she teased, her tone playful yet affectionate.

Without hesitation, Aemond leaned forward, capturing her lips in a fervent, passionate kiss. Maera melted into his embrace, returning the kiss with equal fervor, their passion igniting like a wildfire as they surrendered to the irresistible pull of desire. His hand found its way to the back of her head, tugging on the roots of her hair so Maera’s head would tilt backwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

The kiss was warm and wet, all teeth and tongue and filled with desperation and lust. It was as if he never wanted to let her go, that he had now finally realised what was a stake. To hell with the Gods, to Hell with fate. There was only her. His Princess. His Wife. Maera attempted to keep up, sliding her tongue against his with equal enthusiasm but found herself breathless and lightheaded. She then felt his strong hands on her backside, lifting her up onto the table, knocking some of the black and green figurines over.

He jammed his knee between her legs, forcing them open and slotted himself between them, never breaking the desperate kiss for even a second. Maera’s hands found the clasps on his doublet and began to undo the buckles frantically, consumed by the need to feel his skin on hers. The Prince in turn began to greedily bunch her skirts in his fists, hiking up the fabric until it sat just above her hips. His calloused palms gripped onto her plush thighs, watching her concentrating on unclasping the very last buckle on his chest before pushing the leather from his shoulders, his white cotton shirt underneath.

Growing impatient, he discarded the remaining barrier to his torso quickly, allowing Maera to run her fingers over the chiseled muscles, licking and biting at the scars that littered his chest, causing him to close his eye and groan. Maera’s fingers descended lower and lower, down his toned stomach before reached the front of his trousers and palming his very obvious bulge through the fabric.

Aemond growled and pulled away for a moment, only to reach behind her and push all the black and green figurines off of the table, the marble objects bouncing off the stone floor below. Maera gasped in surprise and excitement before being roughly pushed back onto the table, her chest heaving beneath her dress as her breathing increased rapidly.

His cock grew impossibly hard at the sight of her like this, so the Prince reached forward and grabbed both of her breasts, eagerly cupping the soft flesh, his hands not being able to grasp them entirely due to their size.

“I have never seen you so beautiful,” he murmured darkly before squeezing the flesh in his palm. “You will look like the Maiden herself when these are full of milk for our child.” Maera’s core clenched at his words and she let out a desperate whine, causing the Prince to smirk at her needy response.

He withdrew for a moment, and Maera propped herself up on her elbows to see him pulling up a chair so he could sit comfortably between her legs. Grabbing her by the ankles, he yanked her towards him and sat down, his violet eye darkening as he fixated on the noticeable wet patch on her smallclothes, before ripping them off her legs and throwing them across the room. Aemond began to press wet kisses against one of her rounded thighs, lips trailing slowly up to where she needed him most before he abruptly switched to her other thigh, indicating that he was going to take his time.

“For fuck’s sake Aemond,” Maera groaned through gritted teeth, her hips practically chasing his face and the back of her head hitting the table in frustration. “Just take me, I need you!”

He leaned forward in his chair, his breath fanning across her bare cunt. “Patience, issa daria,” my queen, he chuckled cruelly, before pressing a feather-light kiss to her dripping centre, causing her to gasp. Aemond then began to deliberately bestow kitten licks on her clit, the pressure hard enough to elicit a gasp, but too light for a release to build. Maera felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his tongue on her pearl but desperate for so much more.

She attempted to compose herself, to not seem so wanting, but that idea left her head the his tongue slipping inside her and tasting her greedily, his sharp nose prodding against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Mmm, the sweetest cunt in the Seven Kingdoms,” he growled against her folds, lapping at her centre frantically as his hands resting on her hips to keep her in place.

The Princess panted as the pleasure began to build in her lower stomach, eyes rolling to the back of her head and hips bucking into Aemond’s face as he continued to feast upon her with practiced eased, groaning obscenities into her slick folds as he savoured the sweet taste. When he moved his tongue to her clit once more , Maera felt his skilled fingers gathering the wetness around her core before plunging two of them deep inside of her.

Her back arched as he immediately found her spongey spot, moving his fingers in a come hither motion, all the while sucking on her sensitive bundle of nerves relentlessly, the knot deep in her stomach winding tighter and tighter. Maera’s plush thighs began to shake and clench around his head, making him continue to press harshly on her hips with his free hand to keep her in place.

Rapidly, her body tensed as an unbelievable high hit her, blinding hot pleasure coursing through her veins, a sweaty sheen forming on her body as she rode out her orgasm against her husband’s mouth. Aemond’s fingers slowed inside her, a contented hum escaping his lips as he took in the sight before him; his wife, red-faced, panting and sweating, all because he had caused her to become undone.

Maera did not have time to think before the air was knocked out of her lungs as her husband sheathed his long, thick cock into her, filling her to the hilt before setting a tempestuous rhythm, thrusting in and out of her as if his life depended on it. The fact that they were doing this here, when just minutes ago they were sat having a meeting made the experience all the more captivating, the thought of it causing Maera to clench around her husband as she moaned his name.

“Fuck,” he groaned in response. “Such a perfect cunt. And it belongs to me.” He adjusted his hips upwards so that his length brushed against the soft spongey spot within, that familiar coil winding itself tighter and tighter once again.

“Gods, Aemond. Please!” She babbled, tears streaming down her face as she was jolted upwards on the table, the slapping sound of skin on skin making her even wetter.

“Tell me who you belong to, sweet wife,” he grunted, slamming his hips faster and faster into her. When Maera’s reply did not come quick enough, he reached between them and used his thumb to rub against her pearl, the sensation sending a jolt up her spine.

She relented between moans. “You, my Prince! I’m yours!”

“And I am yours,” he rambled, his cock bullying the sweet spot inside of her causing her second release to come upon her suddenly, her body convulsing as he fucked her through her high. Maera’s vice-like grip around his cock practically milked him for his seed, squeezing him so tightly that his pace faltered and he came with a deep and guttural grunt, his jaw going slack as he filled her up with his cum.

There was no sound left in the chambers, except the couple’s desperate panting as each of them came down from their high. After a moment, Maera propped herself up on her elbows, smirking as she drank in her husband’s cunt-struck face. Aemond raised a brow at her before abruptly withdrawing his softening cock, the loss of contact causing her to hiss. He then offered his hand and pulled her up, causing her to sit up straight and rest her face upon his bare chest, the rapid beating of his heart pulsing beneath his skin.

Hopping off the table, Maera smoothed down her skirts and combed her hand through her brown and silver curls. She turned to look at the table and felt Aemond’s hand caress her rounded stomach before he pressed a firm kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering a moment before he pulled away. Maera met his gaze and smiled contently before pointing at the table.

“I hope you remember where all the Black and Green figures go, because I don’t.”

Notes: Ok so I went over my word count this chapter, sue me! But definitely after this one it’s two more chapters of Alys, I’m sick of her as well. But hey we got smut so 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #prince aemond

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sleeplesssmoll · 7 months ago

Text

Schneider returns as a Carbuncle.

This is the first chapter of the Schneider Caruncle fic I've been screwing around with. The whole thing may never make it online, but I can share this bit (until I get embarrassed and delete it).

The story is called Tarocco.

Orange orchards.

Doves in flight.

Bullets and bloodstains.

Her thoughts shifted into abstraction before she could collect them. The river of time flowed steadily and she drifted on its current along with trickles of Dust. How long has she been here? Perhaps she's always been here. It didn't matter since she will never know the answer.

Or so she thought.

A two-dimensional line appeared before her, beckoning her to grab hold. Someone's calling her. She grasped the line and it reeled her out of the currents of time. Dust convened around her, giving her spirit a physical body but it wasn't enough. She needs more before she reaches her destination wherever that might be–

Crimson eyes opened to the sight of a golden spinning wheel. The currents of time were neither cold nor wet as they receded away from her.

“The wheel summoned a Carbuncle?” A voice asked from behind her.

She sprung onto all fours–

Fours. That didn't sound right. She looked down at her chocolate colored paws and then behind her at a ridiculously fluffy tail.

She can't fight like this! She's no bigger than a kitten! How did this happen? She glared at two young women observing her. One's wearing a ridiculous top hat concealing her face. The other had a head of fiery long hair.

“Shall I take care of it, Timekeeper?” The redhead raised her wand. Green eyes honed in on the furball in front of her like a hound on a rabbit.

The Carbuncle extended her claws in response and bared her fangs. She won't go down with a fight against this! This! Old woman!

“That won't be necessary, Sonetto. The wheel must have brought her here for a reason.”

Her words failed to allay the Carbuncle’s hostility. She's been in this situation before. She can't remember when or how, but the feeling of being cornered felt at home in her anxious body.

She's going to slash that stupid hat into ribbons and scratch out her target's eyes the moment she gets closer. If she's lucky, the bodyguard will be too busy helping her friend to chase her while she makes her escape.

