#nick woodland | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-kr8tor · 4 months ago

Text

Wildflower and Barley

Pairing: Robin Hood! Hobie Brown x princess! Reader

Word count: 10.1k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, medieval au, Robin hood au, royalty au, R has unnamed parents and siblings, cw food mentions, mentions of arranged marriage, cw suggestive, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff. Part 2 of the Robin Hood au.

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

Part one <<<

Now dry and out of your sopping wet clothes, and now free of mud caking your skin, you look at the various trinkets and knick knacks littered around the small yet well decorated room. Aunt Janet was kind enough to lend you some clothes and let you stay in the treehouse which surprisingly had a wooden contraption that brings you up and down the tree without you even setting foot on the ladder. Aunt Janet told you that Hobie invented it and calls it a ‘lift’. You thought he was a genius for coming up with it. Just thinking about climbing up with that huge mess of a dress of yours gives you a headache.

The room they've temporarily put you in is cozy, the bed is carved with various woodland creatures on it with vines and swimming fishes etched on the headboard. The wooden bed is covered in soft quilt blankets piled up to make the bed softer. It's pretty, you thought. Janet and the others are nicer than any captors you've ever had. Well, except for your would be suitor, you find him annoying with his pretty eyes, handsome smile, scent that wakes the butterflies in your stomach and calloused hands that are warmer than the blazing sun— you're done for.

A knock wakes you up from your stupor, turning around, you clear your throat and thoughts of Hobie.

“You decent?” His voice almost makes you dizzy, it's either that or you have a looming concussion from your recent fall. You won't know until you see him for yourself.

“Yes, I'm dressed.”

Hobie opens the door, you notice his different outfit this time. He has leather bracers on with tiny spikes protruding on each of his wrists. His blue pants fit him better now than the clothes that you surmise he nicked from an unfortunate courtier. A blue tunic with jade green thread is stitched at the hems, and a thick belt helps cinch his waist as if it needed the help. You swallow down your loud beating heart, but it doesn't help when you spot the silver and gold piercings he now has on his ears and face. His hair is more gorgeous than ever with the silver accents weaved and placed around it like tiny stars dotted on his hair.

He raises a pierced brow, hand reaching up to place it atop the doorway to lean on it while the other hand is on his hip. His waist length cloak unfurls behind him, draping him in brilliant blue, revealing the spider stitched on the cloth. Unbeknownst to you, he's admiring you too. Now without the layers upon layers of fabric hiding you, he sees the real you without all the jewels shining in his eyes and the crown glaring down at him as if he's unworthy of your gaze. He tries to shake…whatever he's feeling but it keeps coming back to him whenever he meets with your pretty eyes.

So he plays it off casually even though he could only see you in front of him and his senses seem to dull within your presence. He just chalks it up to you being attractive in his eyes. Sure, that could only be it, right?

“See somethin' you fancy?”

“No, just staring at the bow and quiver of arrows on you. Have you finally decided to kill me? I know your aim is nothing to be scoffed at.” You don't show an ounce of fear.

Hobie snorts, “nah, just admirin’ you in my room, and coat.”

You scoff, not believing that Janet would place you in his room *and dress you in his clothes. So you turn your head away to avoid looking at him. You suddenly find an unassuming lute more interesting, or rather acting like it is. “You weren't lying about the lute. Do you still play?”

He follows your gaze towards the well loved instrument. “Yeah, d’you?”

“No, but I do know how to play the piano as it was required of me.”

He raises his chin, gesturing towards you as you cross your arms atop your chest. “If you could choose, what instrument would you like to learn?”

“Why?” You chuckle at the uncommon question.

“Just askin’ ‘m a curious lad.” He shrugs with a small smile.

“The flute probably.” You sit on the soft bed. “I always loved how it sounded.”

“I think a flute would suit you, princess.” Hobie crosses the small distance, he then sits on a stool adjacent to the bed. He's quite close to you, knees brushing along your own. But not close enough to feel how your breath hitches in your throat.

“Don't mock me, Hobie.”

He knits his brows together. “‘m not, that was genuine.”

“Alright, why do you think it would suit me?” You lean closer, elbows placed atop your thighs and chin resting on your palms.

He tilts his head with a quiet chuckle. “You have the lips for it.” You're taken aback, a satisfying reaction for him. “But do you have the lungs for it, love?”

Silence stills the air around you two as you try to breathe in and out while he waits for a response with his unreadable gaze towards you.

“...stop fucking with me.” You say with a loud scoff, standing up and hitting his knees when you walk away to face the window on the far end of the room. His chuckles continue as you put your arms on your chest, huffing and puffing away the warmth from your cheeks.

“You're easy to tease, princess.” He wipes a tear from his eye after recovering from his bout of laughter. “I didn't even know you have it in you to curse.”

You abruptly turn around. “I want to get out far away from here.”

“Is my joke that bad?” He says with a raised brow.

Sighing, you put your foot down, steely gaze staring right at him. “You saw how they treated me, I don't want to marry a stranger and become like my siblings.”

“You were ready to marry me.” He pretends to not understand. Or that's what you think, he's riling you up again to get a reaction from you.

“I was pretending so the courting would stop.” A half lie on your end. You're attracted to him, sure, but you thought that marrying him would be the lesser evil than marrying some pompous rich lord who would only treat you like a walking womb. Inhaling, you continue. “I don't want to be stuck.”

Hobie's gaze turns serious. “Is that why you barely fought back?”

You rub your face tiredly. “Yes. I don't want to end up like the rest of my siblings. I want to have a life, a life that doesn't end with me dying during childbirth or being killed because of my husband's mistress hired an assassin!”

“That sounds oddly specific.”

“Because that all happened to them. I'm a sister to ghosts.” You don't realize that a single tear is sliding down your cheek. Quickly wiping it away, you don't notice his eyes filled with empathy. “I'll tell you about the secret passages in the castle that would lead you to the royal jewels.” Hobie blinks and perks up in his seat. “in exchange, you bring me with you to grab my things—”

“As much as I want to see you lock pickin’ your way in your own castle, you'd be a liability, princess.” Hobie stands up with his hands placed on his hips.

“Without me you'll get lost in the passageways. It's a labyrinth in there, I once got lost in there for an entire day before my handmaiden found me.” You explain. “After the whole ordeal, you'll flag down a ship for me heading towards the northern territories.” Walking towards him, you face him fully with your finger jabbing him at his toned chest. “Then and only then, we'll be even.”

Hobie sniffs, nodding along. “That's all then?”

“You're not gonna ask why the north? Or ask me to map the passageways instead of coming with you?”

“Why should I ask when I already know the answer, hm?” He takes a step forward, closing in on you while your accusing finger gets trapped in between him and you; in turn, you put your palm on his chest as he smirks down at you. “I won't ask you to draw a map because I don't trust you, blue blood. As for the first part— Your royal pain in the arses don't have power over in the north ever since the rebellion. And you'll be safe there until you can hitch a ride out of the country. As long as they don't find out that you're the princess.”

You don't back down, challenging him with your head raised high. “That's why you'll forge documents for me.”

“Who says I will?”

“Well, you got into the palace, and the only way you did that was taking on the identity of some poor sap who might've stopped in the middle of the road to help some injured woman or…” you push him away, looking at him up and down without shame. He looks befuddled, but he recovers quickly, expression turning into amusement. Even enjoyment from the banter. “Some man screaming for help. Either way, he has been your mark ever since you planned this whole thing. And it wouldn't have worked without some legitimate looking papers.”

“Or we stole the papers from him when we took his clothes.” He dares you.

“You could've, but you were worried that he won't have it or it might rip during the scuffle.” You click your tongue. “Hence the dried up ink, stolen seal of the registry and hundreds of balled up parchment on top of your desk says otherwise.” a smile slowly spreads across his face, a sign that you're right. “Do you want me to tell you that I was your plan B or do I have to explain to you how I found that one out?”

“I have to train you in case shit gets hairy.” He flicks his eyes downwards and then without shame, he roams his eyes up to your determined eyes. “Whip you into shape and shed all that royal ego off of you.”

“You have to train me?”

“I don't trust anybody else with you. My closest crew could but I'll still be there watchin’” Hobie reaches for your hand, waiting for you to close the deal. “You might charm the trousers off ‘em. Do we have a deal, princess?”

“Do you agree with my terms?”

He shrugs, hand still in place. “As long as you don't leave us high and dry when the time comes.”

“I give you my word, take my tiara as a sign of my cooperation.”

“I already have it.” He flicks his eyes to his hand, fingers stretching out, still waiting. You raise a questioning brow, “fine, I pinky promise, princess.”

“Once more, but without your mocking tone.”

Hobie tamps down his laughter by biting his lip, with a sigh, he relents. It's not a bad deal, you get to leave and not snitch to your parents on where Doverhill is, and he gets the jewels to feed his people and lessen any unwanted encounters with your stealth approach.

“Deal,” taking your hand, he shakes it.

“Good, when do we start?” You say with determination in your eyes.

—

Your face hits the mud covered ground with a resounding smack. Your audience cheers and Mayday’s giggles egg you on to stand up despite your face full of thick mud clinging to your cheeks.

“C’mon now, princess, it was just a shove!” Yuri teases you some more as she stands behind you.

Lifting up your head, you see Hobie leaning on the fences while munching on an apple casually. “Told you to dodge.”

You lift yourself up by your elbows, muddled eyes glaring at him. “I thought you were supposed to train me!”

“I am.” He takes a juicy bite from the fruit. “I didn't want to be responsible for marring your pretty face. And Yuri volunteered.”

“And I'm so glad I did!” She jumps up and down on the mud, invigorated by the so-called fight. “C’mon and get up, I want to show you my upper cut!”

“Oh god.” You thump your head on the mud. “I thought you'd teach me how to lock pick or even archery.”

“Nah, you gotta earn that.” He says while chewing. “We've got a month until they take out the red alert on the castle, you've got plenty of time to train, love. Besides, free entertainment.” He unfurls his long arms, and cheers erupt from the children watching you get your ass beat by Yuri.

Standing up on wobbly feet, you continue to scowl at him. “I hate you.”

Hobie does something you least expect, winking and keeping his eyes glued on your own as if he's imagining that you're the apple that he's currently taking a bite out of.

Flustered, you turn away from him. The second you put your fists in front of you, you get

knocked out by Yuri and her fierce uppercut. Darkness envelops you while you fall down on the soft ground.

You've got a long month ahead of you.

—

“Fuck!” You curse after breaking what must've been your fifteenth lock pick. Throwing it away, you thump your head against the wooden door, feeling the rough material under you. “Can I at least get the better lock pick instead of using your shitty ones?” You address Hobie, who's sitting on the bed while mindlessly strumming his lute. The sound would've been lovely but with your situation, you just find it annoying.

“You know the answer to that, blue blood.” He glances briefly at you, throwing another leather pouch at you that you already know is full of badly made lock picks. “You're stuck with me until you open the door.”

“This is torture.” You narrow your eyes at him, knees aching from how long you've been kneeling down on the floor. Not even the pillow underneath you is helping. “And this one won't even work!” You show him a bent lock pick.

He mocks you by opening and closing his hand like a yammering mouth. Your supposed mouth.

You've had enough, your stomach is growling and the back of your neck is sweating. So with a precise aim, you throw the bent metal at him. It lands straight in the hole in the middle of his lute.

“What the fuck?!” His astonishment makes you guffaw.

“I told you that we should've started off with archery.” You say in a sing-song tone. His mouth opens widely, and with you having twelve siblings, you already know what he's about to do. “Don't you dare—!” Hobie screams at the top of his lungs, prompting you to cover your ears. “You're a child!” He strums his guitar loudly and without a thought. “Stop!”

He stops to catch his breath. “I'll keep screamin’ until you unlock that bloody door.”

“No—!”

He shouts again, and you immediately try to lockpick your way out of your personal hell. The metal breaks again, and you stop yourself from throwing it at him again. At least he seems to be having fun.

—

The stew is warm in your hands and the chatter reminds you of dinners back at home when your siblings still lived there. You look at the long tables placed in the town hall where they serve dinners every night to provide a sense of community within the village. They all eat together, laughing with their families and friends while you're left standing at the far end by your lonesome.

You find that there's no place for you here.

Beginning to turn around, you feel someone tugging on your shirt. Looking down, you see a hair of red and freckles staring up at you with her big blue eyes.

“Hi, Mayday.” You give her a tight-lipped smile. You can still feel how the ground met your nose.

“Aunt Janet asked me to say sorry to you.”

You wait for her to do so.

“But I don't want to.” She says defiantly.

“Alright then.” You try to walk away but she stops you by pulling at your borrowed coat. “What is it?”

“Do you want to eat with us?” She glances behind her. When you look at the table, you see Hobie's entire crew merrily chatting and eating while the man himself meets with your eyes with a glint in those hazel eyes. Pouting, she tugs at you again. “When Aunt Janet asks—”

“I'll tell her that you apologized.”

She puffs her chest out, curly hair cascading down her cheeks. “Good,” leading you towards the table, she continues to pull at you. “You have to meet Miles and Gwen!”

As you get closer to the table, Hobie smirks and tells people to make space for you to sit down. You can't help but smile at him while Mayday excitedly introduces you to Hobie's crew that you already know by name. Of course you wouldn't tell her that, lest you get on her bad side again.

Mayday talks your ears off after getting used to you. Even after dinner and when people start cleaning up, she stays with you and asks you numerous questions about your time being a princess and living in a golden castle; all the while you braid her hair out of her face which she's happy enough to stay still for you.

“Do you bathe in milk?” She asks while you brush her hair. “Do you have a dragon?” She gasps. “A pony?!”

“No, no and yes, I did have a pony.” You chuckle.

“Did? What happened to it?”

You blink, hands pausing on her hair. “I don't know actually.”

Mayday turns around, brows furrowed at your expression. “They sent it to the farm didn't they? Hobie said that Jared is at the farm too.”

“Jared?”

“My squirrel!”

You fully understand what the farm actually is. “...Sure, probably.”

While you continue to tie her hair, you don't notice Hobie's soft gaze towards you as he leans on the doorway with his hands in his pockets and with a smile that never leaves his lips with every topic you and Mayday talk about.

“Careful now, don't fall for her.” Ned suddenly appears by his side, voice whispering, sending goosebumps on the back of his neck. “‘Don’t fall for the mark,’ remember?”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Ned, who teases him with a light smirk. “I bloody know, Neddy, ‘m not daft. She's a princess.”

“And? That doesn't mean you're immune to falling for her. Hell, there's a reason why I've kept James away from her.”

Hobie snorts, arms crossed over his chest. “James fancies her?”

“I smell jealousy, Hobart.” Ned half jokes. Hobie glares at him, jaw tightening before he opens his mouth widely. “No!” Before Hobie could yell (as if he would at night) Ned is already running away with his hands cupping his ears.

With a victorious chuckle, he returns to watch you interact with Mayday only to find a gaggle of children asking you questions and requesting for you to braid their hair too. Your smile brightens up the night while you try to placate each child with patience and a childish grin. He blinks and he meets with your eyes that look at him with a tender gaze.

He's in trouble.

—

The string in your hand is taut and rough against the pads of your fingers, a stark contrast to the smooth wooden bow in your other hand. You close one eye, aiming directly at the painted target that looks awfully like your father.

Hobie stands next to you with his own bow in hand, eyes trained on your posture, making sure you don't hurt yourself by standing close to you. The sun bares down on both of you while birds chirp, and the wind blows gently at the canopies.

“Remember to inhale before lettin’ go.”

“How philosophical.” You raise a brow, and with a sharp inhale, you let go of the arrow. It soars above, curving atop the target and landing on the grass behind it. “Damnit.”

You expect Hobie to laugh at you or tease you, instead, he walks towards you. “‘ere, let me.” With a nod, he corrects your posture. The tip of his fingers push lightly at your shoulders, straightening your back. You then feel his knuckles ghost above your spine, tracing it without touching you. “Keep your shoulders aligned with your hip.” His warmth radiates off him as he gently holds your hips, pushing and twisting you to position your body to the correct position.

You stand like a marble statue in his space, you dare not breathe, afraid that he'd let you go. “What now?” You ask while he nocks an arrow in your bow with his hands briefly brushing along your own.

“Now…” with his fingers holding your chin, he moves your head. Feeling his calloused skin on your warming flesh. “You shoot.” He whispers against the shell of your ear before leaving your side. “I know you could do better than the lockpick.”

Your head is all jumbled up because of him, how could you train in this condition? More or less shoot a sharp projectile?

“C’mon, princess, I don't have all day.” You can practically hear his smirk from his tone.

“Asshole.” You curse under your breath, nocking back the arrow to release. To his surprise but not to you, it flies overhead, much higher and farther from your last shot. The arrow overshoots, soaring over the trees and out of the village. “Ah shit.”

Now he laughs, “what happened, hm?” He nudges you with his shoulder while chortling at your miserable aim.

You glare at him, chin hidden atop your shoulder to mask your flustered self. “It was the wind.”

