#I posted this like weeks ago on ao3 but forgot to on here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

an-abyss-of-stars · 1 year

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He Saw Her At Daybreak - Part 5

Summary: Rhaena's POV, a day in her life…a few months in her life really!

She loses someone she loves… She gains someone new… And her dragon is just a tad bit jealous…

Warnings: SMUTTTT SMUTTY SMUT! Also comedy and nonsense!

Tag list: @minim236 , @bohemian-nights , @neocil , @nettysnest , @avidreader73 , @jordanjanellejoyy , @azaleapotterblack , @yourlittlehoe , @partypoison00 , (feel free to tell me if you want to be on the taglist or not)

P.S. I feel like this chapter reads more like a series of vignettes, like these were all plot points I thought of months ago and they kind of needed to take place here before we moved one to the preggo plotlines!

I hope this chapters flows together though!

Rhaena Targaryen had never known the wonders of sleeping next to someone until she had Aemond by her side.

Before him, she'd slept in a variety of ways. Curled up on her side, demure and gentle on her stomach, spread out like a star…but no matter what way she slept, she was always in search of a warmth that wasn't immediately present. It always felt as if her fur blankets took hours to warm, no matter the place, King's Landing or Dragonstone, she always felt cold.

Oh she'd shared a bed with her sister plenty of times over the years, and yes there certainly was something to be said about curling into one's other half like with their twin. Cuddling with Baela had its comforts and it was incomparable to all else, it always felt like time had stood still for them, as if they were little girls once again, as if their birth mother, Laena Velaryon-Targaryen could simply step through their door once again.

Even though that could never be.

But then…there was Aemond.

Ever since the first time he made love to her a moon ago... she's never slept without him. He was a hard solid presence, weighted and all encompassing...and hot.

Whether he lay right beside her, in front or behind her or she lay on top of him, it never mattered, he'd always hold her close. And he always burned hot, she always instantly warmed in his embrace.

And yes, she knew it was a compulsive thing, his need to have her in his arms. Of course he'd never said it aloud but it was obvious to her, the slight doubt he had every time she wasn't in his arms or everytime she told him that she loved him . As if he figured she'd eventually change her mind or realize that she in fact did not love him, both things were entirely untrue and incapable of happening as far as Rhaena was concerned.

But she was observant and she could tell those were deep seated fears of his.

Though she hoped by now that his doubts over such things had lessened, if not entirely faded. A moon ago he knelt down before her and told her that he wanted her, that he'd chosen her over every other woman in the realm, Lady or otherwise. He wanted a Valyrian bride, he wanted a Valyrian Princess...but he also wanted her ...only her.

She'd doubted him wholly, rolled her eyes and made snarky quips and remarks, but the further they went that night...the more she burned for him. And in that moment she'd known she was fighting a losing battle, somewhere along the way her burning hatred for him had melted into molten desire for him. Rhaena knew of their duties to their families, but she also knew no one had ever made her burn the way Aemond did... continued to do.

He'd made her ravenous, almost feral with want. It annoyed her to such peaks some days, how this man who'd made it his mission to poke and prod at her every emotion, purposely pushed her to the brink of her sanity, her rage and fury...how he could invoke all of that and still make her swoon.

The first time he kissed her, it burned like dragon’s fire and it scared her. It wasn't a long kiss but it caught her far too off guard for her to lean into it.

It remained something she thought of quite often afterwards. She had spent the coming days comparing his kiss and his lips to the brief encounters she'd had before.

One rather forgettable kiss with a cute Lord's son she'd danced with when she was four and ten. And another far more recent encounter she'd had the year prior with Dalton Greyjoy, she was seven and ten then, and Dalton was ever the handsome charmer. His kisses were lively and exciting, flirtatious grinding that Rhaena may have enjoyed at the time but ultimately put a stop to as neither wished to truly wed one another and she could not risk their encounters delving any further. Well Dalton perhaps did wish for her hand, but Rhaena had thought better than to marry such a man as openly flirtatious as him.

Although none of that had compared to the burgeoning feelings that would occur a year later with Aemond. She was sure he'd picked fights and arguments just to spend more time in her company. Purposely cracking through her court persona with his persistent remarks and sinister smirks. But she had noticed the shift, she wasn't blind to it. The way Aemond edged closer and closer to her, it seemed the only way he thought he could eliminate the space between them was by infuriating her enough to step into his space by her own choice.

Putting her right where he wanted her.

That's how it always was, especially in the days after her first kiss with Aemond…then the second kiss.

By the third kiss…well that day Rhaena had found herself cornered by him once again. In what had become their usual spot in the royal library of the Red Keep, hidden away in the twists and turns of the bookshelves, back by the roaring fire and the cozy chairs and sofas. He'd crowded around her, backed her up against a bookshelf and raged about how she'd been deliberately avoiding him .

Which she had been, she just hadn't expected him to care so much about it.

He was seething, barring down over her with such arrogance, the fact that he thought she'd simply give in to him after two chaste kisses. Rhaena could not and would cow to him so easily. But it was always within that choice, the choice to match his dragon-like energy with her own dragon fire, for within his arrogance always laid something she wanted. At the time she would not dare name it, if it had been up to her, she might have just suppressed the feeling, buried it deep within herself and let it die. She would've done her duty, she would've married whomever made the best alliance for her family...and she would've hoped to grow to love that man and the children she'd eventually birth for him.

That was a future Aemond had shattered when he took her lips for that third time...for that was the first time Rhaena let herself sway into his kiss. Because the fire he always engulfed her in was becoming addicting, the feel of his lips had begun to make her starved and hungry for him. When his tongue invaded her mouth she'd felt a sparking pleasure she'd never felt before and as his hands slid along her hips she knew this feeling inside her had become something dangerous. When the blinding urge came within her to reach up and grab onto him…she didn't stop herself, she let some of her inhibitions go and did as she pleased. Her inner walls had cracked that day, his kiss simultaneously sucked the life from her while also pumping a brand new source into her.

And then she ran again.

She had been running scared and she was sure he knew it.

She was Princess Rhaena Targaryen, she was the youngest daughter of Lady Laena Targaryen-Velaryon and Prince Daemon Targaryen. She was the 'Sweet Princess' , 'The Realms Flower' , she was deemed to be everything bright and beautiful, light and effervescent. Whether her parents ever had a plan for her...falling in love with the dark brooding Prince Aemond 'One Eye' Targaryen was certainly not part of it.

It would not have been a part of anyone's foreseeable plans...in all honesty their lives and their futures were never supposed to intercept or intermingle...and most certainly not align with one another's.

But they had.

Aemond would not give her up, he made it a point to claim her. And she was glad he had…where would she be without her dragon .

And now they were officially wed...she was his and he was truly hers. They'd made their vows before both the Old Gods and the New. They'd made their vows in front of every nobleman and noblewoman who mattered, in front of their family and then even in front of their dragons. They'd made matching wounds on another and they'd shared their blood with one another.

They were bonded, linked, truly fated and sealed to one another.

This was a bond that could not be severed until one of them died…and maybe even then the bond would still remain intact.

But someone had tried to take that away from them.

Last night had unlocked a very specific sense of terror within Rhaena.

If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that most people feared her husband. His face alone made people uncomfortable, his demeanor usually only added to that and that was usually before he'd even reached for his weapon. The idea that any sane person would dare challenge him, for anything, let alone his right to marry Rhaena...be with her...choose her.

Rhaena had no doubt he would protect her. He'd made it quite clear that he saw her as ' his only' , he'd sooner slaughter everything and everyone than give her up. And he'd unleash the darkest parts of himself if her life was ever threatened.

Why Ser Criston did not know this already, she could not say. The knight had all but raised Aemond since he was a boy, surely Ser Criston must have known and understood Aemond's possessive traits. Surely he could have seen how asking and then commanding Aemond to leave her and wed another would not go as planned.

Perhaps that was what bothered Rhaena most, the willful ignorance and blind hubris of Ser Criston. He seemed to think he had 'goodwill' of some sort cached and stored away to use upon his charge at any moment he chose. As if he'd forgotten that Aemond above all cared very much for rank and worth, and that he'd long since stopped caring for Ser Criston as any such 'father figure' the moment he implied that both Baela and Rhaena must have been 'loose women like their stepmother' .

The added fact that Lady Floris was merely a common girl, there was never any offense intended...well at least before last night. But seeing how clearly so many under Otto Hightower's foot wished to see a match between the Baratheon girl and Aemond...the idea had become a bit irritating. Maybe they were all fools, for the Aemond Targaryen Rhaena knew, cared far too much about his Valyrian heritage and dragon blood purity to ever be made to wed a simply common blooded girl.

And so it was, Ser Criston and his cheaply bought goons were dispatched of last night.

With ease.

And that had scratched at Rhaena in an odd way.

The loss of life was never something she appreciated, not like most Targaryens.

Of course it certainly juxtaposed with her beliefs, The Fourteen Flames were adamant about the beauty of death. Life and death being both sacred and necessary parts of their world. That, she understood, she understood the idea of blood sacrifices, though she only ever offered up a few drops of her own.

But Targaryens were known to feel just as passionately about the taking of lives as their Gods were. Fire and blood was not just a motto that spoke of their culture and blood purity practices, it also spoke of their want and need for violence and chaos at times.

It fed them, their dragon's blood called for it and depending on the Targaryen themselves, that calling could be far more beckoning then others. It was a need, like a hunger, something that needed to be fed and sated. Just like their Valyrian steel swords that called for blood to drink from, their dragon's blood called for the violence that gave it.

Only, It had always seemed to be a personality trait that skipped Rhaena.

Or perhaps all of that bold dragon's blood had been given to her sister Baela when they were still in the womb together.

Either or Rhaena could never be certain, but as she was now, she never seemed to have the stomach for violence.

A somewhat obvious contradicting factor paired with the man she had chosen to wed, it was not lost on her.

But Rhaena could not blame herself for it, dragon's blood aside, she was a Princess, she'd always lived a charmed life. In the lap of luxury she was mostly sheltered away from such blatant violence. Yes she'd seen people with gruesome injuries and scars and wounds before, but she'd rarely ever seen or watched the action that caused it.

Barring the fight that cost Aemond his eye, such anger and rage was a rarity to bring out in her, she rarely resorted to such things. Especially after that fateful incident.

Of course, her father was Daemon Targaryen, a Targaryen who certainly held the pension for violence and chaos well within himself. But rumours of who people believed him to be and the actuality of who he truly was, were always skewed. He'd always been a kind and loving father to his daughters, and the two wives he loved. She'd only ever seen him execute three people in her entire life, that of course did not mean that he'd only ever executed three people in the eighteen years she'd been alive. But it meant those were the only ones he'd allowed her to be privy of and two of them were not truly done in front of her anyhow.

Only Ser Criston and her great-uncle Vaemond had that privilege. And truthfully, she'd never much cared for either man, and she if were to focus on her great-uncle…cruel as it was to say. He was a horrid family member. And she had never forgotten how he'd spoken at her muña's funeral, how he'd twisted what was meant to be his eulogy for her loving sweet muña and made it into a targeted attack on her cousins...now brothers. He'd wanted to single out children in such an underhanded and cruel way, and as Baela and Luke fostered in Driftmark for several years, they made mention of how his antagonistic ways remained the same.

So no, Rhaena did not care for her great-uncle, but his death had stuck with her.

The blood...the blood was what had stuck with her.

The entire look of his decapitated form lying lifeless on the ground was engraved in her memory. And the same had occurred last night, she could not care less for Ser Criston, so it wasn't really the murder that bothered her. Rhaena of course hadn't truly cared for that portion of the incident either, but it was justified. She could wrap herself around that fact. Those men had attacked first, Aemond had every right to kill them, she could not and would not find fault in that action.

She would never hold that against her husband.

For he was only protecting his dragoness.

And as for her father, the same logic applied. Ser Criston had aimed to hurt her…if not kill her, Daemon was nothing if not a protective dragon. Especially when it came to his children. Yes, she’d only really been nicked by Criston’s blade…but the fact that she’d been touched at all had been enough for her father.

And in the end…she could not blame him for it.

But the gore on the other hand, that would be what haunted her.

The blood...so much blood spilled on the stone floors of her childhood home. Bodies sliced and thrown about, it was brutal...it was scarring.

And it just wouldn't leave her alone.

She'd awoken twice during the night. The first time, she'd shook herself awake, startled but otherwise calm. Her dream was only fragmented memories, images of the sliced limbs and death stricken faces. Rhaena knew Aemond to be a rather light sleeper, like a true soldier, the slightest thing could wake him. He always wanted to be prepared, his sword at the ready leaning on his bedside table should he need it.

But this time, if he noticed she'd awoken suddenly, then he did not show it. He simply kept his hold on her and pulled her closely against his chest.

And in that calming heat, she'd managed to drift back to sleep.

The second time was worse, in her nightmare she was drowning, sitting in a throne room that just kept filling with bones and bright thick crimson blood. Gurgling and bubbling, it just kept rising and rising.

It was burning her.

She'd been alone...all alone, no matter how much she screamed or cried, banged on the doors or the walls before the blood swept her and raised her body upwards. It seemed no one could hear her. And so blood just kept rising, hot and steaming, floating her up to the ceiling, swallowing her whole.

She could not breathe.

And she awoke in a cold sweat, Aemond had woken her this time, clear concern etched on his leveled hard face as he sat up beside her. All the while Rhaena was gasping for air she could not find, she felt like she was drowning all over again, just here in her bed with her lover watching over her this time.

Tears had flooded her eyes simultaneously, her chest burned and her body ached. But when he gently caressed her cheek, asking her if she wished to speak of it, she simply shook her head and buried her face in his chest. He did not push or prod, he simply nodded softly and held her close.

It was only blood...blood had never bothered her so greatly before, of course she's never seen so much before. But even so, this feeling, this weak wretched feeling, she hated it.

She was a Targaryen Princess!

How could she be so weak?

How could she manage to face so much but this...this was where her mind and body halted and faltered.

It was a wonder, Aemond's ability to care and be so gentle with her. When he laid her back down, he pulled her up on top of him, and caressed her bare back smoothly. Pressing kisses to her forehead, before he whispered softly into her hair, "paghagon, dōna riña, sagon gīda se paghagon. Iksan kesīr, eman ao, ao sagon ȳgha," breathe, sweet girl, be calm and breathe. I'm here, I have you, you're safe.

Rhaena tried to listen to him, his voice had sounded so silken, it soothed her. Paired with the feel of his hands on her back, his body holding her firmly, the sound of his calmly beating heart...it all factored in for her. She breathed him in, and felt him do the same. And that's how she found herself comforted enough to fall back to sleep.

When Rhaena awoke for the third and final time, she was cold.

The bed in fact was entirely empty, her husband's heated weight no longer with her, and the lacking feeling only chilled her further.

She did not get the chance to dwell on it though, her body moving before her mind could process the movements. As if, even without her consciously commanding her body to do so, her blood would just naturally seek his...seek him out and go to him. By the time she was fully aware of her actions, she was standing at their bed chamber door. Pulled open just a crack, Rhaena heard the muffled words...

" Your father ..." It sounded like Queen Alicent's voice, she sounded so faint and small...mournful almost.

Something was wrong.

"... when? " The word was curt and pointed. That was surely Aemond's voice, that she knew for certain. They're voices sounded close-by, they must've been standing or sitting in the common room of the chambers.

'your father'

Uncle Viserys?

Something was wrong with him. He had seemed worse than he'd ever been these last few days, incredibly frail and weak, he couldn't manage to walk or limp any longer, only being lifted from room to room in his most comfortable Kingly chair. He'd missed most of the festivities, only being present for the ceremonies themselves after the tourney.

Rhaena tip-toed closer to the door, aiming to creek it open just a tad bit more, peeking through the gap, she realized her suspicions were indeed right. Her Good-mother looked positively disheveled sitting by the fire, it was the most unkempt Rhaena had ever seen her look. Dressed in her green silk night robe, her shoulder length copper red hair all undone, spilling over her shoulders loosely. Her face looked gravely saddened.

Alicent Hightower...in mourning ?

Oh no.

No!

"Have Rhaenyra and Daemon been told?" Aemond only paced the room calmly, his arms crossed, his own long pale hair was also undone and unbound. He must've quickly dressed to greet his mother at the door, dressed only in a pair of breeches and a cotton shirt.

His tone indicated no pain, not like Alicent's. But the mood was clear, there was a loss...Viserys was no longer deathly ill.

He was dead.

King Viserys, first of his name, had died during the night.

How it happened, Rhaena did not know, but their tones surely solidified her concern.

And it caused an instant pang of pain to course through her, Rhaena's eyes pricking as they became glassy and her vision blurred slightly. She made quick work of gathering herself, though. If she broke down now, she'd only draw attention to herself and miss the rest of the information being shared freely now.

"Yes, Maester Gerardys informed them immediately after I informed him. They seem to be in talks of preparing a funeral pyre for him, the Silent Sisters are preparing his body as we speak. Of course, I'd rather have him entombed..." She choked a faint sob, and Aemond was over by her in a second, with a comforting hand on her shoulder, it seemed to be enough. Alicent placed her own over his, giving him a small appreciative smile.

"Mother, you know The Seven were not his Gods. He should be set alight by dragon fire, if you wish to honor him...this is how," his response lacked emotion but it was his way with things that required too much gentle feeling with others, and this would certainly be one of those occasions for him. He'd be direct as he was now, but his tone would not be in total lacking.

With a sigh, Alicent gave a nod, pulling herself from her seat, "I trust you will inform your wife,"

He returned his own swift nod, "of course,"

With that she patted his shoulder and made her way for the exit, "be on guard today, my son. If a few sought to take advantage of you on your wedding night, then on this day of mourning, I suspect the attempts may be tenfold. I've not informed my father, but it is prudent to believe he already knows. It would also be prudent to consider the danger of this power vacuum. Until Rhaenyra is crowned...this family will be vulnerable."

Aemond did not reply verbally, fixed his mother with only a look and a nod as she reached the exiting doors, "has it been decided, the treasonous knights' fate?"

"Yes...and no," she paused and she did not face him with her full response, "plans will have to be shifted, I'm sure. I'm certain your honeymoon will be cut short on this account. On the morrow, we will most likely all return to King's Landing. Once Rhaenyra is crowned...a trial shall be held. As I'm certain Rhaenyra will not wish to look ruthless and bloodthirsty so early in her reign...but a firm hand must still be shown all the same. In either case, nought is to be done beforehand. Most likely Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne will both be formally stripped of their white coats. Whether they'll be executed will be left up to-"

At that, Aemond's head turned slightly to the side, his eye lifting to the corner as if he’d locked onto Rhaena, he wasn't facing her, so either he felt her presence or he'd noticed her far sooner than his more obvious behaviour now.

On reflex Rhaena swiftly closed their bed chamber door and hurried herself back to bed. Climbing underneath the furs as she tried to calm her heart rate and work up some warmth to flow through her.

Aemond's half glance only exasperated the feelings brewing inside of her.

He must've glanced for the words Ser Willis and Ser Rickard's sentencing would surely remind her of the state the knights had been left in after Aemond had fought them.

The state her father left Ser Criston in…

Considerate...but no...her mind remained elsewhere.

The bigger loss today was evident.

Viserys was dead.

Her sweet uncle, gone forever. It saddened her deeply, enough to bring a fresh stream of tears down her cheeks. But she supposed at least his suffering was over. He could finally rest, truly, finally he could return to his true love, his first wife. The lovely Queen Aemma.

It was a bittersweet acceptance to swallow, but it at least made the loss a bit more digestible.

In comparison to the very real fact that they'd all be in more danger now than ever, Rhaena could agree that Alicent was right, it would make the most sense for her mother to be crowned as soon as possible. And in that effort, Rhaena could only hope that with the dowager Queen's recent actions this past moon, she'd at least be on their side as this matter of succession was dealt with.

But Rhaena could never be too sure.

And then there was the thought of Ser Willis and Ser Rickard, their fate was currently unknown but they could truly possibly face execution. It would be a fair punishment for Ser Willis, should that be his sentencing.

There was a part of Rhaena that she supposed she considered her weakest part, her compassionate heart that loathed killing most ardently. She understood it was necessary, she understood it to be a part of their world, and even when it was just, sometimes she just could find herself rooting for such a thing.

Like with Ser Rickard, guilty he may have been in initially being present on the treasonous plot…but he'd come to his senses, he chose correctly and he warned her parents instead. If his white cloak were to be removed and he was banished from the castle, Rhaena could only hope for such leniency for his sentencing.

In all honesty if it was up to her, she'd simply leave Ser Willis to rot in the dungeons as he was for the rest of his life.

Though if she dwelled on that...that fate was only a prolonged version of an execution, possibly even crueler if she was honest with herself.

Fuck...it was bleak no matter what.

She'd eavesdropped on three bleak pieces of information...and not one of them gave her true peace of mind. Soon enough, Rhaena heard the far-off sound of the main chamber doors closing. And then in a matter of minutes, Aemond stepped through their bed chamber doors and entered the room.

Her husband paused at the door for only a moment, seemingly drinking in the sight of her sitting in their bed with the morning sun's rays beaming over her semi-naked form. But Rhaena herself thought to quickly wipe tears that streaked down her cheeks as she waited in bed for him. She hadn't dwelled on the fact that he'd caught her spying on his conversation with his mother just moments ago. It seemed incredibly insignificant considering the matters they were speaking of, in all honesty Rhaena cared more for the core issue she'd overheard.

Her husband had just lost his father.

She could mourn the loss of her last living uncle well enough but Aemond had lost his one and only father.

Now, Viserys may not have been a true benchmark for fatherhood. No, he'd only been a kind, loving, nurturing father to only one of his children, only to Rhaena's dear stepmother Rhaenyra.

So in this matter Rhaena knew she needed to be tactful, for she desperately wanted to be there for him...if he'd allow her.

But she also knew Aemond, he rarely showed such vulnerability unless she asked for it. And this was not a matter in which she could just simply ask for him to be vulnerable with her.

"How much did you hear," he'd hummed as he casually removed his patch, revealing his sapphire to her just before he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it onto a nearby chair. It became clear to her that he intended on returning to bed with her, and she supposed he could, the hour still seemed quite early, and even if he had called for a bath to be brought, it would still be a few minutes before it arrived.

Rhaena watched as he sat back on his side of the bed, removing his boots, before laying back in just his breeches, and that's when she knew she had his full attention to respond.

"Enough, I suppose," she'd sighed somewhat wistfully, as she moved to rest her head on his shoulder, the gesture was light, but it indicated her silent question of 'can I touch you' or 'do you wish to be touched now' . To be honest, she knew the answer was 'yes' , it almost always was, she'd learned over the past moon that touching, at least when it came to her, was something he found great comfort in. But the key was, he always seemed to do it on impulse, if they were in close proximity, he'd find a way to touch her. Even in public, whether it be a hand on her arm, her hip, her lower back or more possessively an arm around her waist.

If he wasn't reaching for her, she usually would just reach for him instead, but this matter was different, it was delicate, and Rhaena knew when best to air on the side of caution with a dragon.

With a heavy exhale, he'd quite swiftly scooped her up and held her against him. Once again that warmth she'd been searching for had instantly engulfed her, as if the heat so simply just radiated from his skin, his blood, eternally hot like the true dragon he was.

"Then you heard, my father's dead," he replied simply, as if it was nothing. As if the news was just another regular occurrence. Though Rhaena couldn't be entirely shocked, there was once a time when Aemond had said his 'father had been dying for the entirety of his life' . She supposed he expected this day sooner rather than later, she supposed he'd long since prepared for this day as opposed to most children with their own fathers.

But even still, she'd expected something...more.

"Aemond," she breathed, gliding her hand up along the pale curls that trailed his abdomen and up to his chest, feeling the light sprinkling of pale golden chest hair he had as her fingers caressed and rested against his peck, "it is okay to mourn him, my love. I know you were not close to him, but he was your father. Surely this news affects you,"

Aemond shifted at the sound of her words, exhaling heavily in a huff this time, seemingly slipping from her grasp.

It seemed she hadn't been as delicate as she hoped to be.

He'd moved himself to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side so as to keep his back to her as his voice grew low with the hint of a rasp, "Rhaena...I know he was a favourable uncle to you, so I would not stop you...you are free to mourn him if you wish. But he was no father to me..."

A new heavy lump formed in her throat as she worked to swallow it, the words were simply just too heartbreaking to hear. Her own heart burned and twisted at the cold frankness he'd tried to pour over his tone, but she could still sense the cracks beneath. Her dragon could disguise his pain quite skillfully, that she knew for certain. But there were almost always hints, behind his icy detached efforts, she knew the little boy who'd hoped and clamoured for his father's love still lived deep within him. And so she knew there was still a part of him that still ached at this loss, just a pinch, just a tiniest bit...but she knew it existed.

Although Rhaena also knew when to let things simmer, this wasn't the moment to push the matter. If she did, he'd only pull further away and she did not wish for that. She did not wish for him to close himself off from her. He'd do almost anything she asked of him, but reaching behind the veil of his most guarded insecurities and vulnerabilities...it always proved to be a gamble.

For every moment where he had complete and utter trust in her...she feared there were several moments he just did not trust anyone other than himself with certain parts of himself.

In this moment, she'd count this as the latter. Rhaena simply sighed to herself and moved over to him, scooted over to his side of the bed, she pulled herself up. Pressing her bare body against his sculpted back, wrapping her arms around him as she rested her chin on shoulder. Rhaena hadn't asked if he wanted her touch, she didn't need to, she knew he'd want it...need it. He'd pushed himself away from her just moments ago but she knew her husband, he'd regret the loss of her skin against his. So she'd grant it to him before he sought to gain it back himself.

And just as she expected, he leaned into her, his fingers gently fidgeting with hers. She could hear him gritting and growling to himself, Rhaena knew this situation was complicated for him. So she hummed sweetly, pressing a kiss to his warm shoulder then the side of his neck and finally the straight carved angle of his jaw, "ñuha gevie zaldrīzes," my beautiful dragon .

She could feel the exact moment he'd closed his eye, his body relaxing fully against her hold as his heart calmed. Nuzzling her cheek against him, she spoke softly, "I don't mean to push you...I just...I know it's difficult. And while I cannot relate to your specific relationship with your father, I do know how it feels to lose a parent. So...I only wished to convey that no matter what you feel for him or the feelings that may arrive on this day. I will be with you for all of it, you can trust me with those parts of yourself."

"I wouldn't compare the true loss of your mother to my loss today," Aemond muttered, successfully pulling her body around his left side and depositing her upon his strong sturdy lap. One of his arms wrapped securely around her waist as his other large hand cupped her cheek, allowing his the deep Indigo hue of an eye to peer into hers, "besides, it is not you that I doubt, you know that I trust you with every part of me."

Surely that was only half true...but she'd concede, he certainly trusted her with a great deal of his vulnerabilities.

But there were more...more she'd have to earn access to and Rhaena accepted that as well. They'd spent the last ten years hating one another in separate places, only to be thrust together a near year ago... only made spiteful lovers a few moons ago...only made true lovers a moon ago.

They had not been coupling long enough for Rhaena to have access to every true part of him just yet, physically mayhaps...emotionally, certainly not.

But she had begun to learn the way of unraveling Aemond Targaryen.

It was all a matter of deciphering his expressions, in all honesty it felt like Rhaena was learning a whole new language. But it was a language Rhaena dared to think she'd grown nearly fluent in.

For even now, as his jaw remained clenched and hardened, his gaze intense and piercing as his nose reflexively flared...one could be mistaken in taking his expression at face value as the snarl it seemed to be. But there were layers. When the emotion he wished to convey was beyond words, a feeling that he felt he embodied entirely...emotions he could not speak of. The sort of things he could only ever faintly mention at most, he'd either deflect it or mask it. Unless he would do far better to convey such an emotion with a physical action.

In this instance...he was certainly masking.

Rhaena could see that the fierce look in his eye was a burning look of trust and love...he just hardened the exterior. She could read that, she could understand her dragon when he spoke to her in his own way.

Maybe it was the glint in his eye...in all honesty if someone ever asked her how she managed, she wasn't sure she'd actually be able to truly explain his tells. She just knew them, she could feel them... sense them.

So a soft smile formed on Rhaena's lips, basking in his gaze, she nuzzled her nose in against his, slipping her arms back over his shoulders, "I know you do. I just...I worry for you, today will be incredibly onerous."

"I am fine, I assure you," he finally remarked solidly, convincingly so, leaning his forehead against hers as he inhaled deeply, "he died in his sleep last night, so I assume it was somewhat peaceful. Your parents are arranging a funeral pyre for him to take place early this afternoon so… Balerion may welcome him properly."

Rhaena had heard him earlier, when he told his mother to allow Viserys this final right of being a true born Targaryen, a dragon in his own right. To return the dragon blood to fire, to ash, to let the Fourteen Flames collect their fallen child. Aemond still believed his father had been greeted by Balerion, still believing that he would be granted the right to pass through to the great Heavens .

'He was no father to me...'

Maybe not, but the part of him that cared had peaked through his facade.

Unless he was saying that for her benefit…but it would not be necessary. No, this had to be thought he cared for…she'd made no mention of hopes that Balerion would take Viserys. It was Aemond who'd brought it up, who'd bothered to consider whether his father would truly be greeted by their Gods and granted eternal happiness.

They were alone here, no one he need pretend or make appearances for.

She would not call attention to it, instead pulling closer to her dragon, embracing him closely so that he may hold her tightly. She decided she'd instead allow the continuous burn of tears that threatened to tumble down her cheeks to finally fall.

In them she could feel the bittersweet taste of knowing that while she ached for the loss of her sweet uncle, she was right in knowing that her beloved still wished for his father to be well in some capacity and that alone meant a lot to her.

☾

"Dārys Visērȳs Targāryen, brōzi ēlie zȳho. Riña hen Baelon Targāryen se Alyssa Targāryen. Riña hen Aegarax hae mirre ānogar hen zaldrīzes iksis…" King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name. Child of Baelon Targaryen and Alyssa Targaryen. Child of Aegarax as all blood of the dragon is. A priest dressed in grey robes spoke grandly as he stood before the prepared pyre that held Viserys' ceremonially wrapped body.