Top Hat crouched down on one knee like a prince about to propose. “Hello, my name is Vertin and this is my assistant Sonetto. We're not going to hurt you.” Sonetto nodded but her gaze didn't soften in the slightest. She tensed as Vertin lowered herself within the bristling Critter's reach. Sonetto's free hand gripped the back of Vertin's jacket, ready to yank her away at a moment's notice. What a protective little dog this “Vertin” has.

A memory laced in gold and coated in slime pricked at the back of the Carbuncle's mind but it refused to surface. She's too focused on the opening before her to dwell on them. She approached Vertin cautiously.

The gullible fool extended her hand. “Can you understand us? Nod your head if you can.”

The Carbuncle resisted rolling her eyes. What next, roll over? Play dead? She nodded and nudged the offered hand with her head. Feather light fingertips scratched under her chin in a way that was loathsomely comforting. Stick to the plan. Be strong. She's not a pet! Ugh, this form is messing with her mind and Vertin finding the sweet spot behind her ears wasn't helping her focus. A genuine purr escaped her throat against her will.

“See, Sonetto? She's friendly. We should bring her back with us.”

That snapped her out of her trance.

The Carbuncle locked eyes with her prey, finally able to see past the brim of her hat–

Hair like threaded silver. Tempestuous gray eyes rivaled storm clouds. A sweet splattering of freckles across her nose.

Oh no, she's gorgeous.

Vertin gave a small smile when the Carbuncle nuzzled her hand. “Would you like to come home with me?”

An echo of a memory played in her mind.

“What if I say, I can provide you with shelter?”

The Carbuncle pushed herself into Vertin's arms. Shelter. This person will protect her. She can feel it.

The scent of rain. A red umbrella. A stolen kiss.

Vertin scooped her up and held her against her chest. “I'll take that as a yes. You'll be safe with us while we figure out why you're here.”

The rhythm of Vertin's heart stirred something in the Carbuncle.

“Don't forget my heartbeat on the right.”

The memories slipped away as quietly as it came when Vertin pressed her face into her fluff. An interesting decision for someone she just met. Not that she was complaining.

“She's so soft! Sonetto, you need to feel this.”

Now she's complaining. She hissed as the other girl neared.

Sonetto yanked her hand back. “It appears she only likes you.”

“She'll warm up to you, right?” Vertin said, removing the fluff from her face. “Let's head back with the others and introduce our newest member.”

The introductions to the other members were anticlimactic. It seems as though a Red-Eyed Carbuncle isn't the strangest thing Vertin's brought home.

Vertin gave her a grand tour of her land. Apparently the entire space around them existed in her Suitcase and she provided shelter for her crew of arcanists. She gave them sanctuary like a benevolent lord over their people.

And now Vertin is her lord too.

“And this tower collects Dust,” Vertin explained. The Carbuncle perked up. Maybe if she gathers more Dust she can take on a more useful form! Seeing her excitement, Vertin shifted her in her arms to give her a better view. She knew she was supposed to be admiring the tower but now she's so close to her lord's face.

What a view indeed. Her eyelashes are so long. They reminded her of feathers when she blinked.

“A growing Carbuncle needs their fair share of Dust. I'll make sure you get get your fill.” Ah, what a generous lord. When was the last time someone took care of her? Memories of dollar bills and black coats spilled into her head.

Eleven older sisters. A stressed mother. An unanswered prayer.

She provided for all of them. Does that same family float amongst the currents of time like she did? Her ears flattened against her head as she struggled to put names to blurry faces.

Vertin stroked her head. “Are you alright?”

She isn't.

But she's better off with Vertin for the time being. She'll gather as much Dust as she can until she can find herself again. She purred to assure her keeper that she's fine.

Her lord didn't look convinced. “Maybe Mr. Apple can make a translator for you. He told me stories about a puppy he made one for in the past.”

“Vertin, are you still playing with that Dust bunny?” Regulus shouted from the direction of the main building. The self proclaimed rock pirate raised her shades. Amber eyes settled on the duo. “C'mere and crack open a Dr. Papper with me! It's a new flavor.”

“Ok, but let me show her the orchard first. Last thing, I promise,” Vertin answered. “She's one of us now so she needs the whole tour.”

“She?” Regulus balked. “How can you tell that's a little lady in your arms?”

Vertin looked down at the Carbuncle who met her eyes, just as curious. “I don’t know. It felt right.” She lowered her voice like a guilty child. “Did I get it right or…” The Carbuncle licked her cheek and extinguished her doubts. It's the closest thing to a kiss she can give. “Regulus, did you see that?” Vertin scratched behind her ears again. “I was right. You're such a good girl.”

Tingles ran down her spine. Perhaps life as a Carbuncle isn't so bad.

The burnette shook her head. “Yep, after seeing that I'm convinced that's another girly alright.”

“What do you mean?”

Regulus smirked without elaborating. “Don't keep me waiting too long!” She vanished inside before Vertin could respond.

Vertin tightened her grip on the Carbuncle. “One last stop.”

The orchard had a few different trees. A peach tree, an apple tree, a plum tree. However, near the back was an orange tree.

It smelled like home.

“Do you like this one? It's my favorite too. Tarocco blood oranges. They're supposed to be the sweetest oranges in Sicily.” She walked over to the tree and placed her palm against it with a somber shadow in her eyes. “Sotheby and Druvis made this orchard possible. The trees will bear fruit if we give them a special potion.” She glanced back at her fuzzy friend nestled in her arm. “Although, I'm not sure if you can eat these.”

The Carbuncle would have gasped if she could. She mewled and caressed Vertin's cheek with her own. Simply being near the tree brought her images of a grand orchard. Her…uncle's?

The branches were so high and her hands were so small. An older sister helped her pick the ones out of reach. Another helped her carry the overflowing basket.

The more she struggled the more formless the memories became.

This must be a sign that she is exactly where she is meant to be. Dust, shelter, and bridges to old memories. Vertin was right, she must be here for a reason.

“Are you trying to persuade me by acting sweet?” She received another mewl in response as well as another Carbuncle kiss on her jaw. It worked. “Alright, alright. I'll let you try a tiny bit. If all goes well, you can have more.” She made her way back to the main building. “I never asked your name. Do you have one?”

Probably. But she doesn't remember. She shook her head.

“Is it alright if I give you one for the time being?”

She nodded. Her lord could call her Fuzzball or Pochi for all she cares. As long as Vertin holds her like this, she can be anything. “Tarocco, because you're so sweet.”

It's sappy. Lame. Almost embarrassing.

And it made Tarocco melt in her arms.

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 fanfic #good god it has escaped onto Tumblr #vertin #sonetto #schneider #i usually try to follow elements of the main story #this is the first time i've introduced new concepts into a pre-existing world #but Schneider doesn’t exist in that one so i tried

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derww · 28 days ago

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DAY 17: FLIGHT

The aftermath of the day is rough: people scatter to different edges of the map, sewing up their wounds and reassembling themselves, and Blindfold Bandits celebrate their next victory in a row. While the others are distracted, Zam meets with Woogie, and they bury Leo and Red. There are no names on their graves, but he plants daisies and red tulips and hopes that one day he will be able to see his friends again. Mane is here, on spawn, and Zam notices several times that his gaze is turned in their direction. Mane doesn't touch them. He doesn't call his allies either.

The coordinates from Mapicc lead him in the middle of a deep river, and, breaking three blocks down, Zam falls into a water tunnel leading down. It ends almost at the bedrock, opening into a man-made space. It is in complete disarray: randomly placed chests, scattered bandages, and bottles. Whole Empire is here: Minute in clothes from someone else's shoulder and fresh scars on his neck and face is standing at the brewing stands; Spoke is lying on the table, wrapped in bandages almost from head to toe, including an obviously broken right arm; Chief is repairing a broken elytra; Mapicc, still smeared in his own and someone else's blood, expands the space; and Jepexx is scurrying around, handing out golden apples to everyone. He is not surprised to see Zam: he hands him a golden apple too and vaguely greets him, mutters something under his breath, and leaves.

– Zam, – Mapicc greets, raising his hand. Spoke raises his head and waves at him with his not broken arm. Minute's reaction is limited to a brief nod.

The Empire is in complete disarray: having lost their base and too many hearts, unable to take a fair fight now, they hid deep underground, at least so, giving themselves a minute to rest and regroup. They look... not good. Having seemed too strong at the beginning, they were stopped by an even more unstoppable force.

– Do you have watermelons? – Minute asks him, and Zam silently places an enderchest and throws Minute like half a glass of glistering melons. He catches them without turning around, unperturbed, but Zam notices that his fingers are trembling, and he is terrified to see it. – Thanks,– and puts them in three brewing stands.