Hobie shakes his head with a chuckle, “don't think so.” Without looking at the target, he loads an arrow, quickly nocking it back and shooting directly at the sack target. “See?” He proves his point. Smirking, he nocks three arrows at the same time, and again he doesn't look at what he's aiming. Pulling the bow string, you can see his muscles straining from under his tunic, you barely even saw the arrows fly and hit the target simultaneously and effortlessly. Breath stuck in your throat, he smirks triumphantly at you.

“Show off.” You hide your impressed expression with a well timed scoff.

Hobie's satisfied with your reaction based on his lopsided grin. “C’mon, we need to get that arrow.” He says as he places his bow on his back, quiver placed right on his hip like always.

You groan, tired from today's activities. You're more than ready for lunch. You still have a full schedule after this session. “Why? You have plenty of arrows.” Gesturing towards the bucket full of arrows, you complain.

“Because if someone sees that they'll figure out that there's a settlement nearby.” He pats your back, urging you to walk with him. You stand there, groaning at the thought of hiking. “I can't let you go alone, can I? You might run.”

“And here I thought you were concerned for me because of the bears.” You follow him.

“If we see one I'd let it get you.” He smiles, waiting for your reaction.

“No you won't.” You roll your eyes.

You two reach the vines, he orders his people to unfurl it. “Maybe I will, maybe not. You don't know that, love.”

He passes by the ‘gates’ nodding a thank you at the guards on watch. One of them seems to look at you for far too long. Too long for Hobie's liking, he snaps his head at the said guard, prompting him to return to his duties while avoiding Hobie's gaze. You saw the whole interaction unfold, giving you the right teasing ammo.

“I didn't know that you're the jealous type.” You walk with your hands behind your back while you continue to follow him. He knows the forest better than you, and you'd rather not get lost in it.

“I don't know what you mean.” He swipes away at a branch, lifting it up to let you pass through unscathed.

You nudge him, pushing him lightly as leaves crunch underfoot. “Sure you don't.”

“You always know how to rile me up. And not the good kind.” He fights back with his own teasing.

“Likewise, Hobart—!” A protruding tree root catches your foot, making you stumble and trip over it. Before you could fall and meet the ground once again, Hobie catches you in his arms. Cheek pressed on his chest, arms holding him close.

“Should I start callin’ you clumsy?” He rhetorically asks while he's still holding you in place. You don't find it in yourself to let go.

“Anything to keep you from calling me princess.” You huff, and you see goosebumps appear on his skin.

“I'll do it if you stop callin' me Hobart.” You feel his breath fan the top of your head, and his fingers splayed over your back.

Leaning away, hands still on his chest, you look at him with feigned annoyance. “Fine.”

Hobie sees himself reflected in your eyes while leaves dance in the wind. The cacophony of the forest lulls you and him into a bubble of affection, just you and him in the vast greenery of the land you call home.

His hands latch off from you, with one last look, he leads you where the arrow could've landed. You follow him wordlessly, his back facing you while he guides you.

Soon after, the silence fades away as you hear the rushing of water. Hobie pushes a thick bush away, parting it to reveal a waterfall and a clear pool hidden in the deep forest.

It takes your breath away. “Wow.” You gasp, eyes shining at the glimmering water.

Hobie watches your reaction with a fond smile, “Pretty, innit?”

“Beautiful.” You turn towards him, smiling brilliantly.

For a moment, you two share a look, just languishing in each other's presence while listening to the water cascade down the pool.

Clearing his throat, Hobie returns his attention towards the water only to see the arrow embedded at the bottom of the mirror-like pool. He chuckles when he spots the scales underneath the tip of the arrow.

“At least you hit somethin' this time, clumsy.”

You follow his gaze, walking closer until your shoes hit the cool water. “Is that?”

“Lunch.” He grins, “and I've got the perfect place to cook it.” Gesturing with his head at the waterfall, you tilt your head questioningly. “C’mon then.”

—

You're drenched from head to toe, Hobie didn't say that you had to walk into the waterfalls to reach it. And by it, he meant his secret hideout hidden behind the waterfalls. It's a sizable cave with its moist walls and camping gear that he must've left behind for himself.

You warm yourself near the fire while he rubs salt and spices onto the fish that he's preparing. “Do you take all your women here?” A half joke on your end.

“Only the fit ones that provide lunch.” He glances at you with a smirk while you hide your face in your hands, pretending to rub it and warm yourself. “Why leave?”

“Laying it on thick, Hobie?”

“Alright, do you want bread with your fish?”

“Sure—”

“Too bad, we don't have bread.” He places the fish in the hot skillet, it sizzles in place, the smell making your stomach grumble. “So why leave your cushy life? D’you really want to be a jester?” Joking and recalling your words you uttered in the throne room a few weeks ago, you roll your eyes with a small smile.

“Simple, freedom. All my life I've been told what to wear, what to eat and when to speak. For once I want to decide for myself, even if it means leaving my cushy life behind.” You squeeze out water from your sleeve. “I–it's not like I decided on a whim. I've been trying to leave ever since I heard that I'll be the next one to be married off. I know it'll be hard after, but I know it'll be worth it.” You meet with his eyes, “Your turn, why do you have this secret place of yours?”

“For debauchery, of course.”

You chortle, “I don't know if you're lying or not.”

He mirrors your smile. “I like my silence.”

You instantly know what he means. “I have twelve siblings, I like my silence too.”

“Siblings,” he repeats with a soft smile while staring at the crackling fire. “I guess Ned and the others are my siblings.”

“I guess they are.” You say delicately. “My turn to ask the heavy question, why do you do…” you gesture at him. “All of it? The risk is higher than the reward you get for stealing shit from aristocrats, so why don't you keep it for yourself?”

Hobie turns the fish around, cooking it fully until it's golden brown, letting your question simmer in his mind. “‘m content, love, I've got my place, and I've got my people. Why do I need to hoard wealth when I've got everythin' I could ever need?” He chuckles softly, “I steal from the wealthy to give back to the people they stole from. They need it the most, and I don't do it for satisfaction, I do it so that people have a bigger chance of surviving another day when their own lords fail to provide for them. Or in most cases, their king.” The fish sizzles, filling the cave with smoky air. “I failed my people once, I won't let that happen again. You'll never understand it, princess.”

You look at him through the flames, “then let me see. Let me understand. Show me all the failings my blood has done.”

Hobie gazes back with an unreadable expression. Silence replaces the smoky air, you can only hear the cackling of the fire and the rushing of waters behind you. After a while, Hobie speaks again. “What are you plannin’ to do after all this?”

“Asking me out, Hobie?” You manage a jape after the previous heavy conversation. An attempt to lighten the silence.

“Care to find out?” Your teasing backfires. His lopsided smile makes you falter, heart thudding loudly while your skin feels like the poor fish who met the end of your arrow. He always recovers faster than you.

You look at a rock in the corner, trying to play it cool but he can't be fooled by your failed attempt at hiding your sheepish self. “...probably a flower shop.” You mutter.

“What's that, love? I can't hear you.” He riles you up again, hand placed behind the shell of his ear in a mocking fashion.

You sigh, brows furrowed and cheeks aflame. “I said I might start a flower shop.”

“I didn't peg you as a horticulturist.”

“I don't know, it just sounds nice.” You play off your lack of plan casually.

Hobie laughs and shakes his head while he takes the skillet away with a cloth around the handle. The fish still sizzles, and smells mouth wateringly good. He then takes out a knife, cutting your share while smoke wafts out of the meat. Giving you a piece, you take it without a word, embarrassment still lingering in the pit of your stomach.

He reaches for a piece himself, lifting it up like a goblet towards you. “To not havin’ plans.”

You guffaw above the rushing water, “to not having plans.” ‘Clinking’ your lunch with his, you happily eat with Hobie, occasionally laughing at the banter.

—

You make your way towards the city center with your disguise billowing in the wind. Your dark cape and hood makes you blend into the cheering crowd, oblivious to your stealthy movements. You're out of Doverhill and into the city where you were born and raised, but you've never been out in the actual streets in your entire life. You can see the castle, your home looming over the cramped city. The same city you've always looked at with longing through your bedroom window. You once dreamed of stepping foot on the cobblestone, to interact with your subjects and listen to their problems so you could help in any way a princess can. And now that you're in the thick of it, you now see the truth.

The city is filled to the brim with people surviving on measly coin for the entire day. Mothers, who have barely anything to feed their children. The elderly begging for scraps. People, *your subjects, scrounging for leftovers in the streets when up in the palace, your family and the courtiers had everything they could ever eat and more. If not for Hobie giving you one final task, a test to see if you can handle the heist that you've helped plan together with him and the rest of the crew; you wouldn't have seen how bad it is in the land you love and cherish.

You grip onto your hood tighter, wandering the streets all the while avoiding Hobie and his crew. He tasked you to pick a mark within his group to steal a single coin without being noticed or caught. If you do it successfully, you get to join them and do what you need to do before leaving the country, only to never return.

Blending into the gathering crowd, you finally see Hobie and his crew that you've grown to know. Yuri helped you with your hand to hand combat patiently, and as thanks, you made her a simple embroidery of a lily because you once remembered her talking about a flower that she couldn't remember the name of but remembers what it looked like. She was ecstatic, but Ned, who taught you how to disappear in a crowd, was a bit jealous, so you made him his own embroidery of a bumblebee. After that everyone in Doverhill wanted their own exclusive embroidery from the princess herself. It's safe to say that your embroidery classes were put to good use. The only person you haven't given a piece to is Hobie, his embroidery has been hidden in your pocket for days since you've finished it. You're too nervous to give it to him, more or less show it to him.

Hobie speaks in the middle of the crowd with boxes and crates upon crates full of food and supplies to help the people. You watch as his crew hands them out to the waiting crowd. Quickly, the air fills with gratitude, smiles and even some tears. While they're busy, you head towards Hobie and Mayday, who are occupied with a gaggle of children munching on honeyed candy while vying for their attention.

“We have a new person with us!” Mayday's excited chatter makes you pause midstep. “I can't tell you who she is but she's amazing! She taught me how to sew and write poetry.” A chorus of ‘wows’ and ‘woahs’ can be heard. “And look, she even braided my hair like how a princess wears her hair!”

Hobie chuckles by her side, coin pouch almost half empty while he gives most of it out to people. “Tell ‘em the part where you tripped her.” He spots you in his peripheral whilst you stalk on the outskirts of the crowd. It's impossible not to, as if his senses have attuned itself to your presence. He doesn't say anything.

“I did!” She proudly says, and you almost laughed.

“I thought you liked her?” A child asks, nose scrunched up.

“But back then I just didn't like her very much.” Mayday says and you almost falter as you sneakily ease your hand in James' pocket. Mayday continues to tell stories about you and your old pony while Hobie pretends that he doesn't see you.

Yuri suddenly appears by his side, nudging his shoulder. “Should I tell him?” She chuckles, whispering to him. “I gotta hand it to her, she chose the most oblivious one to steal from.”

“Taught her well,” Hobie mutters back, “don't tell him or her. Let it happen.”

“Is this one of your brilliant plans?”

“Maybe.” He sees you scurry off to an alley all without James or people noticing you. Smiling fondly, he returns his attention to the task at hand. “We need to hurry up and distribute these before the guards get ‘ere.”

“Aye, aye.” Yuri turns away with a knowing look that Hobie has a feeling he knows the reason what it pertains to.

—

You watch as the sun gets smaller and smaller on the horizon. The sea is calm while the salty breeze flutters your lashes. The hustle and bustle of the dock has calmed down ever since you made yourself comfortable on a crate. Munching on a loaf of bread, you watch a ship leave the dock, its anchor slowly emerging from the waters.

“You're late, Hobie.” You felt him before you saw him. Looking over your shoulder, you see him in a similar cloak and hood, bow and arrow hidden behind him. “I got the coin from James, but…” you show him the half eaten bread in your hand. “I used it already.”

Hobie admires you in the orange and pink hues, your eyes seem to glow in the light, while your lips curl into a gentle smile. He inhales, making his way towards you, leaning on the dock bannister, and watching the ship sail away into the fading horizon.

“Can I have some?” He asks, head turning towards you.

You grin with a chuckle, breaking the loaf apart to give the biggest side to him. “Here, you look like you need it more than I do.” You poke at his cheek, feeling his tired muscle underneath it.

“Runnin' away from your guards is hard work.” He takes a bite, “do I look that bad?”

Without thinking, you reach for the corner of his lip to wipe away a crumb stuck on it. “Nothing like a good nap couldn't fix.” Realization hits you, flinching away, you play your behaviour off by returning your attention towards the sea. “Sorry.” You clear your throat.

Hobie stands there, frozen and in the middle of chewing. Swallowing down the bread and his sudden nerves, he brushes his knuckle over your cheek where dirt clings onto your skin unbeknownst to you.

“Now we're even.” He says gently, and you gaze at him through glassy eyes and warm cheeks. With a sigh, he moves away, casually finishing off the bread. “D’you need anythin’ else for tomorrow?”

You take a deep breath, eyes glancing over to the castle. “Guts?”

“Don't think we can get that from the shops, love.”

You chortle, fingers playing with the hem of your cloak. “You didn't exactly give me this test to see if I can successfully pickpocket someone right?”

Hobie turns sideways to look at you fully, still leaning on the handrail. “No.”

“You wanted me to see this.” You gesture around the city. “And how bad the situation here is.” He nods, eyes trained on you. “If I had known…” you ball your fists around the fabric of your trousers. “...I could've done something. Anything.”

“Could've, would've, should've. The important thing is that you're ‘ere now.” He tentatively takes your hand, you're cold under his palm as he feels you slowly warm up from his touch alone. He gives you enough space to let go. But you don't. “You're doin' somethin' now. You're better than them.” He points at the palace behind you. “And if all goes well tomorrow, you've helped more than they have ever since they've taken the throne.” Squeezing your hand, he lets you fall atop him, your face hidden on his shoulder. “You’re good, Y/N, I know you are.”

You let go of his hand, arms embracing him fully. “You're good too, Hobie.” While you hold him, you sneak the embroidery of a bow and arrow you made inside his pocket.

With his arms around you, the moon slowly appearing in the sky, and face on the crook of your neck, he lets you cry while his palm rests on your shoulder blades, gently caressing. Your words have sparked something in him, and your touch ignited it within him, warming him up from the inside out. It doesn't engulf him nor burn him, it soothes him at his core, and he sense that you can feel it too through his chest.

—

Your hands are sweaty while gripping the dessert cart. The sweet confections wobble while you make your way towards the kitchens. Dressed in the cook's attire, you blend in with the rest of the busy staff walking briskly on the marble floors.

The plan was to split up, to dress like the staff and infiltrate the castle with only your disguises. You all plan to meet up at the library where the main tunnel leads towards the royal apartments where the crown jewels are located. If everything goes to plan, they'll have the jewels in their satchels without ever being noticed.

Your eyes dart around the halls, trying incredibly hard not to stick out like a sore thumb. *So far so good. You think to yourself, attempting to calm your nerves. Some staff glance at you but they thankfully let you go without questioning you and why you're pushing a cart full of cakes towards the library. The courtiers don't even pay you any heed.

Out of danger for now, you walk faster when you see the double doors leading to the library you've spent most of your days in.

“Halt!” A deep voice calls after you, and you stop in your tracks, hands already shaking.

“Yes?” You fake your voice, eyes downturned to hide your face.

“Where are you heading?” He asks, head gesturing towards the tea and cakes.

“The library, s–sir.”

“I've been patrolling this hallway for hours and not a single person has entered the library.” He narrows at you suspiciously.

You clear your thoughts, determination surpassing over your anxiety. “Lady Caroline has asked me to deliver them in advance. Says she has some sort of meeting with the other court ladies.” It's a long stretch, but the said lady is known for her gossiping circles.

“Hmm,” he straightens up, thankfully not recognising you and believing your bold lie. “Go ahead, just don't make a mess.”

“Understood.” You don't look back as you make your way towards the doors. Shutting it close, you can finally breathe on your own. “We made it.” You shakily walk towards the long table at the center of the large room, chest heaving, and pupils fully dilated. “I— fuck.”

A sudden hand grasps your bicep gently which almost made you yelp in surprise. “Just breathe, it's over.” Hobie has come out from under the cart to soothe you by rubbing his palm up and down your trembling arms. “Y/N, can you look at me?” With his fingertips, he moves your head to face him. “There you are,” he smiles, “breathe with me, yeah?”

You nod, hand upon his clavicle, eyes watching his chest go up and down while you mirror him. “I—I thought I fucked it up.”

“Nah, you did brilliantly. I thought I had to shoot an arrow at his eye.” He pats your cheek, thumb tracing under your eye. “You alright?”

“I think I am now,” you whisper, eyes darting over to his lips, and breathing normalized. “Are you?”

“Nothin' gets the heart pumpin’ than almost gettin' caught.” Hobie says softly as he gazes at your own lips. He says your name as if he's tasting it on his tongue. “Can I—?”

He aches for you.

“Yes.”

And you yearn for him.

The doors open with a squeak, and out comes Yuri in her handmaiden dress with her eyes wide and blinking at the two of you. You and Hobie freeze on the spot.