Here they stood as a family, upon the Dragon Mound, where the sky took on the gloomy dark mood the Targaryen family themselves were feeling. Thick grey clouds swarmed the skies and Rhaena nearly thought the disastrous storm from last night might return and drown their ceremony in an onslaught of pouring rain.

For the moment, it seemed the Gods would respect their loss.

"Ziry kessa sagon returned naejot se perzyssy. Va bisa tegun skoriot ziry istin gūrotan isse jelevre se ābrar. Skoriot ziry istin jorrāelatan se sōpagon," he shall be returned to the flames. On this land where he once took in breath and life. Where he once loved and laughed , the Priest continued, each phrase brought on another gust of wind, as if each word invoked the Gods themselves.

Rhaena and the entirety of her family dressed in black mourning attire. Targaryens and Velaryons stood the closest to the pyre but still several paces back, they stood in order of importance. Rhaena's mother and father stood the closest, followed by Jace, Baela and their son Aethan. Beside them stood Aemond and Rhaena herself, Aegon and Helaena stood with their twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Daeron stood behind them with Maelor in his arms, beside him stood Luke and Joff with little Aeggie and Vis. Grandmother Rhaenys and grandfather Corlys stood to the right of Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Uncle Viserys' pyre had a few trusted King's Guards and several Gold Cloaks watching on.

And beyond that at a great distance, there stood Alicent and her father Otto with a handful of King's Guards.

"Balerion brōzas syt zirȳla, syt zȳhon spirit naejot travel se bōsa geralbar naejot se ōños. Se perzyssy kessa carry zirȳla naejot zȳhon mirre lasting lyks," Balerion calls for him, for his spirit to travel the long road to the light. The flames will carry him to his everlasting peace .

Rhaena had her arm looped around Aemond's, and as the ceremony went on, she found herself pulling closer and closer to him. She could see the tears on her mother's face even as she stood tall and Queenly, the stoic yet incredibly pained expression on her father's face even as he kept his stance strong and sturdy for his wife…for all of his children. Aeggie and Joff were sniffling and sobbing right along with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, poor little Vis had no real understanding of what this ceremony was. Aethan had sweetly fallen asleep in his father's arms, while Jace wore his most invulnerable expression…though his eyes burned a teary red as did Baela’s and Luke's. Corlys looked slightly forlorn and Rhaenys looked genuinely on the brink of tears.

"Hen perzyssy naejot ash, Visērȳs targāryen kostagon ēdrugon," From flames to ash, Viserys Targāryen may rest.

Those were the final words, and with them everyone looked to Rhaenyra, it was her duty to set her father alight. The beautiful glistening golden scales of the effervescent Syrax shined brightly even in the cool grey light of the overcast sky, she rumbled and shook, feeling her bonded one's pain and discomfort. But she stood at the ready, waiting for her command to complete the practice that would truly release Viserys' spirit.

Rhaena watched as her father placed a loving hand on his wife's shoulder, letting her rest her forehead against his for but a quick moment. No one would hear or know what was murmured between the two, but after a moment she took a deep shuddering breath and stepped forward. Locking her gaze on the pyre that held her deceased father, with a glance towards her mount, she uttered the final word, " dracarys ."

At her command, Syrax winded her head round, from her perch on the small peak of a hill, she breathed bright hot orange flames. Setting the pyre alight instantaneously, with an earth shattering roar.

King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name…gone from this world forever…now engulfed in flames as his spirit has now been welcomed by Balerion and taken to the heavens.

Rhaena had felt her own tears burning down her cheeks for the entirety of the ceremony, she'd been clutching onto her husband's arm with a fervor. But her dragon, she'd glanced up at him periodically, he remained firm like stone. His face gave no discernable emotion or affection…Aemond just kept his eye on the fire. The intense flames that crackled and burned.

To be fair all of Viserys' younger children held similar expressions, Aegon looked dazed, Helaena looked fleetingly focused, Daeron much like Aemond gazed with intensity…but not emotional loss…something within them was burning, tossing and turning. Nothing laid still.

And as the dark smoke of Viserys' charred and burned body floated up into the sky, several roars from the cluster of dragons that were now nestled deep within the volcano of the Dragon Mount echoed throughout the island.

And with that…he was gone.

Viserys Targaryen could finally rest.

☾

It had been true, after the funeral, they were all to return to King's Landing. The whole family needed to be present when Rhaenyra was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not solely just to show their support but also to help put down any sort of uprisings or rebellions should they occur.

And so they hadn't had long, this was a day of mourning but they could not rest, in a matter of hours, everyone had been packed and prepared.

And there stood Rhaena, on the grassy plains with the rest of her family all readying themselves to mount their respective dragons. It had become a lot windier, the gusting breeze nearly felt punishing as if the Gods were displeased, angered by the power vacuum that currently existed. They wouldn't rest until a Targaryen sat the throne, until the heir took her rightful place…and maybe only then would the sun shine again.

Rhaena had been making her goodbyes, relishing in the final moments she'd have to simply refer to her parents as her muña and kepa in public, before she'd have to steel her emotions, mask her familial ties and refer to them as her Queen and King .

"Are you certain you do not wish for me to sail with you, muña? I'm sure Aemond would not mind flying back with out me on Vhagar with him," Rhaena murmured in her mother's embrace, and she'd been entirely serious as Rhaenyra would not be flying in her present condition, she'd somehow managed to draw a choked chuckle out of the older woman.

"Oh my darling, I am not certain we speak of the same Aemond," she smiled pulling back just slightly, cupping Rhaena's face in her hands with great affection she pressed a warm kiss to her forehead, to be fair she was right, Aemond stood only a little ways off and he seemed to have his gaze locked on them, "see, he looks for you now and you stand merely a few feet away. I'm sure after last night he has no wish to be parted from you, and I would not blame him for that. No it is alright, in either case I shall have Baela, Helaena and Alicent...as well as all the little ones for company on our voyage. You needn't worry, for me, sweetling."

Her words were reassuring but even still Rhaena's chest felt just as heavy, but she would not disagree with her mother. Instead she simply smiled and nodded, taking her leave and walking back towards Vhagar. There Aemond stood leaning against his mountainous mount, looking like a true Targaryen King of Old. All clad in black, a stark contrast to his pale ivory skin and platinum blonde hair. She'd braided it herself earlier this morn, he seemed to favour her single plait styling for him. And Rhaena could agree it certainly suited her husband, the tendrils that framed the sleek cut angles of his striking face…he looked incredibly alluring.

If she spent a moment longer gazing longingly at her pretty Prince, then she hoped he wouldn't draw attention to it.

Though she supposed, that wouldn't be inline with the man she married.

By the time she'd stepped in front of him, Aemond's pointed lips had pulled into one of his devious smirks, his rich indigo eye wandering her form before landing on her face, "ūndegon mirros ao hae, byka dārilaros," see something you like, little Princess.

For the first time that day, Rhaena found herself feeling lighter…brighter, nearly normal . She even rolled her eyes as she fought an oncoming grin, "sīr olvie nēdenka hen ao naejot pendagon, ñuha dārilaros. Īlen simply jurnegēre Vhagar," so very bold of you to think, my Prince. I was simply admiring Vhagar.

Her voice floated with a playful level of mirth as she bit back a smile, but Aemond was quick to hook his arm around her waist, drawing her body against him. The wind had all but blown the pins from their place in her curls as she felt Aemond smooth a few, tucking them behind her ear and away from her face. Leaning over her, seemingly fighting the urge to claim her lips there in front of the whole of their family, instead he pressed a rather long heated kiss to her cheek. Taking the opportunity to whisper by the shell of her ear, "Iksan certain emā dōrī jūndan rȳ Vhagar hae bona. Iā jurnegon hae bona kessa mazverdagon nyke jaelagon ra," I'm certain you have never looked at Vhagar like that. A look like that will make me want things.

'Make me want things' oh of that Rhaena had no doubt, and to think his libido knew no bounds even on a day like today. She supposed it would be a rather pleasant distraction from the doom and gloom of the day, but there'd be no time for such activities now. And no matter how charming and seductive her husband sought to be during their ride, she would not fall to bits, not this time, not for his wants on this flight.

But for the moment she could indulge him just a little, draping her arms up and over his shoulders, she nuzzled her nose against his. Sighing softly…contentedly, "ondoso se bantis, kostā emagon skoros jaelā, yn syt sir, istiti jikagon," by the night, you may have what you want, but for now, we must go.

A resounded low growl rumbled in his throat, but ultimately he'd nod and agree. And within the quick split second where his attention lulled on her eyes, Rhaena sneaked a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. Feeling her body surge with warmth as she smiled up at him, it was the slight shock in his eye, the flash of the softest expression she'd ever seen him make…that had been what made her heart burn.

Sometimes a simple bit of affection was enough to catch her dragon off guard.

And that always made her smile.

☾

The flight from Dragonstone to King's Landing was not a long one, about an hour in duration, maybe two with the low visibility they had in these low hanging storm clouds.

The wind chilled her skin, it smelled of rain and the air felt moist and dewy, even as Rhaena sat in front of Aemond upon Vhagar, she could not see too far into the distance. Usually one could see King's Landing on the horizon on a clear day, usually one could see the Red Keeps' peaks and recognizable brick structure along with the capital's skyline.

But not today.

In fact today felt odd all around, there was a churning in the pit of Rhaena's stomach and she wasn't sure what blame to assign to it. She could equate it to her feelings over the loss of her uncle or towards her fears of the fight to come…or maybe she was trying to anticipate the tame drama of returning to court when all returned to normal after her mother's coronation. The moon Rhaena had spent engaged to Aemond had been an interesting one to be sure, and she could rest assure the looks and false smiles they'd receive on their return as a now married couple would only amplify it.

*gurgle*

No…no she felt ill.

Physically nauseous, flying had never caused such a reaction before. She'd spent her life flying on the dragons her family members were bonded with, she'd known the peaks, the soaring swells and deep dives that made one's stomach drop and flip with the momentum…but she was comfortable enough with those feelings.

She'd never felt so-

*GURGLE*

Nope, no, she was going to hurl, she felt like she was dry heaving already. She could feel the contents of her breakfast swirling, battering within her stomach.

"Aemond!" She quickly glanced back at him, trying and praying her voice carried over the rushing winds, "we need to land!"

"What?" He sounded genuinely confused if not slightly agitated, "land? Why would we land?"

"I feel-" Rhaena quickly covered her mouth as her body wretched and gagged, "I feel ill and I need you land!"

She could see the critical arch his brow took on, but with a sharp nod, she watched as he spotted a small island for them to descend upon. Now she might have partially regretted this, as Vhagar swooped down aiming for the small island in view, Rhaena felt her stomach rise and float suspended in midair. She'd never felt such determination to keep the contents of her stomach within her, her own mouth threatening to betray her and allow her throat to pump back up the fruits and oats she'd consumed just hours prior.

Vhagar touched the ground in a rumble, shaking the earth and her riders equally; each sway of Vhagar’s body only exacerbated Rhaena’s nausea.

It wasn't like her, but Rhaena did not wait for Aemond's usual chivalry. Clamouring out of his hold as she scrambled off the saddle and down the cascading netting that hung over Vhagar's side.

Rhaena walked as far as she could, but the moment she fell to her knees, she'd succumbed to the ailment. Her stomach squeezed and constricted, wrenching and pushing, finally regurgitating the contents of her stomach into the tall grassy field. Her shoulders were shaking, her chest aching, it was nearly unbearable.

All the while she hadn't noticed how Aemond smoothly dismounted Vhagar and swiftly made after her, only noticing his presence behind her when she felt his large hand on her lower back. The sudden touch had startled her, but the motions of his hand had begun to soothe her slowly. With the added softness of how he gently held her hair back and out of her face, he'd been kneeling behind her, holding as she heaved the last of her breakfast. Her throat burned as her stomach continued to push even though she no longer had anything else to expel.

But finally in the end, when her stomach had finally calmed, she sat back on her knees, wiping her mouth as she groaned at the discomfort.

"Rhaena," her name was drenched in all of the concern he clearly felt for her, and as she looked back at him, she could see it clearly etched on his face. Rhaena for her part took a deep shaky breath, leaning herself back into Aemond's open embrace, where she simply took in the fresh air that surrounded them.

She let the air cool her, calm her body. And finally when she felt well enough to speak, she simply breathed, "I am well, my dragon."

The look in his eye said otherwise but for the moment he didn't question her on it, he did not rush her to rise either. If anything he guided her to lay herself down against him, cradling her closely but keeping his hold slightly loose should she think to feel sick again.

However long they laid in the soft cool grass together that afternoon, Rhaena could not be certain. But the longer they did, she simply breathed, calming herself with the scent of her dragon. Citrus notes mixed with a deep warm woody scent ( she'd discovered the mix smelled quite heavenly ) with a hint of Vhagar herself of course.

She let the breeze and her husband's warmth draw her eyes closed, and in the slightest peace she felt there…she began to wonder just what had brought on this bout of nausea.

☾

TWO MOONS LATER…

In the moons that had passed, Rhaenyra had been crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms without fail or compromise. With every available dragon at her back, no fool would dare challenge her, even Otto kept his silence…at least for the time being. He had more pressing matters to come to terms with, for as Rhaena's parents took their rightful place…Otto Hightower was immediately demoted…well fired, honestly.

In fact, the entirety of the Small Council had been reworked and replaced with truly loyal Lords and members of staff.

Otto Hightower's position had been snatched from him and given to a far more deserving member of the family, a woman who was once prepared to rule the Kingdoms herself, one who's always had the mind for politics and maneuvers…grandmother Rhaenys. A touching moment it had been, for certainly even she had not expected her former Good-daughter to give her such a position…but it was beautiful to see. While grandfather Corlys had remained Master of Ships, other than that every position had been made full by proper competent servants to the crown.

And just like that…for two solid moons…the realm ran like it should.

Rhaena and Aemond had remained in King's Landing for the past two moons as it certainly helped to keep the rebellions out men's minds when they reconciled with the fact that the fearsome Vhagar and her terrifying rider Aemond " One Eye " Targaryen rode for Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

It wasn't entirely true, he rode for Rhaenyra because he couldn't bring himself to ride for Aegon…but probably more obviously, he rode for Rhaenyra because Rhaena herself would never side against her mother. It was also fair to assume that in the last few moons Aemond had grown to accept his Rhaenyra truly as his elder sister, as most days she couldn't help but mother him just a bit. She'd taken her role as his Good-mother quite seriously, and maybe she enjoyed the slight shock and confusion that always befell Aemond whenever she treated him with such warm and gentle care.

Maybe Rhaena found it enjoyable to watch as well.

But as her husband and his brothers, as well as Rhaena's own brothers and father had been careful to put down any rebellion that had arisen, they were living in a rather peaceful lull at the moment.

And so this morn, Rhaena and her husband had lazed in bed just a tad bit longer than usual. They'd bathed, separately…once again…to Aemond's dismay. He'd spent the morning grumbling, as he did most mornings, about how King's Landing's tubs were too small , and how he couldn't wait to return to Dragonstone where the tubs could fit them both once again .

Rhaena always laughed, for only he could be so annoyed and upset over something so inconsequential. But she'd allow him the little things she supposed, if she was being honest with herself, she also missed their shared morning baths together. They’d attempted to squeeze themselves into one of the King’s Landing tubs during the first few weeks of their stay here…and to be honest…with how cramped the sizing was. Rhaena just ended up seated atop her husband…and in that position…very little actual bathing took place.

So that became more of a fun treat…than an effective way to truly bathe.

Once they'd been dressed and readied for the day, they made their way to the dining hall for breakfast.

They'd passed several Lords and Ladies on their way, receiving the usual greetings, false smiles, and eager mentions…and glaring stares. Now Rhaena knew how to maneuver court. If Aemond was a master of the sword, then this was her realm, her battlefield and her behaviour and words were her weapons. Hallway encounters were usually nothing to bat an eye at to Rhaena, Nobles were eager to cross paths with royalty. Eager to slide their way into one's good graces and thoughts…it was their goal to be thought of. All of these fruitless encounters all perfectly crafted for the sole purpose of being acknowledged, and with this acknowledgement, should a position or an event or fete come about…they'll hope their Royals thought them agreeable enough to be remembered.

To be invited.

And as Rhaena knew this, she also knew she needn't say or do much in these interactions but smile back and at most extend her own brief greetings.

Which, now that she was married, she'd quickly adapted to the fact that her greetings were no longer just extended from herself. She'd need to extend them from her dragon Prince as well, as this was not a climate he found comfortable. It wasn't that he feared them…he just disliked the falsities of court-life, he hated the personas one must wear to survive within it. And in all honesty she knew he could care less to be greeted and worse yet return greetings to any of the Lords or Ladies he deemed to be beneath them.

So, Rhaena would handle these moments with poise and with grace. This was how she guarded her dragon, this was how she protected him.

It was something she was happy to do…when he made it easy for her.

They were leaving the western wing of the castle and heading towards the eastern side when…

"Princess!" There came a faintly familiar voice from down the main corridor, Rhaena couldn't be entirely certain, not until the person drew closer.

And to her horror…it was exactly who she thought it was.

Dalton Greyjoy… Lord Dalton Greyjoy .

Oh fuck.

Dressed impeccably from head to toe in fine leathers, slick black breeches and a very smooth smokey grey doublet. His neck length medium-toned deep brown hair was combed in suave waves, let loose to hang just off his broad shoulders. His cheeky grin already spread wide across his face, the jovial saunter in his step all too familiar.

Rhaena wanted to bolt, internally…she was screaming. Dalton was the last man on earth she expected to see today…and if she was being honest, maybe ever. Of course it was unrealistic to assume she'd simply avoid him for the rest of her life, but the mere idea that Dalton and Aemond would cross paths…with her present…it was the stuff of nightmares really. The kind of horrifying social situation she hoped to never have to experience.

No…no…this was happening and she could survive it…she just needed to remain calm.

Aemond slipped his arm from her hold and immediately opted to hook his arm covertly around her waist, bringing her as close as possible.

Oh…this would not end well.

She immediately had flashbacks to their encounter with Cregan Stark after the tourney from a few moons ago…and she’d barely been able to salvage that conversation. And in that situation she hadn’t actually done anything with Cregan in the past…Rhaena could only hope Dalton kept his mouth shut on their actual past.

Rhaena's heart was rattling within her chest and her lungs felt like they'd been filled with lead and simply refused to pump any form of oxygen for her…but she'd endure.

So long as Dalton kept his flirty nature caged and blocked off, so long as Aemond never realized she had any sort of past with Dalton beyond casual conversations and dances at balls and feasts.

This could be fine…it would be fine.

Dalton, ever the charmer, stopped in front of them with a flare to his step. Immediately taking Rhaena's right hand, placing a lasting greeting kiss upon it.

OH MY FUCKING GODS.

WHAT WAS HE DOING.

Her eyes shot wide as her heart began beating even faster. She immediately began a silent prayer in her head as her brows fought the urge to furrow, dear Gods, please…just don't let Aemond reach for his sword over this. Either way she felt Aemond’s grip on her waist tighten instantly.

"My my, Princess Rhaena, don't you look positively radiant," his smirk deepened as his brows quirked up playfully, "ah, and Prince Aemond! My humblest greetings. Luckiest man in the realm as I hear it, how you managed to secure the most wanted woman in all Seven Kingdoms. A feat no less,"

"Mmm Greyjoy," Aemond's tone was acidic, biting and vicious already, "I don't recall any mention of lower class citizens being allowed entry to the castle today. To what do we owe the honor? "

Fucksake Aemond.

And with that response…it stood to reason her husband was not all that fond of Dalton to begin with.

Rhaena fought the urge to roll her eyes, she could see Aemond's jaw working, clenched and grinding. There was a tick in Dalton's smile as well, a clear nip at his assured expression, but he was quick to mask it well. Letting his cocky grin only grow larger, casually leaning in on his wide imposing stance as if he wished to double-down on the idea that he was unbothered.

It spelled trouble, of that Rhaena was certain.

Though Rhaena was also certain that both she and Aemond had caught the minute slip of his. And her dragon seemed to bask in it, a sinister smirk forming on his lips, he would be sure to dig at that proverbial wound.

For a moment the silence was thickening, Rhaena charted through her mind the various ways she could bring this conversation to a more levelled playing field. For this interaction needn't be so antagonistic, and Rhaena would be damned if she was caught in the middle of such a petty battle so early in the morning.

Dalton chuckled something bitter, but Rhaena quickly flashed a warm smile, towards Dalton all while simultaneously placing her hand over Aemond's on her waist, letting her nails bite into him just a bit. He wouldn't wince, but she needed him to recognize that she saw what he was doing.

"Lord Greyjoy, my husband only jests, of course. We are very pleasantly surprised by your visit," Rhaena's voice stayed lilted like a sweet flower, it was her expertise of course to sway this conversation to her whims, "I've heard of your many successes in squashing several rebellions in Iron Islands these past few moons. You must be here to speak with my mother, the Queen, I presume."

Easy, quaint, respectful.

Could the two men standing with her not just simply follow her lead and do the same.

"Oh my dear Rhaena, I'm well acquainted with our sullen Prince's brand of humour, no worries there," Dalton smirked, crossing his arms comfortably as if he hadn't just removed the honorifics from her title purposely to egg Aemond on further. With the added implications that gave a hint to the intimacy of his relationship with Rhaena herself.

"But you are indeed right," Dalton continued, stepping around Rhaena as he cast a slightly sentimental gaze out of one of the hallway's arching windows before his bright green eyes refocused on Rhaena and only Rhaena, "I put down a fuck ton uprisings for our good Queen Rhaenyra, as any good serving Lord would."

"Of course," Aemond replied smoothly yet sarcastically, before muttering, " fucking twat ," beneath his breath.

Whether Dalton heard him or not, Rhaena couldn't be certain seeing as the handsome Lord simply breezed by Aemond's comment and continued speaking, "but that's dull. I have another reason for my visit, and I'm glad I've run into you… both I suppose…"

Dalton ran a hand smoothly through his hair, his gaze still locked onto Rhaena, only sparing Aemond a glance when he'd said the word 'both' . But Aemond wasn't blind to it, in fact it seemed he was fighting the urge to release his hold on Rhaena's waist just long enough to lunge onto the Lord.

At a glance it would surely be an even match, both Aemond and Dalton were of similar height, similar body build and strength most likely. Dalton may have been just the slightest bit bulkier, but Rhaena did not doubt her husband's ability to use that against his opponent.

"If you're here to see my sister, then go see her. The Queen is most likely in the throne room just waiting for your apparent important arrival," the sarcasm was just oozing off of Aemond's tongue, "of course, unless more important Lords have her attention…in that case, find some other banal way to waste your time and wait your turn. As my wife, Princess Rhaena and I are currently indisposed."

Oh Gods, she knew…she knew Aemond had paid close attention to that.

Once again Lord Dalton only chuckled, nodding to several Lords and Ladies as they passed by in the halls, "you're so serious, my Prince. You must be incredible fun at fetes and feasts, I'm sure. Look, I only wish to extend my apologies for missing your grand wedding. I heard your nuptials were quite a thing, it was the talk of the realm for a time. Twas a pity I missed it."

"Yes, a fucking pity ," Aemond stepped forward, but Rhaena pulled him back as subtly as she could. He was quite a weight when he wished to be, she felt as if she was pulling at a boulder.

"Lord Dalton, we of course received your gifts and were quite appreciative of your thoughts for us on our wedding day," Rhaena tried to regain her composure and take control of the conversation yet again, seeing as the two men before her sought to only rile one another up, "but my husband is right, my mother and the throne room are on the main floor, just below us."

And at that…there was a subtle shift, a glint in Dalton's eye that only promised the presumed chaos Rhaena sought to shield herself from earlier.

"Now now, Rhaena , what's with all this Lord business. Surely we're beyond such formalities," he grinned, his eyes now roving over Aemond's form, seemingly eyeing just far he could take his words before the repercussions for them were dealt, "I would like to think, though now you may…be wed . You haven't entirely forgotten our friendship , have you."

Fucking hells, Dalton!

In all her life she was certain she'd never felt fire like she had when Aemond's icy Indigo eye slowly refocused on her from the corner of his eye. His fingers were now biting into her skin at this point, the low rumble of a dragon burning with a quiet frightening fury emitting from him.

She could only sigh now, resigned to whatever fate would befall her now.

Clearly Dalton did not know when danger stood directly in front of him, or maybe domineering predators could never recognize the same traits within one another.

" Friendship , hmmm," Aemond hummed dangerously.

Rhaena did not have the strength to grip her own nails into the offending hand, but she did try, all while keeping her own countenance visibly sweet and kind.

"Oh my husband, Lord Dalton Greyjoy here only jests. Mere acquaintances would be a more apt word for it," Rhaena fought to keep her biting annoyance and discomfort from bleeding into her airy tone, "as we've only spoken a handful of times and danced much less. Besides, I am a married woman now, it would not be proper for me to refer to you by just your given name. And vice versa, my Lord."

That should have sufficed.

Key words being should have.

"Besides that, my Lady wife could surely do better…with her acquaintances ," Aemond gritted, his hand already itching to reach for his blade. And Dalton, though he may not have looked it…his hand was itching to do the same.

Sighing deeply, Rhaena prepared herself to end this while she could.

Only Dalton beat her to it, "hmph, she didn't seem to mind my friendship last year. In fact, I think she sought me out time and time again quite eagerly I might add…but what would I know, lowly Lord that I am," he grinned, bowing just enough to call it a respectful exit, "I shall take my leave then, as I'm certain my Queen awaits me."

Oh my fucking Gods , Rhaena groaned.

All the while, Aemond nearly bolted out of Rhaena's hold. But Lord Dalton Greyjoy was swift and nimble, laughing as he made his way down the corridor in large quick strides. He was gone before they knew it and Rhaena couldn't help but feel slightly relieved in a sense.

Though that weight lifted feeling quickly vanished when Aemond finally turned to face her, his face hardening into something she faintly recognized and didn't all the same.

She'd say her dragon was agitated…but it was more than that. Rage and annoyance…mixed with peak heightened levels of what Rhaena dared to think might have been just plain pure jealousy .

Rhaena wouldn't be free to ponder on it now though, for Aemond moved just as swiftly as Dalton had, grabbing a hold of her forearm as he yanked her back down the way they came. She was barely keeping up with him as her mind raced to think of where he was taking her.

If she knew her Prince and she did, jealousy in him usually equaled one very insistent and needy urge to take her presently. To re-lay his claim to her and prove that he was the one who should command her attention.

And usually she relished such moments.

Only this time…it wouldn't be so simple.

It seemed they'd most likely miss breakfast entirely this morning. Just grand, thanks for that, Dalton Greyjoy .

☾

"Aemond!" Rhaena panted heavily, her body was on fire, burning with a level of want and need she'd never experienced before, "it was nothing, I promise you nothing ever happened,"

Why she bothered to reaffirm the point any longer, she didn't know.

Aemond's glare burned through her from his position between her legs, he'd been ravenously devouring her for what seemed like forever, never allowing her to truly reach her peak until he was satisfied with her responses.

This was a punishment .

And it was killing her.

He'd bound her hands up above her head with his eyepatch no less, he'd even looped the strap to the headboard of their bed to keep her from wriggling away from his intense attention. And it was working, for she was forced to endure, caught between begging for him to allow her the pleasure of finishing and crying for him to believe her when she said Dalton was little more than an acquaintance.

Neither of which he sought to grant her.

Aemond's skilled tongue was working a devastating pressure against her clit, flicking and suckling her, causing waves of heated pleasure to course through her. That favoured feeling she knew well, once again began to rise within her, her back arching as the two fingers he had within her thrusted and worked her heated core. He kept a pace that only made Rhaena want to grind up against his hand and face.

The sight of him down between her legs, his face looked so pretty, he looked so perfect. The pale morning sun truly made him look like heavenly perfection, it was enough to make her squirm with added moisture.

Aemond's rakish grin told her that he knew the exact power he had over her, only, just as she began to rock her hip against his hand… his grin deepened as he pulled himself back from her.

"Aemond!" Rhaena cried, her chest clenching deeply at the loss of him, her legs falling flat on either side of him, "I don't know what you wish to hear,"

It was a lie.

She knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted the truth, the whole of it, exact details of what occurred with Dalton and what role she had to play in it.

But she wasn't foolish enough to give him that.

And he knew it.

"You know exactly what I wish to hear," his jaw was grinding now, his sapphire eye glistening an ethereal blue in the morning sun, in fact everything about him looked like a true God of Old in this lighting. As he sat himself back on his knees, he let his eye wander over her bare body, splayed on her back just for him. She could see the way his eye lingered on her heaving breasts, the clear hunger he had apparent on his face.

But Rhaena wouldn't cow, she could handle this. She bit her lip sharply, holding her tongue as her eyes continued to roam over his body. The sight of him made her body spark with shivering bolts of electricity coursing through her.

It wasn't fair, the gorgeous way his silky pale blonde hair poured over his broad toned shoulders and biceps. His sleek sculpted chest, the carved muscles of his abdomen and the way his torso curved into his narrowing waist. All the little scars he had, cuts and nics, and slices from his training.

Everything about him seemed perfectly designed to drive her insane, and to think she'd almost chosen to simply do her duty instead of following her desire.

From the moment he'd taken her back to their chambers, he'd all but torn off her gown and lured her back to their bed with possessive caresses and sultry kisses. But he'd made sure to strip himself bare as well at the time. At the start of this, she'd been expecting his cock to fill her quickly, she expected him to fuck his aggression out of his system. Rhaena had expected her husband to play his usual game of how many times can I make my wife cum in one place .

But it hadn't been that way, it wasn't just the need to reclaim her body, it was the need to possess her completely.