– What is the situation? – Zam asks. Looking around more closely, he notices coils of bloody bandages, a removed splint, several coils of medical threads, streaks of dirt on the floor, and – Minute's dilated pupils, almost completely obscuring the snow-white sclera with a cloudy gray.

– Fucking shit, – Mapicc says, and, opening it, gulps down a bottle of a regen, – we can't stand still anymore. Mane and Flame must be stopped, or the whole season will go to hell.

– Opps are just too good to be true,– Spoke giggles, waving his injured legs, and catches the instant healing potion thrown at him by Minute and drinks it. His hand crunches back into place, and he removes the splint, kneading the still obviously awkward and painful, but at least whole arm. – yeah, this shit is better than regen, – he complacently declares, and then undertakes to stretch, clearly overstressing his sore limbs, and, swearing, falls back to the place.

– The five of you can't do it, – Zam states and shakes his head, – you're good, but Mane, Flame, Pentar and Wemmbu-

– Yeah, no shit, – Chief rolls his eyes, – they collected four of the top 10 and a bunch of everyone else. This is not fucking winnable.

– Of course it is, – Mapicc answers, clearly irritated, – We just have to lock in.

– We should unite the server against them. – Minute frowns.

– We need to change the strategy, – Zam mentions, sorting through the chests – a bunch of small things and devilry in half with things from corpses and randomly piled firereses, potions of strength and speed, - we can't feed them hearts any more. We need more traps, – he hesitates. Spoke stares at him, and then gives him three brief signs. Zam looks away and then nods, – anything that would kill a 20 heart player, really. Even if we don't get the hearts. We have to drain them, and they have so much fucking anything.

Minute, propping up the wall, slowly shakes his head. He looks incredibly tired. Zam wonders how many regenerations he poured into himself to stand on his feet after two deaths in a row.

– You, – he stops. Their relationship remained complicated and awkward this season too, – will you work on this with us?

And Zam... is silent. Yes, he had saved Mapicc and had helped the Empire a lot lately for the sake of Mapicc and maintaining balance, but the Empire was still the embodiment of the evil of this server. It just so happened that there was greater evil now. And for some reason, everyone in the Empire treated him well.

He was a pacifist, but more than that, he volunteered to be a protector of this world and the weak people here. Indirectly, he was fighting against the very essence of the Empire. They were the second strongest unit of the server and killed countless weak ones. They might have a common enemy right now, but...

– Yes, – he nods, – Flame and Main have to be stopped as soon as possible. Everything else is later.

And Minute smiles at him – brittle and strange, but he smiles, and this is a rare sincere smile.

– Then welcome to the Empire, Zam, – he says cautiously, but with some kind of satisfaction, – and may the force be with you.

#lifesteal spoilers #princezam #mapicc #minutetech #lifestealtober2024 #d.fics #fanfiction #too tired rn ;-;#no beta we died like princezam streams

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riding-with-the-wild-hunt · 4 months ago

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"O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor. But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?" - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Farewell to Lórien"

@tolkienofcolourweek day 5: change + time || GALADRIEL

[ID: a picspam comprised of 12 images in soft, purple-tinged shades of light beige and gold.

1: White fabrics of various textures hanging in a row / 2: African-american/korean actor and model Tati Gabrielle, looking down at the viewer with her hands raised on either side of her head. She wears a gold, high-necked top and gold jewelry, and has short bleached hair / 3: A misty forest of trees with yellow foliage / 4: Brown text on a beige background reads "There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years / While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears." / 5: A swan in flight / 6: Small purple and yellow flowers floating on water / 7: Crashing waves / 8: A stalk of delicate dried flowers / 9: Same format as Image 4, but the text reads "O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day; / The leaves are falling in the stream, the river flows away." / 10: A grove of trees with white trunks and yellow leaves / 11: Tati Gabrielle, this time facing left and looking at the viewer, with one hand raised beside her mouth / 12: The spray of a waterfall, suffused with golden light //End ID]

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siobhanbooks · 6 months ago

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Queer Bodhi Durran AO3 masterlist

Bodoc

The Underpants Heist by yanny-77. During IF. ongoing.

Divine Fault Line by justanothersarah. secondary. Post IF. ongoing.

Where does the good go by justanothersarah. medical drama au. Ongoing.

Bridgegaith by suebswrites. bridgerton au. ongoing.

make me water by bestbookfriends. Post IF. completed.

I don't feel safe with you anymore by yanny-77. secondary. Post IF. completed.

Something in the Orange (tells me we're not done) by siobhanbooks. Future. Completed.

In sickness and in health by bestbookfriends. future. sick fic. completed.

Just ask by suebswrites. Post IF. ongoing.

In your eyes by bestbookfriends. future. husbands. completed.

If there's no you by siobhanbooks. future. hurt fic. completed

One more thing by House_of_Em_and_Jay.. modern au, road trip. completed.

Waking up in Cordyn by amberswansong.. modern au, road trip. completed

For what it's all worth by SilverLude. 'road' trip. completed.

Baby Iron Squad by Fireheart_Rose. Post IF. completed.

Goaltender Interference by AttieRQ. college hockey AU. ongoing.

Tell me a secret by yanny-77. Post IF/future. Completed.

Nobody likes you when you're 23 by yanny-77. Post IF/future. Completed.

long live the king by siobhanbooks. Post IF. ongoing.

How Certain the Journey by amberswansong. secondary future. completed.

it's a long way down to the bottom of the river by copperfirebird. secondary Post IF. completed.

my love is mine all mine by softodettes. secondary future. completed.

breakfast in bed by suebswrites. future. completed.

friendly fire by copperfirebird. during FW/IF. Completed.

I won't say (I'm in love) by bestbookfriends. future. completed.

came too far to die by amberswansong. secondary Post IF. ongoing.

friendship forged through fire by House_of_Em_and_Jay. Post IF. completed.

A great deal of emotions by Stargirl1744. Post IF. completed.

read it and weep by softodettes. background/secondary modern au. completed

future tense by amberswansong and copperfirebird. future. ongoing.

cupid by Mint_chocolatechip. during IF. completed.

The golden dragon by SaraNova. secondary modern au. Ongoing.

The odyssey of imrrick by ubiquitouslyme. secondary future. completed.

sound of silence by bestbookfriends. future. completed.

the idiots of Basgiath War College by siobhanbooks. secondary during IF. ongoing.

window of opportunity by hockeyspiral23. during IF. completed.

Some Day My Prince Will Come by bestbookfriends. future. completed.

Red: Basgiath's Version by bestbookfriends. modern/college au. ongoing.

me vs lightning by Mint_chocolatechip. during IF. completed.

spread your wings by olympialogy. dragon au for riorgail/FW. ongoing.

haven't told her by amberswansong. secondary during IF. completed.

ridoc's ice sculpture delivery by oopsireaditagain. during IF?. Completed.

on the road again by widebrimmedhatsblog. secondary modern au.completed.

Xaden's day off by Lydibug522. secondary during IF. completed.

Perfect Storm by hoeelliexx. modern au. ongoing.

Death of a Hero by the most incredible alexandia03. secondary post IF. ongoing. (go read it!)

I belong in your arms by justanothersarah. secondary future. completed.

Dive by siobhanbooks. modern au. completed.

Pink Pony Club by yanny-77. modern au. completed. (read it!!)

Drifted by she-whatshername. minor during IF. ongoing.

loved by mint_chocolatechip. during IF. completed.

tasting flight by copperfirebird. during IF. completed.

Scenes from a Dukedom by copperfirebird. future. ongoing.

vacation (all I ever wanted) by nevergonnaloveagain. background modern au. completed.

night games by mint_chocolatechip. during IF. completed.

Grow as we go by alexandia03 and justanothersarah. secondary IF AU. ongoing.

Onward towards Revolution by EmeraldBelle. FW AU. ongoing

Ridoc doesn't like spaghetti by Ronniewritesinatree. during IF. completed.

It never happened outside these walls by ChocoGigi. secondary modern au. Completed.

Samhain by copperfirebird. spooktober - harvest festivals au. ongoing.

Corn Maze quickie by yanny-77. harvest festivals au. Completed.

In too deep by hurricane. background. olympics au. Ongoing.

Legally Ridoc by alltoowellread. legally blonde au. ongoing.

Accidental Connection by overjoyedisland. modern au. Completed.

Healing by mint_chocolatechip. pre FW au. ongoing.

spooktober by siobhanbooks. modern au. ongoing.

The Squad's Spooktober by overjoyedisland. modern au. ongoing. (secondary bodociam)

Drabble Collection: Spooktober 2024 by Impractical_Magic (sliebman10). spooktober au. ongoing.

Sixty-Nine by yanny-77. modern/spooktober au. completed.

Let’s play pretend by thoughtsaboutshadows. Modern au. ongoing.