Her surprise turns into amusement. “Am I interrupting something?”

You're the first one to move away, acting casually as if she didn't catch you in the act. Meanwhile, Hobie finds the rows of books more interesting than Yuri smirking at him.

“No, you're just in time, Yuri.”

She hums with a knowing gaze at the two of you. “Bet you two wished I was late, huh?”

“No.” You and Hobie manage to say simultaneously. Hobie clears his throat while you grab a discarded book to hide your face under. You can practically hear all the future teasing that you'll face after this.

“Where are the others?” Hobie recovers much faster than you could. “They should be ‘ere by now.”

“Don't know, I didn't see them in the halls.”

Their words concern you as minutes tick past. While the three of you wait, you find the hidden passage hidden behind one of the bookshelves. After a quick scan, you see the book you've been looking for. The cover is in a deep shade of blue, the title worn down from the years, but you can briefly read the words ‘between’ and ‘sea’ on the fading paint. You've read it dozens of times, but so far you still don't know the title.

Before you could reach for it, the doors opened once again, much louder this time. Instead of just Ned, James and the rest of Hobie's crew, they're joined by someone. They dragged the guard that was patrolling outside. His body is limp but still clearly breathing while Ned and the crew drags him further inside the library.

“Can we get some help here?” James huffs, hands occupied with the guard's legs.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Hobie rushes towards them, helping get the man inside the room.

“Shit happened.” Ned pants, “we don't have time so we'll explain later. For now we need to tie him down.”

“My specialty.” Yuri reveals a thick rope from under her apron, “help me with his arms.”

Hobie glances towards you, shrugging his shoulders with a ghost of a smile. “Open it, love.”

You nod, giving him a smile. With a yank on the book, the secret passage opens with a wooden groan. It opens a smidge, so Hobie helps you with pushing it further open.

“Love, huh?” James mutters under his breath. Ned snickers by his side.

The tunnel is dark and dank, air stale and moist. The walls are lined with thick cobwebs upon cobblestones. There's not a single light in place as the breeze drifts inside.

“A bit creepy innit?” Hobie glances at you, “can't believe you slept in a castle with jester tunnels behind your bedroom walls.”

“When you put it that way, yes, that's fucking creepy, Hobie.” You chuckle as he chortles back.

“Move over, love birds.” Yuri pushes the two of you away from the door with a flaming torch in hand. “We have to steal some shit remember?” She says over her shoulders, and the rest follows her with a teasing grin on their lips except for James who has a deep frown. “And you have a ship to catch, princess.”

“Oh,” you almost forgot about you leaving for a second. Hobie glances at you, smile faltering. “Y–yes, I remember, of course.” Stepping inside the passageway, you make your way towards the front of the group as Yuri passes you the torch. Hobie stays a few ways behind the group, eyes trained on your back. “Let's go.”

—

Your hand glides along the wall, feeling every indent and curve of the rocks. You know the tunnels well enough to know about the secret markings etched on the walls. Every two feet you walk, there's a subtle ‘x’ carved on the stone. If you pass by a wall that doesn't have that mark after the last two feet, then you could get lost if you don't retrace your steps. So with measured steps, you carefully guide the group through the tunnel, making sure that they're holding onto each other and to you. You've learned this trick after your older brother taught you how to sneak into the library at night without being noticed. You have no idea how he is now.

Hobie's hand upon your shoulder is gentle, you can feel his reassuring squeeze every time you shakily breathe in the dusty air.

You pass by a door on your right, remembering that it's your father's study. You almost ignored it but with your name being uttered by his advisor, you stop your movements while the others follow suit. Moving closer to the door, you look at the crack in the wood, seeing your father at his usual place in his study, and your mother sitting nearby. A testament to their love. They had a lot of love to give each other, but none left for their children.

“My king, I think it's high time we start looking for the princess again. After the first ransom note there was nothing else. I fear for her safety.”

Your father continues to scribble away at his paperwork, while your mother sits near the window with a cup of tea daintily in her hand. They look unbothered. They did stop looking for you.

“Don't worry about her, she has always been independent. I'm sure Robin Hood will grow tired of her and is about to give her up any moment now.” The queen says without missing a beat or a forlorn tone for her missing child. “What news does my son bring? Another grandson?”

“Which prince, my queen?”

“The one with the heavily pregnant wife, Jeeves.” She scoffs out, entirely forgetting about you, and your brother's name.

“Ah, my apologies. I heard that the baby girl was born healthy, but his wife is in dire condition. The prince is beside himself, in fact he requests for your presence—” Your father’s adviser says with a solemn tone.

“Pity.” She could only say.

You couldn't continue hearing her words and his lack of them. “Let's…” your eyes water, lips wobbling. “...we need to go.” Hobie calls your name softly, thumb pressing carefully on your shoulder blade, trying to calm you down. “I'm alright. Let's continue.” You ignore their looks of concern.

A heavy silence follows you and the crew, making your way towards the crown jewels through tear filled eyes, you manage to guide them in the room without getting lost. You shed off your cook uniform, donning the tiara you left with. Even without your gown, you hope that it's enough to convince the guards inside that it's still you.

“Stay here, I'll knock three times when they're gone.” You murmur.

“Are you— will you be alright?” Hobie asks gently, palm cupping your cheek.

You give him a weak smile. “I will be once we get what we came for.” Cracking the door open, you make your way inside before Hobie could express his concern.

—

The group lies in wait behind the closed door within the dark tunnel. The light from the torches are starting to burn out, leaving them with only the sunshine coming from the crack in the door for a shed of light.

The second Hobie's starting to get agitated and worried for you, he grabs the door knob with protests from his crew. But before he could open the door, he's met with you staring back at him.

“They're gone.” You say as you open the door wider for them. Sure enough, the only soul left in the room is you. “I told them that I escaped and for them to get the physician. It took some convincing but they eventually left.”

The others pat you in the back, eyes widening at the glittering jewels and crowns sitting on tables and shelves. But Hobie's eyes were only on you, hands already reaching for your own.

“You should go, I think we only have fifteen minutes before they march back here.” You try to walk away but Hobie holds onto you, fingers laced around your own, warmth helping you at ease. “Hobie, I'll be fine. Help the others.”

He glances at his crew who are efficiently working together by lock picking and grabbing the jewels that they can easily carry and transport. They're not blinded by the shining large crowns and scepters, but only taking whatever they can hold in their satchels. One precious stone could feed the whole village for a year, and one crown could provide for the whole city for six months.

“They can handle it, you said you needed to grab somethin'. Let me help you.”

You stare at his worried eyes. “It's not— are you sure?”

“Yes, you said fifteen minutes and we're already at thirteen. No time to lose, love.” His lips curl into a smile, hand bringing your own to his chest.

“My lucky number.”

—

Without wasting another minute, you arrive at your apartments. Its familiar purple walls take you back, your bed is made and fluffy, closet and desk clean as if you never left.

Hobie's hand is still grasping yours as if he's afraid that someone would snatch you away and drag you into the dark tunnels. His eyes roam around your room with a faint smile, he admires your portrait on the wall above the fireplace.

“D’you think if I nick this one I'll get away with it?”

“You're stealing from the crown and you think stealing my portrait would get you a bigger punishment?” You chuckle, letting go of his hand reluctantly to grab your satchel hidden under your bed.

“Yes, this is the real treasure right ‘ere.”

You poke your head from under the bed, meeting with his eyes and his wide grin. “If you keep saying stuff like that I'd think you're being genuine.” Going under again, you reach for the strap of your bag, and you finally grab it from under the dusty bed.

“When was I not genuine, hm?” You come out only to be met with his smirk. He flicks away a dust bunny clinging on your tiara while you gawk at him.

“You're not joking?”

“No,” he says seriously. “I meant everythin’ I've said and more.” Kneeling down, he fixes the tiara above your head. “Besides, I wanted a reminder of you once you're gone.”

“Do you want me to leave?” You reach for his jaw, thumb grazing along his stubble.

He could only smile, afraid that if he audibly said no, you won't go and do what you've always planned to do. He doesn't want to bar you from leaving or sway you into staying. It's your decision, and whatever you decide to do, he'll be right behind you.

Tears cling to your lashes as you caress his cheek. You want to stay, but not just for Hobie and the people you've grown to love. But also your subjects, your people that you could still help by staying. Something that you could not do if you left. You're conflicted. “You don't have to take the whole painting. I have a smaller one in my drawer.”

“Alright.” Hobie stands up despite his feelings swirling inside him. He helps you up, and follows you towards your desk.

You open a drawer, giving him a circular frame that contains an exact copy of your portrait. “To remind you of me. Or to sell it once you're bored of my face.” You joke.

“I’ll never get tired of your face.”

You have an intense urge to kiss him. Instead, you reign yourself in, “let's get back to the others. Then let's get the fuck out of here.” He nods in agreement. Before you could follow, you leave your letter that you've written days ago for your family. It contains everything you've wanted to say to them, every ire, and sorrow you could translate from ink to paper.

Hobie waits for you in the doorway, arm holding up the tapestry that hides the passageways. You look at him and you see your future, would it be selfish of you if you stayed? Or would it be better if you just left?

With one final look at your old life, you leave it all behind.

—

The clinking of silver and gold rings around the tunnel as you lead the group out of the castle. The smiles on their faces can't be wiped away even when the torch burned out a while ago and your only guide was the marks on the walls. Despite the hiccups, you all made it out into the beach in one piece and with bags full of jewelry enough to take care of everyone.

Ned hoots and hollers on the beach while Yuri lies on the sand with a huge grin on her lips. And James hides his sobs by laying face first on the beach while a crab tugs at his hair. The others are getting the loot on board the fishing boat while they sing a merry tune.

You watch them carry your family jewels with a fond smile. A brooch peeking from one of the bags catches your eye, it's the one piece of jewelry your mother is fond of, except for her crown. You know that it'll be used for a better cause now instead of gathering dust on the shelves.

Smiling, you hear Hobie's footsteps upon the sand. “Havin' second thoughts about your crown jewels?”

You shake your head. “No, none of them holds any sentimental value to me.” Reaching for your tiara, you hand it to him. “Even this one. Let Mayday play with it, I think she'll appreciate that.”

Hobie chuckles and sits down next to you while the others finish off loading the boat. His hand traces the emeralds and diamonds on your tiara before placing it gently on his lap. You see him take something from his pocket, which he immediately shows to you.

“Maybe this one will hold sentimental value.” A simple silver necklace hangs from his hand, you could cry from the sight of it. “It's not from your family. I bought it yesterday while we were in the city.”

“Is that why you were late?” You laugh with tears filling your eyes. Your fingers gently graze the chain, feeling the cold metal against your skin. The smile on your face hasn't faded. Recognition hits you, and your eyes immediately fly towards his neck where a similar silver chain rests upon his skin.

He doesn't only see the crown atop of your head. He sees you. And you truly see him as the one you would love until your dying breath.

Hobie notices your awed expression, “it's identical to mine. I would've gotten you a pendant to go with it—”

“Help put it on me?”

“Sure,” he tells you to turn around, smiling while his hands brush along your neck as he clasps the necklace on you. Once it's secured, his thumb hovers on your nape, eyes warm on your skin. “I— thank you for the help. I've got your papers ready, and if it weren't for you keepin’ your word—!” His words get smothered by your lips upon his own. Your kiss catches him off guard, eyes wide open, not knowing what to do with his hands, and lips not kissing back. You take it all as rejection.

You quickly lean away, “fuck— I'm sorry. I thought—”

He grabs your face, lopsided smile and lovestruck gaze staying on you. “You thought right, love.” His lips meet your own, within a second, you kiss in tandem as if you two were meant to be. He thinks so too.

The crew's claps interrupt you, even with their cheers (except for James) Hobie doesn't let your face go in his warm hands.

“Rule breaker!” Ned shouts with a proud smile.

“Fucking called it.” Yuri claps, “Janet owes me a coin.”

Hobie flips them the bird, all the while sharing your smile. He turns towards you again, eyes soft for you. “C’mon, before they attract the guard's attention.”

“Wait, Hobie.”

“Love—”

“Before this I had no purpose. I was just existing with a crown on my head.” You stand up and you help him up on his feet, with his other hand carrying your tiara. “I want to keep helping my people, I will not abandon them like they have.” You look up at the palace, its shadow encompassing you. “I see that now, thanks to you and them.” You address the crew behind him.

“Is that what you want?” Hobie cups your cheek, not even hiding the fact that he's happy about your decision. He still tries to hide it though. And he's failing miserably. “Just say the word and I'll take you to the docks—”

“I want to stay here with you. That's my plan.” You pull him by his bow strap that's over his shoulders, thumb placed on his clavicle. Eyes crinkling at the corners and incredibly lovestruck by the man before you. “Because I found my purpose right here.”

“As you wish, love.” With a smile, Hobie leans close for another kiss, one of many to come in your future with him, and part of his band of merry men.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

157 notes · View notes

baddiewiththebook · 2 months ago

Text

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 9

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

July 1983

There is a crackle and a pop that comes from the fire that dances before you. Fiery like an angry monster erupting from his hibernation, ready to feed. The wood sizzles, as the last bit of sap cooks from the bark. Moisture drains as the wood turns to ash.

Your eyes train to the open night sky. Trees touch the air reaching out to the heavens above. Pine has become one of your favorite scents since coming out to camp here nights ago. This is one of the final nights all together.

That being said, you’re a bit melancholic about going home tomorrow. At home, you won’t have the dramatic retelling of woodland monsters by Eddie who ghosts over the flames, and nearly commands them to bend and to turn. You won’t have Gareth’s half decent cooking that sits just right in your belly, and not making you bloat out until you’re about to burst. Freak quietly eats the leftovers from dinner time. Hot dogs. Potato chips. It’s all quite typical of a camping trip. And, Jeff, who plays you songs on his harmonica that he says his grandfather taught him ages ago. You’re immersed in the experience, truly.

Jeff puts down the harmonica a moment, and Eddie files his stories back between his ears. The conversation is light. Although, there is a line crossed eventually. Gareth storms off down a darkened path to a lake of water to get some air. You tell the group that you’re going to the bathroom quickly after this happens.

You sneak around the campers, and take a flashlight with you. The pathway is a straightforward slope. Even if you somehow veered off the path and onto the thick wood, you would hear the water and still push forward until you hit the lake.

The large moon overhead mirrors into the water, along with its friends - the stars. Ripples in the tide gently caress the sand leaving soggy wet trails. You can find Gareth making purchase against a fallen log not too far from the path.

“May I join you?” You clear your throat, adjusting the flashlight to the beach floor when Gareth squints at you.

Gareth doesn’t have much to say to you. It’s not you that has him irritated after all. He drops the tension built at the base of his jaw, and his shoulders follow.

You take this as an invite, and you scoot not-so-close next to him. The sea speaks to you. She says so many words without saying anything at all. The freedom to travel the world, and to touch so many people. She’s home to many creatures. And, abused by so many humans. They take advantage of her generosity, and thus is the meaning of womanhood. You could shred your English teacher apart for giving you a scalding hot ‘D’ on your essay about femininity. For him, the world bended on hand and knee.

At least you wouldn’t have to take a class with him this upcoming year.

“Moon’s big,” you bite your tongue for such a silly little thing to say.

Gareth kicks the sand and the pebbles at his feet, “I know they’re just teasing me because they’re older.”

Their conversation grew childish, as Eddie had picked on Gareth for his lack of experience with women. It nicked a hole in his pride, or perhaps invited the shy little boy to rise to the surface after all of these years. Truthfully, the sting of Eddie’s comment isn’t what bothers him. The other guys laughs. It’s all a joke to them. But, internally Gareth has been struggling. All by his age, the boys had at least one date under their belt.

You inhale deeply, which grabs Gareth’s attention. With the moonlight caressing your skin like a tender hand holding up your chin to bless you even more beautifully than you already are, Gareth knows how screwed he is. Jeff has told him to back off. He insists that you’re Eddie’s girl. You’re fueled by a secret passion that burns only for Eddie.

That might be true by the way you laugh undeniably hard whenever you are left together. Oh, your laugh is a fresh breeze on a hot day. Warm sun punches his body. The leaves on the trees begin to shake. Finally, the wind kisses his ears coolly in a most needed sort of way.

In a way, he needs you to laugh at him like that.

“Don’t let them get to you,” you shrug your shoulders up and down. The flashlight has fallen into the sand, while still on. Shadows of their toes hit the beach sand making silly little puppets. “You don’t have to go around sleeping with every girl you see. I’ve never . . .”

Your confidence fails you right then. Simply, you didn’t want to seem suggestive towards Gareth. Well, in case a situation like that might happen. That’s not to say that it would. But, you know - you have a long life ahead of you and Gareth isn’t the worst looking guy you’ve seen. Or, calling him not-the-worst sounds wrong. That’s not what you meant.

Gareth bursts your train of thought, “I’ve never even kissed a girl. Shouldn’t I have at least done that?”

Was he really asking you for advice? Sure, your first kiss was soggy and far too wet for your liking. You could have sucked face with a frog, and he would have been kinder than- oh, it doesn’t matter. First kisses are always less amazing than what you expect. That’s why you practice.