Aemond had spent the last near hour slowly undoing her, working her into a begging little mess. Sprawled out on their bed, she was becoming quite desperate for both her own release and for him to finally thrust into her.

By this point, Rhaena would quite easily admit to feeling entirely possessed.

But she knew he wanted more.

As he sat in front of her, kneeling as he draped her spread legs over and around his hips, she couldn't help the way her eyes lingered on his incredible member.

Rhaena could see by the look in his eye, he knew exactly what she wanted. His enticing lips had curled into one of his cuter more genuine smiles, though the affection was laced with scorching dragon's fire.

And at that, Rhaena gave up and groaned once again, letting her head fall back against the pillows behind her as Aemond slowly slid his fingers from her.

He was toying with her, literally and figuratively, gliding his fingers up and over her drenched folds as he leveled his eye on hers, "oh ñuha zaldrītsos, kostan tepagon ao skoros jaelā. Ao sepār jorrāelagon naejot ivestragon nyke…" oh my little dragon, I can give you what you want. You just need to tell me…

"Konīr iksis daorun naejot ivestragon," there is nothing to tell , Rhaena groaned, pulling on her restraints once again, "ziry means daorun naejot nyke, kostagon īlon daor sepār nārhēdegon skoros vestas," he means nothing to me, can we not just forget what he said.

With a sigh, Aemond leaned himself directly over her, making her breath catch as her eyes blinked open. He looked all aglow in the faint morning sun. His pale skin looked glittery especially his forearms and his chest as he breathed heavily, it was a distraction…or maybe her mind was beginning to turn to mush.

Maybe she'd just lost sight of everything the moment she felt his thick length drag along her wet and wanting opening. She tried to urge her hips to stay put, but her body was working against her now, her hips instinctively driving up towards him, as if she could manage to guide his tip into her that way.

Aemond chuckled at her efforts, grunting just a little as surely he wanted to fuck her just as much.

Instead he let his hand grip onto her hip, the rough pad of his hand slid sweetly along her smooth skin, up her waist and finally stopping to squeeze and caress her breast. He was leaning closer, letting his other hand slide up the center of her body until it wrapped loosely around her neck. His thumb caressing the small X scar that remained at the base of her collarbone, he ran his tongue along the healed grooves of it, working warm kisses up along her neck before his teeth grazed the lobe of her ear.

"It's not about what he said, my little dragoness," he breathed against her, "the fucking Iron Islands twat made some implications , now I could kill him, troublesome as the aftermath may be…or you could just admit that something more than friendship occurred with him."

Fucking hells.

She only whimpered, the hand he had on her breast was massaging her far too nicely, even the tightening grip he had around her neck only proved to arouse her more. So much heat was pooling in her lower belly, her cunt felt she was simply leaking slick with all of his ministrations.

"Aemond," Rhaena whinned deeply, her throat had tired of the sound, and her face had dipped into a rather permanent frown as her brows furrowed profusely, "why does it matter, it was a year ago…nearly two by now. Long before we were anything, it meant nothing…it currently means nothing to me."

She'd hoped that answer would be enough to finally grant her his cock…once again she was both right and wrong.

Aemond had emitted a deep growl towards her words, pulling himself up, he leaned his forehead down against hers, "I don't care how long ago it was, I wished to know what happened." Rhaena hadn't been prepared for the rough, needy way he'd taken her lips, his tongue invading her mouth, allowing her to taste her own tangy flavour from his tongue.

This was a losing battle, she would have much rathered he had ranted and raved at her, at least she could have stood her ground and had a chance of succeeding then.

In this, she couldn't possibly win. She wanted everything he gave her, she was desperate for his attention and she needed the pleasure he offered her…even when he snatched it away just as quickly. His kiss was hot and deep it was making her moan with pitchy need, and in that moment he took her moans and let them spur him further.

Finally she felt him slip his hand from her throat and down to his cock, aiming the tip for her entrance, sinking into her soaked heat.

Rhaena tried to bite her lip to muffle her gasping moan, but she wasn't able to manage, the surging pleasure overwhelming her sense of self control immediately. Gods, he was so big and hard, every time he entered her the thickness of his cock always made her feel so perfectly full. Stretching her opening and her inner walls, nestling himself sweetly within, molding his own place inside of her.

She could still remember the first time he'd made love to her, the night she thought such a size was unbearably large and completely impossible if not wholly unmanageable.

But now, three moons of laying with him and she knew she'd hate for him to have any other appendage.

Slowly he thrusted into her, a grueling pace that only worked to torture her further. Surely that was his intention.

Aemond's eye was burning into hers, intensely watching and smirking her as he made her whimper and moan with every little twitch and throb his cock made within her.

Rhaena had given up on looking at him, his beautifully carved crescent moon features only served to make her more moist and aroused. Especially the fiery rage that has simmered in his eye, she could feel it, every moment that passed without her admission, he only grew angrier. And now that she'd squeezed her eyes shut, he'd purposely ramped up the speed of his thrusts.

Every pulsing stroke his cock made within her only made her writhe more desperately against him. Both of his hands gripped into her hips now, sliding onto the plush flesh of her thighs, his hold was biting, but Gods, the pressure, even the pain, it all felt so magnificent.

Everything within her burned, her blood sang with the pleasure he was giving her, and once again she could feel it coming. Her peak was so close, it was beginning to spark throughout her body.

She was moaning so wantonly, her back had arched so well for his purchase…

And then he stopped.

So abruptly, once again he let her peak fade off and away from her.

And at that she sobbed out, "fuck! Aemond! I don't know what you want me to say, why should it matter if I've kissed him before!"

Aemond hummed curiously then, and Rhaena realized she had indeed let something slip…something she meant to keep buried.

Rhaena only dared to peek a glance up at her dragon Prince, groaning when she saw the glint in his eye, a wolfish grin spreading across his shapely lips.

It all happened in a slow succession of events, he began pulling his cock from her, gradually, bit by bit he slid his lengthy member from her drenched cunt as he leaned himself back over her.

It was all so agonizing.

Especially as her eyes were found themselves glued to the slick sheen her core had covered his cock with as well as the oozing pre-cum that leaked from his tip.

How could he possibly have so much control? Moons ago when she'd thought to punish him, bounding him to their bed in Dragonstone. She'd chosen to ride his abs for three reasons, one, to actually get back at him and teach him lesson, two, because she knew the whole display would torture him and she had really enjoyed the sound of him begging for her. But the final reason had been because she knew if she'd chosen to properly ride his cock…like he'd all but begged her to do…she would've lost control of the power that night.

She would've lost herself in the pleasure, and back then she would not have been able to fuck and punish at the same time.

But it was evident that while Aemond's body wanted to give in to hers, his stubborn need for satisfaction…his need to be proven right, that she had indeed been more than fucking acquaintances with Dalton Greyjoy….he still held the ability to manage both activities.

"Was that so difficult, dōna riña," sweet girl , Aemond was now chuckling manically, leaving a trail of searing kisses along her chest and up the sweep of her neck, "now tell me…how many times."

For a moment, she thought she'd done it…succeeded, this carefully crafted torturous fucking might finally be over and done with…but she'd been wrong. She'd only admitted to part of the truth, not the whole of it and Aemond knew it. He'd let his left hand caress her cheek before titling her chin up to his lips, with a kiss far too soft to be believed, his right hand used the smooth tip of his cock to flick and drag against her clit.

Making Rhaena sob effectively, as Aemond smirked, swallowing the sound.

She couldn't take much more of this, her body was aching for a release that would not come, so she tried once again to pull free from her binds and-

THERE.

The leather straps of his patch were starting to give, but the hold was still too strong. All of this sexual frustration was only making her sob louder, when he finally pulled away from her to caress her damp curls away from her face, she decided to give in and admit to more, "fine! Fine, it was several kisses. But it was ONLY kisses!"

Before she could think to add more, he'd thrusted back into her with no warning, drawing a shredding moan from her throat as he held her close. Her legs finally wrapped around his waist instinctively as his body slid into place against her. She could hear all of his growling grunts in the crook of her neck, before he pulled himself up above her so his eye could lock onto hers as he fucked her brutally once again, " only kisses, hmmm. Several…and did he see you bare as well? How far has the cunt been allowed to kiss you?"

Rhaena felt as if her mind was scrambling, she was truly cock-drunk, his thrusts felt so heavenly all she wanted to do was beg for more. But she also knew, he'd only cut her pleasure short once she reached it again.

"Aemond, they were only kisses, our clothes remained on," she moaned as Aemond stroked her favoured angle several times, before slowing his body to a crawling stop.

She wanted to scream, throwing her head back once again.

"And did he feel you… touch you… caress you," with each growling word he spoke, his hands slid purposely along her waist and hips and down her thighs, making her cunt quiver around his cock.

Once again she pulled on her restraints, the leather giving just a bit more, if Aemond noticed, it seemed he longer cared. He just wanted her answers, his nose flaring as he breathed heavily. Grabbing her jaw, he leaned his forehead against hers, "how far did he go…how much access did you grant him…did you let him taste you."

"No!" She cried, "no, Aemond. We only kissed, just our lips. And compared to your kisses…Dalton's were sloppy and forgettable . He only groped me, he didn't caress me. It shouldn't matter, he's in my past. You are my current …my future. Besides, I could care less about the plethora of whores I'm sure you've fucked!"

"He felt you…your body…with his filthy unworthy hands. It's not the same." Aemond sneered, his eye wandering down to her lips once again and then down the rest of her body. Letting his free hand feel along her warm smooth skin yet again, as if he needed to touch her, as if to physically reclaim her in this moment somehow

In the lull of their tempered love making, Rhaena had been able to catch her breath enough to properly think, "it's the same fucking thing, if anything yours is worse! I never even fucked Dalton, I haven't even thought of him since I ended things with him! No one's ever done what you have to me or my body, no one's ever seen or touched every part of me as you have. I only burn for you . Ao sagon ñuha dārilaros, ñuha zaldrīzes, ñuha valzȳrys," You're my Prince, my dragon, my husband.

Rhaena had opted to punctuate her last sentence by speaking in Valyrian, hoping the addition of saying the words in their ancestral tongue would mean something to him.

It seemed to have worked as he began rocking up into her once again, lowering himself and claiming her lips roughly this time, kissing her so needily, with so much love and feeling, she felt her heart soar as he did, "daorys's mirre gaomagon skoros emā naejot nyke either. Daorys's mirre ūndegīon nyke hae emā iā jeldan naejot renigon nyke hae gaomā," no one's ever done what you have to me either. No one's ever seen me as you have or wanted to touch me as you do.

She'd gulped at the earnest tone in his voice, the look on his face, "kesrio syt mērī iā zaldrīzes kostagon drējī jorrāelagon iā zaldrīzes," because only a dragon can truly love a dragon.

"Ñuha dārilaros, ñuha zaldrīzes riña, ñuha byka ābrazȳrys," my Princess, my dragoness, my little wife , he punctuated each title with a kiss, to her lips, to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth, so tender she felt like melting. Finally with his lips pressed against her forehead, she heard smooth Valryian words flow from him in a warm whisper, "nyke gīmigon se gods vēttan ao syt nyke," I know the Gods made you for me.

Rhaena's heart threatened to explode then and there, she wasn't sure she'd ever heard him say something so… sweet before.

She'd certainly succeeded in ending her punishment

So much so that her previously irate dragon was now whispering sweet declarations to her.

To be fair…her arms were still bound above her…so in a way, this was all still very Aemond-like .

With these binds, she couldn't hold him as she wished to. Rhaena might've wondered if the look on her face or in her eyes gave her away. For Aemond only flashed her a smirk before simply giving her binding one good yank , pulling her wrists free. She supposed he might have noticed the hold was beginning to give…no matter how subtle she thought she'd been.

But she wouldn't dwell on it, wasting no time at all reaching for his face, caressing his scar before sinking her fingers into his hair as she'd wanted to more than an hour ago. He only chuckled as she pulled him back towards her lips, the free use of her arms had given her some composure, kissing him freely had calmed her truly.

Although…Rhaena's mind had swiveled back around to something he hadn't answered. Whores , she did not truly care either way, she had him now…and he didn't seem the swaying type. But he hadn't denied her claim just minutes ago, instead he'd said it wasn't the same .

Honestly she'd only guessed about the whores…assumed it to be true because most men were allowed such activities, most men learned their lovemaking skills from those places. But it wasn't as if Aemond had ever spoken of this beforehand…and truthfully, Rhaena had not cared to ask.

Though if there was ever time, now would be it.

"Aemond," she'd said his name as softly as a breath of air, he didn't open his eye, but he hummed and nodded lightly as recognition he'd heard her, "when I said you'd probably had many whores…you didn't really deny it…what I mean to say is…"

Rhaena was becoming tongue tied, it was a straightforward question. How many whores have you fucked? Simple as that, only she couldn't seem to word it together as such.

He only sighed, "the only whores I fucked...I fucked them because I wanted you. I wanted you so badly and I could not have you then. They were all distractions for me, poor substitutes. None of them satisfied me."

The look in his eye…the gaze leveled at her took her breath away. Made her heart pound rapidly, as her blood coursed an electric current throughout her body. If he'd been bedding whores to take his mind off of her…then his affections for her had started long before she'd assumed they had begun.

She wouldn't ask him now, she'd teased the question before, but one these days she truly would like to know when his feelings for her had actually begun.

The thought would fade from her mind as Aemond's comfortable pace had begun to increase, his hips rocking against hers more fervently creating a rather delectable obscene squelching sound. She was aching, but she still wanted so much from him.

"Aemond, please," she'd moaned deeply, pulling herself flush against him, burying face in the crook of his neck as he did the same, "I need you…I need you…"

"What do you need, sweet girl," he rasped, stroking her even deeper, faster, harder.

"I need you to let me cum," Rhaena gasped when she felt his thumb on her clit, helping her along.

Only then, there was a knock at their main chamber doors, a slightly muffled beating brash sound that foretold the interrupter was mostly likely a Knight. Whoever it was had not entered their chambers, they still sounded to be in the hallway.

But nonetheless it was the fact that they were here at all that seemed to enrage Aemond more than anything else.

"My Prince! Prince Aemond, the small council meeting is to commence soon," how Ser Erryk managed to yell through two sets of closed doors and yet sound so perceptively clear…Rhaena supposed it must be in a Knight's skillset.

Either way, she did not care for it now.

Aemond owed her an orgasm, she'd played his little game like the good faithful wife she was. He could not leave her like this just to attend his meeting. Not when he'd finally accepted the facts as they were, not when he was finally giving in to her wants and needs.

Mayhaps she was underplaying the importance of the small council, brushing it off as her own pleasure surely took precedence in her mind, currently. But she'd blame Aemond for that! She was much too stimulated, much too frustrated, she needed release …he owed her a release .

Damn Ser Erryk and his horrid timing, for Aemond was surely working at this very moment to give Rhaena her wanted release .

Aemond had pulled back enough for his deep indigo eye to scan her face, looking for something she couldn't truly name at that moment. But she didn't dwell on it, slipping her hands from his hair, she cupped his face in her hands, "Nyke kivigon naejot se gods, lo ao henujagon naejot udligon bona brōzagon, nyke'll ossēnagon ao nykēla," I swear to the Gods, if you leave to answer that call, I'll kill you myself.

It wasn't a true threat, but she certainly felt the blood of the dragon burning within her to make such a promise.

"Eman daor doubt bona ao would," I have no doubt that you would, Aemond's lips curved up most handsomely, truthfully it was a smirk that made her hips buck instantly, "yn iksan zūgagon istia umbagon syt nyke," but I am afraid you must wait for me.

In one fluid motion he quite literally stole a kiss from her before unsheathing himself from Rhaena's body. He was off the bed and on his feet in a matter of moments, pulling his breeches back on swiftly.

Rhaena felt frozen for over a minute, had he really just done that?

How could he!?

Slowly her eyes tracked his body, the swell of his bottom as he leaned over and pulled his black silken shirt over his incredibly toned pale back.

It wasn't fair, honestly, she wanted to wring his fucking neck for leaving her in this condition, but at the same time simply gazing at his back just made her want to run her hands along his heated skin. It was a dilemma to be sure, but all the same she had managed to pick her jaw up and pull her body into a seating position just as he was buttoning his black tunic.

"I-" Rhaena had opened her mouth and closed it, before starting again, "you're seriously leaving?"

The smirk visible from his side profile alone told her that he found this greatly amusing. And as he stepped around the room gathering his items, securing his leather fastenings, his belt, his dagger and finally his sword, only then did he make his way back over to her. Leaning over her, specifically entering her space, only to smile wickedly as he reached over her head to retrieve his eyepatch.

Groaning as she watched him brush his silky hair as he'd certainly ruined her styling with their recent behaviour , he simply tied half of it up and secured his patch on, afterwards. At this point, she figured he'd turn on his heel and leave. Clearly enjoying the upper hand he currently held over her, but she'd been wrong, in a casual stride, he made his way back over to her. Tilting her chin up to face him, her jaw was grinding now though, she wasn't all that fond of being left in such a condition .

"Stay here, wait for me," his low smooth voice only sent further tingling shivers down her spine, his sharply shaped lips were so close, she was actively fighting the urge to give in and kiss him as he only leaned closer and closer.

"Those meetings could take hours," Rhaena finally managed to grit from between her teeth, be strong, two can play this game! She was literally screaming to herself at this point.

"Then be patient, when I return, I'll take you however you wish," whether he knew Rhaena was actively avoiding his lips or not, she couldn't say, but in either case he'd opted to lean down to the right side of her neck and left her a searing love bite instead, before finally turning to leave.

What was she meant to do now?

☾

About an hour into waiting, Rhaena had begun to second guess her resolve. For clearly a stronger willed woman would not have waited in this situation, Baela certainly would not have.

Though if Rhaena was being honest…she couldn't imagine Jace ever getting away with something of this nature…and to be fair, she wasn't sure she wanted to imagine it. Jace may not have been her blood brother, but having spent ten years of her life growing up with him as her sibling…he certainly felt like it. The idea of him fucking her sister was not a thought she liked to delve into with any sort of detail…Targaryen blood or not, withstanding.

What mattered now was that Rhaena was bored.

In waiting for her dragon to return, Rhaena had elected to pass the time in various ways. She'd picked up several books…only to put each of them down after a few minutes each, for she couldn't seem to focus on any of them. Be it history, poetry or even one of her favoured romance novels…all she could think about was the raging need still aching from between her legs.

All she could think about was her Prince and the many faces he'd made, the jealousy he'd burned with, the feel and weight of him over top of her…and she could not stop thinking about the delicious burn of his hard length within her.

She wanted to be fucked.

A statement she was certain most of court would never expect the pristine Princess Of Flowers to ever utter or think, but she could blame her husband for that. Before Aemond, she'd never thought of sex in any sort of real capacity. She knew it was a necessary unavoidable part of life, but she also knew her duty as a Princess, as a noblewoman. Her risky kissing sessions with Dalton Greyjoy had been as far as she'd gone with any man. And even then she'd been sure to keep herself clothed and untouched. Rhaena had kept herself quite innocent and pure by all means.

Well…she'd certainly touched herself before, to varying degrees of success, but now…sex had become like some sort of addiction. And her beautiful Prince was the only balm for it, no one could please her like he did. Of that she was certain, no one would know how to fuck her as she liked. How as docile and sweet as she may have seemed, she truly keened to his rougher nature, his brutal need for her made their couplings so much more consuming than anything else.

It was a hard thing to explain…and so she'd rarely ever tried to. Though in moments like these, she did wish to speak to her sister on the matter. Baela had married two years prior, she had slightly more experience in this than Rhaena did. Of course, it had crossed her mind to possibly consult Helaena as well…but whether she felt more uncomfortable bringing up Aemond's carnal needs to his own very sweet sister…or trying to gauge married life from Helaena's experience with her forced match with Aegon.

Well, neither angle sounded too pleasant to be sure.

So instead Rhaena wrestled with herself, she laid in bed, bare and dishevelled, awaiting her dragon. In the fur blankets, she tossed and turned, having attempted to fall back to sleep and possibly take a rest to waste the time.

That hadn't worked either.

So in her last attempt to alleviate herself, she threw her furs off her body, she'd somehow grown far too hot, a true rarity when Aemond wasn't around . She'd spread her legs with one thought in mind, please yourself!

Desperate times called for desperate measures, or if she was being honest with herself, when it came to her sexual wants she indeed behaved rather spoiled in those matters, she very rarely had any patience. Or maybe it was the way Aemond had teased her this morning that had caused this lack of patience, but either way she wanted her release now and she aimed to capture it.

Only…it'd been three moons since Rhaena had touched herself in this way…Aemond had occasionally teased her by asking she please herself in front of him , but it wasn't as if he could ever wait long enough for her to finish herself off. Whether he interrupted her with his own fingers, or his tongue, or his eager cock…she'd never need work herself up to completion.

So now, this would be the first real attempt in the last three moons where Rhaena would attempt this. She tried to work herself up, feeling and squeezing her breasts tenderly, she hadn't noticed all that much when Aemond had done this earlier…but they did feel slightly sore now. Even gently tugging on her nipples elicited a sore ache.

Moving on from that, she slid one hand down her stomach, over her damp silver thatch of curls, and finally down between her legs. She started with her index finger, letting it circle and message her sensitive little bud in the way she'd grown to love, in the same way Aemond always managed to make her instantly squirm.

Only, when she did it…it didn't feel nearly as good. There was no surging pleasure, no wave of fire in her blood…it just was.

She felt numb to it.

But Rhaena would persevere, moving her hand further, she let her thumb continue the motion as she slid her index finger between her wet folds and into her heated core. She'd gasped at the intruding feeling, but like before, Rhaena could not manage to enjoy herself.

It was irritating!

She even squeezed her eyes shut, slipping another finger inside herself as she tried to think. Her mind immediately imagining Aemond smirking over her, she tried to will her mind into believing that these were his fingers inside if her, maybe then she'd find enjoyment in this.

But still nothing as she massaged her clit, rubbing and flicking in tandem with her own curling fingers…it did nothing for her. Her fingers simply weren't his, they weren't large enough or long enough, or skilled enough.

Or maybe none of the physical attributes mattered at all…maybe it just had to be him, she needed him or none of this mattered.

With a droning groan, she whined and pouted in defeat, letting her head collapse against the pillows as her eyes slowly opened.

"Now isn't this a lovely sight," Aemond's velvety smooth voice penetrated her thoughts.

Quickly her eyes snapped up and open, searching for the source of the sound, where she found her dragon, all clad in black leaning casually in the door frame of their bed chambers. He certainly filled the space, with his arms crossed as his eye very clearly lingered on her spread legs. The look on his face, the faint grin on his lips, it could be described as looking like a pure predator eyeing his next meal.

It made Rhaena's cheeks burn, the attention was all too much all of a sudden, as if he hadn't already seen and intimately kissed every inch of her before now. She quickly pulled her fingers from herself and snapped her legs shut.

There was a fire burning in the common room of their chambers behind him, making his pale hair flicker with a deep orange glow.

He was a sight to be sure, everyday she wondered how any of the Ladies of court could so adamantly claim that he wasn't attractive.

Clearly they'd been blind.

Or maybe Rhaena had an acquired taste…but if that was so, she was glad her taste had mutual feelings for her.

Aemond closed the door soundly behind him, before he slowly sauntered over to her, that wicked smirk on his lips again, "my my Princess, were you attempting to please yourself without me?"

"Clearly it was not working," Rhaena nearly pouted, hoping her tone wasn't too biting though it probably was.

He only clicked his at tongue her though, "it didn't seem that way from where I stood,"

"Well rest assured, dear husband, looks may be deceiving," she pursed her lips. She was happy to see him…but she was still irritated with him for leaving her alone for nearly two hours.

When he made to move over to their bed, he purposely sat so close to her, she had to curl her legs up for him to sit where he'd chosen to in front of her. He reached over and tenderly cupped her right bosom, just because he could, just because he desired to. But there it was, she was indeed sore. How she hadn't noticed it earlier, she could not say. But nothing he'd done earlier would have caused this…it had to have been something else.

Rhaena would not get to dwell on it though, as his hand left her chest and instead landed softly on her cheek, where his eye flickered from focusing on her lips to her eyes and then her lips again, "still angry with me, hmm."

" Anger isn't the word, but I'm not particularly happy," Rhaena sighed, placing her own hand over his on her cheek.

Wait, no, you're annoyed with him! She remembered, quickly dropping her hand to make a point.

Aemond chuckled at that, "hmm, well you won't like this either then,"

Rhaena didn't ask, it seemed she didn't need to, not when her furrowed brows and dipping lips did that for her.

"During the small council…some decisions were made. Our posting in Dragonstone is to officially begin, by the end of this week, in fact," he spoke rather matter-of-factly, but his tone remained soft, "with all of the rebellions that have been squashed, many Lords will be travelling between Dragonstone and here. I am to start court hearings and to sit on petitions starting today. For the dignitaries who can not journey here and make their ways to Dragonstone as the closer outpost. I'm to fly there with your father today,"

"What!?" Rhaena nearly spat.

But only he bit back a grin, remaining with his calm tone, "only for the day, we'll return in the evening."

Now she knew a look of shock had befallen her features, but she couldn't exactly erase it.

His words from earlier were still blaring in her mind.

'be patient, when I return, I'll take you however you wish.'

"Aemond," Rhaena spluttered, the fact of the matter was she had no qualms over him performing this duty, she just selfishly wanted what she was promised…and she could admit it was selfish to a degree. But in this moment she could not bring herself to dwell on whether it was proper and dignified or not, "Aemond, you promised to fuck me."

It was indeed crass wording, but she was beginning to unravel at the horror of him leaving her unsatisfied yet again.

At that Aemond only sneaked his other arm around her waist and pulled her against him, nuzzling his face against her neck, breathing her in. It was a losing battle she was fighting, she didn't wish to falter, but in this embrace she couldn't help but reciprocate his affection. Allowing her arms to fall over his shoulders, wrapping herself tightly around him as her chin rested in the crook of his neck.

"It sounds far too precious when you say it," she could feel his chuckle reverberate against her skin as he spoke softly to her, "but, I know I did. It'll just have to wait. Your father waits for me, and I'd rather this not be a day where he feels the need to pull Dark Sister on me."

She'd only scoffed at his jest, but kept her hold on him all the same. Drowning herself in his citrusy cedar wood scent.

"Of course, I'm certain you could come as well," he mused against her, "I'd keep my word, give you your pleasure atop Vhagar."

Wildly enough she'd nearly considered the offer, until she really thought of what he was offering. At which point her eyes widened.

"I…what…no!? With my father literally flying in the sky beside us, I think not," she exclaimed dramatically. The true horror of the idea was beginning to set in and she could not help the shiver that took her over.

Aemond, for his part, only began to laugh, "you don't usually care who hears us," he pulled back just enough to see her face, with whatever expression she'd managed only seemed to add further amusement for him.

"There's a very clear difference between being heard…and being seen. Much less by one's father, much less by MY father," Rhaena rambled animatedly, she hadn't dwelled on the comforting way his fingers twirled and played with her soft hair, "besides for a man who wishes to keep Dark Sister sheathed away, this idea of yours would not help that."

At that her dragon only held her gaze, his smile fading into something nearly far too soft and sentimental, before he hardened it. Nudging his nose against hers, he smoothly titled his face and stole yet another soul sucking kiss from her, it lasted only for a moment. And then he simply nodded, "very well, then I'll see you when I return."

With a final press of his lips to her forehead, he released her and made for the door.

"Am I to wait naked and wanting in this bed for you then too," Rhaena's comment was made purely out of sarcasm, but the heated darkness in his eye suggested he'd accept such an offer.

"Just keep away from the Greyjoy fuck, and I'll see you when I return," his brows quirked fondly at her before he exited their bed chambers and then shared rooms altogether.

It seemed Rhaena had the day to herself, she'd simply have to put her mind elsewhere and try her best not to think of sex.

She could do that.

☾

Not long after watching Vhagar and Caraxes fly into the distance, beyond the horizon, Rhaena pulled herself from their bed and summoned a bath to be prepared for her.

She soaked herself in the steaming scented water for nearly an hour, before she dried herself off, moisturized her skin and had her ladies maids dress her in a fresh gown. It was a pale lilac gown, with lace trimmings along her shoulders, her bodice and her waist. With shimmering Amethyst gems spread throughout, with neat swirling dragons hidden in the floral designs.

Her curls were re-styled loosely down her back, pinned away from her face with only a few left to frame her face. She donned her favoured Valyrian steel necklace along with drooping tear-drop Amethyst Crystal earrings.

Once she was presentable she went to visit her sister. Dismissing her maids, as she walked the halls with Ser Erryk. She might've chatted his ear off with details from a book she'd read the other day, but Ser Erryk was always good company, and great when it came to small talk.

When she arrived at Baela's chambers, Ser Erryk knocked and announced her presence for her, then took his place by the door and stood guard as Rhaena made her way in.

The common area of the chambers were empty, but Rhaena could hear Baela call for her from her bed chambers. Their rooms were quite similar to Aemond and Rhaena's, only these felt far more Baela-like . Harder toned Black and Reds in the decor, with mounted decorated shields on the walls, painted legendary dragons upon each of them.

With bright warm sunlight flooding the room, Rhaena felt positively calm and cozy in this space.

Stepping into Baela's bed chambers she found her sister pacing the room as she burped her son with gentle pats on the babe's back. She must have only recently fed him, for once Aethan let out a small little gurgle, he looked to be his usual happy contented self.

Rhaena recalled the day her little nephew was born, an intense labour that took nearly ten hours. Baela had spent the day cursing and screaming at everyone, save for Rhaena herself. Baela had thrown several things at Jace, screaming the words 'you did this to me!' quite adamantly. Jace might've taken the time to laugh, only he had to focus on dodging the many books and cups Baela hurled in his direction. She was a true dragon then, full of fire and irate rage.

Mother had thought it quite funny, and later when father heard about it he'd laughed heartily as well.