Very Good Mead by copperfirebird. Post IF/FT universe. completed.

Hide and Seek by mint_chocolatechip. During IF. completed.

Hide and Seek by yanny-77. Modern. completed.

Bodhiam

Here for the Video Games by ubiquitouslyme. Modern au, spin off of political gain. completed.

Game on by ubiquitouslyme. modern au. Ongoing.

Political Gain by sarahwyland. Modern AU. Completed.

end of a decade, start of an age by always_aaack_for_everlark7. boyband AU. completed.

I have an excellent father by siobhanbooks. Future. Completed.

a letter a day (keeps you ready to mingle) by olympialogy. IF. completed.

like daylight by siobhanbooks. pre and during FW and IF. ongoing

dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light by siobhanbooks. modern au. Completed.

Great Basgiath Bake off by tegantales. modern au. Ongoing.

born to be nation treasures by always_aaack_for_everlark7. modern/band au. ongoing.

break my heart or bring it back to life by always_aaack_for_everlark7. beauty and the beast au. Ongoing.

The One I Want by TeganTales. modern au/GBBO spin off. Ongoing.

Bodociam

I'll always keep you in mind by hockeyspiral23. band AU. Completed.

Car Assignments - Ridoc's Shennanigans by Scarlet_Aeon. Road trip. Completed.

victory is all you need by hockeyspiral23. modern/hockey au. Completed.

The Backup Plan by hockeyspiral23. background modern royalty AU. completed.

you're too sweet (for me) by siobhanbooks. primary modern au. Ongoing.

Aretia Fire by siobhanbooks. modern au. Ongoing

agony brings no reward by hockeyspiral23. viayn bonus chapters. Ongoing. (secondary bodhiam)

Other

Xaden’s Pov of 2nd year plus companion chapters by ubiquitouslyme. pre FW. Read the tags/TW. ongoing.

Spotless by sarahwyland. only shown in epilogue/chapter 37. during and post IF/AU of IF. completed.

Memento vivere by alexandia03. Queer Bodhi. Pre and during FW. ongoing.

hope ur okay by siobhanbooks. queer bodhi. during IF. completed.

heart it races by amberswansong. bodhi x dain. pre FW. completed.

the alchemy by pretty-pleaseee. queer bodhi. modern au. ongoing.

Every night's another reason why I almost left it all by amberswansong. queer bodhi. PPC AU. completed.

Storm in the Quiet by justallihere. aroace bodhi. riorgail arranged marriage au. ongoing.

Ruin me by Cee_Darling (Cee_hoc). bodhi/brennan. Modern au. ongoing

The Choreography of Combat by SaraNova. bodhi/brennan. during IF. completed.

Spooktober 2024: Drabbles by TeganTales. bodhi/brennan. Spooktober. completed

#fourth wing #the empyrean #bodhi durran #queer bodhi durran #bodhi durran appreciation #bodhi x liam #bodoc #bodociam #bodhiam #bodhi x ridoc x liam #bodhi x ridoc #iron flame

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

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Comet Donati [Chapter 5: I Should Have Kissed You]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, bodily injury, sloths, public indecency, another important conversation on a balcony, angst!

Selected Chapter Quote: “I’m sorry about what happened tonight.”

Word count: 8k (+1 meme).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

There’s turbulence over the Indian Ocean as the jet staggers towards Singapore, pitching and reeling, dark clouds churning beyond the windows like the malevolent brew of a caldron. Each time the plane plummets fifty or a hundred feet, you clutch reflexively at your armrests and try not to think of Cast Away. No one else seems bothered by it; that’s what years spent on international flights will do to people, you suppose. It dulls their instincts, tames them, sands down vestiges of primeval survivalism like a file taken to canine teeth. Cregan is ostensibly napping beneath his sunglasses, Daeron is propelling Mario through a maze of toxic fumes, Luke is watching The Crown on his laptop with Rhaena and Baela, Jace is applying shimmering, gelatinous, golden under-eye masks with great care, Criston is answering emails, Aegon is being forced by the label to click through online substance abuse education modules and sighs dramatically and often. And Aemond…

The jet loses a dozen meters of altitude and your stomach drops. You stifle a yelp with one hand as tears—unwanted and unforeseen—prickle into your eyes. You peek across the aisle to see Aemond watching you with his gaze of two blues: one like a clear cool river, the other an otherworldly maelstrom like the atmosphere on Neptune, beautiful yet barren. His expression is intense and searching, his brow low. You try to ignore him. You try to collect yourself.

“Honeybunch?” Shelby croons. Yes, she calls him honeybunch, freaking honeybunch, and occasionally Honey Bunches of Oats. It’s almost as nauseating as the turbulence. He turns to her after the briefest of hesitations. Shelby is crouched by a table, her project for the past hour: artfully arranged red roses, glass bowls of fruit that she spritzes with a spray bottle of water—like you’d use to discipline a cat—to keep it glistening, and bubbling flutes of pink champagne. When the careening of the jet sends anything sliding precariously towards the edge of the table, she casually pushes it back into place. Shelby is no stranger to flying either. She is an angel, born with wings.

“Yeah?” Aemond says distractedly.

“Can you come over here for a sec?”

The jet shutters; ripples quake through your ginger ale. You swallow down a pathetic mewing like a wounded animal’s, swiping a tear from your cheek. You nestle against the window so no one will notice. “Sure,” Aemond tells Shelby, casting you another glance as he stands. He goes to her—gripping the backs of chairs to keep his balance—and, after looking back at you one last time, swipes one gleaming strawberry from a bowl.

“Don’t!” Shelby whines, knowing that now she’ll have to rearrange things.

If Aemond heard her, he gives no indication. He chucks the strawberry as hard as he can at Aegon; it hits the side of his head with a wet thump. Tiny black seeds pop free. Juice like blood stains his blond hair.

Aegon rips out his earbuds and spins around in his seat. “Okay, what the fuck?”

“Whoops,” Aemond says dully.

“How does someone do that by accident?! How does that even happen?!” Rubbing his head with one hand, Aegon stretches and peers around the jet. His eyes—not a blue like clear water, but a deep murky cobalt, a difference you cannot help but notice again and again like the stinging of a papercut—catch on you. “Aww, Stargirl, what’s up?” He drags himself over, knocked to his knees once by the swerving of the jet, and plops down into the chair beside you. “You okay? Don’t worry. I’m a good swimmer. I’d drag you to shore.”

You laugh, pressing a napkin to your eyes. It comes away shriveled and damp. “I’m sorry. We get tornadoes back home sometimes, I can’t stop picturing wreckage.”

“You should have seen this flight we took last year over the Pacific. The jet was practically sideways. Jace threw up like ten times.”

“Three times,” Jace says, peeling off his under-eye masks like little gold jellyfish with his feet kicked up on an ottoman.

“Ten times?” Aegon replies innocently. “Ten, you said?”

“Three, you idiot.”

“Ten?”

“Three.”

“Ten!” Aegon confirms merrily.

Jace holds up an under-eye mask and jiggles it in the air, soft and wiggling and shapeless. “Hey guys! This is what Aegon looks like naked.”

“I don’t want him getting any of the money from my donut merch!” Aegon shouts. “Criston? You hear that? Criston? Hey Criston? Criston?!”

“Do your modules,” Criston replies without looking away from his emails.

“Fine,” Aegon huffs. The jet is gliding over the ocean more smoothly now. Still, he says to you after smacking a single sloppy kiss against your temple: “Follow me. You can help.”

You accompany Aegon back to his seat and laptop, a neon green MacBook Air. Shelby is snapping photos to post on Instagram, recording clips for TikTok: the meticulously arranged table, her long fingernails decorated with palm trees and Merlions and the flag of Singapore, selfies of her and Aemond…always taken to show his good side, of course. Your guts twist with hostility, mistrust, envy, wrath.

As you pass Jace, he holds out his discarded under-eye masks. “Wanna touch?” Jace invites you, leering. You peel one gluey under-eye mask from his open palm and examine it. As you massage the pool of viscous gold, Jace ogles, dangerously close to drooling.

“So soft,” you admire. “So smooth. Not a single wrinkle.” Then you fling it back at Jace. The adhesive side sticks to his forehead. “Just like your brain.”

Everyone howls, even Cregan—not asleep after all—and Criston; he tries to choke it down until his face floods red. Aemond is staring at the floor, but he is beaming. Shelby recaptures his attention and begins posing his hand around a glass of champagne, readjusting fingers like a physical therapist stretching and flexing half-healed limbs. She gets to touch him. She gets to speak to him.

“You’re always so mean,” Jace tells you as he pries the under-eye mask off his skin, unfazed, simpering, flirtatious. “You might have to make it up to me one day.”

“Unlikely.”

“We’ll see.”

“We certainly won’t.”