“There isn’t a timeline on this sort of stuff,” you explain to him. “It just sort of happens. Some people don’t get kissed until they’re forty.”

Gareth’s half glare shuts your mouth, before you could make him feel any worse. So, you’re not good at this? Who knew?

“I cannot wait for my first kiss to be when I’m forty,” he snorts lightly. “Eddie’s already-,”

You jerk your head, but the end of the sentence never falls out of his mouth. Gareth’s quite red in the face, and he doesn’t dare turn his head back to you.

“Eddie can do whatever - whoever he wants,” you pretend like the bomb Gareth dropped doesn’t bother you, but he watches your shoulders bend slightly.

According to Jeff, you’re Eddie’s girl. They’ve spoken a lot. Jeff’s advice is to back off, before Gareth gets bitten. Knowing Eddie, he’s a shark that could take you down whole if he wanted too. That’s not to criticize his close friend. It’s just that keeping you so close, but to not make a move on you is beyond childish to think of. He has to understand that one day someone will come along and ask you on a date. That they’ll sweep you off your feet. You deserve to be loved, and to be held. Not kept under Eddie’s shadow.

Oh, God. Can Gareth risk loosing Eddie as not only a friend, but as a major part of a band they created. This band means everything to all of its members. The sound is so unique, and so new. They could really be going somewhere with this.

Gareth decides in that moment that he would rather chance making the band a success, and to keep everyone and everything the same as it has always been. One day he can wake up without humming to the tune of you. That the scent of your perfume doesn’t send him into a trance-like-state of utter silliness.

The burn in his belly aches. Gareth stares into the sea, as though he’s thrown his greatest secret, and his greatest worry into the ocean. She swallows the message whole. Yeah, if only that works. He hangs his head.

Your fingertips grace the top of his left shoulder blade. Even though his jacket, Gareth can imagine the softness that the pads of your fingers provide. Soft and smooth ridges pepper alonghis hidden skin like a well-rehearsed song and dance.

“Gareth,” the sound of your voice melts him. “Are you okay?”

Gareth cocks his head in your direction. You watch in waiting as his eyes fall to your lips. Hopefully, he doesn’t see you tremble too.

There is a moment that the both of you share in complete silence. The waves quiet themselves. The trees no longer move, but rather watch the scene unfold in front of them. It’s perfectly romantic.

Hot breath hits your face. Gareth has become closer to you, or maybe you moved to him. You swallow thickly. He licks his lips.

Pause.

There is a thrust of wind that hit the both of you, but doesn’t cause either of you to break away. It only moves you closer. Hand in hand.

“Fuck it,” Gareth mutters to himself, and closes the gap.

Slotting his lips against yours, Gareth could swear he hears the heavens calling from beyond. You tangle your fingers into his hair, holding on for dear life. While Gareth’s lips aren’t classically trained, you hold out for practice. The message is clearly written. His nose bumps against yours, and you hum through locked lips. Gareth sneaks his grip on you around your waist, below your jacket. The skin there is cool. Shivers wrestle up your spine. you around the waist below your jacket in a bold move. You gasp.

As the kiss ends, you both find pulling away to come too soon. Sneaking in one or two more small kisses, your eyes do finally meet. Your lips are swollen and damp, and so are Gareth’s lips. Somehow you’ve tangled yourself into him. Threatening to swing your legs back over his lap, Gareth grasps the back of your knee with his hand.

“Stay,” he stammers out of breath. “Please.”

You nod - completely winded yourself.

“Maybe you could use a bit more practice?” You pinch your fingers together with a suggestive smirk playing against your lips.

Gareth cackles into the sky, then lets his head fall back to you. “Seriously?”

You nibble your bottom lip.

Gareth brings his lips to yours once again bringing your two bodies into one shared unit. You wait to slip into something deeper that he isn’t quite ready for yet. Instead, the two of you spend far too long enjoying the moment.

There is a group of campers not far away wondering where you have gone off too. Robin rides into the darkness with the assistance of a flashlight to use the bathroom. Hopefully, you haven’t died in there yet.

Robin does catch up with you two in the sharp fork that’s along the pathways. If you head upwards, you’ll begin to smell the bathrooms not too far away. Down the hill is the short walk to the lakeside where you’ve just come from.

“I went to the bathroom, and then I went to find Gareth,” you explain rapidly to Robin.

While she knows that could be a lie, Robin has had far too much pop and she does really have to go to the bathroom. She leaves you there, and she will forget about finding you two suspiciously in the woods together.

Upon returning to the camp site, you hadn’t talked about if either Gareth or you wanted to tell the others about what has just happened. It doesn’t seem as though you’ll get a chance because Gareth is whisked off in a drunken apology from Eddie. Gareth tells Eddie not to sweat it, then accepts a marshmallow peace offering.

You too return to the fire opposite side to Gareth. A poker is offered to you, so that you might stick marshmallows on the ends to cook them. That is one of your favorite parts to a camping trip - it used to be your favorite.

Perhaps, something has changed your mind. Something sweeter has come along. It's like the scent of a new book. Sweet and woodsy. You’re just unfolding the pages to this novel.

Gareth’s gaze softens as he catches you looking right at him, and you blush while tucking your lips into each other.

You can’t wait to read this book.

-> <-

[August 1983]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson preference #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic

131 notes · View notes

lovesickevangelist · 8 months ago

Text

Bad omens Gifs part 1/?: Nick Ruffilo getting bullied by woodland creatures in Japan.

#Bad Omens #Nick Ruffilo #My gifs #BadOmens #Japan Vlog 2018 #CAN YOU HEAR ME THROUGH THE WHITE NOISE [Gifs]

302 notes · View notes

cabinporn · 2 years ago

Photo

The @huskacreekcabin in Delhi, NY  From the owners Gemma and Nick: “We found Huska Creek Cabin when it was just a shell and spent 5 months in the summer of 2022 restoring the cabin, being mindful to keep its original charm. Huska Creek Cabin sits on 6.5 acres complete with private meadow and creek. Once owned by a famous New York playwright who used the cabin as a writing retreat (with no bathroom, kitchen or heat - literally a shell) and featured in a design magazine in the 80s, Huska Creek Cabin has a truly unique feel and is a magical experience. We believe that if a place is thoughtfully designed, it doesn’t matter how big it is. We’ve made sure that every inch of the cabin retains the woodland retreat vibe yet is now fully functional including adding a bathroom, heating system, kitchen and all the mod cons that bring it into the 21st century.”  Photographs by @noahkalina More photos on @cabinporn.

#cabin

748 notes · View notes

butchjess · 9 months ago

Text

the jess mariano s2 outfits post.. all of his outfits for every one of his appearances including accessories and other such things found to the best of my abilities . full thing is under the read more

-repeat outfits are not included for my own sanity

*asteriks are to indicate the piece is not an exact match, but very close (couldn't find it or just not 100% sure)

S2E05 Nick & Nora/Sid & Nancy

The Camo Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch, black with stainless steel casing + grey braided string bracelet + dark brown leather belt with Civil War union soldier oval buckle

L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + Rothco long-sleeve Woodland camo shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

Zip-Up Sweatshirt Fit

Nixon “The Rocker” A370 watch

Gray zip-up sweatshirt with US army staff sergeant rank insignia patch + Indera Mills navy blue raschel-knit thermal shirt

Levi’s 501 straight leg jeans*

Swiss modern combat boots

Wet Delinquent Fit

Nixon “The Rocker” A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle knit shirt

Dickies loose fit jeans (logo painted over from back pocket)

Swiss modern combat boots

The Girl From Mars Fit

Nixon “The Rocker A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Gray zip-up sweatshirt with US army staff sergeant rank insignia patch + L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + white long-sleeved Fresno, CA motorcycle sweater*

Levi's 501 dark blue straight leg fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E06 Presenting Lorelai Gilmore

Metallica Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Pushead Metallica No Leaf Clover shirt

The Uniform Fit

Luke's season one baseball cap + Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + gray braided string bracelet

Burgundy plaid flannel + gray t-shirt

Dickies loose fit jeans

S2E08 The Ins and Outs of Inns

Child Labor Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + gray bracelet

Hanes black pocket t-shirt* + Rothco long-sleeve Woodland camo shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Slacker Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + Tasman Empire Airways ltd. vintage red t-shirt + Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle knit shirt

Levi's 501 straight leg fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

Double Denim Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

L.L. Bean Sherpa-lined Trucker style denim jacket + Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle knit shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Toaster Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Green long-sleeve California graphic shirt + Stanfield's white thermal long-sleeve waffle knit shirt

Levi's 501 straight leg fit jeans

S2E10 The Bracebridge Dinner

Don't Need Your Help Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + dark brown leather belt with Civil War union soldier oval buckle

Punk Planet magazine red t-shirt + Stanfield's white thermal long-sleeve waffle knit shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Carriage Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Beige Sherpa-lined suede coat + black plaid button up + black undershirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans*

Swiss modern combat boots

The Glance Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Black fatigue shirt*

Dickies loose fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E12 Richard in Stars Hollow

Innocent Boy Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + dark brown leather belt with oval Civil War union soldier buckle

L.L. Bean Sherpa-lined Trucker style denim jacket + Rothco long-sleeve Woodland camo shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E13 A-Tisket, A-Tasket

Superglue Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

Beige Sherpa-lined suede coat* + Tasmanian Empire Airways ltd. red t-shirt + Stanfield's charcoal long-sleeve thermal waffle-knit shirt

Brown loose fit corduroy pants

The Guy Who Brought Enough Money Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

Beige Sherpa-lined suede coat + green long-sleeve Califronia graphic shirt + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle-knit thermal + black long-sleeve shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

The Phone Call Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Dickies long-sleeve garage blue industrial work shirt with embroidered US flag patch (name-tag included) + black long-sleeve shirt*

Brown loose fit corduroy pants*

White socks

S2E15 Lost and Found

The Gutter Cleaner Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + gardening gloves

Wrangler gas station jacket (no nametag)* + Punk Planet magazine red t-shirt + black long-sleeve shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E13 There's the Rub

Construction Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + blue pen + blue hardhat + dark brown leather belt with oval Civil War union soldier buckle

Hanes gray pocket t-shirt + black long-sleeve shirt

Wrangler black regular fit jeans

Delivery Boy Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

L.L. Bean Sherpa lined Trucker style denim jacket + Dickies long-sleeve garage blue industrial work shirt with U.S. flag patch embroidered on sleeve (name-tag removed) + Hanes black pocket t-shirt*

Brown loose fit corduroy pants

Swiss modern combat boots

Navy Blue Sweatshirt Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Ralph Lauren Polo Sport navy blue USA fleece sweatshirt (02 embroidered on sleeve)* + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

S2E17 Dead Uncles and Vegetables

Despot Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

L.L. Bean navy blue puffer vest + Nordstrom brown button down dress shirt + black t-shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

Diner Boy Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet + blue pen + dark brown leather belt with oval Civil War union soldier buckle

Hanes gray pocket t-shirt + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

Dickies loose fit jeans (logo painted over/removed)

Funeral Party Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Black fatigue shirt + white and black baseball tee*

S2E19 Teach Me Tonight

Ice Cream Cones Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch + leather bracelet

Big Smith green diamond quilted jacket + white striped double pocket linen shirt + black t-shirt + Stanfield's white long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

RVCA Americana olive green baggy fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E21 Lorelai's Graduation Day

Payphone Fit

Dickies navy blue Eisenhower jacket + gray button-up*

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

New York Fit

Nixon "The Rocker" A370 watch

Dickies navy blue Eisenhower jacket + Hardkore Kidd 2002 No Mercy tour shirt

RVCA Americana olive green baggy fit jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

S2E22 Can't Get Started

The Kiss Fit

Dickies navy blue Eisenhower jacket + gray graphic t-shirt* + Stanfield's black long-sleeve waffle knit thermal shirt

Levi's 568 dark wash jeans

Swiss modern combat boots

#jess mariano #gilmore girls #literati #rory x jess #:3 #doing this by season because of the image limit etc etc #some of the screenshots range from 720p to 1080p sorry -_-#any suggestions/corrections are welcomed if you have them

172 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 2 months ago

Text

Into The Woods: Nick Torres x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @divergent146 @whateversomethingbruh @district447 @stelacole

Takes place during Nick & Harper's decade long partnership undercover.

Camping has never been on Nick’s list of top ten things to do. If he was going away for the weekend it wouldn’t be to a National Park, he wouldn’t chose to stay overnight in a tent in the middle of nowhere, listening to the sound of things that go bump in the night in the woods.

Unfortunately that’s exactly what he’s doing because the undercover work the two of you have been doing is focused a network of weed farms spread throughout the local area. You’ve both been working in one over the past week, you helping with the drying process and him overseeing.

The story is that you’re a couple because Nick hated the idea of you being the lone woman in the woods with seven other men who’ve barely left the place in almost three months. It means you get to spend your nights sharing a tent and a sleeping bag with your coworker, especially after what happened in the first week.

“I fucking hate how the smell of it clings to me.” You tell him tying your hair back into a ponytail. “I’m going down to the waterfall to wash it off. You coming?”

Nick fucking hates it too. Weed has never been his thing and the potency of the strain they’re working on, it’s strong, stronger than anything Nick’s ever been around. He shudders to think what the THC levels must be, the damage that can do once out in the open.

He agrees to come with you for two reasons, one because he wants to cleanse himself of the stench and two, because he wouldn’t put it past one of the other guys to try something if they found you out there alone and vulnerable.

When you get to the waterfall, he turns his back so you can undress in private. He listens to the swish of fabric as you hang your clothes up on the branches of the tree. It’s only when he hears the splashing that he allows himself to turn around again. You’re up to your neck in the water and you look happier already. He can’t help but smile because for you it really is about the simple pleasures.

“You coming in?” You call out to him and he makes a twirling signal with his finger to indicate you should turn yourself around. You pout playfully before obeying his request.

Despite how much he hates the woodlands, there’s something about being naked in the wilderness that he finds invigorating. He’s come to enjoy these freshwater swims and of course, the company helps. When he steps into the water it chills his skin immediately, he takes a breath before he immerses himself, the chill rolling over his skin. Already you’re breast stroking your way over to him and he can’t help but think these stolen moments away with you are the highlight of this operation.

“This is the only part of the job I like.” He tells you as you linger in front of him. This is the closest thing to naked he’s ever seen you and he’s glad the water hides his reaction to it.

“Is it because we’re not wearing anything but a smile?” You ask him and Nick laughs as he brushes his damp hair away from his features.

“No but it helps.” He teases before he swims away a little so he can rinse himself under the waterfall. “It’s because it’s the only time we get to relax.”

He’s not wrong, even at night you can tell that Nick’s awake and alert as the two of you lay together. You know it’s because he’s terrified of someone trying to play midnight tiptoe with you. It had happened during the first week here. He’d woken up to hear the sound of heavy footsteps and your tent being unzipped. He’d gotten out just in time to see Alberto about to climb into your sleeping bag with you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He’d barked at the other man, his torch in his face, dazing him.

It had gotten into a scuffle resulting in Nick beating the shit out of the other man. It’s the next day he makes it clear that you’re off limits to the other men at the farm, you start sleeping in his tent after that.

“I’m getting out Nick.” You say softly as you join him under the waterfall. “They offered me a job in Washington in the Cold Case Unit before we left and I’m going to take it.”

“Oh.” He says because truthfully he thought you and him, you’d be doing this together forever. “That’s… Cold Case… it’s in the basement.”

“My dad’s sick.” You find yourself telling him. “I’m the only one he’s got left since Katie disappeared so…” You shrug your shoulders. “I gotta give up undercover work for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” He says and genuinely he means that. “I’d offer you a hug but… we’re naked.”

You laugh then and it’s a beautiful sound, one that resonates through the quiet woodlands. He’s going to miss it he realises, he didn’t know just how much until this moment.

“I’ll still be there for you, you know?” He says sincerely. “It doesn’t matter if we’re worlds apart or if you’re working in a shitty basement in Washington, I’m still gonna be there for you.”

You can’t express just how much that means to you but you can tell he understands it. You’ll be alone after your father dies, the last surviving member of your family. That thought, it terrifies you.

“It goes both ways.” You tell him because it does, it always has been you and Nick. “No matter what it is or where you are, I’m here for you too.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#nick torres #nick torres x reader #ncis

34 notes · View notes

assortedseaglass · 9 months ago

Text

Borne & Bound - VI

[Masterlist]

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

(Mr Darcy!Aemond x Shieldmaiden!OFC)

Story Content: (This chapter in bold): Strong Language, Violence, Slow Burn, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions of Incest¸ Mentions of Sexual Assault

Word Count: 6.6K

Notes: So, it’s been a few months…highly recommend reading the last chapter because I imagine everyone’s forgotten the plot. I nearly had.

I am so out of practice and this is not my finest – I read work of my friends here and marvel at the talent they possess. That you indulge my writing is a real honour, and reading your words is no longer intimidating but inspiring.

This was written for me to get back into the swing of things, and whether one or one hundred people read it, I am happy to be back.