But the moment Aethan entered the world, screaming and crying in full health. Baela had never beamed more, Jace as well. Nursemaids were at the ready, but Baela had all but bit their heads off with the fact that she would indeed be nursing her own child. Aethan Velaryon was the blood of the dragon, and so he would need true dragon's milk to grow big and strong.

Or something along those lines.

Rhaena herself figured when her time came, she'd feel much the same way about it. She knew it to be common practice for women of nobility like themselves to allow nursemaids to feed and all but raise their children for them. But that was not truly the Targaryen way, as Rhaena knew it, most Targaryen women kept their babes close and nursed them themselves. At least those were the examples of Targaryen women Rhaena knew of, her birth mother Laena had, her current mother Rhaenyra had, and even grandmother Rhaenys said she'd done the same herself.

In either case, Rhaena was certain her very devout cultured husband would hate to have his very purebred Valyrian babe nursed by anyone other than Rhaena herself. Which was a thought that made her smile just a bit.

"And what brings you by, dear sister," Baela's voice drifted easily, cutting through Rhaena's own thoughts as she watched her sister seat herself on the edge of her own bed.

"Good afternoon to you as well," Rhaena smiled, watching as her little nephew immediately began to twist and wriggle in his mother's hold just because he heard Rhaena's voice. Rhaena took that as her sign to sit beside Baela, without a word, Baela giggled at the eagerness in her son's desire to be held by his aunt.

Once she'd taken her nephew from her sister, she pressed a kiss against his soft chocolate brown curls before she lifted him up to her face. Making him giggle sweetly as she nudged her nose against his, pressing more kisses against his pudgy cheeks. He was so soft and little, happily bouncing in her arms. Aethan really did remind Rhaena of her little brother Vis when he'd been this age. Apart from Aethan's clear inheritance of Jace's brown coloured hair, Rhaena was most certain a resemblance could be seen.

He truly was the perfect mix of Baela and Jace. His little face held so much of Baela in it, from his pale violet eyes to his little rounded nose. Even the shape of his face held a closer resemblance to Baela's own than Jace's. But it was in his little smile, where Rhaena was certain Jace's genes shined through. So cheeky and excitable, it screamed of Jace's own bright grins. With his pale cinnamon brown skin, and soft brown curls. Rhaena was not sure how Baela ever bared to put him down or part with him, even for just a moment.

He was just far too precious.

Baela herself, had stood to readjust her breasts back into her deep burgundy gown, "I'm sure you've come for more than a simple visit, sister," her look said it all, she'd always been able to see right through Rhaena no matter the facade she wore.

Cuddling Aethan close in her arms, cooing at him for just a bit before she finally sighed a smile, "okay…okay, fine, it's about… married life ."

"Ooooo and what has Aemond done," Baela all but eagerly jumped, scuttling back over to the bed to take Aethan from Rhaena's arms so she could place him in his bassinet. He'd whined for only a few minutes, but once Baela kissed him and placed his favourite Meraxes stuffy in his arms…he'd happily forgotten about his woes. Once she was sure her babe no longer required her immediate attention, she sprung herself back onto the bed and crossed her legs enthusiastically, "Jace shouldn't be back for at least an hour, I'll call for tea and you will tell me everything!"

And just like that Rhaena found herself explaining the events of this morning to her sister over tea and pastries. They'd resituated themselves in the common era, sat amongst the sofas and chaise lounges. With Aethan's bassinet moved closely beside them.

When the tea had finally arrived, they were informed Helaena would be joining them shortly after dropping her twins off for their lessons. It was because of that, that Rhaena hoped to move this topic along speedily.

Before sweet Helaena could risk walking in on a conversation solely based on describing her younger brother's fucking habits .

"Oh you sweet summer child," Baela had laughed leaning back in her seat with a lemon tart in hand.

"We were literally born in the Spring," Rhaena deadpanned, knowing exactly what her sister meant, but choosing not to rise to it.

Baela only rolled her eyes and continued to chuckle as she sipped her spiced tea, "the point remains, you actually choked ! An hour of intense lovemaking and you cowed to his questioning, he had no need to know about your stint with Dalton."

"It was more than simple lovemaking ," Rhaena's cheeks burned, she'd already explained herself but the memory of those events still made her body quake, "it lasted for more than an hour, it was nearly two! And you can't say it like that, you have no idea how skilled he is…or how… large . There was no way to succeed in that position," she pouted, quickly stuffing several custard tarts into her mouth.

But Baela's widened eyes told her she'd already said too much.

"Skilled and large, is he?" Baela smirked, her violet eyes twinkled as she squinted knowingly, edging towards the answer she wanted her younger sister to admit to.

"Baela, stop," Rhaena whined, her cheeks burning something fierce, she didn't have to see herself in the mirror to know they must've shifted and now burned a deep rosy tone.

"He's massive isn't he! I knew it, that dramatic strut he always does-" Baela grinned,

Rhaena nearly wanted to sink into the sofa she was seated on, choking out, "okay! Yes it is, his cock is huge, now can we focus on the issue at hand…"

"To be fair I may have forgotten the issue entirely," Baela giggled, leaning back in her seat, "I mean I have always thought Jace's cock to be of a decent size, but I would not go as far as to call it massive . It feels incredible and I can't actually fit it into my mouth, so it is of a size ."

For a split second the image of Baela on her knees for Jace flashed into Rhaena's mind, just as quickly she tried to shake the image away, "I don't think I'm too keen on hearing about Jace's cock, Baels"

At that Baela threw a pillow at Rhaena's, but she was able to dodge the projectile. The two girls bursting into a fit of giggles, soon enough Rhaena moved to sit beside her sister. Placing her tea cup on the small table in front of them, before she turned to face her, "but truly, sister, you must tell me. What do you do when Jace is being less than…favourable?"

"I can’t say Jace has ever edged me along as such…at least not successfully, and certainly not for an hour’s length of time. But it's not a science, dear sister. You have options, you could always simply deny him sex later, make a game of it. A punishment ," Baela had said it so nonchalantly it nearly sounded like a jest, shrugging her shoulders as if it was the most simple solution of all, "you've done it before, haven't you? Like that time you bound him to your bed, just retake the control. Or get revenge , we already know how he loves to worship you."

It was surely not that simple.

Rhaena's brows furrowed as she crossed her arms, "yes well…I cannot simply deny him. It’s been so much harder lately, I can’t explain it…but it seems all I ever want is to be fucked by him. Besides, I'm not entirely certain how I even managed to successfully punish him before. I'm sure I caught him in a very oddly submissive mood. The control in this relationship…it's more like a pendulum, it sways, sometimes I'm in possession of it and sometimes he is."

Placing a hand on her sister's shoulder, Baela's lips spread into another smart smirk, "dear sister, that sounds remarkably similar to a symptom I had when I was-”

“I’m not…at least I don’t think I am,” Rhaena quickly cut her off, it was by reflex, but if Baela’s only inkling that Rhaena was with child was the fact that she was craving her husbands physical company more than ever…then it didn’t seem like enough proof.

Baela only raised her hands in defeat, “in either case, you’re thinking too hard on this matter. You’re doing that hyper-focus thing again. It’s just sex, and you’re only stressed over it because he left you unsatisfied. When he returns this evening, pounce on him. Aemond is only obsessed with you, and men are almost always in the mood anyhow. I'm certain you can manage. Just try not to get hypnotized by any pretty words or his massive cock, and you can do it."

Rhaena had no real response for…well any of that, folding her lips before she bit back a smile.

It was then that Helaena knocked and entered the room, "who's massive cock is so hypnotizing?"

Oh Gods.

As Helaena sat across from them, Baela made to call for a fresh pot of tea, but as she passed by Helaena, she spoke up brightly, "we're just discussing our husbands appendages ."

"Oh!" Helaena's sweet voice peaked in a high tone, "then you're speaking of Aemond's,"

Oh GODS.

Quickly Rhaena sat up straight, worry-lines painting her face, "we don't have to continue speaking on such things…"

How and why did Helaena know of Aemond's cock size?

And why was she comfortable speaking about it?

"No, it sounds fun! I've personally always thought Aegon's to be a bit left leaning, a decent size I suppose…but it bends ," she'd said it so matter-of-factly, using her index finger as a prop for her description, bending it over to show both girls what she'd meant. Baela was in bits over it, half bent over at the idea of their ever flirty cousin sporting a rather bent cock.

Rhaena herself choked back a giggle as well, and that's when Helaena joined in their giggles, "is that not normal?" She smiled innocently.

But Baela beat Rhaena to it, "NO! GODS, I can't wait to rub this in his face! All his mockery about Jace's cock and his ability to please when we were to wed, all the while-"

"Baels! You can't," Rhaena snickered but oh how she tried to sound reprimanding, "it's a very private part of his body, you can't go around announcing your knowledge of it to him or anyone else,"

"Oh no, this is information I plan to keep at the ready and use when necessary. Aegon and his crooked cock, and your husband, with his incredibly massive one. How does it actually fit anywhere?" Baela laughed even harder, her cheeks were a deep rosy shade as well now.

Helaena really seemed to beam in their company, "I'd assume it fits quite well, he was never happy when he used to return from the Street Of Silk . But since he's married you, Rhaena, and been only with you. He seems far more satisfied, far more happy."

When Rhaena initially came for marital advice…this was not what she thought she'd receive.

Smiling softly, she couldn't help but enjoy the warmth of the room.

In another world, they wouldn't have been able to sit together like this, like the sisters and cousins that they were. They would not have been allowed such a familial relationship.

"Rhae, my dear. The Gods have clearly blessed you with one magical pussy," Baela's bright smile was so infectious, Rhaena couldn't help but smile wider herself.

It was moments like these that made her glad they'd succeeded in thwarting the war that could have been.

That is until she felt her stomach flip, nausea wracking through her body in an instant…and in a matter of seconds she was throwing up the contents of their tea and pastries.

☾

All the while the words sounded muddled, muffled and gargled as if Rhaena sat below a pool of crystal clear water.

"It would seem Princess Rhaena is two, possibly three moons along," Maester Gerardys nodded towards Rhaena's mother, Queen Rhaenyra and her Good-mother, former-Queen Alicent.

Oh Gods.

Baela had been right!

"She is indeed with child," he concluded with a warm smile, collecting his equipment, vials and alike. Her mother and Good-mother gave him thanks before he bowed accordingly as he exited the room.

Baela and Helaena stood on either side of Rhaena, holding both her hands for both moral and physical support. Baela was giddy, all smiles and nearly jumping at the news of being correct in her assumption and at the fact that she would soon become an aunt. Helaena's joy was far more tempered and gentle, she seemed to be waiting to read the room or waiting for Rhaena's own response to gauge her own.

And Rhaena…well she wasn't sure how to feel.

She was excited…happy…swelling with pride and joy. She loved children, she loved little babes…and she was truly excited to have one of her own. One created from love, one that would be both hers and Aemond’s.

She had wanted this.

But somehow she was still…shocked.

She remembered feeling quite ill a few moons ago, on the flight over to King’s Landing. She could recall her breasts feeling sore this morning…and she was being honest with herself…they’d been sore nearly two weeks prior as well.

And then she was ill.

And only now was it obvious to all that she was with child.

If she was already two or three moons along…she'd been carrying this child the whole time she’d been in the Red Keep.

If she tried to match back the math of it all…there was a strong possibility that Aemond could have impregnated her as far back as during the moon they'd been engaged or possibly even their wedding night.

The two older women exchanged knowing looks, lips threatening to turn upwards beyond just motherly smiles. All while Rhaena watched them with a still rather stunned expression painted on her face. She wasn't truly focused on them at the moment.

The echoing words 'she is indeed with child' just kept ringing in her ears.

It had finally happened.

He’d officially fucked a child into her.

This truly was all Aemond's doing.

Well of course it was.

But of course she was with child, with the amount of times they'd made love regularly, how could she not be by now.

It was nearly idiotic of her to even think a Maester necessary at all. The signs should've been enough…how did she miss the signs.

Well either way, she supposed it was good to be certain now.

"My darling daughter, how tremendous!," Rhaenyra had brought her into a warm motherly embrace, much like she usually did. The honey jasmine scent that always coated her aunt made her feel as cozy as she had when she was still a child. Though Rhaenyra had added a cheeky whisper, "I do believe we were all expecting this one, given how often you and Aemond seem to always disappear together."

The comment had made Rhaena's cheeks burn a rosy pink against her tawny skin, true as it was, the naive part of Rhaena had hoped her mother hadn't truly noticed. For if her mother knew it…then her father most likely noticed it as well.

And apart from that Wedding day situation…Rhaena hoped to have become far more discreet.

But if they hadn’t been as discreet as she thought they were…and her father did know…truly a mortifying thought. .

Rhaena bit her lip nervously smoothing the skirts of her gown, tucking a stray silver curl behind her ear. She desperately hoped her nerves were not as plain on her face as she felt them all throughout her.

As her mother pulled away, her Good-mother stepped in to embrace her as well, the now widowed Lady Alicent smiled brightly, "I'm so very happy for you both, sweet girl. I'm certain Aemond will find this news quite joyful."

Aemond .

Yes…Aemond, her husband Aemond, yes, right...she had to tell him.

And to think she had originally planned on enacting her punishment or revenge this evening…now she'd have shove those bittering feelings aside in light of this news.

For surely she couldn't ask her mothers to do this for her.

"Certainly, my husband…I'm so very eager to share this wonderful news," Rhaena smiled primly, "would it be quite alright if I retired to my chambers for a bit, I'm just a tad bit tired," both mothers nodded eagerly.

So with slight courtesies, Rhaena left on deft feet.

She wanted to kill him.

She also wanted to run and jump into his arms and kiss him soundly, so clearly her head was a mix of jumbled up feelings and thoughts.

"Rhae!" Baela called out after her, running up to her, she pulled Rhaena into a tight hug, "I am very happy and excited for you, and you should be too! I know how much you've wanted this, even if you haven't been as loud about it as I was when I heard my news. But I do understand, this news isn't all joy and happiness, and should you find any part of this too overwhelming or frightening…you will come to me, yes? For I had those feelings too, I know what fears may form."

Rhaena lingered on her elder sister's words for only a moment before she realized what fears she'd been implying.

And truth be told those thoughts hadn't wormed their way into her mind as of yet, but they were beginning to now..

Their birth mother had died trying to birth her last child. So had their aunt Aemma, and grandmother Alyssa…so many Targaryen women had died this way.

Childbirth was a frightening business, and Rhaena did not wish to perish from it.

But Rhaena didn't wish to dwell on that dark corner of her mind just yet, as Baela had mentioned…she had wanted this.

And she was happy.

She couldn't entirely deny the warmth that had filled her with this knowledge that now...she was with child.

Aemond's child.

A little babe that would be from both of them. Loved and cherished with everything they had. She hoped for a little boy, she imagined floppy loose curls much like Luke had as a child, only they'd be silver or a pale milky blonde like Aemond's own. She imagined shades of violet eyes or maybe even pale indigo ones. Chubby cheeks but still angular like his father's.

She could see him so clearly, running after them on tiny little chubby legs. Happily strapped to Aemond as he would take their son on flights atop Vhagar.

It would seem the good clearly outweighed the bad.

And she could look at it another way, for as apprehensive as her father may have been about wedding her to Aemond, he knew her happiness outweighed his concerns. And she knew once she brought forth his first grandchild, he'd be nothing but happy and proud.

There would be many positives with the birth of this babe.

So Rhaena would focus on them.

Hugging her sister back, she stayed in the warm embrace, basking in the safety she felt from her before she softly sighed, "thank you, sister."

☾

That evening Rhaena took supper with the rest of her family. Baela spent the entire meal snickering whenever Aegon was mentioned and it only increased when he finally sat down to join them. She kept making subtle jabs at him, which definitely gave her the desired effect she wanted when he grew more irritated.

But it would be thanks to her whispering the words crooked cock aloud, that was when Rhaena couldn't help but join in on the muffled laughter as well. Thankfully neither of the mothers had heard them or at least they were pretending not to have, immersed in their own conversation. All while Jace and Luke kept leaning in to try and understand the joke.

Joff had caught wind of it and all but nearly yelled out, "who has a crooked cock!?"

Jace had thankfully managed to clap a hand over his younger brother's mouth just in time to muffle out the cock part of his question, but by then Baela and Rhaena had erupted in a fit of laughter.

By the end of their meal, Aegon sunk deeper into his chair glaring at both sisters, whispering on about how “the shape doesn’t matter, it’s all about the man’s skilled abilities with it

The remark only made Rhaena and Baela laugh harder, Helaena had even giggled at his response.

It was truly a mess.

After supper, Rhaena had taken to playing with her younger brothers, Aeggie and Vis. She hadn't seen them for most of the day, and seeing how excited they were to play Conquerors with her, she knew that was a mistake that needed to be rectified. In all honesty she'd missed her brothers, Aeggie's dramatic stories that were nothing but the most outlandish tales. She missed Vis' little gleeful giggles that were just about the cutest sound she'd ever known. They were playing in Rhaenyra's Queen chambers, and soon enough Joff had found his way in. Barreling over, claiming he wished to be Orys Baratheon in their game.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera had joined them later as well, while Helaena sat with little Aethan and Maelor as they were still too young to join the larger kids just yet. Baela and Jace had sat in another called council meeting that evening, it wasn't a long one. But by the time they'd returned, all the children had been lying on the floor exhausted, huddled around Rhaena as if she was the sole core of warmth that all the babes wished to cuddle into. Vis had literally crawled on top of her, just to lay his little head on her chest, his words when he'd done that had been "it's my spot! I called it!"

Rhaena had only giggled, patting her little brothers back, for she couldn't possibly deny his impassioned cry. Aeggie curled himself in beside her, while Joff, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera had curled in on her other side.

"How you manage to work them all around your little finger, I'll never know," Rhaenyra smiled at the sight of nearly all her children together in one place, "come little ones, it's time for bed."

She was met with a chorus of little whines and cries, but ultimately they would listen once she gave them a hint of her Queenly Stoney gaze. It seemed nothing pressing had occurred this night, as Rhaenyra picked up little Vis, and held Aeggie's hand to lead them towards their chambers. Helaena would hand Aethan to Jace, as she too led her children out of the rooms.

As Rhaena straightened her attire out, and checked to see if her hair had been too mussed, she heard two very distincts roars in the distance.

One that shrieked and chittered, piercing and chilling, she'd known that sound like her deepest memories, a sound she'd heard her entire life, her entire childhood…it was Caraxes, which meant her father was inbound.

The other sound had been a far deeper rumble, mythical and striking, it shredded the sound waves around her. She knew this sound as well of course…for in a way it had always reminded her of home, of Pentos…of the ocean…of her birth mother. But now it held all new memories, mixed in with the old, it spoke of heightened feelings and burning pleasure…the sound that could only speak for Vhagar.

And her husband.

They'd flown over The Keep, she could see them from the main halls arched windows.

They'd be here soon enough…something that made Rhaena's heart beat rapidly within her chest.

Maybe she could prologue the moment, or she could try to. Without truly thinking of a plan, Rhaena found her legs moving once again, she found herself running to the library. Itching to hide away in the dark shaded room full of books and scrolls, she could bury her nose in a book and calm herself enough to think clearly.

So did just that, she pulled several books from the shelves and plopped herself down on her favourite chaise lounge chair that faced the burning hearth. She peacefully turned the pages on one of her favourite poetry works, however long she'd spent there she could not say.

But her attention had snapped up when she heard the library door slam open, with rather large agitating steps, furiously harsh clicking boots on stone tiles floors.

"Everyone out!" He roared, forcing every other Maester, servant or Lord to bolt from the area.

Her dragon had found her.

"Nyke gīmigon ao sagon isse kesīr, zaldrītsos!" I know you're in here, little dragon, he called out from the other end of the library. Rhaena's body stilled at the sound, his menacing yet smooth tone carried an edge, and it was that edge that reluctant as she was to acknowledge it now…made her blood sing with excitement.

It aroused her.

He was stalking the winding paths of the bookshelves like a truly irate dragon, he knew exactly where she'd be and Rhaena knew it as well. She wasn't going to run or anything so dramatic, she merely waited, keeping her book open, pretending as if she could possibly remember what line she'd been reading to begin with.

She heard the moment his steps halted, she could see his form standing right before her from the underline of her book.

Stand your ground , she muttered in her head.

You've done it before, what's different about it now.

She could hear his heavy breathing, she didn't need to glance up at him to see the sneering look he most likely had on his face.

Though…to be fair, she couldn't say she understood why he'd had it. He had nothing to be upset about, surely he wasn't truly upset that she hadn't spent the last few hours waiting naked and ready for him in their bed.

She'd only made a jest then and she was certain he knew that.

And he couldn't possibly still be upset over Dalton Greyjoy's comments.

Could he…no…well…maybe…but no.

Her brows had furrowed deeply at a possible realization, maybe something occurred on Dragonstone with her father?

He did spend nearly the entire day alone with Daemon Targaryen, with no other family member present, it's honestly a miracle they both managed to return at all. Knowing them, they probably spent the day arguing…that was for certain.

But if he was upset over that…it wasn't her doing that put him in that situation.

And seeing how he'd left her without what she wanted…well maybe she could toy with him just a bit.

So Rhaena sighed softly, placing the book in her hands down on her lap, tilting her head up and gazing at him with an annoyingly sweet innocent expression.

Just to get under his skin…just because she could.

And she'd been right of course, his face held a scowl and it only deepened at the sight of her smile. He twisted his lips before he gritted out the words, "why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm certainly doing a rather terrible job of that, if you found me so quickly," she kept her voice light and pretty, something she knew would only annoy him further, "clearly I'm not avoiding you, my love."

"Then why…weren't you in our chambers? It's late," he all but growled, stepping closer. He was clearly building up to something, but for once Rhaena…couldn't be sure what he was building up to.

So she sat up, straightening her shoulders, "it's not that late, so I'm perfectly fine to spend my time here,"

"It's not safe ," he bit off.

"Aemond-" Rhaena nearly rolled her eyes with a sigh, "Ser Erryk is just outside those doors, I'm fine."

As far as she knew, Maegor's tunnels did reach the royal library…or did they…

Aemond moved several steps closer, towering over her, his arms placed on either side of her, his hands gripping into the cushioned back of her lounge chair. If he wanted her complete unadulterated attention, then he certainly had it now.

"Just because fucking Criston Cole is dead does not mean my grandfather doesn't have more rats at his command, this castle isn't safe, you and I both know there are ways to sneek in to almost every room of importance," he gritted in a low voice, his jaw was clenched so tightly, she could see his jaw muscles tightly flexing, "especially now…especially in your… condition ."

Oh fucking Gods.

Well his rage was most justified now.

In fact it was quite justified otherwise, seeing as Rhaena had done her best not to think about Criston Cole or any other possible plots Otto Hightower might be crafting away in Old Town.

But… condition …he knew!?

Who told him!?

Laying her head back against the lounge back, she peered up into his eye, "...who told you?" Her voice had come out as little more than a gasping whisper.

"It should have been you," Aemond sneered, "instead I heard it from the eager pup Lucerys in the training yard."

Fuck fuck, fucking hells.

And who told Luke?! Rhaena certainly hadn't…if she knew Baela, and she knew her sister better than anyone, then she'd probably let the news slip to Jace and from Jace to Luke was an easy line probability.

Knowing Luke, her little wholesome brother, he probably thought he was simply congratulating his uncle…little did he know.

Even so, Rhaena knew she could not cow so easily, "well...I'm certain Luke meant well, though I wish he'd at least waited a day before congratulating you."

Aemond scoffed at that.

But Rhaena remained undeterred, "in either case, if Luke found you in the training yard…before you entered the castle…I would have never reached you with the news first. Now if you had returned sooner-"

"That was out of my hands," he quickly responded, beginning to back off, he stepped around her, his gaze drowning in the hearth for a moment before he narrowed it back on her.

With a heavy sigh, she crossed her arms and levelled her own gaze at him, "this was out of my hands as well then, sweet husband."

He hadn't responded to that, only grunting at her use of the words sweet husband. Though it wasn't lost on her, the way he'd already begun stepping towards her.

Slowly uncrossing her arms as his eye traced the area of her stomach, he kneeled himself down before her, cautiously placing his hand upon her belly.

As if he thought she'd bite him, bark at him not to touch her or something. Two things she would of course never do, but he was always so cautious…seemingly waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

So when she didn't flinch or edge away from him, when she all but leaned into his soft touch, she watched as his hardened expression softened. His eye gazing upon her stomach so tenderly, a true sense of awe washing over him even though her belly hadn't exactly begun to show as of yet. All the while grumbling about how he wished he'd been present to hear the news when she had .

Now that seemed more inline with the man she knew she married.

All the same, she couldn't help but smile at him genuinely. All of the little idiosyncrasies that made her Prince who he was…even in this moment, it really made it rather difficult to remain annoyed with him.

How managed to look so fearsome while simultaneously acting like a kicked puppy , Rhaena couldn't say. But it was both incredibly infuriating while also being rather endearing all at once.

A sentiment she'd never be able to explain to anyone else.

Save for maybe her mother, the fact that Rhaena had chosen to wed a man who was very much like her own father…Rhaenyra might be the only one in the world who could understand the duality of a man like this.

The intoxicating edge, the biting kind of all-consuming love one could only receive from a Targaryen man.

Flexing her fingers and then clenching, whatever she initially planned on doing or saying this evening had slipped from her mind completely. She lost that fight now in the face of Aemond's tenderness.

Truthfully, all of the insignificant pettiness paled in comparison to the fact that she now had a child growing within her. And now they both knew it…there was a little babe forming inside of her.

Their little babe.

So ultimately, she'd sighed and simply placed her hand over his against her stomach.

Catching his eye almost immediately, making her heart soften even more. The deep indigo hue of his eye was too dark to truly see in the dim light of the library, but his expression was enough to make her want to curl up in his arms, rest in his embrace and simply breathe him in.

"You were ill…nearly two moons ago, the day we flew to the Keep,” his low muttering voice had pulled from her whatever daydreaming haze she’d entered, his eye had lowered, his focus returning to her stomach, “the maesters should have been able to tell by then...that you were already with child."

"I suppose it was too early to tell…remember, the tests then were inconclusive. But I supposed it does not really matter. We know for certain now," she'd spoken softly, her free hand reaching for his cheek. As if she felt the need to reassure him and maybe she did. His expression read between the lines of utter annoyance and delicate happiness…but try as she might to read the language that she often thought herself quite fluent in…in this moment it just seemed safer to ask him. Caressing her thumb along his scarred cheek, she bit her lip slightly before speaking, “yn iksā biare, kessa? ao ȳdra daor jurnegon ziry," but you are happy, yes? You don't look it.

At that his eye snapped up to hers, "hen rhinka! Skoro syt would ao epagon?" Of course! Why would you ask? His voice had picked up that growling edge once again.

With a light smirk, Rhaena tilted her head to the side playfully, "hae vestan, ñuha zaldrīzes. Ao ȳdra daor jurnegon ziry. Nyke sepār jaelagon naejot sagon drēje" like I said, my dragon. You don't look it. I just want to be sure.

It started in his eye, the harsh dark Indigo colour softened just rather instantly, all before his face evened out, and his lips ticked up, "you shouldn't tease me now, I still have a good amount of pent up energy from this morning,"

"I think we both do. And I think I know exactly who's fault is that," Rhaena bit back a playful grin, this hadn’t been how she planned to work her way around to this topic. But either way she was glad they’d managed to maneuver their way to it. That sparking fire hadn’t left her, it roared all day long, it simmered a bit…but it felt as if he’d brought it back to its full heat. Especially with the way he was looking at her now, like as if she were a meal to be devoured.

As Aemond pulled himself higher on the chaise, he leaned himself over her, tilting her chin up enough for his lips to ghost over hers, “I am…very happy, my little wife. I‘ve wanted this with you…for a very long time.”

Rhaena was sure she knew that, from the very first night he stole away into her chambers some moons ago now. That night when he’d told her just how much he’d wanted her. How he’d secure her hand easily once he’d fucked a child into her . She’d gasped and giggled, but he’d been completely serious…every single time they’d ever lain together…he’d wanted this.

And she did too.

The true reality of it was so odd, so massive, so beyond everything.

“Tell me what you want," Aemond whispered against her lips, trailing kisses down her neck, “I wish to please my Princess tonight.”

At that Rhaena hummed happily, biting back a smile as her hands travelled up along his hips, "take me to bed then, I wish to ride my dragon."

She felt the moment Aemond grinned against her skin, pulling up enough to draw her lips to his, "as you wish."

P.S. LMAO to that edging scene cause I've wanted to write that for MONTHS, I hope it delivered! Also Rhaena, Baela and Helaena all comparing their husbands dick sized, hilarious, I hope!

But Rhaena IS officially pregnant!!! Let the preggo arc commence!!!!

#rhaena x aemond #aemond x rhaena #rhaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd smut #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #rhaena smut #SCREAMINGGGG I updated this chapter on Ao3 like a week ago and I completely forgot to post it hereeeeee!!!#Im sorry yall!!#it's here now!!

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potatoisvibing · 1 year

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Stuck in Avidya (A Bennett x Collei Fanfic)

Collei x Bennet fans (all 12 of us), I bring food!!!

Word count: 1,930 Chapters: 1/3 Pairing: Collei/Bennet, with background Cyno/Tighnari

Bennett--on a quest to prove his independence--ends up being rescued by some familiar forest rangers. Collei--in an attempt to prove her skills--gets tasked with healing and accompanying him on his job.

#genshin fanfic #fanfiction #bennett x collei #genshin bennett #genshin collei #this ship is so rare I made the ao3 tag #genshin impact #I wrote this like a week ago but forgot to post it here oops #cynonari #potato's writing

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three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat · 6 months

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Can someone remind me to post my Fi fic here tomorrow

#i posted it on ao3 like. two weeks ago. but i completely forgot to do it here.#mb's two am rambling

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thevioletcaptain · 4 months

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Almost a decade ago, in November of 2014, I became so exhausted by seeing people throw around the absurd claim that Dean/Cas fans made up only 1% of SPN fandom that I decided to prove how wrong it was. The most readily available data which didn't rely on conducting a survey or poll -- and was therefore a more accurate representation of actual fandom activity rather than just whoever happened to respond to a survey -- came from fic numbers on Ao3.