Aegon shows you the quiz that has popped up in his modules. “Okay, Stargirl. Time to prove yourself. Does coke make someone’s pupils bigger or smaller?”

All you can hear is Shelby’s high, sing-songy voice; all you can picture are her exquisite fingernails skimming their way down the ridge of Aemond’s spine. “I honestly can’t recall at the moment. Go snort some and we’ll find out.”

Aegon grins. “Don’t tempt me.”

Fifty minutes later and under blessedly clear skies, the jet touches down at Changi Airport: 88 degrees Fahrenheit, 80% humidity. Aegon groans as he trots down the airstair, slides on his aviator sunglasses, and wipes away sweat—already beading on his pink forehead and wetting the hair at the nape of his neck—with the back of one hand.

“Jesus Christ, I need a Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino.”

“Do you really?” Jace jabs, and you don’t have to scold him this time. Baela gets there first, hissing something to him that is brief and fearsome. You’re only half paying attention. Once Comet Donati makes it through security, there may be paparazzi waiting for them inside the airport. Everyone knows this; it’s the same in every city and on every continent. And as Shelby strolls across the tarmac with one arm looped through Aemond’s, you cannot help but see—you cannot help but absorb like nicotine through the capillary beds of a lung—that she reaches out with those beautiful yet claw-like fingernails and taps the front pocket of his button-up shirt, black with white lilies, until he pulls out a pair of sunglasses and shields himself from the pitying eyes of the world with them.

And you think with puncturing clarity like a shard of glass through flesh: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Pan Pacific Orchard Hotel is brand new. You can’t breathe without inhaling fresh paint, glass walls, the bakery, the greenery that climbs steel like a trellis, the roomy emptiness of starting over. You wake up tangled in a nest of white sheets that your body has heated into an inferno. You don’t remember your dream, only that Aemond was there. It was the opening of the door that woke you. Aegon stands in the slanting early-afternoon sunlight, vivid red swim trunks and matching Crocs, his sunglasses knotted in his hair.

You yawn and peer blearily at him. “Aegon? What are you doing?”

“Every day I wake up hoping you’re still here,” he says. And then: “We’re all headed down to the pool. You wanna join?”

You smile; you can smell him in the air, Axe body spray, Tiger Beer, sunscreen that he never seems to apply often enough to stop his skin from burning. You haven’t been with him—not in that way—since that day in Paris. But time never feels quite linear with Aegon. He swings wide and then comes in close again, and when he does it’s like he never left. He’s with you always, and never, and sometimes, and forever. “Yeah. Give me ten minutes.”

“Cool.” He turns and studies himself in the full-length mirror that hangs on your bedroom wall. His eyes wander down to his bare chest and belly. He frowns, pensive, far-away, critical. It is an expression that looks entirely unnatural on him.

“Hey.”

He spins back around, running a hand self-consciously down the front of his torso. “Hm?”

“I think you’re perfect exactly the way you are. I am wildly, helplessly, pathetically attracted to you. I would fight off twenty fangirls with my bare hands for you. I think you’re one of the most ludicrously gorgeous men I’ve ever met in my life. ”

He grins, radiant again. “One of them, huh?” And he winks at you as he clops towards the door in his Crocs. “Maybe it runs in the family.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“So. College applications season will be here in a few months.”

Baela looks at you, started. You’re in a whirlpool with her, Rhaena, Luke, and Aegon, sipping pina coladas and kicking feet idly beneath water misty with bubbles. “Okay?” Baela says. Her swimsuit is an elegant white one-piece that—unintentionally you think, unconsciously, and yet truthfully—closely resembles a ballet leotard.

“Elaborate?” Luke says, then slurps noisily on his pina colada.

Aegon already knows where you’re going. He chuckles into one closed fist; you can see yourself reflected in his sunglasses. In the massive main pool punctuated by an arcing bridge and a miniature island, Cregan is lounging on a float shaped like a pineapple and eating his way through a heaping plate of juicy slivers: papaya, mango, starfruit, banana, lychee, rose apple, dragon fruit. Criston is sitting under an umbrella and reading a New Yorker profile of shipping tycoon Viserys Targaryen—a Greek by birth and a Brit by choice—with narrowed, vexed eyes. Jace and Daeron are attempting to do a TikTok dance for Shelby to post on her account and repeatedly screwing up, laughing hysterically and pushing each other into the pool. She always wears eye-catching patterns, leopard prints and retro geometric shapes and plaids and Swarovski crystals and tassels. Currently, she is dressed in a scarlet bikini and a sheer coverup of tropical flowers. Her blond hair flows down her back and swings like a horse’s tail when she leans in to direct her cast, pointing and waving. You see her like this, not in whole but in pieces: long beachy waves, nimble ankles and wrists, lip gloss, veneers, sugary perfume, tall like Aemond. Shelby has no idea why you’re here. She made a few tentative inquiries—So who introduced you to the band? So how did you and Aegon meet?—before being discouraged by the ensuing stilted silence. Aemond rarely acknowledges you. Presently, he is wading in the pool up to his chest, occasionally talking to Cregan but otherwise content to be left to his own…reverie? Observations? Machinating? Brooding? With his sunglasses on, it’s difficult to tell.

Back in the whirlpool, you ask Baela: “What if you applied to a few ballet programs?”

“What?”

“Just to see what happens. Just to have options.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.” She says this so quickly it’s clear that it’s a reflex: something she does not think about, something she’s trained herself not to.

“Sure you could. You click a few buttons and it’s done.”

“I’d have to send in video clips and stuff.”

“Okay. Rhaena and I will help record you.”

“Absolutely,” Rhaena agrees right away. She drinks her pina colada with large, skittish eyes, watching you like you’re poking a tiger, a viper, and dragon. She’s tried to have this conversation before. She knows how it usually goes.

“I’m really not in shape right now,” Baela protests.

“You still have time to work on that. It’s only July.”

“And who says I want to work on it?” Baela snaps. “Have I ever mentioned ballet school? Have I ever said that I want to go?”

“But you do,” you say simply.

She frowns as she casts her gaze across the pool. Beefy men dressed in black—security guards, some employed by the band, some by Shelby—mill around aimlessly like ants when you lift a rock.

“I think you should apply,” you tell Baela.

“I can’t,” she replies, pained.

“Why not?”

“Because.” She’s flustered, cross. Rhaena and Luke look between the two of you anxiously. Aegon just smiles and gnaws on the hunk of pineapple that came perched on the rim of his pina colada. “Am I supposed to send Rhaena off into the world without me? Nothing against you, Luke, I like you, I trust you, but when you’re on stage or in an interview you can’t watch out for her. What if something happens to Rhaena? Or what if I go back to school and I’m a failure? What if I humiliate myself? What if I’ve lost whatever talent I once had? What if I couldn’t keep up with my classmates? What if I get injured and have to drop out? What if I’m too old, or too out of practice, or what if I don’t even enjoy dancing anymore? What would I do about the band? What would I do about Jace?”

“Those are all valid concerns,” you say. “But they’re also concerns for after you’ve applied to schools. If you get acceptances, that doesn’t mean you have to go. But it does give you options. And options are always good.”

Baela shrugs. She catches handfuls of bubbles in one cupped palm, preoccupied. “It just seems like a waste of time.”

Aegon snickers as he tosses the pineapple rind over his shoulder. One of the security guys snatches it up off the concrete and throws it in a trashcan. “Baela, please babygirl, don’t give up on your dreams for freaking Jace.”

“And who the fuck solicited your life advice, blond Nikki Sixx? If I want to know what Narcan feels like, I’ll ask you.”

Aegon sighs, rubbing one eyebrow. “You are never going to let that go.”

“I bet you’d get in,” Luke tells Baela. “To at least one school. You’re too good not to, even with the time off. Rhaena’s shown me old recital clips. You were fantastic.”

“Were,” Baela mutters. “Past tense. Very distant past tense.”

“If you don’t get in, then you know it’s off the table,” you say. “And you’re in the exact same spot you are now. But if you do get in, you have time to figure out what to do with that information. You have nothing to lose except application fees, and I don’t think those are much of a barrier for you, oh great connoisseur of Gucci and Hermès.”

“I’ll think about it,” Baela replies, and her intent to end the conversation is clear. A few awkward moments creep by like afternoon shadows stretching across pavement. “So, what are we doing for dinner?”

“Something quick, right?” Luke says. “Takeout? We have a meet-and-greet in two hours.”

“Jollibee!” Rhaena exclaims, clapping her hands. “They have coconut pineapple pie!”

“Chicken Up,” Aegon says.

Luke laughs. “What the hell is a Chicken Up?”

“A chicken restaurant.”

“Groundbreaking” Baela quips.

“I’ve been to one in Seoul. Great wings.”

“But…but…Jollibee!” Rhaena pleads. “I need a coconut pineapple pie!”