The cold whipped Aemond’s face, harsh and blistering. Ice from the gathering storms clouds nicked his marble skin and the burn of the exposed air on his flesh hummed.

Any trace of anger, of anxiety or of rage had faded away. Amongst the clouds, high above the city, Aemond was utterly free. Free from what, he wasn’t entirely sure, but as he flew atop Vhagar’s scaled back he felt a peace the like of which he had never known.

For what felt like hours, the pair tumbled through dense cloud and bright sunburst in one endless day of freedom. He had no sense of duty, no eagerness to return to the Keep, no burden of family. Even Vhagar beneath him felt light and somehow far away. Still, she held him aloft in the sky, the steady beat of her wings taking them on, on, on.

After hours, or what could have been days, Vhagar descended below the clouds, and King’s Landing came into view. Beneath them, the waxy leaves of the Kingswood’s canopy gleamed. Aemond could just make out the world waking; the flight of birds from the trees, fires smoking from the townsfolks’ homes, a few traders making their way into the world to collect and sell their wares.

A lone rider cut a steady path along the woodland’s edge. Aemond watched a while as Vhagar’s enormous shadow followed behind them. The mane of the black horse rippled as it galloped, and even from Aemond’s position high in the sky, he could hear the thunder of its hooves.

Then, a great bell-like laugh rose into the air, pealing all around Aemond. Just as he felt, the sound was free. It warmed the very heart of him. On and on the gleeful rider laughed and Aemond found himself smiling in spite of himself. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and beneath him, he felt Vhagar murmur too. With a gentle roll of her body, the great she-dragon leant into the wind and Aemond saw the black horse’s rider at last.

Strands of dark hair billowed in the wind, as did robes of burgundy, bronze and deepest blue. As he was with Vhagar, the rider was effortlessly attuned to their steed, moving gracefully across every furrow of the land. Another tinkle of laughter took flight into the air and Aemond leant forwards over Vhagar’s side. He reached out, as if trying to touch the rider. Vhagar’s flight was dangerously close to the ground now, and just as Aemond’s leather-covered fingertips skirted the edge of the rider’s robes, they turned over their shoulder to look up at him.

Her bonny face was flushed red, mud spattered across her cheeks, no doubt kicked up from the hooves of the immense horse. The dark hair that so exquisitely matched that of her steed still whipped about her face, but through it Aemond could make out the brilliant flash of a smile. Mischievous, wicked, taunting.

It was as though she had sunk her teeth into him with that smile. At once, the heat that filled his veins turned to ice. Vhagar’s great bulk vanished beneath him, and he fell, watching the girl laughing at him as he disappeared through the earth.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Aemond barely heard the maid’s timid voice as he sat bolt upright in his bed. The girl stood by the windows of the chamber, a plate of fresh fruit in her hands, watching him.

Unruly blond hair swept in long strands in front of darkened his face. His naked chest, muscular and coated in a sheen of sweat, rose and fell heavily as he regained his ragged breath. One eye, unblinking and icy, stared forward, bright beneath his angry brow. The absence of the other made her shiver. She placed the plate of fruit on a table beside the window and stepped forward.

Aemond still did nothing but stare ahead of him. The gossamer curtains shrouding his bed rippled gently in the breeze from the open window. He looked straight through them, remembering the black hair of the horsemaiden and her steed.

“Your Grace?” The girl said again. A nightmare. She’d woken him from a nightmare, that was all. Or perhaps a dream. Maybe that was why he was angry. “I’ve brought breakfast, Your Grace.”

“Get out.”

Her steps faltered. Through the sweep of golden hair and fluttering fabric, she barely heard him.

“Pardon, Your Grace?” Her voice quavered, fear creeping into the words. Prince Aemond was a haunting man, that was true. The way he appeared like a spectre, his leathered boots having made no sound on the stone floors of the Keep. His unfeeling eyes, ever watching and unblinking. She had heard rumour of his fits of anger at the other servants. Still, in the ten months she had worked at the Keep, bringing food to him in the morning and lighting the fires, he had never raised his voice at her. Not yet at least.

Aemond’s hand balled into fists, the sheet beneath him crumpling. The girl stepped back. He was shaking. “Get. Out.”

“My Prince-”

“GET OUT!” The dragon within fired into life. Aemond stood abruptly, tearing at the bed’s curtains as he did so. With a squeal, and averting her eyes from the Prince’s near naked form, the maid tore from the room.

From beyond his chamber door, Aemond could hear her hurried footsteps and the shocked gasps of the Keep’s early risers. He was used it. On any other day, they did it to his face. Storming across the room, he dressed hurriedly in his riding leathers, shoved his eyepatch aggressively over his head and made to leave the room.

How dare she, the shit-shovelling little horse-wench. From the moment she arrived he’d known nothing but her condescension and disdain. Now, even in dreams, he couldn’t escape her.

Smoothing his hair beneath the leather, Aemond passed by his dresser, pocketing his dagger in its sheath at his belt and donning his great coat. Then, struck by the stranger staring back at him from the mirror, he paused.

Wisps of blond hair stuck out from his head like spun sugar. The skin around his brow was pink from where he’d roughly donned is eyepatch. The eye that stared back at him was wild, dark despite its violet hue and ringed by purple. The usual glow of his marble skin was gone, replaced by a dull grey. Even in dreams, he couldn’t escape her. He leant against the wood and inhaled deeply.

What in the seven hells had caused this great animosity? She wasn’t the first person to mock him, nor would she be the last. And he’d met plenty a noble from far off lands as they passed through the kingdom, never to be seen again. True, he had been less than welcoming. But hadn’t he tried? Asked about her kingdom, taken her letter to the rookery. He sighed. His efforts were less than poor.

Again he smoothed his hair and straightened. After his ride with Vhagar he would, once more, try to make amends. Besides, what better way to get the upper hand of the Braedel girl than with cordial superiority. The day was set. A smirk tugging at his lips, he left his chambers and the night’s awful dream behind.

He should have known better. Were the week’s recent events not proof that while the Keep was upside down with the council and its attendees, his plans would always be dashed. No sooner had he turned left from his chambers did the young prince encounter a small Braedel delegation. A few of the calvary’s riders, and none other than the enormous Ser Herumbrand.

The knight bowed slowly to the prince, as did the other Braedels, and allowed Aemond to pass. It was as they passed each other that Herumbrand and Aemond locked eyes. The knight’s mouth did not move, but something in the twinkle of his grey eyes told Aemond that deep down he was smiling.

“She had you ratted there, son.”

Herumbrand’s last words to Aemond instantly ran through his mind. As did the humiliation of his spar with the woman from his dream.

“Ser.” Aemond said flatly, turning on his booted heel to face the knight.

“Your Grace?” The three Braedels halted and watched the prince.

“Lady Geowyth, where is she?” Best to avoid her until he had a sure plan of action that would not result in further hostility.

Ser Herumbrand waited a moment before answering. He seemed to be assessing the man before him. Aemond let him, his eye never wavering.

“With her brother, I believe, as he prepares to return to Braedel.”

A flicker of annoyance befell Aemond’s eye. “Forgive me, Ser.” He took a step forward. “‘As he prepares to return?’”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Herumbrand smiled broadly. “Lord Geodred will return to Braedel for his wedding. Lady Geowyth is to stay as the Princess’ lady-in-waiting for a time.”

With nought but a rumbled hmph, Aemond turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor. Maids and grooms parted with bowed heads at his coming and he ignored each one. Beyond the Keep the skies were blackening. He would ride Vhagar later. Deep with in the chasm of his chest he felt her settle towards slumber. She knew he would come for her by day’s end. Flying through the storm clouds was what she loved best. Better to let the clouds gather so they could really relish their time together.

Instead of making his way to Vhagar’s rocky outcrop as he had planned, Aemond treaded the well-worn stone towards the training yard, every step remembering the parries and attacks Geowyth dealt him during their spar. The way she exhausted herself trying to prove she could keep up with him, a man. He could almost feel the gentle press of the dagger she’d held at his ribs, and see the self-satisfied smile she wore when he realised its presence. And now she was to stay.

There could only be one person so scheming. Only one whose machinations would permit the young horse-maid to stay. And so it was that Aemond, on his way to sharpen his swordsmanship, burst through the ornate oaken doors that led to the queen’s ballroom.

“MOTHER!”

On the other side of the Keep, in the guest quarters, Geowyth watched with undisguised agitation as her brother and a few groomsmen packed his belongings into various trunks and bags.

From her position on the bed, she could see that he was anxious to get back to Braedel, and just as anxious to leave.

“I don’t see why you must go so soon if eam (uncle) is not so unwell. Did you not say that if he were, you would send for me? Why not take me with you?”

Geodred sighed, not looking at her as he tidied away the small writing desk covered with his studies of the mainland. “Don’t be childish.”

“I’m not being child-”

“Then trust me and stop with your pettiness,” Geowyth huffed and he ignored her. “He isn’t so unwell. Not more than when we left him, and I will send for you the moment he so much as coughs. But I am to be married, remember sweostor (sister). I may not be a husband yet, but I owe it to Folchild to prove what kind of man I will be. Thus far she has been stuck on Braedel with a sickly cynge (king), a fussing mother and a conniving father, all the while preparing singlehandedly for our marriage.”

Damn him for being so kind-hearted, Geowyth thought. Still, she couldn’t help digging in her heels and making him feel her annoyance at his abandonment. He was her brother after all.

“I wonder what sort of wife Folchild will be?” she said innocently. Geodred hummed to signify that even if his hands were busy, he was indeed listening. “When she first came to Braedel I, like you, was dazzled by her beauty. But what have we learnt of her since then?”

“I have learnt a great deal,”

She ignored him. “I cannot claim that I know her as a sister well enough to give my good opinion, but she makes you happy and that I suppose will have to do.”

“Geowyth,”

“Do you know, eam’s last letter said she has become more reserved with every visit to Braedel since we came here. No doubt your arrival home will cheer her. I’ve seen the way the women here look at you, maeg (brother). You should have come to the mainland to find a wife first. Imagine the noble ladies you could have claimed! I’ve seen even the queen giving you the once over when she thinks no-one is looking-”

“Geowyth,” Geodred said warningly.

“You could have inherited another title! Instead you get, as you say, a fussing mother-in-law and a conniving new father. No doubt he heard of eam’s ill health and descended on him like a vulture, throwing the only thing that Stanas Isle has of worth at you; Folchild herself.”

Geodred suddenly dropped the volumes of books in his hands upon the desk and interrupted her at last. In three silent strides he was at the chamber door, whispering something to one of the Keep’s servants. When he said nothing, Geowyth continued. She knew he was getting annoyed at her now, yet she couldn’t help it. It was like scratching an itch.

“And now you are to leave me here,” she said dramatically, disguising the fact that she was still hurt by this. “Drop your duty to the kingdom for duty of another kind.”

“Duty is duty, sweostor,” How could he still be so composed?

“If you say so. But I was under the impression we were sent here to make alliances and do right by Braedel. Instead, you are hurrying home so you may put your end in as soon as possi-”

“ENOUGH!” Geodred slammed his hand on the wooden poster of the bed. Geowyth flinched. “Enough.” He ran a hand over his handsome face and looked down at her. “I have done my duty here. I have impressed the king and, more importantly, the queen, for we know full well it is she running the order of things. I have made friends with the princes and demonstrated the value of our considerable calvary. And now I must return to strengthen other alliances.”

Geowyth opened her mouth to retort.

“Yes, Geowyth. I am well aware that my marriage to Folchild is to strengthen bonds with Stanas Isle and keep her father on our side. But have you stopped to think that perhaps I may love her too? Have you stopped to think at all?”

“Geodred, I-”

“If you spent your mornings with the other visiting young ladies, rather than gallivanting with Mearl, which you can do any day at home, you might understand. If you listened and learnt from our hosts rather than stirring up gossip as you did at the feast, you might understand. If you stopped of flirting with the princes and making a fool of yourself in the training yard-”

“I am not flirting!” Geowyth shouted, feeling flushed and sick in equal measure.

“-THEN YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND!” Geodred roared over her. “You are staying here because eam sees that you are a liability to our kingdom.”

Geowyth flinched like he had struck her. She needed to hear it while she was hurt, there was no other way.

“You have charmed the princess, true, but you have ruffled feathers also. How in the name of all above and below do you expect to command the renward (cavalry) when I am king? How can you expect us to trust you?” Geowyth’s eyes were watering an Geodred’s heart broke. With a shaking voice he continued. “You are hot-headed, quick to temper and to judge. We would be at war the moment you struck out on your first charge. You must learn! And staying at the keep will ensure this.”

“Geodred, please-”

“I mean it, Geowyth. The day that eam passes is growing ever closer, and I cannot afford to have such a wayward leader take my place. It is about time you realised your duty.”

“Lord Geodred,” Geodred’s head snapped to the door. Ser Herumbrand loomed in the doorway, bedecked in ceremonial battle dress. “The horses are ready.”

Geodred nodded. Herumbrand cast his eyes over the siblings. Geodred, red-faced, a little tiredness eking onto his face. Geowyth knelt on the bed with her head bowed, her face hidden by her curtain of hair but not containing her sniffles. Herumbrand left the pair as Geodred places both his hands on his sister’s shoulders.

“Come, we are away.”

“Stand up straight,”

“I am,”

“Straighter then. Our guests, your guests-”

“Father’s guests.”

“-our guests our leaving.” For the second time that week, Aemond stood on the barbican steps in the heat of the afternoon, listening to his mother and brother bicker.

All the royal family were in attendance this time. His mother, beautiful in the green of her house, auburn hair dancing in the gentle breeze, stood proud at the centre of the steps, watching with interest as the Braedel cavalry jostled with excitement; the horses eager to be on the road, their riders ready for home. Aegon looked surprisingly clean and well slept. The dark circles around his eyes were still present, and it was clear to all that he was still drunk from the night before, but he looked handsome nonetheless. Like their mother, he wore green, though darker than hers, and Aemond thought that while he might not quite pass for a prince of the realm, there was no denying his nobility.

Aemond tried not to look at his father. A crumpled heap of cloth and sallow skin had been propped up in a chair beside the eldest prince. His mouth hung open slightly, the gold mask covering his face flashing in the sun and agitating some of the horses. He could barely hold his head up to look his guests in the eye.

Only Helaena was not stood with them. The best of them, she had ventured into the crowd of warrior men and women to stand at Lady Geowyth’s side. Ser Herumbrand and a few older members of the renward watched with jovial smiles as Geowyth introduced the princess to her immense horse.

Aemond stilled with taut anticipation as Lady Geowyth took Helaena’s hand and moved it to the horse’s thick neck. Beside him, his mother shuffled on her feet. Both watched nervously. Helaena’s head was turned awkwardly away from the animal, as though trying to put some distance between herself and the horse. Lady Geowyth brushed her own dark hair from her face and whispered in Helaena’s ear. She looked just the same as when Aemond first saw her. Dark hair long and unkempt, amber eyes watchful. Her face too was just as flushed, though Aemond had put that down to her long days’ ride. Today, her cheeks were blotchy, as though she’d been crying.

It would take a fool not to see how she and Helaena complimented each other; Helaena in her light blue and gold silks, Geowyth in her dark blue and burgundy velvet. Helaena’s golden hair and Geowyth’s black. Helaena flighty and faraway, Geowyth earth-bound. When Helaena still retreated from Geowyth’s mount, the shieldmaiden took her hand and gently placed a kiss on it, murmuring something once more. Even from where he stood, Aemond could see that a small smile was playing upon Helaena’s face. Nodding at whatever Geowyth had said, Helaena allowed her to move her hand back towards the horse’s muscled neck and run it along the smooth hair there.

Aemond heard his mother exhale. He turned is good eye towards her and she smiled, proud and relieved. The corners of his mouth twitched and he turned back to the women. Geowyth had produced a shining red apple from her skirt pocket and given it to the princess. Helaena tentatively held it up for Mearl to sniff. When his bristled nose brushed her hand, Helaena giggled, and even jumped a little with glee when he began to eat it.

If it pleased his sister, Aemond supposed there was at least one good reason for Lady Geowyth to stay.

“Geowyth, astandan (come).” Geodred was standing before the king and called his sister back to her temporary position in the royal household.

“Helaena,” Alicent called gently. The two came at once. Helaena near gliding across the barbican, Geowyth following dutifully in her wake. Her role as lady-in-waiting had begun. She bowed before the king and queen when she reached the steps upon which they stood, then settled behind Helaena, now nestled between her brothers. All in the barbican and on the steps watched as Geodred approached the royals, Ser Herumbrand a step behind him.

A ripple of pride ran through the renward when their leader dropped to his knees before Viserys, so that the king may look upon him. Taking is frail hand, Geodred kissed his knuckles then covered it with his own.

“My King,” he began gently so only those closest to him could hear. “A thousand thanks for your hospitality this last week, and a thousand more for your council. I have learnt more than you can know. I shan’t forget this kindness.”