I made a post about it at the time (the pertinent figures are included below, or you can see the original post here) and then completely forgot about the entire thing. Until now.

Why? Well, largely thanks to a sudden resurgence of the same old nonsense this week, mostly cropping up in the comment sections of a couple of polls that crossed my dash. The temptation to check if there had been any significant changes to the fandom's activity since I last looked ten years ago was too strong to ignore.

Friends. Things have proven to be shockingly consistent.

With the same caveat from last time -- that this is only showing trends in the subset of fandom who actively uses Ao3, and therefore obviously doesn't take into account the "general audience" subset of fandom who don't participate beyond watching the show and occasionally liking a social media post -- here are the numbers:

Old count | November 9th, 2014 | 4 episodes into S10

Total SPN fics posted - 86,352 Fics listed as gen - 22,718 (26.3%) Fics with Dean/Cas - 33,762 (39.0%) Fics with Sam/Dean - 12,286 (14.2%) Fics with Sam/Cas - 1,634 (1.8%) Fics with Sam/Dean/Cas - 787 (0.9%)

The remaining 18.6% of SPN fics were non-gen fics featuring other character pairings, including reader inserts and original characters.

New count | May 28th, 2024 | 3.5 years after finale

Total SPN fics posted - 290,707 Fics listed as gen - 61,343 (21.1%) Fics with Dean/Cas - 116,925 (40.2%) Fics with Sam/Dean - 34,673 (11.9%) Fics with Sam/Cas - 5,548 (1.9%) Fics with Sam/Dean/Cas - 1,957 (0.6%)

The remaining 24.3% of SPN fics are non-gen fics featuring other character pairings, including reader inserts and original characters.

Notes on data:

All data was collected while logged in on Ao3 to ensure no incorrect counts were caused by hidden works.

There is some overlap within these numbers due to fics which are tagged with multiple pairings. This might be possible to account for if someone felt like doing more intensive data collection, but I've already spent about an hour and a half on this and that's already a lot more time than I'd like to be doing voluntary math. I enjoy statistics as a point of interest, but goddamn do I hate actually crunching the numbers.

It bears mentioning that Sam/Gabriel (5.1%), Sam/Jess (2.2%), & Dean/Reader (2.5%) all have higher counts than Sam/Cas (1.9%) & Sam/Dean/Cas (0.6%), however I didn't make note of those pairings in 2014, so I'm unsure if there has been any change.

I shouldn't have to say this, but literally all of us are just smashing our fave characters together like dolls, so as interesting as these numbers are this post is not intended to suggest that any ship is "better" than any other ship. This post is intended to do nothing more than show the available data which disproves a baseless claim about the size of Dean/Cas fandom within the larger SPN fandom.

TLDR; the percentage of active Supernatural fans on Ao3 who are interested in Dean/Cas as a pairing is significantly higher than 1%, and that has been a consistent pattern within the fandom for the past ten years.

#cass says things #fandom: supernatural #a post in which i get irritated enough by disinformation that i voluntarily do math #i wasn't planning on posting this anywhere tbh #but it was interesting to me and i figure someone else out there might also find it interesting #plus it gave me an excuse to make a couple of pie charts #also if you're about to start wank about this in my notes please consider... not doing that

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musings-of-a-rose · 3 months

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Marcus

Pairing: Marcus (Pike, Moreno, Acacius) x f!reader

Word Count: 6900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: I saw a post from @pimosworld innocently asking for a Marcus bachlorette style fic and, while this isn't exactly right, this is what my brain came up with. Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to me ramble and helping me, as well as @vanemando15 for being a cheerleader!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Marcus Pike Masterlist

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“Thanks for coming to Level Up Comics!” I smile at the customer as I hand them their bag, a quiet grunt all I get in return before they head out the door, the little bell jingling with their exit. I stretch, walking around from behind the counter and heading back towards the display case where several boxes sit in front, unopened figurines and collectibles pouring from them. My family and friends thought I was crazy for opening a physical media store in this age of digital products. They said no one would come in let alone want to actually buy “this crap.”

But here I am, a few years after opening, and I’m doing pretty good for myself. There are still collectors out there who want their favorites in case something happens to their files. They want the figurines from the original manufacturers, rather than printing them themselves. I can’t blame them. There’s something different, something magical about reading the printed word, having a figure of your favorite character that was made decades ago by something other than a 3D printer in someone’s basement.

The bell jingles and I yell out a greeting, shoving a few more figures in the back of the case before standing and turning, a pair of dark brown eyes meeting mine. I can already feel the smile on my face.

“Hi, Marcus!” Shit, was that too enthusiastic? If it is, he doesn’t let on, his own smile shyly spreading across his face. “How…how are you?”

He rubs the back of his neck with his large hand, his eyes darting away from mine. “I’m..I’m good. You?”

“Good. That’s good. I mean, I’m good. Good. It’s all…good.” What the fuck?

He chuckles lightly, looking anywhere but at me. “Good.”

We’re both silent for several moments. He’s so hot. Way out of my league hot. And the weird thing is, I don’t even think he realizes just how attractive he is.

“Did my back issue of X-Men come in?”

“Oh!” I slap my forehead. “I almost forgot! Yes. Let me get that for you.” Trying desperately to hide the heat in my cheeks, I quickly walk around the counter, kneeling to sift through the special order pile.

“You got more figures in?”

“Yeah,” I yell from my crouched position. “There’s a few bins in the back I haven’t emptied yet. Feel free to have a look!”

“Thanks.” I hear him shuffle off towards the back of the shop just as I locate his order. The door bell dings again and I stand, smoothing down my jeans. A man stands at the counter, his bright blue eyes roaming up and down my body before her plasters on the most ingenuine smile I’ve ever seen.

“Hi. How can I help you?” I ask him as I place Marcus’s order on the counter.

“Hi beautiful. I’m looking for a comic.”

I internally sigh. I already know where this is going. It happens several times a week.

“Well you’ve come to the right shop. What are you looking for?”

He chuckles, intending to be endearing. It isn’t. “I’m looking for a very specific issue of Hawkeye. You know who that is?”

Seriously? “I am very familiar with Hawkeye. Are you?”

He scoffs. “Haha. You’re a funny, pretty thing. Anyway, I’m looking for a specific run of his. Do you know what that means?”

Anger surges through me and I grip the desk to ground myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Marcus at the back of the store, standing and turning towards us but not moving. He’s even hot in my peripheral.

“Which run are you looking for? Or are you wanting a recommendation?”

He laughs, the vile sound of it echoing off the walls. “A recommendation? From you? What would you know? You’re just a pretty little girl.”

A clunk from the back of the store and I see Marcus trip over one of the boxes. He doesn’t go down, but turns to fix the boxes that he’s kicked over. The man in front of me is unphased, his eyes still on me, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Well?” He spits out.

I look at him, giving him a smile. “Well, if you’re asking me personally, my favorite run is the Matt Fraction run. Not only because of his artistic style and great story, but the fact that they weaved in Clint’s deafness, drawing him wearing his hearing aids, and even doing an entire issue completely in American Sign Language. A great story and representation of a marginalized community from, in my opinion, one of the best and most relatable Avengers. Now, would you like the individual issues, an omnibus, or the digital version?”

The smug smile slowly fades from his face, his eyes hardening. “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

“I do when customers act like a bitch.”

He grabs the fliers on the counter and throws them at me, turning towards the door. “Fuck you and this place!” He tries to slam the door behind him but he fumbles with the handle, flipping me off one final time before disappearing around the corner.

I sigh, bending down to pick up the fliers. A hand reaches out, large and inviting, carefully helping me pick up the scattered papers. I look up at him, at Marcus, sweet Marcus. Who had heard all of that.

“I’m sorry Marcus. I shouldn’t have lost my cool.”

He hands me the small stack he’s collected, meeting my gaze. “You don’t have to apologize for standing up to a sexist asshole. I should be the one who’s sorry.”

I combine our stacks, both of us standing as I tap them on the counter to even them out. “Why should you apologize?”

“I should’ve come to help,” he rubs the back of his neck, his ear turning slightly pink.

I shake my head. “No, Marcus don’t worry about it. I get assholes like that all the time. Really, it’s ok.”

He shakes his head. “It’s really not-”

To my own surprise, I reach out and squeeze his arm. “Really, I’m ok. Thank you, Marcus.”

He smiles at me, opening his mouth to say something, but his phone rings from inside his pocket. “Sorry. Sorry.” He pulls it out, tapping on the clear screen only he can see. “Shit. I have to take this. Work. You sure you’re ok?”

I smile, trying not to show my sadness at his leaving. “I am. Hope everything’s ok at work.”

“Thanks. I’ll uh…see you around.” His eyebrows pull together as his phone rings again, his eyes moving down to the screen before he turns around and heads out the door, pausing to give me a wave through the window before he disappears into the crowd.

I’ll never meet a man owning this shop. They’re either assholes, taken, or hopelessly out of my league. My own phone beeps and I pull it out, scanning the clear screen with my reservation confirmation. I tap the confirm button, nerves flooding my system.

I can’t believe I signed up for a virtual version of the bachelorette.

—----

I closed the shop early and rushed home to get ready for that night. I arrive promptly at 7pm as they requested, the giant VIRTUAL LIFE logo on the side of the building bathing the sidewalk in bright blue light. I take a deep breath and walk inside, the door disappearing momentarily to let me in before reappearing behind me. The front desk assistant guides me to a row of elevators and instructs me to head to floor 28. I’m the only one in the elevator, the lights illuminating each floor as we pass it. The elevator stops and the doors open to a small waiting room, black leather couches and chairs surround a coffee table with several tablets, each loaded with some form of entertainment. While it looks like there are windows, if you look closely, you can tell they’re simulated, trying to grant us as much privacy as possible. Although, I think it may be more about guarding their own technology secrets.

“Ivy?” a woman calls my name from the only doorway in the room aside from the elevator. I nod, standing and smoothing down my dress.

“That’s me.”

“Right this way.” She leads me into another small office, a simple desk with a single chair for me to sit in. She sits opposite me at the desk, tapping in mid air at what I’m assuming is the computer screen in front of her.

“Ivy it says here you signed up for the bachelorette program to meet a compatible mate. Is that correct?”

Swallowing down my embarrassment, I nod. “Y-yeah.”

She taps a few more things. “Great. Do you know how this works?”

“You guys take a picture of my brain and show me a story?”

She chuckles, the first time her professional demeanor has broken. “Almost but not quite. After we’re done here, you will be taken to the simulation room. You’ve already done your physical-”

“Yeah. They had me put on this suit and they captured the way I moved. Motion capture, I think?”

She nods. “Yes that’s it exactly. This way, your avatar inside your world will move like you. It helps with immersion.” I nod. “They also completed your brain scan to find the most viable dates and look of mate that you are searching for. You indicated you’re looking for a male mate, is that correct?”

I nod. “Yeah. Yes.”

She nods. “Alright. If you’ll go through the door, someone in scanning will take you. Good luck!” She gestures to a door on the opposite wall from where we entered. I go through the door and another woman greats me, leading me to chair where she has me sit and get comfortable. It reminds me of what the dentist chairs used to look like except way more comfortable. She turns to me, holding a helmet with different little lights on it.

“Any questions?”

“Yeah. So what will he..I mean, how will I know who he is?”

“You will just know. Sort of like in a regular video game, where you can tell who is important to talk to.”

“Ok..but…will he look like him or?”

That’s reassuring. But then she interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t forget, he will be there too also looking for you.”

She shakes her head. “Your algorithm took in your scan and will give him the appearance of someone you find appealing or comforting. We’ve found it’s easier to accept someone if they have an outward appearance you’re already familiar with.”

“So you base connections on personality as opposed to looks?”

She nods. “Those relationships have the highest success rate, so yes.”

“And after, will you show me who he is?”

She nods. “In the simulation, you’ll go on 3 dates. They may be something as simple as communicating in an office to being a superhero or even traveling back in time. The algorithm takes both of your likes, dislikes, and desires and places you in situations. The more you play along and immerse yourself, or yourselves, into the simulation, the better the outcome, meaning a closer connection. And don’t worry - you cannot be physically harmed. And if it’s too much or you want to stop, you only need to say “End simulation”. Please be aware that time may pass differently in the simulation, but you will only be in for an hour. After, you will both meet here, in reality, and can determine whether you’d like to continue with a relationship or not. Any more questions?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Not at the moment, anyway.”

She places the helmet on my head, the nodes all changing different colors as it comes in contact with me. She squeezes my shoulder and I look up at her. “Just relax and try to go with the theme. It’s more fun that way, ok?”

I nod, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Good luck!” She taps a button on her clear screen and my vision fades to black so just a couple of seconds. But then I’m blinking awake, the tips of my fingers tingling and my toes feeling like they just woke up. My vision starts to clear and the room comes into focus. I’m sitting at a bar, a fancier bar, which explains the nice dress. As my hearing levels out, I realize that the blonde man to my right is talking to me, his body shifted in my direction. His grey eyes are slightly unsettling. This can’t be my mate, can it?

“...and so I had them fired! Can you imagine? I asked for my steak to be medium and they brought it out medium well. That will teach that guy to listen to the customer at his next job.” Grey Eyes chuckles and takes a sip of the drink in front of him. He nods towards the glass in front of me. “Do you want another?”

“What? Oh, uh sure.”

He flags the bartender down and orders a rum and coke before making a show of leaning on his beefy arm against the bar. “I’m glad you finally saw reason and agreed to come out with me tonight.”

I give him a small smile. “Yeah. Same here.” This doesn’t feel right. Maybe they got it wrong? Someone bumps into me from behind and grey eyes catches me, glaring at the person who bumped me, who had moved on.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. It’ll take more than a drunk asshole to bring me down.” Grey Eyes laughs, picking up his glass and holding it up towards me. “I’ll drink to that.” I glance down to grab my drink, only to find it wasn’t there. I look back at Grey Eyes and see him frozen in place, the smirk on his face completely gone, his glass shaking as he continues to hold it in mid air. My glass appears next to his, lightly clicking against his glass.

“Now that’s not very nice.” That voice. I would know his voice anywhere. My entire body relaxes as I turn to look into the dark brown eyes that I love so much.

“Marcus!” I exclaim, ignoring the vein in grey eye’s neck that’s threatening to pop. Marcus on the other hand, looks good. I mean, he always looks good to me but he’s dressed in nice black pants and a light blue button up shirt with matching black jacket. I’m not sure how a blue shirt makes his brown eyes pop, but it does. Marcus pushes his black frames up his nose.

“Hey, Ivy. Sorry to interrupt your date, but this not so kind gentlemen put a little something in your drink.”

“He what?” I blink rapidly a few times, trying to pry my eyes away from him. Grey Eyes vein relaxes somewhat and he sputters out.

“Fuck you man! We’re on a date! What….what are you doing to me?”

Marcus shrugs. “Well, you wanted to make it so she can’t move. Only fair if I return the favor.”

Grey Eyes goes to say something else, but then seems to recognize the man standing next to me, his eyes going wide.

“Aren’t you the guy that can move metal?”

My eyes snap to Marcus, who is smiling. “I see I have a fan.”

Grey Eyes tries to backtrack. “Listen, man. I’m sorry. I was just trying to get her to loosen up a bit. Have some fun.”

Marcus looks at me, his brown eyes wide and smiling. “Ivy, do you wish to continue your date with this man?”

“Nope.” I pop the “p” sound at the end of the word. “Little hard to have fun when my date is trying to render me unconscious.”

Marcus waves the bartender over. “Call the police. This man is in possession of Freeze Me.”

A handful of what felt like seconds later, several officers show up and arrest Grey Eyes, who barely puts up a struggle. I turn towards Marcus, my smile stretching my face as I grab his arm. “My hero.”

His eyes dart around the room, his arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “It was nothing.”

Gosh he’s so cute when he does that neck rub thing. Wait. Gotta play along.

“Is Marcus the Metal Bender actually acting shy around me?”

He chuckles nervously and I think how perfect they coded him. Like he was picked out of my brain. Which I guess he was.

“Just trying to be respectful.”

I wish he wouldn’t. Wait, are we even allowed to have sex in here? Wow, getting ahead of yourself there, Ivy.

“Youwannagetoutofhere?” He speaks so fast it all comes out in a jumble and I cock my head to the side.

“What?”

He swallows hard and I can’t help but watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Hell yeah I do.”

—-

It’s a few weeks later, or at least it feels like some time has passed. That lady did say time passes differently here. Now I’m in an office building, a stack of files in my arms, walking down the hall. A quick glance around tells me I’m in the Heroics head quarters. Marcus appears from around the corner and looks up at me, smiling and walking towards me. But then a man in a much too tight blue suit with a glowing M on it joins him, Marcus’s shoulders sagging slightly as he gives me a sad little wave.

“When are you two going to go on a date already?” A woman with bright pink hair appears next to me.

“I uh, me?”

She slaps my shoulder. “Yes, you Ivy.” She leans in closer to my ear. “Aren’t you the one who confessed to having a crush on our heroic leader?”

I will the heat rising in my face to not show. “Oh, I uh..I-”

“You know he likes you too.” Her jaw drops when she sees the confused look on my face. “Oh don’t tell me you can’t tell! That man can hardly look at you and he’s taken down alien forces by just staring at them.”

She feels like a close friend so I go with it. “Yeah, ok I like him. Keep your voice down, will you?” She continues walking with me to the end of the hall where I deposit the stack of files into several slots, each one making a small whoosh sound as they’re whisked away to their destinations.

When I’m done, Pink Hair gently grabs my face and turns me to her. “I love you, Ivy. You know you’re like the sister I never had. So please listen to me when I say ask that man out before something happens and you regret not ever trying.”

Well fuck. That is…really spot on to reality isn’t it?

I never get a chance to answer her as the entire building suddenly shakes, alarms and lights screeching and illuminating the halls. One of the tall filing cabinets starts to topple in my direction and I can only look on in horror, frozen in place by the rumbling building. I throw my hands up, as if that’s going to stop it, but nothing happens. The cabinet is laid gently on its side, floating to the ground.

“Come on!” I look up into those dark eyes, Marcus extending his hand to me and helping me to my feet. “We have to get out of here!” He tightens his grip and somehow leads us out of the chaotic building out into the streets. Which is also nuts. People are running everywhere and…wait. Is that an alien spaceship coming towards us??

Marcus pulls me behind a wall, glancing around it and waving hand signals to a small group of heroes across the street behind another wall, Pink Hair amongst them. He turns back to me, his face full of worry as he starts to take his shirt off, exposing…not skin but a uniform? No. His hero costume, which is a black shirt,and arm bands. He sees me staring down and he shrugs. “I normally have a tach vest but we’re out of time.”

“Should you not go out there without one?”

Marcus shakes his head. “I have to support my team. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I mean, people safe.”

“You could just stay here with me? The others can handle-” my words are cut off by a giant laser beam cutting through the street, coming directly from the ship.

He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Get yourself to safety. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I need you to be safe.” Another laser beam, the sound of some smaller buildings crumbling to the ground. “Go! Get to safety!” He releases my hand.

I get a glimpse of the deep craters that lasers had left in their wake through the cement of the street, the piles of rubble and dust, and this spurs me on.

“Marcus?” He leans against the wall, readying himself, but he looks at me.

“Yeah?”

Mustering up my courage, I lean towards his hunched body, softly planting a kiss on his lips. When I pull back, I see his chest heaving, his eyes moving between mine.

“Please make it back, Marcus.”

Before he can answer, the ship comes into view and his team moves out, following behind Miracle Guy, who had flown right up the ship and started punching it. Marcus’s head whips around, assessing the situation and I squeeze his arm once more before quickly moving out of the immediate area. I know I should move more, but I can’t get hurt so…

The fight that ensues between the ship, the aliens inside, and the Heroics team is nothing short of brilliant. They may argue in the halls, but in the field, they all take direction from Marcus, who is a brilliant leader, playing all of their strengths. Marcus bends metal like it’s made of playdough, a beautiful dance of destruction and strength. Then the ship comes crashing down, everyone moving out of the way except-

“Marcus!” I emerge from my hiding place at a full run as the smoke around the alien ship that’s currently scraping along the road as it crashes and envelops Marcus. The ship stops, groaning as it falls back and lays still, no other life forms moving or detected on board. For a few moments, no one moves. Then Marcus emerges from the smoke, his face soot stained and a small gash in his shirt and along his cheek, but otherwise unharmed.

“Marcus!” I run to him, his eyes finding mine, his entire body relaxing as he realizes I’m safe, just before I launch myself into his arms, our lips crashing together as my right hand fists in his shirt, my left tugging on his hair. Miracle Guy wolf whistles but I couldn’t care less. I feel his tongue gently lick out and I part my lips, letting him take whatever he wants. But before it can go any further, my vision starts to blacken, the last thing I see is Marcus’s eyes going out of focus as he succumbs to his own transition to the next simulation.

—----

I find myself blinking awake for the second time in what feels like weeks, but I know in reality it’s only been maybe 20 minutes that I was in there. The tips of my fingers and toes are tingling, my vision and hearing clearing and I find myself in…a breakroom. Am I back at the Heroics? The slight weight in my hand takes my focus and I realize I’m holding a cup of tea. I must be on my break. I walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking outside. I’m not back at Heroics - the cityscape is all wrong. I hear the door open behind me and I turn, the smile on my face widening as Marcus enters the room. His hair is shorter than the last simulation. And his face is clean shaven, which is a look I’ve never seen on him before. Not that it matters - he’s beautiful no matter what. I wonder what he’ll look like when he’s a little older. Probably hot as-

“Hey, Ivy.” Marcus smiles down at me, grabbing his own mug and pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe. I notice the FBI logo on the mug and figure that must be where we are.

“Hey, Marcus.” I take a sip of my tea as we both watch the other. But then the door opens again, another agent walking into the room. He claps his hands together, looking at us.

“Hey! Congrats on finally cracking that art case, you two! 8 months is a long time to do an operation like that. Great work!” He shakes both of our hands as we thank him. Marcus catches my eye and, with a small movement, jerks his head towards the door. I nod, thanking the other agent again and follow Marcus out of the tiny breakroom and down the hall, stopping in front of an office door labeled MARCUS PIKE. I wonder if that's his name back In reality. He extends his arm towards his office and I head inside, smiling at him as I do, noting how his eyes dart around, that hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he closes the door behind him.

“I uh…great work, Ivy.”

“You too.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and finally looks me in my eyes and he nods once.

“Listen. Do you..uh..I mean, would you like to…this is coming out all weird.”

I squeeze his arm and he looks down at my hand, taking a deep breath.

“Would you like to get something to eat?”

My stomach erupts in butterflies. “Like on a date?”

The redness in his eyes spreads down onto his cheeks as he stammers, gesturing around vaguely. “No! No, not uh. Not a date.”

I can feel my face falling. “Oh.”

“Uh, unless you…uh…unless you want to? Make it a…a date?” His eyes are wide and bright, like a damn puppy.

I smile, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Yeah. Yeah, I would love to go on a date with you, Marcus.”

His smile is bright, lighting up the room. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He let's out a sigh of relief. “Great! I found this great pancake place.”

Pancakes? I love this man already. “It's nearly dinner time!” I can't help the small giggle that I let out.

“Yeah, well you said your favorite food is pancakes. And they're open 24 hours.”

He remembered my favorite food? I'm so screwed. Damn this program is good. “You're right! I'd love to get pancakes with you. On a date. For a date. When will this date be, by the way?”

“Oh. I uh, would it be too weird if we went tonight? Is that too soo-”

“No! I mean, yes! No it's not too soon. I'd love to go!” If my heart could stop beating through my chest, that would be great. It's not that I'm some young girl getting asked on her first date. I just really like Marcus. Or whomever this is. My heart sinks at the thought of it not being the Marcus I know in reality.

“Great! I'll pick you up at 7? Unless you'd rather meet me there? I don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Marcus, we just spent 8 months together on assignment. I think I'm comfortable around you.”

He chuckles. “Fair point.” His office phone rings and he apologizes to me, picking it up. I wave ro him and he mouths “See you at 7!”

—----

He picks me up with a flourish of flowers, all long legs and button up shirt that I'm really dying to unbutton. If that's even allowed here.

But what's more than that is the conversation. I thought I had learned everything about him over the last 8 months. I was very wrong.

“You were a bass player in a band?” I ask, choking on my drink.

He laughs, holding his hands up in front of him. “What can I say? I wanted to meet more people.”

“I bet you had all the girls hanging on you.”

Marcus shrugs. “Not really. They all want to date the drummer or the singer.”

“Really? Not the sexy bass player?”

Marcus takes too large of a sip of his drink and coughs, pounding his chest. “No, not the…you think I'm sexy?”

I set my fork down and meet his eyes. “If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be here.”

We spend several moments, just looking at each other and then I remember that he's not a simulation but a real person on the other end of those eyes. My heart squeezes thinking about how it won't actually be Marcus. Despite that thought, we really get along well and the conversation flows freely between us. Sooner than I’d like, we’re leaving the small diner, heading back to my place. Marcus parks in my driveway and turns to me, his eyes bright and wide like a damn puppy. We had been talking about books, one of my favorite topics.

“..and I know everyone complains that Tolkien takes 20 pages to describe a flower, but I really love that attention to detail. It makes it more immersive for me. One of these days I’ll get you to read Lord of the Rings!” I tap my fingers on his bicep to emphasize my point.

Marcus rubs his neck. “I uh…I already have.”

My jaw drops. “What? When??”

“When you told me it was your favorite book. Or books, I should say.”

I think back. “Marcus, that was…months ago!”

His eyes meet mine, the light from the street lamp outside adding a sparkle to them. “You said they were your favorite so…I read them.”

My stomach does flips, my heart beating. “You read them all for me?”

He nods. “Even the Silmarillion.”

I can’t help it. This is so fucking hot. I reach out and grip his shirt, pulling him to me, his soft lips pressing against mine, the heat between us quickly rising. His large hand cradles the back of my head, holding me to him as his other hand settles on my hip, squeezing it lightly. We make out for several minutes, Marcus kissing and nipping a path down my neck.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask breathlessly.

He pulls back and looks at me. “I do but-” he whispers. “Are we allowed?”

“I…I’m not sure. We could try to-”

But then my vision starts to blacken around the edges, and before I pass out, I hear Marcus say “See you in the next one!” before we both black out.

—----

Now familiar with the way I wake in these simulations, I wiggle my fingers and toes, giving myself a moment to figure out where I am. The room looks…ok, this isn’t from my time. Roman decor and pillars line the grand bedroom, some food laying on a small table for, I’m assuming, me. A quick glance down shows me in a beautiful white garb and I marvel for a moment at how clean it is.

BOOM!

The ground shakes and I duck down, completely caught off guard. It’s only after the boom dies down that I hear it - the distant sound of clanking swords and men yelling. I walk to the small window set into the wall and look out, my brain taking a moment to process the scene in front of me.

I’m several floors up in a sort of round building, a castle I realize as I see the lower tiers, more square in their shape. I’m sure the grounds would have been beautiful, if it weren’t for the massive amounts of soldiers fighting in the streets. I can make out their bodies, the blood, sweat, and dirt spreading almost like a disease. Spear and swords burst from chests or stomachs, limbs separating from their bodies to be lost to the throngs of soldiers. The seem to be moving closer to the castle, which I’m not sure if I want to happen or not. Turning on my sandaled heel, I walk to the door, pressing my ear against the wood to listen. Hearing nothing, I try to open it. Nothing. The door doesn’t open or move, the handle locked into place.

Well, fuck.

Before I can try and figure out how far down the next ledge is out the window, or if I can even fit out the window, I hear a commotion outside my door. It’s not loud, but I hear a man gurgling and sputtering, a small bit of crimson blood pooling under the door. I grab an iron rod by the fire and hold it up, preparing to defend myself. I know they said I can’t be hurt but damn this feels real. The door opens and a man walks through, wide, muscular shoulders under his Roman armor, Medusa proudly engrained on the front. I lunge, the iron rod above my head but the man turns and grabs the rod and I would’ve fallen to the floor if he hadn’t caught me.

“Ivy! Here you are!”

It’s him. Marcus. Only he’s older, probably closer to 50. Grey streaks in his curls and patchy facial hair only accentuate his beauty, a new scar forming across his nose, bleeding lightly down his face. He’s covered in dirt and blood and ash, but I throw my arms around him anyway.

“Marcus! Thank God, what’s going on?”

He cups my face, pushing my hair out of my face. “You are so beautiful, my love. I would bring every army from the entire world to rescue you from this horrid Emperor.” And then his lips are on mine, urgency behind them, but a desire to show me how l much I am loved. This man apparently started the battle outside, for me, and still wants to make sure that I know how important I am to him?

“We have to flee. Come!” But before we can leave, the door flies open and 5 guards file in, grabbing Marcus and holding his arms out to his sides. I pick the iron rod up from the floor and run towards them, unsure of what I would do but I know I’ll beat the shit out of them until they let him go. But another hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, twisting it hard so I drop the rod. I look up into the eyes of a man that I’m assuming is the Emperor, his golden robes flowing around him. He looks vaguely familiar, like that one asshole from the comic shop.

“Now, now my dear. What were you planning on doing with that?”

I open my mouth to reply, but then he smacks me across the face and I slam down onto the floor. Ok, that hurt. Didn’t she say I wouldn’t get hurt? Maybe she meant I wouldn’t die. Marcus swears, cursing the Emperor for hitting me.

“Are you alright, my love?” Marcus grunts as the men punch him in the stomach.

“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. You’re kind are dying out. I told you to just accept your fate and take your banishment, but instead, you stayed behind and fell in love with a woman. How…stupid.” Marcus tries to speak but he’s punched again, his body hunching over. I try to stand, but then I’m drug up by my hair, the Emperor’s fingers digging at my scalp as he pulls me to his side.