“You’re literally drinking a coconut pineapple smoothie right now. When am I supposed to get my wings?!”

“Out of loyalty, I will have to vote for Jollibee,” Luke informs Aegon apologetically.

“I saw a Five Guys when we were driving here from the airport,” Baela suggests.

“Oh, I love Five Guys!” you say…and then you realize how it sounds. All of you giggle so loudly that Aemond looks over at the whirlpool, a little intrigued, a little miserable. He sinks down into the transparent blue water, Godzilla retreating from his wreckage.

Baela teases you: “Like, all at the same time, or…?”

“No, definitely one after the other. I don’t want an audience.”

Aegon chuckles, low and devious. He sets his empty pina colada glass on the rim of the whirlpool. Then, unprompted, he takes off his aviator sunglasses and puts them on you instead. Strange.

Rhaena is saying: “Okay, but seriously, I cannot overstate the merits of Jollibee…”

Beneath the water, obscured by riotous bubbles, Aegon settles a hand on your thigh. You glance over at him. He glances back, so subtly that the others don’t notice; they are deeply entrenched in their dinner debate. Now Baela is pitching MOS Burger.

Aegon arches an eyebrow. Okay? he’s asking. In reply—and after a moment’s hesitation—you open your thighs a little wider for him. His lips curl into a furtive smile. His palm skates excruciatingly slowly over your skin, taunting, electrifying, fingerprints dragging lightly. He’s still carrying on a conversation with the others, gesturing with his free hand. You sip your pina colada and try to act just as casual.

“Look,” Aegon is saying. “I’m not gonna eat someplace where they serve spaghetti with hotdogs in the meat sauce. It’s unnatural.”

His fingers slip beneath your swimsuit bottoms. You gasp before you can stop yourself.

“You okay?” Baela asks with concern.

You nod, blood rushing in your cheeks, blood rushing everywhere. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I saw a bug.”

Luke says: “Man, the insects here are insane, some giant buzzing black-and-gold thing flew into my face earlier today and I almost cried.”

“A cicada,” you murmur. You grip the rim of the whirlpool and try to keep still, fixing your gaze on the palm trees that surround the pool, waving lazily in a hot humid breeze. “We have them in Missouri too. But ours are green.”

Rhaena is saying: “Apparently Singapore is famous for some super-rare beetle that’s been around for like 50 million years…”

Aegon’s expert fingers are circling, applying pressure, experimenting with different rhythms. He knows he’s found the right one when you suck in a breath and almost drop your pina colada; his smile is filling up his face, he’s fighting a grin. That feeling—a heat, a glowing, an unfurling like an opened letter—builds until it hits a blissful yet constraining plateau. It’s a ceiling, it’s a landing with no more steps. You stare at the swaying palm trees and try to relax, grateful for Aegon’s aviator sunglasses to hide behind. He’s half-watching you as he chats nonchalantly, wondering what more you need from him.

The conversation that whirls around you has revolved back to dinner: Shake Shack, Yoshinoya, Nene Chicken, Marrybrown, Wingstop.

“We should go somewhere that has vegan options,” you say shakily.

“What? Why?” Rhaena asks; she has forgotten, but you never do.

“For Aemond.”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond over in the main pool and see him taking a piece of starfruit off Cregan’s plate. Aemond bites into it—those pristine, glistening, golden angles—and wipes juice from his lips with the back of one hand. Then he looks over at you: two people pretending they don’t see the other, two pairs of sunglasses meant to render certain things invisible. And immediately, without planning to, you are thinking about Aemond touching you. You are thinking about his lips and his fingers, his shoulders, his throat, his eye devouring parts of you he’s never seen. You are thinking about where you would both be now if Reykjavik had never happened. And as Aegon’s hand works beneath the veil of bubbles, you are close, so close, agonizingly close. You are incapable of following the conversation. It takes everything in you not to moan and reach down into the roiling water to press him even more forcefully against you. His fingers glide through folds that are slick and achingly ravenous. Your pina colada is melting.

Someone makes a restaurant suggestion; you can’t register it. Aegon holds up the index finger on his free hand. “One moment. Allow me to consult my associate.” He leans into you, his hair brushing against your face, smelling like beer and sunscreen and pina coladas and Axe body spray. And he whispers as he pushes two fingers inside you and strokes you insistently with them: “Come for me, pretty girl. Right now.”

And while these words are in Aegon’s voice, for a split second you image them as Aemond’s; and then your climax shudders through you, silent by necessity but mind-numbing, a reset button, a deleted message, an echo chamber of nothing, nothing, nothing. For a moment, there’s no past and no future, no Kansas City, no Rome, no Reykjavik, no Singapore, no shame and no guilt and no desire for anything. And then slowly, like drops of rain, the world begins to fill back in again.

Aegon turns your face towards him so your lips are to his ear. You have to say something. “You’re unbelievable,” you exhale, so softly no one else will hear. “You can’t be real.”

He tells the others: “She says she votes for Chicken Up.”

When Aegon leaves the whirlpool, you follow after him a few minutes later, just long enough of a gap not to arouse any suspicions. You find him alone in the band’s private cabana and talking to someone on his iPhone. You kneel down beside his lounge chair and bend over his neon red swim trunks, palming him through the fabric—almost immediately, he is hard—and untangling the knot of the drawstring.

“Okay. Sounds good. I gotta go. Emma? Hey, Emma? I gotta go now. Yeah. See you soon. Uh huh. Bye.” Aegon hangs up and sets his phone down. Then he hooks a finger beneath your chin and lifts it. “What are you doing?” he asks, amused yet kind.

“Taking care of you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

Your hands go still; your face is lined with wounded bewilderment. “You don’t want me to?”

“Well obviously I want you to,” Aegon says. “But only if you’re really into it. Not just because you see it as a debt to be paid. This isn’t about reimbursement. This isn’t an ATM transaction. And, you know…” He shrugs, rueful. “I can tell you’re kinda going through it. And you’re the one who needs to be taken care of right now. That’s cool. That’s not a problem.”

You sit back on your ankles, feeling guilty but undeniably relieved. “It seems unfair to you.”

“Stargirl, I don’t mean this in a braggy way, but at all times I have a line out the door of women begging to take care of me. I think I’ll survive.”

“Okay.” You smile up at him. “Okay, Aegon. I get it. Thank you.”

His sunburned brow crinkles. He is confused. “For what?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Comet Donati is scheduled to play three nights at the National Stadium. On the afternoon of the second show, Luke and Rhaena go to Fort Canning Park to explore the archaeological excavation site, Jace and Baela depart to procure his tattoo to commemorate Singapore (a Merlion on his left pec), and you, Aegon, Cregan, Criston, Daeron, Aemond, and Shelby receive a private tour of the Mandai Wildlife Reserve to promote the conservation of endangered Southeast Asian species. There are conversations with the staff and generous gift baskets and photo ops—which each time you quietly step out of the frame for, while Shelby steps in—but what snags in your mind, what you will remember forever about this day is Aemond. Because when he holds the animals, he lights up like you haven’t seen since those YouTube videos of Comet performances before the accident in Tokyo; he becomes at peace, he becomes whole again. He lets a blue tarantula creep across his palm and forearm, he feeds pumpkin slices to Asian elephants rescued from circuses, he walks around with Bunny the sloth draped over his chest like a napping toddler. And he smiles wistfully the whole ride back to the hotel…even when Aegon makes Criston stop the Escalade at Starbucks so he can get a venti-sized Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino.

Shelby likes to be in the front row with you, Baela, and Rhaena, but she spends less time dancing and cheering than she does taking selfies and recording video clips. During your now least-favorite song, A Girl Named After A Car, you spend a few minutes covertly scrolling through Shelby’s latest Instagram posts. She’s been sharing Stories relentlessly, but her last photo is from the private jet: her beaming smile, Aemond’s more reticent one (and only his good side, his smooth cheek and clear river-blue eye), a meticulously-arranged bouquet of flowers clutched to her chest like a gift. The comments are a waterfall of praise worthy of a saint. I was praying you two would get back together! You have such a kind and selfless heart, Shelby! You are so good for him! You are so brave! Thank you for showing the world that beauty is only skin-deep! Like she’s goddamn Mother Teresa. Like she deserves an Olympic medal for finding the strength to love him.

And you think once again, not for the first time and not the last: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

After the concert is a ritual, like drawing a pentagram or burning sage. People converge in Jace’s suite to mingle and drink and smoke and find someone to fuck if that vacancy isn’t already filled. You loiter by the bar even after you are handed your Bramble, a drink that should be poisoned by the fact that Aemond introduced it to you; but you can’t stop craving it. Criston is pacing and trying to make a call out on the balcony; from the look of his expression, the person isn’t answering. Cregan is in a velvet lounge chair with three models on his lap; they are taking turns feeding him the dripping cherries that bob in their cocktails. The rest of the band is sitting nearby and discussing their plans for next year once the tour has ended. You overhear Rhaena saying that she wants to visit the Mammoth Site in South Dakota. Luke wants to finish writing a new album. Aemond is conspicuously quiet.