At his words, Viserys leant forward. A small gasp escaped Alicent’s lips and Ser Harrold stepped forward, ready to catch the king should he fall. Viserys raised a hand to quell them, and Geodred bowed his head closer to the king’s. This time, none could hear the whisper that passed between them, but when the king was finished, Geodred stood and bowed his head. Herumbrand followed suit, then clasped the hand of Ser Harrold in friendship.

The rest of Geodred’s goodbyes were easy. The queen beamed at him as he made his farewells and thanked her for allowing his sister to stay. All looked at Geowyth, but still her head was reverently bowed. After bowing to Aegon, Geodred patted the prince on the shoulder jovially. Heir to heir, young man to young man.

His deepest bow was bestowed upon Helaena. “Good princess, I shall not speak for my sister, but will say this. I am certain your friendship will do more for our kingdom than our cavalry or your protection.” Watching her eyes to make sure she understood, Geodred took her hand in his. He did not kiss it but held it a mere moment before letting go.

“Prince Aemond,” Geodred nodded and Geowyth, glancing up, noticed that Aemond did the same. He was the only who had. “My deepest thanks for your tutelage. Were it not for your direction, I would not have known where to begin. I only wish I could know more-”

Aemond hummed in gratitude. A warm, gentle noise. Helaena turned to look happily at her little brother, and Geowyth wondered if this sweet sound was usually reserved just for her.

“-and if you ever want to try your tongue at Braehic, or find yourself flying west, please do visit. We have plenty of land for your Vhagar, and livestock too.”

“Thank you, Ser.” Aemond held out his gloved hand and, without hesitation or worry for etiquette, Geodred grasped it in his with a broad smile. It was only then, when he’d addressed all the royals, did Geodred make his way back along the line. Helaena had already stepped sideways towards her brother-husband to reveal Geowyth.

She was looking up now, waiting for him to address her. She was the lady-in-waiting of a princess, and he a visitor of the family. In this setting he was no longer just her brother. He outranked her, and then some. Geodred sighed and stepped forward. Helaena turned away, pushing Aegon towards their parents. Aemond too bowed his head, but he could’t help but listen.

When Geodred took Geowyth’s hands, it was only then she felt able to speak.

“What did the king say?” Her voice was hoarse and quiet.

“I cannot tell,” he said solemnly, looking at her hawk-like eyes. They were not so bright as usual, their argument having dulled their colour. Pain welled in his chest and he took her face in his hands. It was just them now. Geowyth, he and their uncle Galan.

“I sorry, Geowyth,” he whispered. Aemond’s ears pricked with intrigue.

“You were right to say it,” Geowyth whispered, her voice wobbling. Say what? Geodred sighed again.

“Beon til, beon waeren (be good, be dutiful). I will send for you when the time comes.” Geowyth nodded fervently as she attempted to keep her tears at bay. “Deos forhtlic (who’s afraid)?” Geodred brought his forehead to his sister’s.

“Not I,” she said firmly. They paused a moment, their foreheads pressed together, savouring the feeling. This was the moment everything would change. Their next meeting would be the dawn of Galan’s death, and Geodred’s ascension. Who would take from them this last moment of normality?

With a swift kiss of his sister’s cheek, Geodred hurried down the steps towards his mount. Hurried, so he didn’t change his mind and drag her back to Braedel with him. Aemond watched as Ser Herumbrand fleetingly placed his forehead against Geowyth’s too. It was surely some Braedel tradition. He imagined pressing his forehead to Ser Harrold’s. He let out a sharp laugh and all but his father looked at him.

“Renward,” Geowyth called from atop his mount. Ser Herumbrand mounted his own horse beside him and placed the helmet adorned with horsehair atop is head. Just as when they had arrived, the Braedel cavalry displayed their kinship with the horses that gave them their name. This time though, Aemond did not scoff. Owing to his growing fondness of Lord Geodred, he found it admirable of the small island kingdom. Just as Geodred tired to learn about the ways of the mainland, Aemond found himself wanting to know more about Braedel.

A great clatter of metal and horses’ hooves echoed across the stone walls of the barbican; the delegation from Braedel had begun their slow journey home. At Aemond’s side, Helaena shuffled to stand beside Geowyth, holding her hand tightly. Tears were gathering in Geowyth’s eyes, her jaw set as her lips trembled.

It was as Aemond looked from Helaena and Geowyth’s entwined hands to the latter’s eyes that she looked at him. Wild and childlike in her sadness, the amber of them shocked him, as they had done the first time he saw her. He looked away quickly and instead caught the eye of his mother. She smiled knowingly and he tutted.

“Geowyth,” Helaena’s sweet voice was tender with concern. “You may have today as your own. Go, now.”

Geowyth hesitated. She cast her eyes towards her retreating house then, at Helaena’s insistence, curtsied to the royal family and made her way up the steps and into the comfort of the Keep.

“Aemond.” It was Helaena, speaking lowly to him.

“Helaena,” he smiled softly at her.

“I think you should have the day as your own too. You have not been of sorts. Perhaps the three of us could ride later?” Aegon looked briefly over his sister-wife’s head at his brother and shrugged noncommittally.

“If you insist,”

“I do,” Helaena smiled as the rest of the royal household made their way inside, the thunder of the calvary now a mere rumble.

Peace at last.

Aemond daredn’t say no to Helaena, certainly not when she had commanded him to take the day as his own. Not even their mother could refuse. She was so frequently flustered by her daughter’s odd pronouncements that she found saying anything to her a difficulty.

Still flushed with happiness at Geodred’s assessment for him, Aemond strode through the Keep with renewed vigour. After Helaena, the relative stranger from Braedel was the only person to see him as he felt. As he was.

Buoyed by the praise, Aemond made for one of the Keep’s many libraries. There were plenty to choose from. The large one favoured by his father, full of old tales and dusty tomes. The bright and airy one that his mother and sister frequented in the royal apartments. The myriad of others scattered across different floors and corridors. Today, before heading towards the outskirts of the city where Vhagar rested, Aemond made his solitary way towards his favourite since he was a boy. Where he came to hide from his brother and nephews after a day of merciless teasing.

Tucked between White Sword Tower and the goldcloaks’ barracks, the small study that was Aemond’s preference looked out over Blackwater Bay. It was midday now and Aemond imagined the water lapping at the city’s walls below the window he favoured sitting in.

No-one else came here. Not the white or goldcloaks as they were always too busy. His family stayed in the royal apartments and guests had their own library in the west of the Keep. It would be silent except for the gulls over the bay and the breeze through the window. Trays of confectionary will have been restocked by the maids, the windows opened to air the old books, golden light flowing in from the sun beyond. All Aemond needed to relax. It was also one of the few libraries he had not looked for knowledge of Braedel. Perhaps one of the guards had family from the small island and kept volumes of its history in there as a nostalgic reminder of home. Or maybe a Maester had produced a long-forgotten biography of the kingdom that no-one thought of interest enough to keep in the main library’s stores.

Whatever the reason he had not checked, Aemond all but bounded (as much as princes are allowed to bound) towards the small door at the top of the ill-used spiral staircase. A few goldcloaks bowed to him as he passed and, feeling that normality had returned to the Keep, Aemond threw open the door to his secret hideaway.

A chair screeched across the stone floor and clattered to the ground with a loud thunk.

The curtains were indeed open. The confectionary had been refilled, and Aemond could see that beyond the window seagulls were soaring and the water glistened. But before the window, in what would have been his usual seat, stood Lady Geowyth.

Her eyes were wide with shock but rimmed with red and shining brightly. She’d been crying. She stood frozen for a while, a mixture of horror and shame playing across her pale face.

A flash of recognition lit behind Aemond’s eye. He had seen this expression before. Minus the tears, she had looked just the same when she startled him in the royal library. The repetition of this event made him chuckle, almost imperceptibly. The noise seemed to remind Geowyth of where she was, and she hastily dropped into a low curtsey.

“Your Grace.” Aemond watched as she wiped her face with her sleeve and turned to the window. The chair she was sat in had overturned in her shock, and she bent to pick it up. Aemond’s eye followed the swoop of her frizzy hair as it fell towards the floor. The action exposed the back of her neck, and the midday sun on her pale skin glowed. It was almost Targaryen in its brilliance. He cleared his throat and moved forward awkwardly.

“Let me,” he reached one hand out for the chair and swiftly righted it. He was certain she could have done it herself, and he was still unsure of his feelings towards her. Whether indifference, curiosity or dislike, he had been raised a prince. Decorum, chivalry and honour above all.

Geowyth sniffled a quiet “thank you” and picked up the book upon the windowsill. Aemond read the spine. Philosophies on the Flora and Fauna of the Crownlands.

“This is one of Helaena’s favourites,” His voice was a little flat, a little stunted, but it was a start.

“Yes,” Geowyth sniffed again. “Forgive me,” and she wiped her nose once more. Aemond looked away. How are you meant offer comfort but also give privacy? His mind raced and he tried to think of what to say. The wrong thing might ignite her sarcasm, as anything he uttered seem to do. He might even offend her, as he had done on occasion. And he certainly didn’t want to make her cry more, what on earth would he do then?

As Aemond fretted over his next move, Geowyth watched him. Through her tear-blurred eyes, she watched him awkwardly look around at the books. He had removed his leather gloves, and they creaked as he wrung them behind his back. The eye that so often piercingly surveyed her was almost purple in the sunlight, and softer that she had ever seen it. After their last encounter in the training yard, Geowyth half expected Aemond to want her head. In his stead, she found a somewhat lost and, dare she say it, shy young prince.

“Here,” his voice broke her from her thoughts. Aemond’s pale hand took another book from the shelves and handed it to her cautiously, as though she would bite if he moved too fast. Geowyth looked down at the book’s green cover. Gold leaves were embossed on the fabric and she ran her hand over it.

“Eseld’s Apohtic,” Geowyth said lowly.

“It’s another of Helaena’s favourites.” His tone was blunt, but not so cold as how he usually spoke to her. Geowyth looked at him. He was watching her intently, eye shifting occasionally as though embarrassed.

“Thank you,” though Geowyth’s voice was still small from crying, something of herself began to return. She took the two books in hand, sniffled once more and then stood to her full height. Enough of this wallowing. She looked back to Aemond. “I’ll leave you know, Your Grace. It is clear you were hoping to find this study unoccupied.”

Aemond opened his mouth to speak, faltered, then shut it again. Offering a small smile, Geowyth curtsied and made for the door. As she passed him, Aemond caught the scent of pine and rosemary in her hair and, just as she reached the door, he spoke.

“My lady,” his voice was desperate and he cringed. Geowyth half turned to face him, and he could see just how flushed she had become from crying as the windowlight hit her face.

“Your Grace?” Despite her sadness, and the unhidden resentment the two shared for each other, something about her calm patience as he fumbled with politeness soothed him. Suddenly, he saw a glimmer of what Helaena so loved about her.

“I came here in search of books on Braedel. It is one of the few places I hadn’t looked-”

A smirk quirked the lady’s lips. “You have been looking?”

Damn. “Your brother talked so highly of home, and I cannot deny your language and customs intrigue me,” he flushed. How common of him to admit to something so indecent as curiosity. “I thought, perhaps, well. I would like to learn more.”

Geowyth watched him a moment, and Aemond wracked his brain for what he could have possibly said to offend her.

“All you have to do is ask, Your Grace.”

Aemond’s eye flickered to Geowyth’s. Mirth, or maybe even kindness, was shining in them now. He swallowed. It was the expression she had worn in his dream.

“But if you are so determined to learn from your books,” she pointed to a shelf by the unlit hearth. “May I recommend Grennan’s Compendium of Republic Realms? I believe my uncle wrote the introduction-” Geowyth’s voice tailed away. She had suddenly remembered the missive her uncle wrote the day before.

“The heir apparent you say is a wastrel but bonny fellow, and Geodred tells me that Prince Aemond has been giving him private tutelage in mainland history. List me two more of their virtues with your next letter.”

She looked at the books around her, the one Aemond now reached for and the two in her hand. Helaena’s favourites. “You care for Helaena very much.”

Aemond looked at her curiously. “Yes,” he said, as though it were obvious. “Only a little more than you, I dare say,” he added with sarcasm.

Geowyth laughed that hearty laugh she shared with her brother. Aemond’s breath caught in his throat; he had almost smiled at the sound.

“I doubt even one so plainly open as I could care for someone the way you care for her.”

Aemond clasped his hands behind his back and smirked. “Perhaps it is the one thing we have in common.” He watched as Geowyth relaxed against the door. This isn’t too difficult, he thought. Perhaps he possessed some of his family’s charm after all.

“Helaena and sparring, how contrary we are.” Geowyth too could hardly believe the ease their conversation had found. This gentle teasing and care of his family; maybe she had misjudged him.

“I would hardly call it sparring,” Aemond said, his tone more confident now. “Batting your lashes and holding a dagger to my ribs? That move has been used more often in the street of silk than it has in the training yard.”

A potent silence fell between them.

Aemond knew at once he had said the wrong thing. Geowyth’s eagle eyes hardened and an electricity seemed to bristle around her.

“Well, I maybe be as common as a whore in your eyes, Your Grace,” she spat his title viciously as she whipped her dark hair over her shoulder and opened the door. “But last we met it was you who was flat on their back.” No sooner had Aemond begun to retort had the study door slammed, Geowyth’s angry footsteps echoing down the staircase beyond.

“She had you ratted there, son.”

Aemond ripped of his eyepatch and jammed his hands into his eyes with an angry growl. Throwing Grennan’s Compendium of Republic Realms across the study, Aemond too strode from the study, not caring whether he encountered the lady on the stairs. He’d push her down the rest of them for all he cared.

Hours later, as he and Vhagar flew above the Crownlands, Aemond watched a lone stallion thundering across its grassy plains. Air-borne and earth-bound, the riders rode their mounts ferociously, testing them to their limits. It was as Aemond and Vhagar tumbled from the sky, flying perilously, exhilaratingly, exquisitely close to the ground, did the rider look up at him. With fierce determination, Lady Geowyth kicked her heels at Mearl’s side and tore away from the dragon.

From high above them, sat upon a rocky ridge, Helaena and Dreamfyre watched.

Note: The next chapter will have Sexual TensionTM, I promise!

Tags: @arcielee @mefools @bladeofdreadfort @glitterandgoldfinds @heimtathurs @ewanmitchellcrumbs @babyblue711 @wingeddeliciouscanonrebel @greenowlfactif @fantasias-creativebubble @httyd-marauders @sirenangelroyal* @theoneeyedprince @fyeahhotdfics* @persephonerinyes @humanpurposes @exitpursuedbyavulcan @elizarbell @el-is-green @booghostii @myfandomprompts @castellomargot @trashcanrat @boundlessfantasy @aemonds-fire @barbieaemond @bookwyrmsblog @herfantasyworldd @unheardnerd @targaryenrealnessdarling @chattylurker

*unable to tag

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond kinslayer #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #ewan mitchell x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #borne and bound #geowyth beridan #hotd fanfic #assortedseaglass

98 notes · View notes

more-sonorous · 10 days ago

Note

apologies if you’ve answered this previously (or if it was in the fic and I forgot) but is there a particular reason you chose the bluestar flower for bluestars and crimson? :0

(asking bc im soooo normal about flower language and symbolism)

yes there is! i love flower language too and the bluestar was a careful choice after much research.

in my hanahaki universe, the flower that each person coughs up is exactly relative to the person they're in love with. i had to pick a flower that i felt represented jack, so my first step was finding a blue flower, my second step was finding a blue flower that symbolized his personality, and my third step was picking an option from the few that remained that looked like some sort of jack flower

so the broad personality a bluestar represents is this: resilience, strength and force of will. it's also seen as a beacon of hope and renewal in some cultures, which was kind of like my own way of foreshadowing that davey had a chance and he'd probably be alright.

there's a section in chapter four when davey himself researches bluestars:

"Flowers. Patients of Hanahaki had grown every type of flower imaginable, from massive sunflowers to thorny roses to delicate baby’s breath. Doctors theorized that each flower was specific to the person the patient was in love with, colors and petals representing the individual they’d become besotted with.

His dreams of Aunt Chavah were filled with Irises, so he’d nicked Flower Languages from a shelf in a nearby section and researched the vibrant purple petals. Faith and wisdom represented his well-educated uncle, who was never seen without a kippah, and took shabbats so seriously that he closed his entire clinic on Saturdays. It made sense.

Paranoia pushed him to flip through the book until he found the bleeding flower from his most recent dream. Bluestars: courage, strength, determination.