“This one?” His eyes rake over my body. “She is attractive, I’ll give you that. Even if she is attracted to a brute like you.” I jerk my body, trying to get out of his grip but it’s too tight, my hands gripping his arms to try and get some relief from the stinging at the back of my scalp.

“Let her go. You can kill me, I don’t care, but let her go.”

The Emperor looks from me to Marcus, a sick smile spreading on his face. “I didn’t go through the trouble of kidnapping her just to have you give up. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do instead. LOOK AT ME!” The Emperor bellows from beside me, Marcus’s eyes moving from mine to his.

He steps closer to Marcus, dragging me a little beside him. “Such a wild man. How about this: you watch as I take her. Then, I’ll drive my sword through her belly so she can slowly bleed out on the floor. Only after the light has left her eyes will I either kill you or lock you up to suffer the rest of your days. How does that sound?”

The darkness that settles over Marcus is unforgiving, his eyes hardening in resolution. He growls and screams, throwing the soldiers off him as he grabs his sword from the ground, swinging it and taking out all of the soldiers in only a handful of moves. He spins, aiming his sword at the Emperor, who has now moved me in front of him as a human shield, a knife to my throat.

“I’ll kill her, Marcus! You are too weak to save her!”

Marcus’s gaze moves briefly to mine and I release my weak grip on the Emperor’s arms, letting them fall to my side. Marcus shifts his body ever so slightly before he throws something from behind his back. The object whizzes past my cheek, scratching it slightly as the blade buries itself in the Emperor’s neck. He drops his knife and clutches at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. He crumbles to the floor and sputters for several moments before his body stops moving. I run to Marcus, throwing my arms around him again. He grunts and I remember the soldiers hitting him.

“Are you hurt?”

He clutches his side. “I’ve had worse.”

“You are so fucking hot right now,” I speak quietly to him and he smiles. “I’m covered in dirt and blood and sweat.”

“Stop trying to turn me on more I already said you’re hot.”

He laughs but then inhales sharply at the pain. “I’ll take it, I guess.”

“No, that’s my job.” I bring my lips to his, pushing him back towards the chaise lounge chair on the other side of the room. He sits, pulling me onto his lap as I straddle him, my dress getting dirty as I shift my hips. He groans, his large hands sliding up my bare thighs under my dress and fuck! My vision starts to blacken and I hear Marcus whine out some expletives as we both are brought out of the simulation.

—---------------------------

Hopefully for the last time, I blink awake, wiggling my fingers and toes as I look around the room. The helmet is gently lifted from my head and the woman that had put it on me moves into my eyesight.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. Wait just a moment for your body to fully catch up. Do you have any questions?”

“Yeah why did you stop us having sex?”

She studies me for a moment. “It is not allowed in the programming.”

“I cross my arms. “Well your programming is stupid.”

She chuckles so quietly I thought I’d imagined it. “The algorithm wants you and your mate to match based on personality and emotions, not just physical.”

“I can guarantee you it wasn’t just physical.”

She helps me stand and I shake my limbs out, full feeling returning to them. I smooth out my dress as she readjusts my hair. “Are you ready to meet him?”

Him. My reality man. “Y..yeah.”

“Right through that door. He’s already waiting for you.” I move towards the door but she stops me. “I just have to say, I’ve been doing this for years and I’ve never seen a situation like yours and his.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

So smiles softly. “So…rooted in reality.”

Yeah that’s not confusing. But she doesn’t explain further, turning back to the chair and helmet, starting to clean them. I take a deep breath to steady myself and open the door, walking through and closing it behind me. The man on the other side of the room, my mate, turns towards me and we both gasp.

“Marcus?”

“Ivy?”

We meet in the middle of the room and I cup his face, Marcus tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is it really you?”

He nods. “Yeah. You? Real?”

“Real.”

He pulls my face to his, kissing me deeply, but then pulling back a moment later.

“I’ve been dying to ask you out since forever. I never thought I’d be paired with you, here of all places.”

I cock my head to the side. “Why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“Have you seen yourself? You’re entirely out of my league.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s the other way around.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I put my finger on his lips. “I think we went through several first dates in there. Plus, we’re already friends. Can we…that is, can you take me back to your place first? Then we can eat?”

Marcus’s eyes darken, his hands finding a place on my hips as he pulls me against his body, letting me feel how into that idea he is.

We’re married a year later.

—----

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sailor-aviator · 11 months

Text

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Mean girl Mandy, Flirting, Alcohol, Siren call, Supernatural elements, Kind of suggestive/smutty but not really? idk

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Alright, alright! The ball is starting to roll! We've got a lot going on now, I think. Can't wait to hear y'all's thoughts! Also, shoutout to @goldenseresinretriever for letting me bounce ideas off of her! You the real MVP!! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! Also, if you DO NOT fill out the form below (Tag List) then you will not be tagged! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

“I thought the bonfires happened the other night?” You asked Bob as the two of you made your way down the practically deserted streets. It was late, and the only people out were the young adults still looking to have a good time. The family friendly activities had ended hours ago, and now it was time for the partying to start.

“They were supposed to,” he said, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, “but they got postponed because of all the rain the other week. This was the only night that worked for most everyone around town.”

“That works out for us, I guess,” you hummed, hearing the sound of crashing waves grow closer as you neared the beach.

“Hey, thing one and thing two!”

The two of you turned around to see a grinning Bradley jogging up behind you, and you turned with a smile to greet him.

“Hey, Bradley!” You chirped. “We thought you’d already be down at the beach with everyone else.”

“I was, but I forgot my phone at the house,” he said, waving his phone in his hand. “So I ran back to grab it. Everyone else should already be down there, though.”

“We better get a move on before all the drinks are gone,” Bob mused, already moving once again. Bradley fell into step alongside you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, Skipper,” he joked, casting a smirk down at you. “You been avoiding me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you giggled.

Bradley scoffed, giving you an offended look that was made less serious by the grin on his face. “Me? Avoid you? Don’t be ridiculous. Who in their right mind would avoid a sweet, little thing like you?”

“You must not really know her then,” Bob snorted. “She practically cut my hand off when I went for the last fry at lunch today.”

“That was entirely your fault,” you huffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “You know how much I love french fries.”

“Yeah, enough to cause grievous bodily injuries, apparently,” he smirked. You scowled at him before looking back at Bradley who was also smirking at you.

“He’s being dramatic,” you offered with a shrug.

“Barely.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you griped as the three of you walked down the stairs and onto the beach. You could see the glow from the various fires flicker in the night, groups of different people huddled around each one. “I have to set an alarm every morning to wake up before he does if I want any bacon.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bradley laughed, steering you towards a fire on the edge of the grouping, Bob in tow. “I grew up with him. I know how much bacon he puts away.”

“I am not that bad,” Bob huffed, earning identical dubious looks from both you and Bradley. You giggled when Bradley quirked his eyebrow at you.

“Sure you aren’t, Bob,” you laughed, earning a scowl from your best friend.

“You made it!”

The three of you turned to see Nat waving at you, the rest of the squad already settled in on the towels surrounding the small fire. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you made eye contact with a pair of mossy green ones. You looked away as your cheeks warmed, letting Bradley guide you across the fire and down on a group of towels, Bob on your other side.

“So,” said the brunette sitting next to Jake, blue eyes calculating as she took you in. She was just as beautiful as the last time you saw her. Tan skin glowed in the light from the fire, body lithe and athletic. She looked like she walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, and her narrowed gaze was trained on you, lips curled into waht appeared to be a permanent sneer. “You must be the tagalong I’ve heard so much about. Skipper was it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Bradley as he stiffened next to you, a glare fixed on his face as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” you said, offering an anxious smile as you looked back at her. “That’s what they call me anyway.”

“It’s cute,” she said, tone indicating that she most certainly did not find it cute. “I’m Mandy. You’ve probably heard of me from the others.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she continued with a smirk. “I’ve known everyone here since we were in diapers. We go way back, you know. Don’t feel bad if you end up feeling left out in our conversations, okay?”

You shifted again, this time knocking your knee into your bag. The shells you carried with you jostled, clinking together, and you blushed when everyone looked at you.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, peering over to get a better look. You lifted your bag as you began to pull each shell out and placing it carefully on the towel.

“Oh, these are the shells and things I’ve been finding everywhere!” You smiled, running your fingers over the conch. “Aren’t they amazing? I’ve never seen so many beautiful shells in my life! And they’re all perfectly in tact, can you believe it? It’s like someone just plucked them up off the ocean floor and set them out for me to find!”

“That’s quite a collection,” Nat chuckled, shooting a smirk off to the side. You followed her line of sight, and your eyes made direct contact with the mossy green ones from earlier. Jake looked at you with an expression that could only be described as awe as he took you in, eyes peering down to where you cradled the conch gently in your hands before looking back up at you. His eyes shone in the firelight, a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. You felt another blush creep up your neck, and you leaned forward to place the conch closer to the fire for everyone to see. You heard a sharp intake of breath, and you looked up to see Mandy with a look of rage and shock on her face as she stared at you. You realized quickly she wasn’t staring at your face, but rather down at the base of your neck. Her eyes darted up to meet yours and her expression shifted quickly into one of cold contempt.

“You actually carry those around with you?” She sneered, scoffing out a laugh. “What are you? Five?”

You frowned up at her, suddenly feeling self conscious as you glanced around the group. Their smiles had shifted into looks of irritation as they glared at the brunette.

“Oh, I just-”

“I mean,” she sniffed, cutting you off, “I suppose it’s fitting for someone who looks like you though, right? You’re not exactly dressed to impress or anything.”

You looked down at your clothes, a frown on your face. You weren’t normally self conscious. Sure, you didn’t look like a model like Mandy, but you didn’t think you were hard on the eyes. You had dressed for comfort though, and it was plain to see in your jean shorts, tank top, and white button up. Mandy wore a pair of cutoffs and a tight fitting tank top that showed off her figure, and her makeup was immaculate. You hadn’t seen the point in putting any on. Should you have?

“Mandy,” Bob growled, glaring in a warning.

“Oh, I know she’s your friend and all, Bobby,” Mandy continued, a viscious smirk poised on her lips. “But let’s be honest. I mean, we’re among friends, right? And friends should be honest with each other. You’d be lucky if anyone gave you the time of day looking like that. Nevermind the silly, little shells you’re carrying around everywhere. You really should have left those back at the house, you know. And tell me you brought something nice to where for the ocean dance festival. Can you imagine if you wore some frumpy shorts to something like tha-”

“Shut up.”

All eyes turned to Jake who was glaring into the fire, eyes cold as the water that lapped the shore behind you. Mandy narrowed her eyes at him, rage clouding her features.

“Excuse me?” She spat, turning to face him. His gaze shifted to her, jaw clenching.

“Was I not clear enough?” He said evenly. “I said ‘shut up.’”

You hadn’t even realized that tears had gathered in your eyes until Bob laid a gentle hand on your shoudler causing you to jump. You looked over at him, sniffling as he gave you a concerned look. You wiped at the corner of your eyes, scrambling to your feet. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding their gazes.

“I’m, uh,” you gulped, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I’m gonna go get something to drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Bradley said, moving to his feet and giving you a gentle smile. “I’m parched.”

You turned to Bob with a watery smile. “You want anything?”

He studied you for a second, eyes uncertain. You gave him a look that you hoped communicated your need to pretend like you were okay, and he pressed his lips together.

“Just a beer.”

“You got it!” You smiled, trying and failing to add your usual cheeriness to the statement. You gave a half smile that you were sure came off as more of a grimace as you made your way towards the line of coolers on the other side of the fires. Bradley followed you silently, and you kept your head down, feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You knew you were being silly. They were just words after all, and you were a grown woman. You shouldn’t be letting silly words get to you like this. But why did they hurt so bad? You knelt by one of the coolers, fishing out two beers and a coke. You handed one of the beers to Bradley, refusing to make eye contact with him as you pushed the lid to the cooler closed.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing onto your arm gently, pulling you so that you faced him.

You kept your head down, and Bradley let out a sigh.

“Listen,” he started, hesitating as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “You shouldn’t listen to Mandy, okay? She’s a stone cold bitch on the best of days, and, well, she’s never been told ‘no’ a day in her life. She’s always gotten what she wanted, when she wanted it.”

“What’s your point?” You muttered, glancing off to the side as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Bradley let out another sigh, taking his hand from your arm to run it through his hair.

“My point is that she’s taking her new experience with the word out on you, and it’s not fair. I know it’s hard, but just ignore her, okay? She’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze. Bradley smirked down at you, casting you a wink.

“You’re pretty great, Skipper,” he hummed. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Now, come on. Let’s head back to the others, yeah?”

You nodded, and the two of you made your way back to the fire. As you approached, you noted that Jake was the only one still there, eyes trained on the flames in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. He jumped when Bradley plopped down next to him, leaving just enough room for you to slide in between them.

“Where’d the others go?” Bradley asked, twisting the top off his beer and taking a swig from the bottle. Jake grimaced, gesturing around towards the other fires.

“Take your pick.”

Bradley hummed, leaning back on the towel with his legs outstretched towards the fire. The three of you were silent for a moment, and you felt a tingling sensation on your left side. You turned to find Jake already looking at you, eyes soft as they took you in. Your breath caught in your throat, cheeks flushing. You thought you should have been been creeped out with how intensely he was staring at you, but you felt oddly comfortable under his gaze. In fact, you found yourelf sitting up a little straighter, almost preening under his gaze, and a small smile tugged on Jake’s lips as he took you in, eyes blazing as they reached your neck.

You jumped as Bradley suddenly leaned over in front of you, breaking the spell you found yourself under. A shit eating grin was etched onto his face as he looked at Jake.

“Did you know Skipper here always wanted to be a mermaid?”

You felt yourself begin to splutter as your cheeks warmed for a different reason, eyes growing wide as you peered between the two men. Bradley waggled his eyebrows as Jake’s own shot up on his forehead. A smirk graced his lips, giving him a devilish look to his already handsome features. He looked at you, smirk intensifying as he saw your flustered state. He leaned forward, smirk growing into a grin as you glanced away.

“Is that so?” He hummed, warm breath ghosting over your face.

“I will remind you that I was, like, five at the time,” you snapped, glaring at Bradley. He only chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked lazily up at you.

“I think you’d make a cute mermaid, don’t you agree, Jake?”

Jake nodded with another hum, eyes taking on a look you couldn’t place, but it made you squirm nonetheless.

“Just imagine her swimming around with all her little fishy sidekicks,” Bradley teased, eyes alight with mischief. You scoffed, turning to face him.

“As if,” you snarked, “my sidekick wouldn’t be a fish, it would be a stingray.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Why a stingray?”

“Oh,” you blushed, your nerves kicking up again. “Because they’re my favorite.”

Jake nodded slowly, like he was trying to commit that fact to memory. Bradley snorted beside you, and the two of you looked over at where he was smirking, eyes peeking at Jake before looking back at you.

“How could I forget?” He drawled, taking another sip of his beer. “I met Rusty when you and I were snuggled in bed the other morning.”

“That’s not-”

You were cut off by a growl to your left. You turned to see Jake’s entire expression had changed. His jaw was clenched, eyes trained on Bradley as if he wanted to take his head off. His fists were clenched so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drawing blood from where his fingernails dug into his palms. He was almost too still as he glared at Bradley, the other man looking smug as he took in his friend’s appearance.

“Are you okay?” You asked the blond, and his eyes glanced over at you, gaze seeming to soften as he took in your concern.

“Bradshaw!” Reuben called from across the way. “Get your ass over here!”

Bradley heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes as he got to his feet. “And that’s my cue,” he muttered.

You watched as he strutted over to where Reuben and Mickey were gathered with a group of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone with Jake.

“He’s such an ass sometimes,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Isn’t he one of your best friends?” You asked him with a giggle. Jake’s demeanor seemed to relax at the sound.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, casting another glare over at where Bradley stood chatting and laughing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You frowned, noticing how tense he still seemed to be. He looked back at you, hesitating before letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overheated or something,” he muttered, flexing his hands as he uncurled his fists. He moved to stand, and you followed suit.

“Think I’m going to go take a walk to cool off,” he mused, rolling his shoulders back. You frowned, rubbing a hand over your arm.

“Oh, okay,” you said, glancing at the ground, shifting your feet in the sand that covered the towel. Jake seemed to hesitate once more, chewing his bottom lip.

“Do you want to join me?” He asked you, his green eyes hopeful as you met his gaze. You felt a smile tug on your lips as you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you murmured, moving to grab your bag. You stopped when you noticed it was placed neatly on top of the towel you had been sitting on previously, shells already back inside.

“I, uh,” Jake stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want anything to happen to them, so I put them back in your bag. I guess I should have asked first instead of just moving them. I’m sorry if I-”

“No,” you smiled, “it’s okay. Thank you.”

Jake gave you a nervous, tight lipped smile before nodding. “You can leave your bag here if you want. No one is going to take it.”

You returned his nod, gesturing for him to lead the way down the beach.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the ocean waves crashing off to your right, and the cool, night breeze ruffling your hair.

“Listen,” Jake started, stopping to turn to you, eyes earnest as they took you in. “I’m sorry about Mandy-”

“Oh, no, Jake,” you frowned, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”

“No, but I do,” he stated firmly, face serious as he looked at you. “It’s my fault she’s taking it out on you. She’s been so convinced that she and I are going to end up together, and now that she knows that’s not the case, she’s on the warpath.”

“Jake,” you sighed, “I understand feeling some kind of weird responsibility for her, but her actions are her own. You shouldn’t have to apologize on her behalf. She’s a big girl just like I am, right? We’re adults who are capable of making our own decisions and apologizing for the wrong we do. None of this is your fault.”

He didn’t look convinced, and you took his hand in yours to offer him some kind of reassurance. A bolt of electricity ran through you, causing you to let out a gasp, and a warmth rushed over you, causing you to squirm. You felt like a magnet, drawn to Jake in a way that you couldn’t even begin to understand. You wanted to feel more of him, to consume and be consumed by him. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and you looked up at him hazy eyes to find that he wasn’t any better off.

His own eyes had a haze to them, seeming to glow in the moonlight. His breathing came out labored, almost like he was fighting to maintain his composure. His eyes raked over you, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzled into it without thinking.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper as he inched closer to you.

“You’re just saying that,” you muttered, leaning into him.

“No,” he stated firmly, causing you to jump just a hair. His other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer so that you were practically molded against him.

“No,” he said again, gentler this time. “I mean it. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

If it were possible, you were sure your skin would have heated up even more than it already was. As it stood, a pleasant warmth spread through you at his proximity, and the hand that was cradling your cheek slowly drifted down until it brushed the mark on your neck. You let out a wanton cry at the shock of pleasure that jolted through you at the simple touch, and Jake smirked down at you, stroking softly over the mark again and again as he drew more pleasured cries from you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, leaning his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose against the tip of yours. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed at the intense amount of pleasure you felt at the simplest of touches, too focused on the way his hands felt on you. You raised your own, one hand cradling his cheek as the other ran through his golden hair. He let out a groan as you tugged gently on the soft strands, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that spread across your face. Jake’s eyes met yours, the green of them so intense that it took your breath away. He glanced down at your lips, slowly leaning in-

“Jacob Seresin!”

You gasped, grasping at your ears at the almost inhuman shriek that pierced the night air. Jake pulled back, placing you almost protectively behind him. You peered around him to see Mandy glaring at him, blue eyes practically glowing with rage. Her gaze turned to you, and you shrank back slightly, hiding behind Jake a little more. This only served to make Mandy even more irate, and she snarled as she stomped closer to the two of you.

Jake bristled, standing taller as he continued to block you from Mandy’s warpath.

“How dare you,” she spat at him, lips pulled back into a sneer. “You’re mine.”

“No,” Jake growled, “I’m not.”

You shifted behind him, moving out from behind him slowly, and the pair turned to look at you. You gave them a sheepish smile, as you inched around Mandy, hands up in a form of surrender.

“I’m just going to head back so you two can talk in private,” you murmured. Jake looked like he wanted to argue, but Mandy’s glare had you moving before he could say anything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked back towards the bonfires, already missing Jake’s touch. You had never felt anything so intense in your entire life, and you wondered what had come over you to make you act so brazenly. You weren’t one for hookups, but you weren’t even sure that’s what that was going to be. He had held you so gently, like you might break or run away at any moment. You had been so ready to give him every part of you in that moment. You knew you should have been worried at that thought, but a large part of you thought that it felt right, that you should give yourself to him. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself wanting to turn around and go back to him.

You were about halfway back down the beach when it started. It was quiet at first, distant. But then it grew louder, and you found yourself slowing to a stop, turning towards the crashing waves to your left.

The song was beautiful, melancholic. It was unlike the one you had heard before, this one sounding more animal like than human, but you still found yourself drawn to it. It called to you, begging you to listen, and you did, feeling the sound drift through your mind and pulling you in. You weren’t sure when you started walking, but you felt the sand shift beneath your feet as you slowly made your way towards the water. The fires faded from your sight, the churning waves beckoning to you like gentle hands that promised refuge. The song grew louder, all consuming, blocking everything else out but the need to answer. You felt the wind whip your hair around you, the cold sting kissing your cheeks as the crashing waves grew louder, the song more desperate. The sand beneath your feet grew cold as you ventured into a spot where the water met the shoreline. You’re almost there, the song called to you. You felt a relieved smile tug on your lips at the thought of finally reaching your goal and answering the song. You felt the water come just up to your toes before retreating back. You closed your eyes in anticipation. Just one more step.

You let out a cry as you were yanked away from the water, a strong hand on your upper arm. Your arms reached for the water, your mind still foggy as a loud, keening cry sounded from the water before disappearing entirely. You whirled around to see Javy staring at you with an intense worry, Nat just behind him, worry clear on her face.

“Wha-” you mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of your head as it began to pound. “What happened? Javy?”

“Hey, Skipper,” he murmured gently, pulling you closer, away from the water. “We’ve been calling you for a while now. You okay?”

“I…” you trailed off, glancing between him and the water. “I’m not sure.”

“How about we get you some water, yeah?” Nat suggested, wrapping her arms around you as she led you back to the bonfires. You nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing back at the ocean. “Yeah, okay.”

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patroxlos · 2 months

Text

home base . ch2

"friends who reconnected and who certainly don't want to be more" - 2.8k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch1. "friends who have dinner once a week"

next: ch3. "friends who believe in mpreg"

A few months before the first chapter, you pick your best friend up from the airport.

You would've expected nothing less than banter and unresolved tension.

---

A few months ago.

Ken Sato knows he would get mobbed at the airport, but he is pleasantly surprised at the crowd that had formed just to see him arrive back at the homeland. Didn’t hurt the ego to see how the entire room seemed to literally light up as he stepped into view.

Sure, this isn’t the most ideal career move. But he did not have much of a choice, so he is going to try to make the most out of it.

He flashes well-timed smirks towards his adoring fans as he walks, adjusting his shades coolly as he is bombarded with a flash of lights. Oh yeah, no matter where he goes, he still got it. He is it.

His mood instantly dampens however when instead of a black luxury van, a beaten up jeep was waiting for him at the end of his airport runway. The windows are tinted, but he knows exactly who it was. As one of the men nearby open the doors of the jeep for him, he begrudgingly climbs in.

“Ugh, dad, I told you I didn’t want you picking me up from the airport,” Ken scowls. He does not spare a glance to the driver’s seat as he begins stretching out his legs. “I’m not going to whatever family lunch plans you made. Just drop me off.”

“Want to try speaking to me like that again?” A voice, that is decidedly not his father, says. You look back from the driver’s seat, a disgusted look on your face. “You talk to your dad like that?”

He feels his breath leave his body.

You look the same as he remembers you.

He bolts up from the back, nearly lunging forward. “I– I didn’t know—”

“No worries sir. I am just your humble driver,” you mock as you begin to set the jeep to drive.

“Wait! Wait.” He presses a hand over yours that held the stick shift, before exiting the jeep quickly and switching to the passenger seat at the front. The crowd screams once more when they see him emerge from the car.

As soon as he sits in front, he reaches over the console to give you a hug. “Hey! It’s been a while.”

You click your tongue, before returning the hug. “That’s more like it. And watch how you speak to Professor Sato. He’s getting pretty old these days.”

He winces. “I will,” he half-heartedly promises, fully knowing he won’t. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were still studying at some fancy grad school in Europe.”

You laugh. “I graduated. Say hello to the upcoming CEO of Motsubishi. Wear your seatbelt.” You drive out of the airport, and he notices two black cars follow them closely behind. Your security detail.

“Oh bro no way! You got the gig.” He gives a light slap to your shoulder in excitement.

“I’m getting the gig. I can still fuck up before my dad retires.”

He grins widely, getting a good look at you. “You’re some bigshot now.”

“Compared to you?”

“Especially compared to me. I hit balls with a stick.”

“You normally don’t downplay your stunning career running the longest tour of the Ken Sato Show. I should take that as a compliment.” You take one hand off the wheel to nudge him back. “But seriously. Nice to see you again. You look…good.”

“You too— like, you look great,” he grins. “It’s just been so long. When was the last time we’ve seen each other? Two years?”

“Three,” you corrected him. “When I went to see you play at Dodger Stadium against the Angels. I was with your mom—”

“Hm, I think you’re remembering it wrong.” He chuckles. “I don’t think you came to see me play.”

Your cheeks burn as you drive a little faster. “I thought you forgot about that.”

“No no, I think I would remember when my best friend cheers for another guy at the opposite team instead of me.”

“He’s not just some other guy,” you retort. “He’s Shohei Ohtani.”

“You know he’s a Dodger now,” he points out.

“Yeah…” You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. He didn’t like that.

He sulks into his seat, arms crossed. “And, he’s only the second-best to me.”

“And are you a two-way player like him?”

“Why? So I can be mediocre at both pitching and batting? No thank you sweetheart.”

He remembers they had the same conversation before, but instead of inside a musty jeep it was someplace much darker and crowded. He had leaned close to her ear, his hand hovering over her waist. They were fighting to have a conversation over the music, and he was desperate to prove he was a much better player than the entire team he just lost to. Oh yeah, he remembers the last time he saw you pretty clearly, three years ago.

He also remembers the mess that happened after, and the promise they made to never talk about it again.

He realizes that they tended to fight a lot whenever they met up, yet it does not dampen their closeness. To him, you are still the spoiled yet easygoing rich kid that hangs around whenever his dad has meetings with your parents. To you, he is still the little crybaby who likes playing Ultraman in the kindergarten playroom.

He denies it to this day, but you know for a fact that he bawled when you said goodbye before him and his mom left for good.

“I missed you,” you aren’t looking at him when you said this, but he feels the affection all the same. “Zoom isn’t the same as seeing you in person.”

“Is that why you’re picking me up? I figured it’s so that your dad knows his favorite endorser is in good hands.” He leans back into the soft leather cockily, raising his arms to position them behind his head. Ken feels like he’s practically part of the family at this point— he owes a lot of his career success to the ardent sponsorship of your parents. It’s kind of hard not to stick out as a player in the little leagues when you endorse one of the biggest technology and automaker companies in the world. He’s lucky that the kindness stretched on to his professional career.

“I figured you would’ve wanted to see a familiar face,” you say.

He did want that. Really badly. He struggles not to show it. “Aw, you miss me that much?” He teases, leaning forward to catch your eye.

He is not really prepared for the sincerity that met him when you reach over to pat his knee before returning focus back to your drive. “I know this move isn’t easy for you, Kenji…You sounded really beaten up over it the last time we called,” You sigh.

He looks out of the window, feigning some nonchalance when he asks “Yeah yeah, so when will you fly back out?”

“Hm?”

“You know, when you’re off on a yacht somewhere with your college buddies or doing some business at a convention for your dad.” He recounts your jetsetting habits. He has seen it all on your socials and some unsavory gossip articles he immediately scrolls away from.

‘Young heiress making the most out of life— and her parents’ bank account.’ Or so the tabloids say.

It doesn’t matter that you came to pick him up. You’ll be gone soon anyway, no reason for him to get too attached to having you around. It feels like fate will never allow you two to be in the same place at the right time, when he is too busy running bases and you were too busy leaving on jetplanes.

“Actually,” you sound unsure as to how to say it. “I’m…I didn’t tell you this last time we called because I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to get your hopes up but— I guess I will be indefinitely staying here for now. Same as you.”

He whips his head to face you so fast he nearly got strangled by his seatbelt. “Oh.” He keeps his tone casual. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Even with how big Tokyo is, it feels like we would practically be neighbors now,” your voice was even, but slightly strained— as if you also couldn’t believe that you both found your way back within driving distance.

The car ride is unbearably silent for him.

It is for you too, as you rush to fill the quiet. “We’ll be seeing each other a lot. I’m staying here for the time being because—”

He didn’t really process anything else you said after you mentioned that you will be seeing each other . A lot.

“...and I just want to make sure you’ll be alright adjusting back here.” You finish. “If you renew your contract it’ll be easier for me to see you—”

“I’ll get to see you?”

It strikes your heart, how soft his voice becomes, far removed from the arrogance he often carries. You approach the docks of Tokyo Bay. “...Yes? That’s what I said. So you better renew.”

“Renew what?” He could not focus.

“Your…contract with the company? You are still staying onboard with us, right?” You activate the private sea bridge that leads straight to his house. He is not sure how you got the authorization— maybe you talk to his dad more often than he realizes.

“Uhuh, yeah… So when can I see you again?” He is already planning to take to the streets of Tokyo with you. You can go on a food crawl at Harmonica Yokocho. The Tokyo Skytree seems tempting but he was not sure if you are still scared of heights. He can make fun of you either way. “Should we get annual passes to DisneySea?” He asks aloud. He could easy acquire them for the both of you, but you might have some secret corporate connections to see more exclusive attractions—

“Dude, I just told you.” You laugh as you drove through the sea bridge. “I might not be able to see you outside of work that much, so you should renew with us or else I won’t get to see you at all. I’m here in Japan because I’ll be busy training to take over the company.”