Security guys float through the room between currents of musicians, label executives, friends, acquaintances, assistants. Shelby has her own detail that follows her everywhere; approximately every eight hours they switch out and new faces show up. Sometimes you recognize them from a prior shift, sometimes not. They look through you like you don’t exist at all.

A seat is waiting for you between Aegon and Baela, but you are in no hurry to sit opposite of Shelby and be forced to bask in the radiance of her flowing zebra-print dress, red-lipped, California-sun perfection. As you procrastinate with your Bramble, you listen to Daeron ask her about the Met Gala next May.

“Yeah, I finally made it onto the planning committee!” she gushes.

“Yay!” Baela trills, palpably sarcastic.

“Make it donut themed,” Aegon slurs. He has had a lot of Tiger Beers.

“I was thinking a masquerade ball, actually,” Shelby says, then looks at Aemond and settles a hand on his thigh. “We can go together, honeybunch! The timing never worked out before, but I’ve always wanted to attend with you.”

Luke asks: “And what’s the inspiration for the masquerade ball…?”

“Well, you know.” Shelby gestures vaguely. “Aemond won’t have to feel bad.”

Because everyone will be wearing masks. There is a long lull as people piece together what she means. Jaws drop open. Eyes grow large and then blink at her, incredulous, appalled.

Finally, Jace chuckles awkwardly. “Oh fuck, did you really just say that?” He looks around at everyone else. “Did she really just say that?! I mean, I wouldn’t even have said that!”

“It’s fine,” Aemond says, getting up off the couch.

Shelby reaches for him. “Honeybunch, wait, you know I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he repeats roughly. He takes his Bramble with him as he escapes to the balcony. Criston returns inside just as Aemond goes out.

“What’s his problem?” Criston inquires. Nobody answers.

Shelby sighs and—as furious blood swirls hot in your veins—approaches the bar. “Can I get a gin and tonic?” She takes out her phone, scrolls for a while, sighs again. You are glaring murderously at her. Shelby doesn’t even notice. The bartender slides her a tall glass full of clear carbonated liquid, ice, cucumber slices. She takes a picture of it before she plucks out the straw, lays it on the counter, and swallows a single, ladylike sip straight from the glass. She says to the bartender: “Drinking out of straws gives you wrinkles, you know.”

You say to her suddenly: “What is wrong with you?”

Shelby turns to you, startled. “Excuse me?”

You take a step closer, your pinkish Bramble still clasped in your hand. “I’ll ask again: what the fuck is wrong with you?”

She’s backing away, jumpy, clicking in her black heels. “What are you talking about?!”

“How dare you say something like that about him. In front of him.”

“Oh, so now I’m a bitch?” Shelby snaps. “Because I want him to have a good time at the Met Gala? Because I don’t want him to be humiliated?”

“No, because you think there’s anything humiliating about him at all, that’s what makes you a bitch—”

She shoves you backwards, only a few steps. You throw your Bramble in her face. She screams like you’ve stabbed her; it’s a scream that says I don’t know what it’s like to be hurt. And instantaneously, one of her security guards has his monstrous hand around your wrist.

You hear the pop before you feel it: bubbles bursting, tethers snapping. Then the pain explodes into your consciousness like a flashbang grenade. You’re shrieking, and suddenly there are voices all around you and people tugging in every direction. The security guy still has a grip on your wrist; each time he moves, he yanks you along with him, igniting fresh flairs of agony, impossibly red Morse code.

“No no no no no!” Aegon is shouting, pawing at the security guy. “She’s with us, she’s with us—!”

“Let her go!” Criston booms. Rhaena is crying. Baela is punching the security guy in the kidneys. Comet’s security guards clash with Shelby’s security guards, a miniature civil war. Within seconds the misunderstanding is resolved and you are freed. You are engulfed by Aegon and Criston, who try to examine your wrist; you are holding it gingerly to your chest, not even aware that you are sobbing. Baela is berating the rogue security guard. Rhaena, Luke, Jace, Daeron, Cregan, and Cregan’s soon-to-be one night stands are gaping at the scene. Shelby is being comforted by several fellow influencers; they coo sympathetically and give her napkins to mop the Bramble from her face.

Aegon, drunk but not far-gone, coaxes your wounded arm from your chest. “Shh, shh, you’re okay, let me see it…”

“Broken,” Criston pronounces. “Or dislocated. Time to go.”

“I can’t go home,” you say, petrified. Your thoughts are muddled by shock and pain.

Criston shakes his head. “No, not home. To the hospital.”

“I can take her,” Aegon volunteers, lurching as he grabs a barstool to keep his balance.

“No!” you, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, Jace, Daeron, and Cregan burst out simultaneously.

“I’ll take her,” Criston says. “But you can come along, if you behave yourself and don’t try to steal morphine or anything. Bartender, I need ice…”

There is a commotion as Aemond bolts in from the balcony, moments too late. He looks at your swelling wrist, Shelby dripping with a Bramble, Baela taking a cloth full of ice cubes from the bartender and passing it to Criston. “What happened?!”

Aegon seethes as he pushes him aside: “Ask your fucking girlfriend.”

And Aemond watches, thunderstruck and horrified, as Criston escorts you out of the suite with Aegon and Baela following like shadows. When you glance back at him, he is growing smaller and smaller, like an object fading away in the reflection of a rearview mirror.

Under bright white lights, a gentle and mild-mannered Singaporean doctor maneuvers your bones back into place. It feels like you’re dying; Aegon tries to distract you with stories of shenanigans from tours long past, Baela finally begins to talk about ballet schools, which programs she likes and which she doesn’t and what exactly she’ll have to show in her audition tapes. The doctor informs you that you have a mild dislocation, no surgery needed, no cast, only a splint. He tells you to rest it and try to keep it elevated. He gives you pain medication that doesn’t do enough.

“That is an interesting saying,” the doctor says when he glimpses your tattoo, black ink between the straps of your pale pink dress, like the color of a healthy lung or brain: I’ll come back for you if it kills me, Comets clip by again after eons and so can I. You try not to think about these words. You don’t know what to make of them anymore. “Is it from a poem? Or a movie?”

“From a song,” you reply, studying the tiles of the floor. “One I used to love.”

Criston goes to pay the bill. Baela goes to get you a soda from the vending machine. “I’m sorry,” Aegon says miserably when the two of you are alone in the hospital room. Beer and remorse sweats out of his pores. “I’m sorry I fucked everything up in Reykjavik.”

“I know, Aegon. I’m not mad at you.”

“I shouldn’t have said it. I had way too much Icelandic beer, that was my bad. But it was supposed to be a compliment.”

“It was kinda sweet. In an unhinged, debaucherous sort of way. An Aegon way.”

And he burrows his head against your chest, and you comb your fingers through his messy blond hair with your uninjured hand, and you wish you understood why the coincidences of the world had brought you together if it was only a blip, an error, a momentary crossing of orbits before you returned to your designated places on opposite ends of the universe.

In the elevator, as the four of you zoom up to the top floor where the band’s suites are, you check your phone to discover that in addition to well-wishes from Luke, Rhaena, Daeron, and Cregan, Jace has sent you a WhatsApp message: A meme to make you feel better…

“Ugh,” you groan, and toss your phone back into your purse. You try to ignore the fact that there is nothing from Aemond, not a single word, not a missed call, nothing.

“You good?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah. The drugs the hospital gave me aren’t quite cutting it.” That’s very true, although that’s not the whole problem.

“You want some Vicodin?”

“No thank you, Aegon.”

“Oxy? Percocet? Klonopin? Codeine? Demerol? Coke? Speedball? Valium? Weed gummies?”

You blink at him as Criston and Baela stare at the elevator walls, trying not to listen in. “I think I’ll just go to sleep now.”

“Okay, Stargirl. Sure. Whatever you want.” He grabs your face, lands a kiss on your forehead, staggers off to his suite when the elevator doors ding and open. You walk in the opposite direction to yours after thanking Criston and Baela. As you pass Aemond’s suite, you can hear people arguing inside, heavy footsteps and sharp words.

“You need to get better control over your people,” Aemond is saying.

“Who even is she?! I know she’s not Aegon’s girlfriend. Aegon doesn’t have girlfriends.”

There is a gap of silence, and you wonder what Aemond will tell Shelby. She’s a fan, she’s an employee, she’s a groupie, she’s a slut. At last he says, drained: “She’s a therapist.”

“Oh, for you?”

And you can hear Aemond sigh through the door, perpetually a broken thing now, forever someone in need of being stitched back together; they got the flesh back in December, but the soul is still unmended.