That, in all honesty, made him utterly nauseous. He tried to ignore the person he thought of when he read those words."

the bluestar was painstakingly chosen as a flower that represents jack. i also like that it's a kinda scrappy looking flower. it doesn't have big, full petals, it wouldn't make a stunning bouquet by itself, it certainly doesn't look like it could choke someone to death, but it has a charming sort of beauty. they also grow like random pops of color amdist the endless green of meadows and woodlands and i kinda think that's indicative of Jack.

but also davey was eventually coughing up these full bundles:

which doesnt seem like a fun time even if the flowers themselves are tiny.

anyways. yeah. i liked that question a little bit too much because i like writing about my writing process a little too much. here's way too many words and if you got to the end of my yapping, i love you for it.

thanks for the ask, lake. love ya <3

#newsies #asks #answered asks #bluestars and crimson #hanahaki #newsies fanfiction #flowers #flower language #javey newsies #javey #javid newsies #javid

11 notes · View notes

shy-urban-hobbit · 1 year ago

Text

Lambert groaned and had to make a conscious effort not to vomit. His stomach was roiling, his head was pounding and his mouth felt like he’d cleaned out every fireplace in Kaer Morhen with his tongue. He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in a pillow, happy to note he was at least in a bed this time (you pass out drunk in a pigpen once and your brothers never let you forget it). A grumble from his right made him realise a little belatedly that he wasn’t alone in said bed. Cracking an eye open Lambert was greeted by a tanned back and a familiar head of dark, tangled curls. Aiden.

This revelation was quickly followed by two more: The room reeked of sex and they both appeared to be naked. Lambert sniffed almost desperately, hoping for a third, maybe even a fourth scent (it wouldn’t be the first time one of them had taken a bed mate or two whilst the other watched. Some of the residents of these little, backwater towns could be surprisingly kinky). He found none. Which could only mean that he and Aiden had…shit!

Before Lambert could spiral any further the Cat with his ever perfect timing chose that moment to wake up with a hissed “Motherfucker.” Mirroring Lambert’s earlier action and squirming around until his face was mostly smooshed into his pillow before cracking an eye open, “I’m never drinking any of Schrödinger’s moonshine again. Ever.”

Parts of the night before started to flash in Lambert’s memory. Right, they’d just come back from a particularly difficult (and profitable) hunt, both slightly giddy off their success. Aiden had produced a bottle of…something, from his pack- said he’d nicked from his brother and had been saving it - suggesting they celebrate with something stronger than whatever they were serving downstairs…then nothing.

“Hey.” Aiden’s voice interrupted his thoughts, the Cat’s nose twitching in a way Lambert definitely did not find endearing as he too took in the lingering scents, “Did we-ah-nevermind. Just answered my own question.” He said, wincing as he moved to sit up. “Sooooooo.” He turned to look down at Lambert, “Guess we should probably talk about…” He gestured between the two of them, “Right?”

“Er, right?” Fuck, Lambert didn’t mean for that to come out sounding like a question.

“Right.” Aiden parroted. He rose unsteadily and threw on his trousers, foregoing his shirt and boots, “But first, I’ll be right back. I gotta piss and my mouth tastes like multiple woodland creatures crawled in there and died.”

He made for the door, muttering under his breath about it being too early for this shit whilst Lambert felt a sense of guilty pride at the limp the other Witcher was sporting.

Lambert waited until the door clicked shut before finally letting his panic engulf him. No way could he carry on travelling with Aiden now. He knew Aiden didn’t return his feelings (feelings which he thought he’d hidden pretty well until now). As far as the Cat was concerned, no matter how gently he’d try to break it to him, this would be a one-time thing at best and a drunken mistake at worst and Lambert didn’t want to face the gods awful conversation to find out which. He could handle being a one night passing fancy to some nameless townsperson who would most likely either be a grandparent or dead by the time he passed through again but the thought of that with Aiden made his heart clench. No. Best for the both of them if he left quickly and quietly now. Aiden was stupidly handsome, friendly, smart, kind….he’d find other companions on the road easily enough and soon Lambert would be forgotten.

“What the actual fuck!?”

Lambert winced. Of fucking course Aiden would emerge from the inn’s washroom just as Lambert was slipping out of their room fully dressed with his pack and swords, making it pretty obvious what he was attempting. Why did the God’s have it in for him today?

He didn’t even fight it when Aiden pulled him back into the room by his collar (he was pretty sure the other man would have scruffed him like the pup Aiden often called him if his swords weren’t in the way). He dropped his belongings wordlessly and sat on the edge of the bed when Aiden gestured, the Cat’s face a painful mix of pissed off and hurt.

“Never thought you’d be one to fuck and flee. Even the whores you hire get a cursory goodbye.”

Lambert averted his gaze to the floor.

“What, cat got your tongue?”

Lambert winced at the inside joke turned weapon,

“Don’t give me the fucking silent treatment Wolf. We said we were going to talk so come on. Talk to me.”

“No.” Lambert said, not caring how petulant he sounded, “You said we were going to talk. I was trying to do us both a favour.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t know how this talk was going to go?” He raised his voice in a mockery of Aiden’s, “This was just a one-time thing, you know I don’t feel that way about you but we can still be friends.” He stood up and gathered up his belongings again, “Spare me the fucking bullshit.”

“Alright. First of all, I do not sound like that. Secondly, is that really what you think?”

Lambert stayed silent.

“Lam?” Aiden suddenly sounded unsure, “What did you mean by ‘I don’t feel that way about you’. Feel what way?”

Lambert shook his head like he was trying to dislodge a fly, “It doesn’t matter.” He went to move around Aiden but was stopped by a hand on his chest. He could very easily knock him out of the way but he didn’t want possibly his last physical contact with Aiden to be violent if it could be avoided.

“The fuck it doesn’t.” Aiden snapped, “Lam, I need you to talk to me. Please, Pup.”

Lambert met Aiden’s eye, trying to keep his expression blank as he bit out, “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t regret it.”

Aiden’s pleading look faltered slightly, “I’d be lying if I did that. I don’t-”

“Then like said. It doesn’t fucking matter.” Lambert growled feeling humiliation and anger curl in his gut as he placed a hand on Aiden’s shoulder, fully intent on pushing him away now. Until an insistent mouth was pressed to his own. Lambert dropped his pack to the floor to wrap his arms around Aiden and was vaguely aware of being walked backwards as he kissed back. He really should take his leave before he got hurt any more than he already had but he found he couldn’t refuse as Aiden dove back in for another kiss. Then another. Then another. Eventually though the Cat pulled away.

“Let me finish.” He said huskily, brushing his nose against Lambert’s, “I don’t regret that it happened, so don’t you dare think that for a second longer. I regret that I - we - don’t remember it.” He slid Lambert’s swords off his back and both men let them fall with a clatter, “If I could do things differently, the only thing I’d change is that we’d both be stone cold sober, and it wouldn’t be a fuck between friends. It could never be just that with you, Love.”

Lambert felt his breath catch at the new endearment, “You mean it?”

Aiden chuckled, “Does it smell like I’m lying?”

The scent of affection and arousal filled Lambert’s nose as he shook his head no.

“Does it feel like I’m lying?” He guided Lambert’s hand to where he was half hard in his trousers.

“You want me.” Lambert stated, awe tinging his voice, his hand rubbing and stroking of its own accord.

Aiden nodded frantically as Lambert bought him to full hardness, “You. You have no fucking idea. Always you. For as long as you want.”

Both men groaned as their mouths crashed together again, Lambert dragging them to fall back onto the bed, pinning Aiden underneath him, “From now on.” he said between sucking bites to Aiden’s bare chest, “I’ll supply the booze. At least we both know what the fuck’s in it then.”

Aiden gave a breathy laugh which turned into a moan as Lambert nipped at his collar bone, “Deal.”

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

91 notes · View notes

your-divine-ribs · 3 months ago

Text

Ice Cold Part 37

Words: 2k

Lyla makes contact with Van… 💙

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Van!" His name burst from my lips like a shot from a gun, full of desperation.

Part of me was expecting the call to go unanswered, a gory scene playing in my mind of Van's bloody and lifeless body lying on the cold hard tiles of the agency foyer floor, but as the call connected my sense of relief was overwhelming. There was no time to seek solace in it though, Billy's chilling threats mingled with the repetitive dull thud of Nick's huge frame slamming against the bathroom door were a constant reminder of my precarious situation.

"Lyla... thank fuck!" Van blurted, his voice gruff and strangled. It sounded raw. "Where are you? I'm at the railway bridge. I tracked your phone here..."

I tried to hold in a sob, but my composure was in tatters and my state of mind was bordering on despair. The pain in my thigh was white hot, any tiny movement drawing tears from my eyes. Plans of escape were looking more and more like a hopeless notion as I heard a loud cracking noise as the bathroom door bowed slightly inwards.

"I... I don't know... I don't fucking know! It's Charles... it was him all along. I trusted him. He said it was a safe-house.... now he's gone and left me for dead. And they thought you were going to come... They've been sent to kill you... and now they're going to kill me..."

The words were tumbling out of me quickly like broken pieces, fragments of sentences that didn't fit and wouldn't make sense to Van. I was dimly aware of his voice underneath it all repeating my name over and over, growing steadily louder, but I felt like I was underwater, sucking in breaths that didn't even reach my lungs.

"Lyla you gotta listen to me for fucks sake!"

I stopped abruptly, still and silent, frozen like a spell had been cast, the chaos outside the door ensuing but it fell away for a moment. It wasn't the command or the roughness of Van's voice that subdued me. It was something else in his tone that I’d never heard there before. Stark fear.

I whispered his name as I heard a harsh sound escape him, a growl of desperation and frustration and I pressed the phone against my ear, flattening my other hand against my free ear, trying to shut out the racket.

"Listen to me... you need to be calm. Tell me where you are. Think Lyla! What can you see? I can trace the call if you stay on the line but it's gonna take time."

I dug deep into my reserves, mind over matter to quell my fear, trying to turn my panic into something productive that I could use. My mind slid back to my car journey with Charles. I’d been too caught up in my fury at Paul to take too much note of my surroundings, but scraps came back to me, snap-shots of the snow-covered scenery and road signs that had shot past the passenger window in a blur.

"It's North-East of the city... we passed Preston and just kept going. There was countryside and then woodland. I wasn't looking where we were going... I just felt so fucking angry... trying to make sense of it all..."

I trailed off, uneasy as the enraged shouts and incessant battering of the door suddenly ceased. I held my breath, ears straining for a sound, picking up hushed tones and shuffling over the stone floor.

"Keep going... is there anything else? Anything you can tell me?"

Any trace of fear had left Van's tone now. He sounded composed, measured, his usual controlled manner, but certainly not emotionless. I pictured him hunched low behind the wheel, his features set in determination.

"It's a cottage in the woods," I told him, lowering my voice in response to the quietness outside. "Charles said it was a safe house... he said it was for my protection... but the two men he said were assigned to protect me... they're not agents. They're... killers!"

My voice broke at the last word on hearing a grating noise outside, something being scraped over the flagstones. It stopped just as suddenly as it started and I caught my breath, heard Van utter an encouragement to carry on.

"They're assassins... they thought you'd come for me. It's a trap, and we're giving them exactly what they want! I can't do this Van! I can't let you come to me!"

Panic threatened to rise again at the thought of my own desperate actions leading to the thing that I feared the most. Delivering Van like a gift-wrapped present straight into their vicious hands. They'd most likely heard my call and were now laying in wait. The hunters had set the snare with me as the bait and now they just had to carry out the hit and reap their blood-stained rewards. Nausea swelled in me but I swallowed it back, my hands shaking as I started to move the phone away from my ear.

"Don’t you dare end this call. I've got a trace on you... don't do this..."

I swallowed hard, trying to summon up the strength, raising my hand up but then stopping as I heard him utter a single word... "please..."

Our connection was as flimsy as gossamer, a fine thread that could be severed at the touch of a button. And then what? Van would be safe, but only for now. I knew that as long as Tommy lived and people like Charles and Billy and Nick were still out there then he would never be safe, and neither would I. It was time to make a stand.

I looked up at the small window, trying to gauge whether I could fit my whole body through. There was only one way to find out.

"Van... I'm here... I'm still here..."

A sigh heavy with relief came before his stern voice. "Are you safe? I might be thirty minutes or more. I can see your location but I need you to stay on the line and I need to know that you can keep safe until I get there."

As if on cue there was a deafening crash as the door bowed again, followed by an urgent cry from outside. "Use the axe Nick! Break the fucking door down!"

The words exacerbated my panic and I went to rise up on to my feet, a whine of pain emitting through my gritted teeth as I put pressure on my injured leg. The blue denim of my jeans looked black now, saturated with the dark blood which oozed from the bullet hole.

"What's happening? Are you hurt?" The edge of fear was back in Van's voice, heightening mine.

"I've been shot," I sobbed. "I'm bleeding heavy. I'm locked in the bathroom but I don't know how long the door's going to hold. I'm going to try and break the window and get out. Fuck... I... I don't know if I'm gonna make it."

There was a moment of silence where all I could hear was the racing of the car's engine being pushed to its limits, but then he spoke, strong and precise. A vow that he believed, even if I couldn't.

"I'm going to get to you Lyla. I promise you. If it's the last thing I fucking do. I promise..."

His words were punctuated by a new sound that turned my blood to ice water. An almighty thud, followed by the sound of splintering wood. It sounded once, the door shaking, then again and again, a relentless pounding that had my heart stuttering.

"I need to go... they're coming... they're gonna break in..."

A whimper of pure terror fell from my lips as another blow sounded and the heavy door fractured as the tip of the axe finally broke through. Time was rapidly running out for me, barely grains left in the hourglass which counted down to my demise.

It would be all to easy to fall apart now but I knew I needed to focus. I wrenched the phone away from my ear, taking care not to end the call, and jammed it into the back pocket of my jeans.

I moved towards the sink, gripping the smooth rim with both hands, gritting my teeth against the agony that tore through the ruined muscle in my thigh. The pain was debilitating, but I forced it away like I’d been trained to do.

Focus. Blank out the fear. Blank out the pain.

You can do this Lyla...

I took a deep breath, tensing my body, my arms rigid as I boosted myself up using my healthy leg to gain purchase on the edge of the sink. The hard ceramic dug into my knee as I struggled to raise up my wounded leg, groaning as both knees came to rest on the surface.

"Oh Lyla honey... I'm gonna be seeing ya real soon!" Billy's taunting voice travelled through the door which now had a five inch tall but narrow gash in the centre, the wood splayed as the head of the axe appeared again and then disappeared.

"Fuck..." I muttered, hot tears spilling from my screwed up eyes as I carefully manoeuvred myself closer to the window, the throb from my injury making me feel faint.

The glass in the window was thin, only a single glaze held in place by lead which looked old and corroded. It would be easy to smash but I needed to clear out the glass in the frame so I didn't tear at my skin as I crawled through. I unbuttoned my shirt hastily with trembling fingers, shrugging out of it and wrapping the material tightly around my clenched fist, wincing at the cut from Billy's knife.

I chanted a silent countdown in my head from three to one, pistoning my fist forward at the count of one, sending the frosted glass exploding outwards into the icy air. Jagged shards of glass lingered around the frame like ferocious teeth so I knocked them out with my wrapped hand, glancing backwards at the door quickly before gripping the edges of the window frame and hoisting my body upwards.

I gingerly moved my legs around so I could slide them through the narrow opening, thankful that the drop to the ground was small, but in any case it wouldn't have mattered, I had no choice. I launched myself through on to the thick blanket of snow which broke ny fall a little, but nevertheless the pain which tore through my upper limb as I hit the gravelled path punched the breath from me and I keeled over to the side. My head swam as vivid white spots flared in my vision. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I thought. I pulled myself into a slumped seated position up against the cottage wall, unwrapping my shirt from my hand and folding the material, making a tourniquet which I tied tightly around my leg just above the bullet hole.

A cacophony of shouted threats and the pounding of the axe emanated from the gaping hole where the window had been. The door was holding them off for now, but I knew it was only a matter of minutes until they broke through and discovered my escape. I had two choices. I could either run or hide.

I’d been set on taking the SUV and driving back to the city, but those plans had been shattered as I’d let the keys fall from my grasp. I looked around, trying to formulate a plan.

Tall skeletal trees rose up in front of me as far as the eye could see, and I considered running deeper into the woods, but the gnawing pain in my thigh and the thick coating of blood I could feel on my skin reminded me that there was no way that I could outrun them in my compromised state.

I frantically whipped my head around, surveying my surroundings, fast running out of options. That's when I saw what looked like an old dilapidated barn through a narrow clearing in the trees and I limped towards it, dragging my injured leg.

#ice cold #van mccann fanfic #au fanfic #vanfic

8 notes · View notes

the-reader-insert-gazette · 3 months ago

Text

Spellbound Shenanigans - F!Reader x Astarion

Baldurs Gate 3

When Reader discovers a magical pendant that grants wishes—with a twist—she and Astarion can't resist using it to stir up mischief.

TW: Characters experience brief loss of control over their actions through magical influence. While these moments are lighthearted and cause no harm, readers sensitive to themes of autonomy and control may wish to proceed with caution.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

The summer evening had just started its descent into dusk when [Name] stumbled upon the tiny, moss-covered chest beneath the roots of a twisted oak tree. She hadn’t planned to spend the night foraging this deep in the woodlands of Baldur’s Gate. Halsin had warned her to steer clear of areas known for their mischievous enchantments, but [Name], as always, had disregarded his advice, enticed by the promise of rare fungi growing only under the shade of ancient trees.