“Oh suddenly I’m not good enough to kick it with Ms. CEO?” He jokes but deflates slightly at your words. “It’s okay. I…I’m busy with my…own things too.”

“You sure are. You have a photoshoot tomorrow. I arranged for it. Make sure to clean up nicely. You’re representing my brand you know?”

He groans. “Ugh, come onnn… can’t you at least let me get over the jetlag? I heard there’s this great club in Shibuya that would definitely let us in.”

“You couldn’t be any less specific right now. Any club would take us in.”

“So we will hit them all up! Club crawl! A Ken Sato Homecoming Round.”

You pull up at his front door. “Hey, your agent told me you approved of the schedule last month. This conference is part of your contract.”

“Well that was before I knew you would be here!” He unbuckles his seat belt to fully face you. He is always such a drama queen.

And no matter the distance, he always will be your drama queen.

You placed the jeep on park, mulling over his insistence. “...After your shoot. I think I’ll be free. For a quick dinner,” you emphasize the word ‘quick.’

He grabs your shoulder and gives you a hefty shake. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Where ya wanna go? I think DisneySea can be considered a quick squeeze—”

“Maybe someplace near the venue?” You laugh at his eagerness. “I don’t really wanna go anywhere too far from it in case another kaiju attack happens.”

He stills. You notice.

“Oh don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it seems,” you try to reassure him. “It’s just…Ultraman has disappeared for the past several months that it is kinda hard to anticipate when these attacks resolve themselves– what with how the KDF is.”

He knows. Fuck, he knows. “...Do you often worry about that?”

You think for a bit, before shrugging. “When I’m in the country I guess I do, but like everyone else here you just get used to it.”

He does not like the idea of you being used to it.

And maybe this is one of the rare instances where he is thankful for inheriting such a responsibility as Ultraman; the thought of being able to keep you safe gives him a renewed sense as to why he begrudgingly agreed to take on the mantle in the first place.

He…He remembers that he promised his dad he would start the gig no later by tomorrow, after he was barraged with dozens of video messages from his dad urging him to start training to host the Ultra.

“Kenji?” You furrow your eyebrows at his lack of response.

He came back to Japan to be Ultraman.

Millions of people depend on him.

“U-uh oh yea. Definitely. Tomorrow works.” He’ll just deal with his dad another day. Not like I even wanted this job.

The grin on your face made him feel like it was worth it, especially when you reach forward to clasp his hand in yours. “Welcome back Ken.”

His brain short-circuits. He puts his other hand over yours, his grip tighter than your own. “What can I say? Can’t disappoint my No.1 fan.”

The airconditioner ran as you both stayed like that for a little longer. It was only then that he realized they didn’t even put on any music the entire trip down there. He leans in a little closer, his side pressing against the center console.

“Thank you for picking me up.” He says, voice low.

“You’re welcome.” You squeeze his hand, your grin softening to a smile.

New lipstick, he notes as he studies the matt new shade of your lips. He wonders whether it tasted like the strawberry balm you used to wear when you were teenagers or maybe it is just waxy like the last time he saw you.

You let go of his hands, bringing them back to your lap and bringing him back to reality. “Hey, um. It’s not weird right? That we’re meeting up tomorrow night?”

“Huh? Why would it be weird?” He blinks.

“You know…three years ago. When we agreed that we would just like…Stick to being friends?” It is tricky for you to find the right words. “That it won’t work out because we’re just in different places and we shouldn’t…try?”

“It’s not like we were together in the first place,” he says before he could stop himself. He sees the hurt slightly flash in your eyes before you regained composure.

“Right…well…I hope this doesn’t change our agreement?” You fiddle with your fingers. “I know we said those things because we felt like we would never find ourselves close by to one another but now all of a sudden we find ourselves…here.”

You gesture to the both of you.

“I think it’s important for us to remember that…we’re still not really at a place to pursue anything and we are better off as…friends who meet up for dinner.”

He claps your shoulder, a little harder than intended, but with a need to convey a strong sense of camaraderie. “Yeah of course. Friends, we can so do that. Bro.”

“Yeah, okay. Yes. Sorry I had to bring it up because it felt a little awkward earlier in the trip.”

“I didn’t even notice!” Lie. “I totally didn’t think that it would cause any problems.” Double lie. “In fact, I think I’ve moved on. Got some bigger things on my plate.” Triple…No. That’s true. Yes he has. Maybe?

“Oh good,” you smile tightly at him. “So have I…I’m super over it. Bro.”

Oh. “You are?” His voice lilted a bit higher.

“...Yes I am.”

“Okay. Cool.” That’s totally fine with him. “Glad we’re on the same page, Ms. CEO.” You had bigger things to worry about, he had literal bigger things to worry about, it was no biggie. He definitely wasn’t going to lie awake in bed tonight.

Because it was definitely never going to work out between them.

It’s why months from that point, freshly off an argument with you at the yakisoba place the previous day, he nearly chokes on his katsu when Ms. Wakita asks him:

“So if you’re not going to talk about your father, do you have any comments about the gossip channels saying that you harboring a secret love child with the scion of the Motsubishi Group?”

#im a big ohtani fan i hope u dont mind that i insert that lmao #ken sato x you #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #cross posted on ao3

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daydream-believin · 2 months

Text

Like A Boiled Frog (You Don't Even Scream) [ch 1]

notes: might proofread this before i post this to ao3 but here have the raw milk version (pasteurization is for losers amaright)

series summary: every time you think things cant get any more batshit, hurricane throws another pile of guano at you. every time you think the hole cant get any deeper, you fall further. and you’re not sure what frightens you more: the town itself, or your increasing reluctance to leave.

or: au where mike has that pizza shop for wayyy more than a week and you find yourself a horror protagonist. or at least one’s love interest.

chapter summary: get haunted bitch. now go drive to utah in a manic episode. go meet a nice walking corpse, maybe it'll fix you. or make you worse. probably that second thing lmao

word count: 7985, oh dear (thats with me cutting out some stuff lol)

warnings: uh, swearing, manic behavior, self-harmful thoughts/behavior, mention of hallucinations/hearing voices, shit this is sounding bad, i mean its canon typical violence so idk man no lifeguard on duty

You know how in Source Decay, John Darnielle says / I wish the west Texas highway was a mobius strip / I could ride it out forever / when I feel my heart break? / Well, that guy’s a bitchass snake oil salesman for romanticizing this. Fuck that guy.

Although, this is the first time you’ve ever been able to set a cruise control and actually just leave it at that. What with there being no other cars on the road out here at this hour for you to run into. You even forgot about it at one point.

Little puffs of fire danced in your peripheral vision, like fairies flitting about. It was easy to spot them out in the night air, all those pumpjacks that littered the desert. There was nothing but these small fires, with the tiny, dotted additions of the glowing red eyes of windmills to light up the way for miles.

And you tried not to think about how if you broke down, no one would be around to find you. Every now and then you would startle at the shadowy specter of a tumbleweed crossing your path, but you were acutely aware of just how alone you were out here.

On that train of thought, your gaze fell to the passenger side, to the little bear toy you had buckled into a seatbelt like it was a person.

“Can you believe this, Fredbear?” you asked the inanimate object.

Fredbear did not answer, of course. Would be insane if he did, right?

Hmm …Why did part of you expect him to.

***

The august sun was beating down hot on your back as you walked home that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only last week.

The neighborhood was as full of life as it always was. The kids running around in a game of tag, the teens playing basketball, and the adults walking their dogs. You could hear some faint music playing in the distance, most likely from the stage setup in the square downtown, not too far away.

There were many yard sales set up, it being the thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon like this. Despite your very strong instincts to rummage through all the boxes in these sales like a raccoon looking for dinner in a dumpster, you were broke, with no money to spare for impulse purchases on random junk. And thus, being a mature adult, you walked right past them.

That is, until a yard full of children’s toys caught your eye. One of your cousins’ kids was turning 6 in a few weeks. Might as well buy presents now before you forget again and have to rush to the store in a panic 8 minutes after the party had already started, sweat rolling down your back as you search the toy isle for something the birthday boy would like, while your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket nonstop because both your cousin is texting and your aunt is calling to ask where you’re at because you were the one who was supposed to be picking up the pizza.

I mean, just a hypothetical scenario here.

You didn’t really find anything good as you dug through the bins of miscellaneous action figures and toy cars. As you could recall, the kid really liked Iron Man right now. And sharks. Alas, you found no Iron Mans or sharks in those bins.

The other table’s baskets were full of stuffed animals. You could maybe get lucky and find a stuffed shark in there. But stuffed animals are notorious for being hard to clean; and yard sale plushies sometimes come with more than just one new friend. You weren’t about to be the reason your cousin had to fumigate her house for bedbugs. Again. So, you decided to close this case for now and skedaddle on out of there.

You took another look back at the table as you walked away.

Well.. The toys you could see at the top of the bins did look like they were well taken care of… It couldn’t hurt to just look, right?

Yeah no. You found no sharks unfortunately. What you did find, however, was this funky little teddy bear wearing a top hat and bowtie.

A real character, that one. The bright gold fabric of its body made it stand out amongst the other toys. The smile stitched onto the bear gave it a weird, smug look. And you hadn’t seen a plushy with eyebrows before.

That being said, this thing’s aura was so... unsettling. You stared into its black eyes, that seemed to stare right back at you, with a strange feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

“You like that one, do ya?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when the old man running the sale spoke to you. You had Not heard him come up beside you like that. Creepy.

“Yeah, it’s…” you tried to think of a positive word, “very intriguing. Looks like it’s ready for a party.”

“My granddaughter called him Fredbear. Found him over in Utah, many years back. In a yard sale, just like this one,” he gently took the bear from you, and looked down at it wistfully, “My granddaughter.. liked how smartly dressed he was. A perfect guest for her tea parties. You were right about that…”

The old man stared at the doll for a little longer after the conversation faded. You felt extremely awkward now. Perhaps you really should have just left without unearthing this obvious sentimental piece.

“My grandchildren are no longer here with me,” you felt a little uncomfortable with how he phrased that, “so, I’ll tell you what. Promise me you’ll take care of him, and he’s yours. Free of charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’d be happy to pay for him, really,” you felt bad taking free stuff from the elderly.

“No,” he said with a tone of finality, placing the bear firmly into your hands, “the day’s almost over. I’d like to help this old friend move on. It’s time.”

Well that somehow was both sweet and foreboding at the same time.

So, you thanked the old man and started back on your walk home, Fredbear cradled in your arms. He waved goodbye to you. The grandfather, of course, not the teddy bear.

You probably aren’t going to wind up giving this one to your cousin’s son. There was something about it that told you not to. Maybe it was the way the old man talked about it. You felt compelled to take care of the plush yourself. Kind of like an honor thing. Or a pity thing.

It smelled a little funky. But that’s nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle. And some dish soap.

Maybe you were just. Feeling a bit childish lately. Too small and easily broken. Moved to tears by little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Disregarded and treated like your fears weren’t real.

Deeply afraid.

Yeah, you’d give Fredbear a nice soak in the sink with a fun dish soap bubble bath. And maybe after that, you’ll both feel a little better.

You were alone in your apartment that night, as your roommate was always gone these days. And when you made your tea, you brought Fredbear a mug as well. A little tea party, for old time’s sake.

Looking back, maybe that was your first mistake.

***

Static rolled from your radio. You gave up on fiddling with it hours ago, but you’ve got nothing better to occupy your mind now.

You turned the knob absentmindedly, never really expecting to get anywhere. Or any signal, that is. A muffled country song here, the broken-up voice of a DJ there, nothing strong enough to stay for more than a few seconds. However, a few seconds of a clear transmission was all you really needed when you rolled past a certain signal.

“zZz-Hurricane—“

Now that was a word that got your attention. Not that you were anywhere near the coast at the moment. You know, unless the person reading this is looking to buy some oceanside property in Arizona. In that case feel free to slide into my DMs.

“zZZ-Peach Days! -Zz celebratio— zzZ-year—peaches peach—-ZzzZ-Heritage-zZ,” you let your gaze flicker downward, towards the dimly lit red text of the frequency number display as if that would provide some more insight.

And then suddenly, the fuzz was completely gone, as if you were near the tower itself,

“So Hurry On To Hurricane City!” the spokesman encouraged cheerfully. You could practically here the giant pageant smile in his voice as he delivered his slogan. This man was your friend, obviously. Then, however, his tone shifted as he closed the ad copy, “Because you know the party can’t start without you…”

You held your breath as the silence dragged out a few agonizing seconds, until “ZZZZZZZZ!!!”, in a jolt, the transmission went completely out. Explosively. You even flinched.

You stayed on the station for a good twenty minutes after that, waiting to see if you could hear anything again. You could feel your heart pound against your ribs until the terrifying feeling faded. There was nothing else but static, of course, and for so long you almost thought you must have imagined it. If not for the way those dull words repeated in your head, over and over.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

You hadn’t really had a destination in mind when you took off. No goal other than to get out of there as fast as you could manage. The idea of the West had been bouncing around your brain a lot lately, hence your current trajectory, but you really hadn’t had a clue where you were supposed to be going when you left.

I mean, you still didn’t have a destination. You had no clue what that advertisement was even about. Where they were even fucking talking about. Hurricane City?

Yet, somehow, you knew those words were meant for you. Not anyone else. you. There was a party and the party was waiting for you.

Guess you’d have to look for a map or something in town. Perhaps use the library computer. Man, you would regret throwing your phone into the lake in a fit of passion as you left town, but honestly, this is the longest you’ve known peace in quite some time. Just gonna have to live a little retro for a while. Not the worst thing in the world.

You’ll get a new one later, once you’ve settled in to… wherever you’re going. Whatever new home lies over that horizon for you, you guess.

The sun was breaching the beige skyline of sandy shrub brush as you finally rolled over the state line. You needed to eat. Your stomach growled loudly at just the thought. Funny. You hadn’t even thought about eating in the last.. twenty hours. Which means you should be absolutely shaking right now. Yeah, that’s why you’re shaking. That’s it. You’ll pull into the first diner you see.

You were hoping to at least be in Roswell for breakfast, but there was no way your body was going to be able to keep running if you waited that long. Looks like it’s just going to be the first place you come across.

Hopefully they don’t put green chilis in their pancakes or something.

That sounds insane but it’s an actual thing you’ve seen before in this state, trust. There are no laws nor gods when it comes to Hatch green chilis.

***

Your sleepy brain was not ready for the bell that rang as you walked through the door. Embarrassingly enough, the tinny noise startled you. You almost tripped, to be honest. Thankfully your wobbly Bambi legs held up as you managed to catch yourself.

The hostess wasn’t in sight as you awkwardly stood in the entrance, but there was a whole heap of noise coming from the kitchen.

“Hold on just a second, Sweetpea!” a voice called out to you.

Well, guess you’re holding on a second.

Your eyes scanned the top of the walls, perusing the vast cookie jar collection that the owner had accrued over the years. They were never dusted, despite being on shelves that lined the top of every wall in the tiny shack of a diner, and thus you could easily tell that a few new additions had been made. You know, because those cookie jars were way less filthy.

That’s gotta be a heath-code violation.

After you heard a bit of garbled yelling, the hostess rushed out to take her place in front of you. Smoothing down her polka-dotted apron, she grinned at you.

“Table for two?”

You blinked. It was too early in the morning for fully intelligent speech.

“Uh. No. Just me today. Thank you.”

Her big, bedazzled cat-eyeglasses fell a little farther down her nose as she scrunched her face in confusion, “alright then. Just the one of you today...”

She grabbed a paper menu as she led your shambling body to a table near the window. Which was shut away with ancient looking vinyl blinds that you were too afraid to open, lest they crumble and the cost of replacing them be put on your on tab.

She had already disappeared back into the kitchen by the time you got yourself in a seat. You glanced around the room. You weren’t the only patron here, as a few tables held a few bodies, but you were the only one without your face buried in a newspaper. And to be expected honestly, you were the youngest person in the room at seven in the morning.

The hostess, who was also the only waitress in this tiny local business, placed two glasses in front of you. The dull sound they made hitting the table drew you out of your revelry. There before you were two cups, a steaming mug of fresh coffee and a short glass of milk. You looked up in confusion.

“Don’t worry, it’s whole milk. Builds strong bones.”

That... wasn’t your concern.

You looked back at the cup in confusion and by the time you turned back, she had already moved on to the next table, refilling mugs and having loud banter with the other customers. Her regulars, by the sound of it. You felt too apathetic to try and call her over again.

You shrugged, to no one in particular, as you did not have a breakfast partner with you, despite the waitress’s insistence otherwise. Wait, was she mocking you? Eh, maybe it’s just supposed to be for the coffee. Nevertheless, you would not be drinking the milk, so you just left it there.

Despite the prevalence of the local newspaper in the room, there wasn’t a dispenser or anything at the front of the restaurant, like there usually is. As you drummed your fingers on the tablecloth, bored out of your mind, you kinda regretted throwing your phone in the lake a bit more. Maybe not the best of moves.

But hey, at least you aren’t constantly quelling the incessant buzzing you’d be hearing if you’d kept it.

You busied yourself stirring your coffee while you looked over the menu again, just for something to read. Of course, you were ordering a waffle. Because this was a diner, and, yeah, you do like waffles. And pancakes. And French toast. Doodoodoodoo can’t wait to get a mouthful.

That voice kept echoing in your mind. The party can’t start without you.

“More coffee, Babycakes?” the waitress snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh! Yeah, thank you,” you moved the mug to the edge of the table, closer to her, “Say… I know this is an out-of-pocket question, but have you heard anything about Hurricane City? Maybe something about peaches?”

“Oh!” she snapped her fingers, “You mean the Peach Days. It’s a little heritage festival they put on every summer in Hurricane, you know. It’s a hoot, my family makes a trip out there every few years or so for it. Not this time of course, clearly, since I’m here talkin’ to you and not in Utah—”

“In Utah?”

Of course, it was Fucking Utah again.

“I know it’s soundin’ far, but it’s only ‘bout a day’s drive from here. Two days if y’ain’t crazy about following an itinerary like my husband,” she brushed a hand over her apron before you lost her attention to the other customers, “I swear that man would plan out a schedule for every second of the day if he could…”

After she wandered off to go top off more mugs, you lamented the fact that you still hadn’t ordered yet. That’s what you get for being nosy about peach festivals, you suppose.

Thankfully though, soon enough you had your hearty breakfast and were back in front of the wheel, on your way to the friendly neighborhood Walmart. Where hopefully no cops or employees would bother you as you crashed in the parking lot.

You took Fredbear to the backseat with you for good luck. Maybe it was the gold color, or the fancy getup he had. Maybe you just needed a cuddle buddy to not feel so alone in this parking lot swarming with people.

Much to your disdain, it was now a bit into the morning hours, and the sun was fully up.

You had tried to find as shady a spot as possible, but it’s not exactly like trees grow in this biome. At least not naturally. Windbreak tree lines were definitely a thing, but those protected buildings people cared about, and this was a Walmart. Nothing around here but concrete, rocks spray painted blue, and cigarette butts.

So after tossing and turning in the bright blinding sunshine for way longer than you should have, and making promises to higher deities was proven to be unfruitful in your attempt to find some semblance of peace, you finally just had to admit defeat. And here by rescinding any aforementioned promises to higher powers.

You laid Fredbear back down on the seat and tucked him in with the blanket when you got back up. At least one of you could be cozy and well rested. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be you, however.

Well, it’s far from the first all-nighter you’ve pulled without having time to take a nap during the following day. Sleep deprivation isn’t real, silly. Teachers just made that up to scare you. It’ll be fine.

***

You know you never really realize how much we structure our lives around other humans until you take a drive through the middle of nowhere. How essential it is to have enough gas to make it to the next town. From town to town, your life becomes segments. Only within the eyesight of other humans are you ever safe. Only within the bounds of the settlement can your soul be settled.

Gas stations become oases. Which is the plural of oasis, apparently. Anyway, you start seeing them like mirages. Dingey, weather-worn gas pumps become as good as a sparkling illusion of precious water in the Sahara. The empty shells of buildings you passed by, long since forgotten, became like mausoleums in these graveyard towns. Villages. Hamlets. Mostly hamlets.

“Are we there yet?” a small and very annoyed voice called out.

You had just written it off as your imagination until you heard the noise of shuffling fabric. Normally your audio hallucinations aren’t that detailed. Paralyzed, you held your breath, not daring to make any noise that would distract your ears from hearing whoever, whatever, was in the back seat. Your mind went to stories of skinwalkers and misshapen monsters and hitch-hiking serial killers.

“… Are we there yet?” the voice repeated, admittedly sounding even smaller to you now.

Yep, that’s a real person alright. Or a real thing. Your eyes were probably bloodshot from the way you haven’t blinked this entire time, just staring straight ahead on the desert highway. Taking a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself, you turned down the rear-view mirror…

Christ almighty. You had a stowaway.

Your stomach turned immediately. God, come on now, don’t puke up what little you had on your stomach. You need that.

“Hey Buddy,” you tried to sound as friendly as you could, “What’s your name?”

Clad in a little striped shirt and cargo shorts, he started kicking his feet in impatience, which would be cute if it weren’t for this situation y’all are in, and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, “We’ve been in here forever,” he whined.

If this was a skinwalker, he was a pretty darn adorable one. And definitely not a hitch-hiking serial killer. At least you hoped. But no, this was a greater form of terror: responsibility.

“Haha, yeah, we have been in here really long, haven’t we? How long do you think we’ve been driving, can you tell me?”

When did you pick up this child. When you got gas in Gallup? Albuquerque? Dear lord, if he’s been in here since Roswell, you’re about to have the world’s biggest headache on your hands, both metaphorically and physically. But there’s no way he’s been in here for fucking 10 hours, right? right??

Okay, okay. Maybe you’re just a little panicky right now and not thinking straight. Maybe teachers hadn’t been making up sleep deprivation just to scare you after all. You have been purposely not drinking anything for the lack of available restrooms. People get dehydration hallucinations, right?

The boy just stared at you, blankly. Probably fully realizing you were a stranger and not whoever he thought you were. In lieu of answering you, he started fidgeting more with the toy bear you had had in the back. You really hoped that hadn’t been what lured him into your station wagon in the first place.

Don’t be getting shy on me now, kid.

You put your blinker on, ready to merge off the road and onto an incoming rest-stop that you thanked your lucky stars for.

“Honey, can you tell me what your phone number is?”

He looked up at you, finally tearing his attention from the bear, and you could see gears turning in his head.

“…435-555-1987?”

You repeated it back to him, and he nodded. Alright, time to find that payphone.

Said rest-stop payphone was thankfully near a picnic table so you could sit him down and be able to watch him carefully the whole time you made this call. Because judging by the fact this situation was happening at all, he was a slippery one.

You got out of the car and opened the back door, but he was hesitant to get out. Which, fair, you are a stranger trying to get him to a second location.

“What’s up, Bud?” you tried your hardest to not sound like a predator but boy was that a real nebulous idea, wasn’t it?

“Fredbear wants to come too,” he mutters.

“Well, sure then, let’s bring him, we’ll have a little picnic.” With no food, but hey, whatever lie it takes to get him sitting on that bench.

It was really cute the way the kid set the bear down on the table and positioned it like they were going to have a picnic together. When you find this kid’s parents, you’ll let him keep Fredbear. Toys like it when they’re given to new children, right? Wasn’t there a movie about that or something. Wincing at the grubbiness of the payphone, you reluctantly dialed the number.

“Hello, Jeff’s Pizza on Main St, are you ready to order?”

You closed your eyes, counting the seconds as you breathed in for 4 seconds, held it for 7, and released for 8.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted into the receiver. So much for calming down, “please don’t hang up,” you pleaded.

“Listen, we don’t take solicitation,”

“No, uh, sorry. I’ve found a lost child who told me this was his number. Is the owner of this restaurant by chance frantically looking for their son?”

You heard some muffled conversation happening behind the phone, “Well, no, I don’t even have any kids… and I uh, am currently understaffed. Im the only one here.”

you cursed under your breath.

“Uh, alright, well…” you could tell this was getting really awkward for him.

“Could you tell me where y’all are, I’m unfamiliar with the area code,”

“Uh, Hurricane, Utah?”

… If you weren’t on the phone, you fucking swear you’d be screeching at the top of your lungs like a chimpanzee right now.

“Thank you, you know, just in case he’s just remembering an advertisement he’s seen or something,”

“Oh, okay,” there was a pause, “well I hope you find the parents or, whoever,”

“Thank you,” you’ll put him out of his misery and hang up.

“Are you sure that’s your number, Hon?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Why don’t you tell me it again, maybe I dialed it wrong,”

“435-5--” his face scrunched up in concentration, “435-555—I don’t know…”

You tried not to look visibly stressed at this answer.

“Do you know where you live?”

He moved the bears paws along with whatever little game he was playing, before looking up at you, head tilted in confusion, “Hurricane?”

Okay. Police time. If not for him, for you. The skinwalker possibility just went back up. Because, honestly, he had to have gotten in your car as a coyote or something. No way you wouldn’t’ve noticed a whole ass child entering your car.

“How does ice cream sound, huh Buddy?”

“I want ice cream!” he said hastily as if you’d change your mind if he hesitated.

“Ice cream it is then, but only if you’re good for me and the officers, okay? And tell them everything you can remember. You’re smart, right?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Great,” you smiled over clenched teeth.

After herding him back into the car, you had to take a moment to gently rest your head into the steering wheel. And it took everything within you to not smash said head into it. Or scream in agony. No, no, we mustn’t scare the child.

Tuba City wasn’t too far away. The police station was downtown, as most are. Luckily, across the street there was a paleteria with a courtyard area. The little guy got very excited when you got pulled into the parking space, so eh, what the hell, ice cream first. Maybe after a treat and some playtime in the courtyard he won’t be as wiggly and will be able to tell the cops what he knows about just where the hell he came from.

The noise of the bell chiming made you flinch as you two walked into the paleteria. You hadn’t thought you were that tightly wound right now but apparently you were wrong. The lady behind the counter greeted you warmly, and you responded in turn, trying to play it cool.

God, imagine if she got an off-vibe from you and the kid and called over the police from across the street before you even have a chance—

Deep breath. Okay. The kid you had started referring to in your head as just “Little Boy” was leaned against the display case, his breath fogging up the glass in front of him and probably leaving little handprints for the shopkeeper to clean later.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“That’s… Okay. What can I get you?” she seemed a little confused. Strange, but you brushed past it just as quickly as she did.

“Ah, what do we want?” you asked Little Boy.

He excitedly tugged on your pantleg and pointed to the popsicle he wanted, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t need to convince you, but you quickly realized you were not going to be able to say no to any else after this if he deployed the same cute begging look.

“One of those cute little Tweety Bird faces,” you pointed.

“Anything else?” she handed you the popsicle and you gingerly took it.

“Nah, that’s it” you were too nauseous to eat right now.

You paid, throwing the change into the tip jar, and turned to give Little Boy the popsicle she handed you. The words caught in your throat as you looked down to find your pantleg absent of any tugging by any Little Boy. You quickly scanned the tiny paleteria. He was nowhere to be found, anywhere in the room.

“Uh, did you see where the kid went?” you tried not to sound too panicked.

She was taken aback, also quickly looking around the room to find no one, before shaking her head, “Did you have a kid with you?”

You furiously nodded in confusion,

“I’m sorry, then I didn’t see them,” she pointed to the glass door that led to the courtyard only a few feet away from y’all, “Try outside, maybe?”

You burst outside, searching the area in a panic, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Not hidden in the tangle of the garden, not splashing around in the fountain, not at, under, on top of, or around any of the tables.

You went to call his name, but your voice caught in your throat when you realized you didn’t have a name to call. And.

And.

Something hit your shirt. A water droplet. You looked up into the clear, blinding blue sky. Your nerves tickled as another droplet ran down your cheek. Oh, you were crying. Huh.

You took the closet seat you could find, counting the things processed by your 5 senses. It’s all you could do to not start bawling for no reason. Maybe you’ll calm down and be able to think straight soon.

Why can’t you think straight? Everything feels so fuzzy.

You should be terrified, and in a way, you were. In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth: Little Boy wasn’t real. Or at least turned back into a coyote and ran off.

As you stared vacantly into the open air, you realized you still had a dripping popsicle in your hands. Supposedly “Tweety Bird” shaped, it just looked like a yellow skull missing its mandible bone to you. How fitting.

You pulled it to your mouth. Yum. Tasted like AAAAAAAA. Or orange, according to the package.

Attempting to lick the melted yellow liquid off of your hand, you accidentally stuck the ice pop on your face. Great. Now you’re sticky all over.

God, you’ve really gone and lost your fucking marbles this time, haven’t you.

There was a bulletin kiosk a few feet down your field of vision. On that bulletin kiosk was an old poster, barely visible as it was buried under layers of other flyers. It caught your eye and seemed to burn your retinas. What little you could see was the word Freddy and part of what looked like a version of the bear you’d been toting around this whole little expedition, but that was enough.

Something clicked. You looked down at the bear hanging by your side in your other hand. The kid had shoved it into your arms so he could more easily lean on the display case, right before he disappeared the very moment you took your eyes off of him.

You know, you hadn’t really felt alone since bringing Fredbear home. And not in a good way.

Guess the name you should’ve been calling was Freddy.

You had to get rid of that bear.

***

You had been walking home like you always did, same route. But you noticed something peculiar about this time. The house that the old man had his yard sale in was now stripped of all decoration, with a For Sale sign proudly standing in the grass. No cars, and no blinds or curtains on the windows, so you could see into the den which was now devoid of any furniture.

You’ll admit it, you crept around to the other windows, searching for any signs of life at all in the empty rooms. None. No furniture, no people, no trash. The yard sale was yesterday. How did they clean this place out so thoroughly in the short amount of time between when you’d seen it last and now.

A little confuddled, you went home as usual. While strange as hell, this wasn’t a missing person’s case or anything. And it’s probably why the man was so adamant on giving you Fredbear because it was the end of the day. He had a deadline. He was skipping town.