You go to your suite, wash the night off of you, and pull on your Cookie Monster pajama pants and an oversized One Direction t-shirt. You can’t sleep yet; the pain in your wrist is too bad, the chaos in your mind is too loud. You take another pill from the bottle the doctor gave you and go out onto your balcony and sit in the sounds of Singapore past midnight: sparce traffic, buzzing cicadas, the ocean, the wind rocking the palm trees. When you hear the sliding glass door open, you aren’t sure who to expect: Aegon, Baela, Criston, Cregan, Jace. It is none of these people. It is Aemond. He stands there rigidly, like he hadn’t planned to get this far. He is in black—as usual—but he wears no sunglasses.

“Criston really needs to start keeping a closer eye on those extra room keys,” you say.

“I’m sorry about what happened tonight.”

“You don’t need to pretend to be worried about me. It’s fine, just leave.”

“I feel responsible.”

“I’m not someone you consider worthy of concern,” you say. “You want me to be honest with you? You want to keep a running list of my sins in your little black-paged notebook? Alright, sure. I’ve been hooking up with Aegon. Only after Reykjavik, and not…like…all the time or exclusively or anything. But occasionally. And I know exactly what you think of me and how I’ve chosen to live my life. So don’t come out here acting like you care when you clearly don’t.”

“I know what you told Shelby. I don’t…” He stares at you, a little mystified, a little grateful. “I don’t understand why you keep defending me after what I said.”

Because I believe you deserve better. And I care about you. And I can’t stop. And honestly it fucking sucks and so if you could just leave, that would be great. “That’s just what I do.”

You expect Aemond to go. Instead, he sits down in the other chair, lights one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes, takes a drag and exhales smoke in a long, slow breath like a hushed confession. “I once asked what made you want to be a therapist.”

“And I didn’t tell you.”

“No.”

Your eyes list to him like a ship in a storm, groggy, clawing for purchase. “Do you still want to know?”

“I do.”

The night sounds like wind in clattering wet leaves, car horns and rolling tires, ocean waves, indistinct echoes of laughter like a memory. Aemond waits for you, patient, eternal, or at least so long-lived it’s practically the same thing. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you like this. You wonder why you can’t outrun what you feel for him, a curse or a spell or both tangled up together like veins beneath skin. “I had a boyfriend when I was in high school,” you say. “And I took pictures for him. Because he asked me to, yes, but also because I wanted to, because it made me feel desirable, and powerful, and like I was choosing to share something special with him. No one talked me into it, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. And when we broke up, he sent those pictures to his friends. And they sent them to their friends, and they sent them to their friends, and I’m sure you can do the math from there.”

Aemond doesn’t look disgusted or horrified or pitying. He looks furious, and not at you. “That’s illegal, right?”

“In some places, sure. In Missouri? Ten years ago?” You smirk cynically, shaking your head. “The only person anyone was condemning was me. And it wasn’t just the students. They said things, obviously. They wrote notes and they whispered. But it was the teachers too, and the parents, and the administrators. It was everyone. Staring at me. Talking about me like they understood who I was.” You meet Aemond’s eye. “And you called me a slut.”

He voice is hoarse. “I didn’t know.”

“But you still said it.”

“What I said…” he sighs shakily, rubbing his face with one hand. He crushes the end of his cigarette beneath his Adidas sneakers and then lights another. “What I said wasn’t a reflection on you or what you did with Aegon. That’s not what it was about. It was about me, it was about how I interpreted things, and…I mean, you get that, right? You know that. You’re a professional. I took what Aegon told everyone and I bounced it off a few mirrors and ran it through my filter of how I’ve been taught to believe the world operates, and that’s why I said what I did in Reykjavik. It wasn’t about you. It wasn’t true. And I could never express to you how sorry I am.”

Tell me the whole story, you think, you plead, watching him like parched earth looks for rain. That you were afraid my feelings for you weren’t real. That you wanted me then and you still want me now. That you’ve never wanted anything the way you want me. But that’s not what Aemond says.

“What happened next?” he asks gently.

“What do you think? I had to be homeschooled. I lost every friend I’d ever had. I was terrified to leave the farm and go anywhere…to Walmart, to McDonald’s, to 7-Eleven, anywhere. And my parents…they’re Southern Baptists, okay? They tried to be supportive. They really did. They didn’t shame me, and that alone was a huge leap for them, and I’m very grateful. But they had no idea how to talk to me about what had happened. What they did do was find someone else for me to talk to. She was a therapist, and she saved my life. And when I got into UChicago, I decided that the only thing I wanted to do was help people in the same way.”

“Why didn’t you stay in Chicago?” Aemond says, bewildered. “I mean, why would you go back to Kansas City after the way people treated you there? So fucking closed-minded and hypocritical and…and…and evil? You were a kid. You were a goddamn kid and they tried to destroy you. Why would you go back there? You could have gone anywhere else. You still can.”

“I considered it,” you admit. “But my family has lived in Missouri for almost 200 years. It was once a place of opportunity, somewhere for people who had nothing to carve out a piece of the world and make it their own. Why should I let anyone banish me without my permission? And besides, I think Missouri could use more people like me. I can make a difference there. Someone like me in Chicago or London or Los Angeles or New York or Miami? I’m a dime a dozen. In Missouri, I’m part of the change. In Missouri, I can save people like I was once saved.”

“Hmm,” Aemond says. And then he smiles at you, kind and tender. “Pretentious.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, shoving him with your uninjured hand: his deep, warm, rolling chuckle, his broad shoulders that barely give beneath your palm.

His eye flicks down to your One Direction t-shirt. “And a traitor.”

Want me to take it off? you almost say. Instead: “As if you don’t idolize them. As if you wouldn’t deign to have a favorite One Direction song.”

“I couldn’t divulge information as sensitive as that.”

“Aegon tells me you spend a lot of time brooding to The Script.”

Aemond groans, but good-naturedly. You got me, his face says, surrendering. “True.”

“What’s your go-to crying on the floor song? Breakeven? Nothing?”

“The Man Who Can’t Be Moved. But now you have to give me one in return.”

“If You Ever Come Back. A certified tragic bop.”

He nods, thoughtful. He slides his phone out of his pocket to check it.

“Sexts from Shelby?” you ask with undisguisable vitriol.

“No. Favorite Coldplay song?”

You remember that night with him in Rome: the concert, the motorcycle, the lingering in the hotel room doorway as you waited for him to ask to stay. “Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall. What’s yours? You strike me as a The Scientist stan.”

“Viva La Vida,” he counters.

Of course. “I used to rule the world,” you quote.

“Now the old king is dead, long live the king.” He looks out into the city, streetlights and ocean and wind, sounds of the planet you call home. Again, you think of Rome. “I should have kissed you,” he says softly.

Your heart stops like a car against a brick wall, glorious euphoric shattering. “What?”

“My favorite One Direction song. I Should Have Kissed You.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Yeah, that’s great.”

“Yours?”

You have to think about this. At last you decide: “Through The Dark.”

“Ah. A deep cut.” Aemond checks his phone again. “Look up,” he tells you.

“Why…?”

“Right now. At the sky. Look up.”

You go to the balcony railing and peer up into the sea of darkness and moon and stars. And at first you don’t see anything extraordinary…but then you do. There’s a thin flash like white ink on black paper, tracing its way along the arc of the Earth. There’s a visitor, there’s a time traveler. “What is it?” you ask Aemond, entranced.

He gets up to stand alongside you. “The Perseids. A meteor shower that happens every summer. They’re difficult to spot from a city. Too bright, too much light pollution. There are hundreds, but here we’re lucky to glimpse one or two.”

“But they’re always there,” you muse, remembering what he told you in Rome about the comet that gave the band its name. “Whether we see them or not.”

Aemond points up at the faint silvery glimmer in the indigo night. “The Perseids are from a comet too. They’re debris left by Swift-Tuttle.”

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like Donati, does it? And no potential for cute donut merch.”

Aemond smiles. “Comet Swift-Tuttle is the largest object to cross Earth’s orbit so closely. Very, very closely. Luckly, it only swings by us every 133 years. It’s been called the single most dangerous object known to humanity.”

“I thought that was Jace.”

He bursts out laughing, gazing over at you with a face that in this moment he is unashamed of. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“I’m a universe away from Shelby, that’s for sure.”

Aemond’s smile dies. He clears his throat and puts out his cigarette. “I guess I should get going.”

“Yeah, I need to go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates, he acts like he’s going to say more, he leaves you on the balcony as he retreats back to his own suite, his own life, his own past and future and secrets.

And before you crawl into your empty bed, you look up at the Perseids one last time as they hurtle through space and time and gravity, through a landscape of constellations that Aemond could tell you the names of, through the dark.

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