When she pried the chest open, something metallic glimmered back. Inside laid a small, golden pendant, twisted into the shape of a horned creature, with a tiny glinting ruby in the center. A shiver ran through her fingers as she brushed the dirt from its surface, and a faint voice echoed in her mind. The message was simple, almost a whisper: Wish for whatever your heart desires.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. Wishes weren’t her style—she preferred tangible rewards over fairy tales and magic promises. But something about this amulet tugged at her curiosity. Maybe, she thought, it’d be amusing to see just how reliable a “wish” could be.

“Oh, why not?” she muttered, more to the pendant than herself. Astarion would’ve had a good laugh at the idea of her buying into this. “Might as well start small. Alright, amulet, let’s see you work. I wish for… a strong drink waiting for me back at camp.” She scoffed, expecting nothing.

The moment she snapped the lid shut, there was a faint popping noise from somewhere to her right. She followed it, half-expecting to find nothing but shadows and forest noises. But instead, perched on a stump, was a delicately poured glass of red wine, the liquid rich and dark as the night sky.

Her brows furrowed as she examined the glass, sniffing it cautiously. “That… doesn’t smell like anything poisonous.” And as she took a sip, the wine’s taste was as fine as anything she’d nicked from the larders of Baldur’s Gate's wealthiest estates. She couldn’t help a small grin. “Alright, this could be interesting.”

With that, she pocketed the pendant and made her way back to camp, her curiosity now mingling with a giddy spark of amusement. But it wasn’t until she got close enough to see the campfire glow that she realized what had truly followed her.

Astarion was pacing near the fire, a flicker of frustration in his crimson gaze. “Well, there you are,” he snapped, turning as she approached. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d run off for good.”

“Relax, I was just…” She hesitated, deciding against the full truth. “Foraging.”

His eyes narrowed. “Right. And found anything of interest?”

“Oh, a few things.” She tossed him a coy smile, deciding to keep the amulet to herself. For now, anyway.

The night went on as usual, with [Name] ignoring the pendant and engaging in their typical banter with Astarion over the fire. But as the hour grew late, her fingers itched toward the amulet again, thoughts forming, playful and teasing in the back of her mind. Perhaps it was the wine—or maybe the night’s quiet that had her on edge—but [Name]'s focus drifted to Astarion, and, on impulse, she thought, I wish Astarion would… well, maybe smile a little more. Genuinely, just for once. She closed her fingers around the amulet, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.

Moments later, Astarion chuckled—a sound rare and softer than his usual sarcastic remarks. He turned to her, a strangely earnest grin spreading across his face. “You know, [Name], I’ve always thought you have a rather… charming presence.”

[Name]'s eyes widened as he continued, words pouring from him with alarming enthusiasm.

“And did I mention your wit?” he continued, inching closer to her on the log. “Positively dazzling. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever truly appreciated just how radiant you are in the moonlight.”

[Name], usually unfazed, felt heat rising to her cheeks. “Alright, Astarion, that’s enough.”

But Astarion leaned even closer, his gaze locked on her in a way that was both genuine and utterly unnerving. “Oh, but I could go on for hours. Your sharp tongue, your impeccable taste in foraging locations—”

“Astarion!” she yelped, pressing a hand to his chest to put some space between them. His hand caught hers, his gaze softening. Her heart hammered, and she suddenly understood that the amulet had a twisted sense of humor.

The next morning, [Name] was sorely tempted to throw the pendant into the nearest river, but her stubborn nature got the better of her. As she rolled it between her fingers, a thought struck her, another mischievous wish. I wish he’d leave me alone for once.

But when she emerged from her tent, Astarion was gone. And so was his tent. And his supplies. Her eyes widened as she realized he’d vanished entirely.

“Damn it,” she muttered, clutching the pendant tighter. “I didn’t mean that alone.”

It took her hours to find him. She combed through the forest until she spotted him perched under a tree, absently humming a tune. When he noticed her approach, he gave a lazy wave, completely unfazed by her worried expression. “[Name]! What a surprise to see you here. Did you get lonely?”

She glared at him. “I didn’t exactly mean for you to disappear without a trace.”

“Oh, but what a glorious night it was!” He winked, clearly amused by her distress. “I’m flattered you missed me, though. Really, you should say it more often.”

“Enough,” she growled, reaching for the pendant with a huff. But before she could utter another wish, Astarion’s hand shot out, plucking the amulet from her fingers.

“Oh, [Name],” he purred, eyes glinting with mischief as he examined the pendant. “And here I thought you weren’t one for whimsical magic.”

She reached for it, but he held it just out of her grasp. “Give it back.”

“Now, now,” he tutted, smirking. “Wouldn’t you like to see what I wish for?”

[Name]'s heart raced. “Astarion—don’t you dare.”

But he merely held up a finger to his lips, pressing the pendant to his chest. “I wish…” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “For [Name] to be utterly enchanted with me. Just for a day, mind you.”

The effects were immediate and, to her horror, uncontrollable. [Name] felt a wave of warmth rise within her, a magnetic pull toward him she couldn’t resist, a sudden and irrational urge to… reach out and touch his face.

Astarion’s grin softened as she instinctively stepped closer, her fingers brushing his cheek. “Oh, I should have wished for this sooner,” he murmured, tilting his face into her hand.

Her hand jerked away, but her heart betrayed her, and she found herself leaning closer. She knew it was the pendant, yet in that moment, logic lost its hold. For the first time in all their sparring, their proximity, and their endless taunting, she didn’t have a snarky retort.

“[Name]…” he whispered, and it wasn’t the mocking tone she’d come to expect. There was something softer, raw. And it nearly undid her.

The pendant clattered to the ground, breaking the spell with its faint clink. [Name] blinked, regaining her senses. “That… that was a low blow,” she managed, stumbling back, cheeks aflame.

Astarion, who’d frozen in place, slowly straightened. His playful smile faltered as he met her gaze, something akin to hesitation flashing across his face. “Well… consider us even.”

The amulet, lying between them, pulsed faintly before dimming back into silence, as though content with the mayhem it had caused. [Name] knelt, slipping it into her pocket, her eyes lingering on him just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“A pity we didn’t get a real wish, hm?” she murmured, unable to keep the note of longing from her voice. “One that doesn’t come with consequences.”

He stepped closer, his gaze lingering, almost contemplative. “Maybe we don’t need one.”

[Name] felt her pulse quicken as she watched Astarion’s expression shift from playful to… something softer, something vulnerable. The kind of look he rarely allowed himself. His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before he looked away with a self-conscious chuckle.

“Don’t look at me like that, darling,” he said, forcing a smirk. “Or I might start to think this little wish of mine wasn’t all pretend.”

She felt herself flush, caught between the remnants of the enchantment and the stark realization that some part of her hadn’t wanted to resist it. Clearing her throat, she turned away, trying to gather her composure. “Pretend or not, I’d appreciate if you’d leave my wishes alone next time.”

Astarion laughed, but it was a quieter sound, lacking his usual bite. “Noted. Though, I’m not entirely convinced you hated it.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a murmur as he leaned in. “Or maybe you just don’t want to admit that for once, something actually worked in your favor.”

She opened her mouth to snap back, but he held up his hand, surprising her.

“No need to wound me with one of your verbal jabs.” His eyes softened, and he gave a light shrug. “I’ll spare you my devilish charms for now, [Name]. But,” he continued, raising an eyebrow, “it is a shame, don’t you think? Having a magic item like that and not making full use of it?”

[Name]'s fingers twitched as she felt the amulet’s weight in her pocket. Despite everything, curiosity and mischief warred in her mind. One more wish, a voice in her head whispered. Just to see. What would happen if she tried one more—without Astarion’s meddling this time?

She held the pendant out, eyeing it as if testing her own resolve. “Fine. One more. But no interruptions, understood?”

Astarion raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning as he took a step back. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of interfering.”

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. Alright, she thought, focusing on the words she was about to say. “I wish…” she paused, her cheeks heating as she considered something utterly foolish, “I wish Astarion could show some affection without all his usual swagger.”

Astarion's smirk faltered as the pendant flashed in her hand, its magic humming around them. He blinked, a moment of confusion flashing across his face, before his gaze settled on her, softer and—dare she believe it—genuine.

He took a small step closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly. This time, there was no sly grin, no playful glint in his eyes. “You know, [Name],” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… quite remarkable. Even if you do have a penchant for dangerous enchantments and dubious wishes.”

[Name]'s heart pounded as he moved closer, his fingers grazing her cheek in a gesture so tender it nearly undid her. There was a vulnerability in his touch, a hesitance she hadn’t seen in him before, as if he feared the magic might break if he tried too hard. She swallowed, watching him, unable to find words.

“You, of all people,” he continued, his voice quiet and oddly reverent, “have a way of reminding me there’s more to this world than all the games we play. More than surviving.”

His hand dropped, and for a brief moment, she thought he’d step back, but he lingered, his gaze locked on hers, and his expression completely unguarded. “I’ve spent so long… existing in fragments of myself. Pieces I thought would hold forever. But somehow,” he paused, and his lips quirked in a soft, almost sad smile, “being around you… it’s like I can’t help but feel… whole.”

The words, so uncharacteristically earnest, hung between them like a suspended breath, the kind of confession that could only have been coaxed out by magic—or something beyond it.

She didn’t realize her own hand had moved until her fingers brushed his, her heart pounding loud enough that she was sure he could hear it. “Astarion…” she started, voice caught between awe and disbelief.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone so gentle she almost didn’t recognize it.

But then, the pendant’s light flickered, and the spell’s glow faded. As the magic dissipated, Astarion’s expression slowly shifted back to his usual guarded smirk, the vulnerability in his eyes slipping away like a wisp of smoke.

“Ah,” he sighed, stepping back, hands on his hips as if nothing had happened. “I suppose that’s the end of that, hmm?” He shot her a teasing grin, his walls firmly back in place. “Though, I have to say, I think I handled it with remarkable restraint, don’t you?”

[Name] huffed, trying to ignore the hollow ache in her chest at the sudden distance between them. “Restraint isn’t exactly what I’d call that performance, Astarion.”

His smile widened. “Come now, darling, you know me better than that. I’m an open book!” He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning innocence, but [Name] caught the flicker of something in his gaze—something that hadn’t entirely vanished with the magic.

She rolled her eyes, letting her own defenses slide back into place. “Well, if you’re an open book, then it’s one I’ve already read a hundred times over.”

“Oh, touché.” He gave a theatrical bow, but his gaze softened for just a moment. “But if you find yourself needing another ‘page-turner,’ you know where to find me.”

They shared a long look, one that held both mischief and a hint of the unspoken. She knew the magic had faded, the wish expired, yet a lingering spark remained, something neither of them could entirely brush off.

As they returned to camp, side by side but with a careful distance, [Name] glanced back at the pendant, her fingers brushing its surface thoughtfully. Perhaps she’d keep it around, not for the wishes it offered, but for the chance, however fleeting, to glimpse something true.

For in those brief, enchanted moments, she had seen the person he could be beneath the masks they both wore. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to keep her wishing, long after the magic had faded.

The days following that strange evening passed in their usual rhythm—fights, foraging, campfire conversations, and the occasional magical mishap. Despite their tendency to quarrel, [Name] and Astarion found themselves naturally drifting back toward each other. The pendant, now tucked securely in [Name]'s satchel, pulsed with a faint, mischievous hum as if waiting for its next command.

A few nights later, as the campfire crackled and their companions relaxed after another hard-won battle, [Name] nudged Astarion, a smirk spreading across her face. The others had no idea about the pendant's existence or its strange magic, and she was itching to see what else it could do.

Astarion, catching her expression, raised a brow. “Something on your mind, darling?” he murmured, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Perhaps,” she whispered back, pulling out the pendant and giving it a meaningful shake. “Think they could use a bit of ‘wishful’ intervention?”

He chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Their first target was Gale, who sat a few paces away, meticulously stirring a pot of stew over the fire. The wizard muttered to himself as he sprinkled in herbs, his eyes darting between his alchemy set and a collection of arcane ingredients.

Astarion leaned closer, whispering, “Something subtle for the esteemed wizard, don’t you think?”

[Name] grinned. “I wish Gale would share a rather embarrassing story about his life. Just… let it spill right out.”

The pendant flashed briefly, and they waited. Within moments, Gale blinked as if a stray thought had just crossed his mind.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to impress a group of sorcerers in Waterdeep?” he said suddenly, his voice louder than usual. The whole camp turned to him, caught off guard.

Astarion bit back a laugh as Gale continued, clearly unaware of his own volition. “I thought, you see, that a display of fireworks would showcase my ‘vast’ power. But something went wrong, and instead of a beautiful display, I accidentally conjured… well, hundreds of pigeons. Yes, pigeons. They swarmed everyone. Feathers everywhere.”

Tav burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. Shadowheart’s smirk was the closest to a full laugh any of them had seen from her in days.

“Oh, Gale,” Tav chuckled, wiping tears from her eyes. “You? Chased out of Waterdeep by a flock of pigeons?”

Gale turned red, his mouth moving as though he couldn’t quite understand why he was recounting the story. “Yes… and, er… that’s enough about that.” He cleared his throat, looking suspiciously at the pendant in [Name]'s hands, though he said nothing more.

[Name] and Astarion exchanged a gleeful glance, their eyes landing next on Lae’zel, who sat by herself, sharpening her sword and scowling as always. Astarion’s grin turned wicked. “Shall we try our luck with our dear githyanki?”

“Oh, definitely,” [Name] replied, her fingers brushing the pendant as she thought up the next wish. “I wish Lae’zel would feel compelled to offer everyone in the camp a compliment. A genuine one.”

The pendant flashed again, and [Name] quickly slipped it into her pocket as Lae’zel’s head jerked up, her sharp gaze suddenly drifting over her companions. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then spoke as if the words had been wrenched from her.

“Tav,” she growled, her voice laced with reluctance, “your strength… is formidable. Few could stand as long as you do in battle.”

The entire camp fell silent, heads turning toward her in varying degrees of shock and amusement. Tav blinked, clearly at a loss. “Uh… thanks, Lae’zel.”

Lae’zel’s face twisted as she forced herself to look at Gale next. “You have… wisdom,” she said with difficulty, as though each word was an uphill battle. “Even if your spells are often… irrelevant.”

Gale, still recovering from his own magical slip, gave a dignified nod, though he couldn’t quite hide his smile. “Much appreciated, Lae’zel. Truly.”

Lae’zel’s gaze snapped to Astarion, her jaw clenched. “You… have survived this long despite your many… shortcomings. A testament to… adaptability.”

Astarion placed a hand to his chest, feigning surprise. “Why, Lae’zel, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Do not test me,” she hissed, her face red with barely contained rage.

Finally, she turned to [Name], and her expression softened, if only slightly. “You possess a resilience worthy of admiration, [Name].” The words left her lips reluctantly, yet there was a sliver of sincerity in her tone.

[Name] smirked, offering a little bow. “Why, thank you, Lae’zel. I’m deeply touched.”

As the spell faded, Lae’zel scowled, her fingers tightening around her sword. “If any of you mention this again, I will personally end you.”

Tav raised her hands, still chuckling. “Not a word, Lae’zel. Promise.”

Shadowheart, who had been watching silently with a glint of amusement in her eyes, was the next obvious target. Astarion turned to [Name], his voice low. “Now, our darling Shadowheart. Any ideas?”

“Oh, plenty,” [Name] replied, a devilish smile on her face. “I wish Shadowheart would find herself compelled to dance by the fire. Just for a few moments.”

The pendant hummed in her pocket, and they waited, eyes on Shadowheart as she poured herself a cup of tea. Just as she lifted it to her lips, her foot began tapping to an unseen rhythm. Her expression twisted in surprise as her other foot joined, and soon enough, she was standing, her body swaying in an oddly graceful, if reluctant, rhythm.

The whole camp stared, mouths agape, as Shadowheart spun lightly, her movements precise and surprisingly elegant, despite the clear annoyance flashing in her eyes.

“Shadowheart, I didn’t know you were so light on your feet!” Tav teased, clapping in time to the beat of her steps.

Shadowheart glared daggers at her, even as her feet continued to dance. “I have no idea why I’m doing this. But rest assured, I do plan on finding out.”

[Name] stifled her laughter, nudging Astarion as the dance slowly came to an end. “I think that’s our cue to retire before anyone gets suspicious.”

The pair moved to their tents, trying to contain their laughter, though Astarion was practically doubled over. “Ah, darling, that was perfect. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

“Neither have I,” [Name] admitted, glancing back at the fire where the others were still laughing, and, despite her usual detachment, feeling a small, warm satisfaction at the shared laughter.

As they ducked into their tents, [Name] felt a faint, lingering pulse from the pendant, as if it, too, was pleased with the mischief it had caused. Maybe it had its downsides, but tonight had proven that with the right partners in crime, even magic gone awry could create moments worth holding on to.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

After starting 12 different campaigns going up to the middle of Act 2, I finally finished the game, taking the Astarion romance route (despite being a Gale girly). And which that comes... this?

Also don't mind me including Tav as a camp member, I just love their dialogue at times lol

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #crack fic towards the end #reader x astarion

14 notes · View notes