God, you wished you could just skip town.

You frankly thought nothing of it when you unlocked the door to your apartment to see Fredbear was already seated on the couch, like he was all set to marathon whatever 30-year-old cartoon you wound up watching that night. And it’s not like your roommate hadn’t done something like this before, move a stuffed animal or action figure into a funny position for you to find later.

You hadn’t seen him much lately. Or like, at all. The only reason you knew he was still alive were the dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom, and the aforementioned moving the bear around.

Looking back now, was he moving the bear around?

If you locked the deadbolt that can’t be unlocked from the outside, you’d be guaranteed to catch him in person for once. But you weren’t willing to go through the trouble and emotional toil of doing that, however.

In the name of feeling less like a ghost haunting your own home, getting yelled at for intentionally locking your roommate out might be a wee bit counterproductive. Sure, you’d be seen and spoken to, but the harshness of his words and tone would send you into a worse episode than you were already in.

Well, at least Fredbear seemed ready to keep you company tonight...

The fact that they put unskippable advertisements on streaming services you’re paying for in the first place is criminal. Or at least regular cable tv in a trenchcoat.

You got a drink while they prattled on about luxury cars you couldn’t afford and real estate companies you weren’t going to have the privilege of patroning any time soon. Embarrassingly, as you poured the pitcher of water into a glass, you got a little distracted.

The cheap glass’s glass was only about a millimeter or two thick. You could easily just crush this cup in your hand, in one swift movement. The muscles of your arm began tensing up at the thought.

But thankfully, a loud, blaring advertisement coming from the TV snapped you out of it. And so, you promptly decided to Not Do That, because picking all of those tiny glass shards out of your flesh would be a bitch. And that was not how you wanted to spend a perfectly good Sunday night. And of course you didn’t need the questions at work tomorrow.

You returned to the couch, curiously, and you swear, that damn teddy bear followed you with its eyes. Even though they were a shiny, solid black, and the idea itself would be insane.

As you settled back down, you grabbed the remote to turn down the volume of the cheery music playing. Mysteriously, it wasn’t just a commercial with bad sound mixing, the TV itself had been turned up. Now that it had your attention, the thing that was being sold to you seemed to the state of Utah. You know, those Visit [X] ads that were commonly played between cooking shows and ghost hunting documentaries.

“Oh hey, you’re from there, right?” you poked at fredbear. And immediately felt pathetic. God, you’ve got to stop talking to inanimate objects and like get a boyfriend or something. Geez.

The imagery on the screen was just, you know, normal southwest stock footage:

A drone shot of Zion national park

Old men golfing

Owls living in holes they’ve dug into cactuses

Rock archways

A family laughing as they shared a pizza being served to them by a man in a bear suit that looked just fredbear,

“Oh, well there you are, I guess.” you once again absent-mindedly spoke to your toy friend.

Kids swimming in a fancy resort pool

A Navajo cultural event

More rock archways and red sandstone cliffs

Kids crowding around a claw machine filled with toys just like the one sitting next to you

Kids crowding around a stage as an animatronic band played

Kids crowding around a birthday cake, the light of candles bouncing off their faces as they sang along…

The fake sounding voice of the announcer rung out, “Visit Utah! You know the party can’t start without you!”

Your mouth felt dry. Good thing you now had that glass of water.

***

Of course, you did what any smart, sane person would do and feverishly ripped through the layers of old flyers to get to the advertisement for what you now knew was Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place. A themed diner and nickel arcade that made most of their money hosting birthday parties, by the looks of it. You knew the type; you had been an American child once too.

Good thing none of the cops were hanging around outside to fine you for littering, because the amount of paper you just released into the breeze was in fact criminal.

There was a short list of locations at the bottom of the poster. They had a few scattered over Utah, or at least they used to, judging by the harsh weathering of this poster. The closest one being in Bigwater, explaining why this poster was out here in Tuba. But the word Hurricane stood out to you like it was lit up in neon. It burned like sunlight.

It appears you are in fact on your way to Hurricane, Utah. As if you didn’t know that already at this point, you being out on the canyon rim instead of your much preferred and beloved Rockies. Well, congratulations bitch. You’ve only got another three hours to go. Better get going. Have fun!

***

Oh, this place was creepy as hell. Or it’s just late at night, and you’re sleep deprived and paranoid. In the spirit of being honest to yourself, ‘sleep deprived and paranoid’ has always been your natural state of being, but right now it’s definitely ramped up to an eleven.

But even though it’s been close to 48 hours since your last brain-reset, this place still had a certain energy about it. Like New Orleans, or the woods around lynching bridges did. That spooky oh I am Not Safe here type of energy.

The gas station-man gave you a real weird look when you stormed in and asked where the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was. Normally you would’ve chalked it up to you being a clear foreigner asking for directions as if it’s 1995, to a children’s arcade close to midnight nonetheless, but now you weren’t so sure.

You eyed the fridge full of wine in pint sized bottles and little juice cartons. But nah, you probably needed to have a quick reaction time to whatever was waiting for you in this Venus flytrap you’re willingly walking into. You grabbed a Monster instead and you know what, yeah, that probably wasn’t the best decision either. If you weren’t high strung before, you definitely were now. You felt like you could punch a bear. A Freddy Fazbear.

You bought a local map alongside the energy drink, feeling like you were gonna need it. Man, low-tech was actually kinda annoying after a while. You got the gas station-man to begrudgingly mark Fazbear’s down onto it for you. Apparently, it and all other locations within town had closed down some twenty years ago. Not many people are still around who remember why, he said, but it had something to do with the faulty animatronics. Teenagers told ghost stories and dared each other to spend the whole night in the dining room. But otherwise, beyond the rumors, the original Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was just an empty, scorched building. And the other various locations like Jr’s or Circus Baby’s had been sold off, passing so many hands who knows what businesses were in there now. But you could still kinda tell, if you paid attention, in the same way you can tell if something used to be a Pizza Hut.

What you really wanted, according to gas station-man, whose nametag read Gary, was this new location that was opening soon, simply named Freddy’s Pizzeria. It’s set to open for business in September, so you’re lucky. He marked it one your map as well.

You don’t know why Gary was so nice to you. Maybe it was the harrowed look in your eyes. Maybe it was the twitchiness. Maybe Gary is just very bored of this tourist town and was looking to fall madly in love with a random troubled soul he met at midnight in a gas station and would wind up running away with to some far-off place. If that was the case, sorry Gary. You were too busy with the metaphorical torture labyrinth to care about romance at the moment.

You couldn’t decide if the haunted Fredbear would want to see an old location or the new one. You asked, but of course the fucker didn’t answer. Just sat there with his smug grin and glassy eyes that followed your hand movements. So, you quite literally tossed a coin. A new mint, the face side had Eleanor Roosevelt on it. And she marked the fact that you were going to try the new location first, and then try the original building next. Cool.

***

Your patience was kinda at its limit here, you’ll admit. You really should get some sleep soon. Or eat. Since you were hellbent on getting here and nothing else, the only thing on your stomach besides that wretched Tweety Bird popsicle is half a monster energy. Guess you’ll go by a fucking Denny’s after this. If you survive.

If you were going to die horrifically, you’d really rather the forces that be make it snappy. This was getting ridiculous.

You pulled into the parking lot. The building clearly wasn’t new but had been freshly painted. Nothing creepy so far. As you stared down the building, sizing it up, you noticed there was one car parked in the front, and a few of the windows were lit up.

Cool, so there was someone in there. Great. That makes, well whatever this is, much harder.

The door was locked.

You could hear music playing from inside. You banged on the door as loudly as you could manage, and it still took a couple of minutes before the music stopped. And then a very disgruntled man in coveralls was in the doorway, tiredly asking just what the fuck you wanted at this time of night.

He smiled to cover up his rudeness, but the smile stretched a little too wide, inhumanly wide, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You took him in, unashamedly raking your eyes over his form. He stood awkwardly, as if ready to bolt at any moment. What you could see of his build made him out to be weirdly skinny. That unnaturally wide smile gave way to some exposed teeth on the left side of his face. His eyes were shadowed by his bangs in the backlight of the door, but you swore they almost glowed themselves. His complexion was greyish and bordered on almost purple in this lighting.

Despite all this, he was still pretty handsome. Well, you did always think some of those creepypasta guys were boyfriend material. Maybe, you wouldn’t mind getting chopped up into little pieces if this guy was the one doing it. Okay, and maybe you’ve been sleeplessly chasing ghosts too long.

Startling you, he reached his hand to grab your shoulder, a little too fast.

“Hey mate, are you okay?” He asked nervously,

It snapped you out of your stupor, realizing you had yet to say a word to him, “Uh, yes, I just wanted to…”

How do you even fucking ask this. “Hey, can I bring a stuffed bear to your dining room so maybe it’s spirit will leave me alone? Maybe conduct a séance or something?” Seriously, did you even know what you were doing here? Shit. Okay.

“I wanted to ask if I could check out your facility?” came out like a question because even you had no clue what you were saying.

“Come back tomorrow in the daylight, then,” he began closing the door, shaking his head in annoyance, “or perhaps when we’re actually open.”

“NO!” you slammed your foot into the door as he closed it, “AAGH!”

“Jesus Christ! WHY.”

Dear lord, this man now 100% thinks you’re a crackhead.

“Just, don’t close that door, okay,” his brows scrunched together as you grit your teeth to swallow down the pain, “I need you to help me.”

“I really don’t have any money to spar--”

“I’M HERE BECAUSE OF A GHOST,” you interrupted. Finally, you managed to get that out somehow, if nonsensical.

A look of recognition flickered in his glowing eyes. He lowered into your space, kind of intimidatingly. Or intimately. Yeah, no, this was hostile, don’t fool yourself.

“What kind of ghost,” he asked suspiciously.

“Uh,” shit, okay, “the weird, haunted doll kind? Uh, like the ones the McElroy brothers are always bidding on on eBay. Or maybe this is kind of a Ben Drowned kinda situation, I’m not completely sure.”

He blinked, “okay, I only understood a few of those words, but—”

“It’s a Freddy teddy bear that really wanted me to take it to Hurricane, okay?” You really were at the end of your rope at the moment, “I have literally driven here for days straight on no sleep and barely any food and I need this Unauthorized Fucking Thing to find it’s eternal peace or kill me in some horrible way so I can hurry up and get on with my goddamn life,”

“Uh, see… the thing is,” he started to retreat back again, slowly moving his hands like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal.

You realized what was about to happen, and it must have been visible in your eyes, since his huge unnatural placating smile returned,

“I actually don’t want anything to do with that, sooo…”

“PLEASE—” you reached out in blind panic, but he dodged it. (now if only you could’ve dodged the scooper like that Mikey)

The door slammed in your face.

Your breathing was ragged and fogged up the glass as he locked it again. You stared up at those glowing pinprick pupils of his as he gave you an apologetic little wave goodbye. And then he fucking made a big show of pointing at the closed sign before turning tail to disappear back into the darkness of the empty restaurant.

Okay.

Just a little setback. You’ll go to the older location first, now, and come back when this asshole is sleeping. Can’t be too hard to bust out one of those windows, and you doubt he has an alarm set up already. It’s his fault, really. If he didn’t want property damage, then he should’ve just let you in. Not like you haven’t warned him that you were desperate or anything.

Just gonna go to the other location. You’ve got your map, you’ve got a tank full of gas, and you’ve got chutzpah.

Now what you don’t have? Is a car that will start.

#michael afton x reader #mike shmidt x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf #michael afton #michael afton x male reader #i mean its gender neutral but just so my fellow boys know it's safe here. there will be no 'sweet girl' ever. god.#fnaf fanfic #five nights at freddy's #my writing #i dont even remember how to tag these things anymore lol

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farmerlarrry · 4 months

Text

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter sixteen | chapter fifteen | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

word count: 4987

a/n: Hi guys, so sorry about not updating here for a while! I promise I'll continue posting Orange Slices chapter updates here, I just completely forgot to post chapter 17. Not to be annoying, but if you are interested in staying in touch with me/my other works/story updates (including fororange slices), I am now mainly on @urbancowboyjoel now. Chapter 18 is still in the works, explanation is at the end of the chapter hehe.

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

@pocket-macnchz

Chapter Seventeen

“Come to me in the silence of the night; come in the sparkling silence of a dream.” -Christina Rossetti

The moonlight streams in through the small window in the kitchen, offering a comforting presence in the midst of your sudden onset of insomnia. After the day you had, all the lifting and moving, you should be tired; you should be exhausted. However, after tossing and turning for hours while your mind raced with thoughts about James and Joel and Nessa and your impending return to patrol and past memories, of your hometown and how things used to be, how much has changed within the past few years–your relentless thoughts refused to slow down no matter how much you tried to fight against them, so you forced yourself from the couch and took a seat at the kitchen table in the dark.

Staring off into the dark abyss of where you just came from, you roll your neck, grimacing at the shooting pain at the base of your skull. Sleeping on the couch was not working out. Nothing good came out of it, just restless nights and daily body aches. Still, regardless of being in this house for a while, the reminisce of the lives that used to call this house their home still haunts you in one form or another. This place has yet to begin feeling like yours, and at this rate, you don’t think it ever will.

The past few weeks have been nothing short of a blur, between the conversation you had with Joel and the myriad of drama surrounding you in Jackson, your mind has been rather preoccupied.

After your eyes fully adjusted to the dark, you reached for the notebook at the center of the table. The clock mounted behind you on the wall in the kitchen, was loud in your ears, the mixture of tick-tocks and your heartbeat whooshing in your ear gave you a sense of unsettling nausea.

You flipped to the next available blank page in the worn notebook, the moon casting a sliver of light across the table as if it was encouraging you to write about your troubles after witnessing your restless night for countless weeks. The eraser head hits the paper in between the ticks and tocks of the clock as you delve further into your thoughts. Where do I start? You ask yourself.

A few weeks ago, after returning from an uneventful patrol alongside Joel, you came across a post on the community information board in the town square. Charles posted a help wanted request for cleaning and setting up a library in one of the vacant buildings within the community. As soon as you saw his name signed at the bottom, you ripped it from the board and rushed to his house to volunteer your hand. A part of you felt saddened that he didn’t come to you and ask, considering he confided in you that one day he'd like to open a library here. Although, given the rocky state of things going on in your life, you understood why he didn’t ask to begin with.

After going around to the different guards, asking for anyone to cover her spot with patrol, Tommy was the only one who stepped up while you and Charles began stripping the building, cleaning, and organizing the collection of books he’s hoarded over the years, were donated by members of the community, or were purposely scavenged from nearby.

Although you hated admitting this to yourself, it was nice getting a break from doing patrol. Setting up the library was the perfect distraction from everything going on, and spending time with Charles, someone who you looked up to for guidance and as a father figure, was the kind of presence your soul needed.

That distraction only went so far though, at night your thoughts consistently kept you up into the wee hours of the morning. It had nearly become debilitating and you knew it was something you’d have to figure out sooner rather than later, particularly before you returned to your patrol duties. The main two culprits that haunted your thoughts were none other than Joel and James; Joel, mainly because you’ve been spending much less time with him than usual, and James for the fact that he’s been too involved in your life lately.

Regardless of not going on patrol with Joel, you still see him nearly everyday. Usually the two of you eat dinner together, with him stopping by what will eventually become the library to see if you wanted to join him. Your answer was always yes with no hesitation on your end. After dinner, he'd walk you home, sometimes he’d stay for an hour or so, other times he’d retreat to his house to go to bed, telling you that the sleepless nights in the QZ and on the outside were catching up with him. At the end of each day, you always craved more from him.

Then there was James. Oh, James…

Ever since your confrontation out front of the stables about the little stunt he pulled that almost got you taken off of patrols, it seems as if James has been trying to do some intense damage control with you. He’s stopped by your house a handful of times that you know of. You’ve never opened the door, going completely still so as to not alert him of your presence, though he still takes it upon himself to profusely apologize through the door, pleading for you to talk to him.

Through word of mouth, either from the other guards discussing your temporary leave or from Charles himself, James must’ve learned about you helping with the library because he began showing up between his patrols and other guard duties, claiming he just wants to see how things are coming along.

These unexpected drop-ins put Charles in an awkward position; you knew it, James knew it—he came anyway. While you stealthily slipped into the back room to busy yourself, sometimes organizing piles of books you already organized days prior, other times just staring at the wall, Charles would take the initiative to entertain James with small talk.

Every time James made his eventual departure, Charles would let out a loud heavy sigh, saying so much with no words. And after you’d mutter your half-assed apology as you emerged from the back room, he’d give you a look; one so full of disappointment and defeat. For the rest of the day, both of you would work in silence.

Charles never said anything beyond his sigh and the look he’d give you in regards to James. His body language was more than enough and he knew that. He knew the guilt that you feel and the conflicting anger you have towards James. After the last talk the two of you had, he’d given up and knew no matter what he said to you, no matter how much he tried to help, you wouldn’t listen anyway.

He knew you were a coward and had no plan of resolving things with James anytime soon.

A coward wishing their problem would disappear.

You wished James would just disappear , because then you wouldn’t have to think about what you did to him that started this. And that made you feel guilty.

Eventually, you knew you’d have to come face to face with James, knowing that he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. The community is relatively small and people talk; in the long run it would be best to smooth things over, at least attempt to talk things out. Although, it just wasn’t something you could do right now. Not with your conflicting and complex feelings toward James—especially not when things were so God damned gray with Joel.

The snapping of the lead of your pencil pulls you out of your mind consuming rant, suddenly becoming aware of your dark surroundings as you return to reality. You could feel the intense heat radiating off of your cheeks as you brought one palm up to your face.

After staring at the paper for a few minutes, taking in the messy scribbles of words, you rip out the page in one swift motion, immediately crumpling it into a ball. The muscles in your forearm tensed as you squeezed the paper within your fist, making it smaller and more compact with each squeeze. The paper disappeared within the dark shadows of the kitchen when you chucked it across the table.

Your head began to spin, a buzzing sensation filling your skull and making you feel uneasy. Moving the hand on your cheek up to your forehead, you let out a sigh of frustration and close your eyes.

Joel.

Such an intense and complex person. From the moment you sat across from him at that damned table at that abandoned cabin, you felt drawn to him. Something about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on made you feel understood and protected and at ease. When it was just the two of you, you could imagine what life would be like by his side, and it was something you so badly wanted to manifest into reality. He could be a complete asshole at times, but then there were other times when he was so vulnerable with you and he would laugh and you could see a glimmer of joy in his eyes that gave you a tiny glimpse of who he was before the outbreak happened. Weirdly enough, you wanted him just as much in his worst moments as you did in his best. To you, knowing that was enough. It was enough to understand what you felt for him.

James…

He was such a sweet and kind soul, always making you feel so normal, as if none of this outbreak bullshit ever happened. James felt things so purely and intensely, it almost made you envious that someone could experience life in such a way after losing so much. From the beginning he treated you as an equal, he didn’t make you have to prove yourself like some of the others did, he didn’t see you as the weird girl who showed up with Tommy Miller and his misfit older brother. He treated you like a human being deserving of friendship, he stuck up for you, and on the late nights the two of you would spend together, he made you feel like you were something important to this world. While all those things may remain true, it doesn’t change how he treated Joel or what he did to you when his jealousy took over. Things could never go back to how they were after that.

Closing the front cover of the notebook and slipping the pencil into the spiral binding for safe keeping, you slide it back to the center of the table where you retrieved it from.

In the past, writing had helped you sort through your thoughts, it did when Joel left shortly after you arrived in Jackson and when memories of the past became too much to bear. It gave you a chance to dump everything without the judgment of others and many times you were able to either solve the core of the problem or come to some sort of decision on how to manage your feelings, but this time around…no matter how much you deliberated, how much you wrote, it just leaves you with a bigger headache than you started with.

And this headache seemed to grow worse as the days went on.

As your hand ran down the front of your face, you turned in your chair to look at the clock, squinting your eyes to make out the numbers and hand position in the dark. You raise your eyebrows when you realize it’s now past midnight, nearly an hour has passed and you have been completely lost in your thoughts this entire time.

At this point the moonlight shifted, the sliver that previously caressed the table with a soft glow, was now leading you to the couch.

Pressing your palms firmly against the smooth surface of the table, it takes you a second to push yourself up onto your feet as your eyes lock onto one of the many burn marks pulling you back into your daze. Joel did say I was welcome anytime, the words appear in your mind without any warning, maybe I can… With one hard, intentional blink, the thought disappeared.

Nothing good ever comes after midnight. On top of that, you aren't being rational right now, you’re sleep deprived and borderline delarius. Nothing good will come out of that, you whisper your words out loud. Sleep. That’s what you needed. That’s all you need right now. Not clarity, or confirmation, or him.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk the short distance from the table to the couch, nearly toppling over on the couch. All you wanted at the moment was to sleep. You desperately wanted a break from your racing thoughts that were now becoming tortuous. Before laying down, you punched the poor excuse of a pillow a few times before laying on your back, your hands resting just above your navel. As you close your eyes, you slow your breathing.

Trying to trick your brain into sleeping, you count the seconds that pass in unison to the ticking clock. Flashing images of Joel kept distracting you, so when you finally reached six hundred after several failed attempts, you flipped onto your side with your face now facing the back of the couch. The rough fabric brushed the tip of your nose as you nuzzled your face into the cushion, the heat of your breathing warming your cold cheeks.

Three hundred more seconds pass before you shoot up from the couch, the sudden movement making blood rush to your head, the already dark room becoming darker for a fraction of time. Your heart, for some reason that you don’t know why, is racing, thumping strongly within the confines of your chest.

Placing your hand over your heart, feeling the movement under the layers of skin, muscle, and bone, you approach the window in the living room, your steps slow almost as if you were afraid of getting caught. As you look out the window toward Joel’s house, you brace your hands on the windowsill, leaning into them to get a better look. His house at this time of the night was nothing more than a shadow, but you could recount every detail of it by memory.

You began to gently chew on your bottom lip as a sudden calm came over.

Fuck it.

Before you could process your decision or think of what the consequence might come from out of this, you were already halfway out the door, barefoot and still in your pajamas. Time seemed to slow as you walked across the empty street and up Joel’s pathway; the overgrown weeds tickling the bottom of your feet with each step.

Knock, knock, knock.

The wooden door was hard against your knuckles, knocking hard enough so he would hear but wouldn’t be alarmingly loud either.

For a brief moment, a sliver of consciousness washed over you, the only thing you could hear was your own ragged breaths as the adrenaline continued to rush through your veins and covered your body in a numbing sensation. What are you doing? Your eyebrows drew together. Looking over your shoulder you judged the distance between where you stood and where your front door was. If I leave now, perhaps I can make it back before he gets to the door. The longer you think on it, you realize the opportunity slipping through your fingers.

The sound of creaking floorboards causes you to turn back toward Joel’s front door and straighten your posture, your chin tilting upward ever so slightly. Your fingers fiddle with each other as you wait for the door to open; on the other side of the barrier, you can hear Joel clear his throat and your heart stalls.

At first, he barely opens the door wide enough for his head to poke through. You take a second to scan his face; he looks confused, still half asleep, but God did he look handsome.

“Hey, um, ” your voice is soft, not quite sure what to say. You shift the weight between your feet as you continue to look at him.

After taking what seemed like forever to process your presence, Joel’s narrowed eyes quickly turn into concern and he opens the door wider revealing his entire body. “Is everything okay?” His voice was rough, laden with sleep. Your breathing hitches, leaving you unable to respond as you take him in before you. Your eyes glaze down from his concerned expression, to his chest hair and down his bare torso, to the top of the band of his blue boxer that looked as if they had been put on in a rush. Your core ignited with an intense heat, your heartbeat picking up in speed.

You force yourself to swallow despite your throat feeling as if it were closing in on itself. “I can’t sleep…” You shook your head, keeping your eyes fixated on his. “I’m–I’m sorry to bother you so late.” Letting out a sigh you avert your gaze down to your feet. Looking at him was too much for you to handle right now.

The sigh of relief escaping him made you slowly look back up at him, his shoulders relaxing. Without saying anything else, Joel opens the door completely, stepping aside to allow you to come in. You give him a shy smile in response, butterflies now going rampant in your stomach.

You wait for Joel to take the lead, not sure what would happen from here. You knew what you wanted to happen, whether it was right or wrong. Perhaps he’d offer you the couch, simply a place to sleep for the night. That’s probably for the best. Or maybe the two of you would talk for a bit and then he’d send you on your way. Fuck, you’re an idiot, you thought, hating yourself now for not thinking this through. Joel had to get up for patrol in the morning and you thought it was a good idea to bother him for your own selfish reasons. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You dig your nails into your palms as a flash of heat runs through your body.

Joel’s arm brushes up against yours as he passes, leading you further into his home and turning on lights as he goes. You have to force yourself not to look at him or the way his back muscles shift as he walks. Get a hold of yourself, you scold yourself and suck in some very much needed oxygen through your teeth.

You take everything in as you walk further into his home, it’s been quite a while since you’ve been here. Between the pictures of wildlife to the half finished wood carvings, everything remains the same as you remember; perfectly lived in and a reflection of who Joel is at his core.

The kitchen light flickers a few times when Joel flips the switch, damn light , his voice comes out as a low mumble. As the two of you approach the table, he pulls out one of the chairs gesturing for you to take a seat. You avoid his gaze, giving him a nod of gratitude before he rounded the corner of the table and headed toward the kitchen cabinets.

“You want something to drink?” He asks as he grabs two glasses, the side clinking together as he sets them down on the countertop. “Liquor, fresh milk, water…” He only turns back to look at you once he finishes.

You shake your head. “I’m fine, thanks though.” The last thing you need is alcohol, and you were sure that anything that went down would instantly be vomited back up given the fact that your stomach was in the most intense knots you have ever experienced.

Joel stares at you for a second longer than usual before giving you a single nod, abandoning the glasses on the counter and taking a seat in the chair directly across from you.

He clears his throat before asking, “Somethin’ botherin’ you?” His tone was genuine. You scoff quietly in response, if only I could tell you , you thought.

You didn’t respond immediately, staring off into the kitchen behind Joel and gathering your thoughts. “There’s…” You didn’t know how to respond or what to say. No, you couldn’t tell him. Or could you? “Yes, I just don’t know… I don’t” You cut yourself off, sucking in some air to challenge the suffocating feeling that manifested in your chest.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” He says, not intending it as a question. Joel clasps his hands together, resting them on the table. Without looking at him, you slowly nod. “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Then a silence fell between the two of you. You didn’t know what else to say, you could barely look at him across the table from you and could feel his stare burning a hole into you. Guilt quickly washed over you and you slightly cringed to yourself before lifting your eyes up to Joel. His gaze was intently fixated on you, an intensity in his eyes you saw only a few times.

Your lips part, your tongue wetting your dried out lips. “I’m sorry I woke you up for nothing,” Your voice was breathy and barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do, so…”

Joel immediately shook his head before you were even able to finish. “Don’t– no, don’t apologize.” You give him a pitiful smile, though his expression did not break. The two of you stare at each other for what seems like minutes, though in reality it was probably only a few seconds at most.

“How’s the library comin’ along?” He changed the subject, which you were thankful for. “Sounds like a lot of people are excited for it.” Joel cocked his head.

“Yeah, probably a dozen people stop by a day just to see when we’ll be done.” You say as you tuck your hands beneath your thighs. “Hardest part is just filling the shelves with books, more tedious than hard though.” Joel was listening with intent. “Tony brought us a ton of books from the run last week, so that was pretty huge. On top of that people have been dropping books off to donate.”

“It’ll…it’ll be a good addition to Jackson.” Joel responds and you nod.

There was a pause in the conversation, a bit of awkwardness rising in the air.

“How’s patrol going in my absence?” You inquire, changing the subject.

Joel let out a low whisper as he adjusted himself in the chair. “Same ol’, same ol’. Don’t tell Tommy I said this, but it’s been nice spending some one on one time with him. It’s been a while since it’s just been us.” He says, a glimmer growing brighter in his eyes. A small smile appeared on his face. “Sort of like old times, when we’d go on fishin’ trips together.”

You smile at the sentiment, before completely changing your expression. “ Mmmm,” you hum, causing Joel to look at you. His eyes narrow slightly in confusion. “Do I have to worry about you replacing me?” You jokingly narrow your eyes back at him, cocking your head to one side.

Joel let out a boisterous laugh. “God no, never,” his response was quick with no hesitation. “I say that, but I can only take so much of him… ask me in a few more weeks and I’ll be beggin’ on my hands and knees for you to come back.”

A smile appeared on your face again, “I won’t make you beg too hard.” Joel instantly locked eyes with you through his brow-line, your stomach jumping at the eye contact.

“No?” He raised his eyebrow as he spoke, his voice dark but somewhat playful as he gave you a devious smile.

You were the first to drop your gaze, followed up by Joel clearing his throat.

“Um…” You fill the silence, trying to think of how to converse after that moment. In your peripheral view, you see Joel reach his hand over the table, gesturing toward you.

“I think about ya’.” His eyes dart around as you look at him, searching for some sort of reaction from you. Everything around you went eerily silent. You raise your eyebrows almost stunned by this confession. All you wanted to say was: You do? However, you waited for him to continue, to take the lead on whatever was about to be said. It seems as if your reaction was enough because Joel nodded. “When I’m doin’ patrol and you aren’t there, at night before I fall asleep,” as he went on, he refused to look at you. From his expression you couldn’t quite tell what his intent was telling you this. “I–I’m…” At this point his head is hanging low, his eyes fixated on the table; he shook his head. “I’ll be right back.”

His tone was different than before, you sensed a bit of hesitation, perhaps embarrassment. You return with a curt nod, although he didn’t give you a second look before he left and headed toward the stairs. You remained seated at the table as you listened to the thumps of each step he took, and when things went silent, you raised out of the chair. What just happened? Joel’s confession almost seemed unreal, did you imagine that just now? You turned in a circle, your eyes tracking the walls as you spin. Am I dreaming? Your face now twisted in confusion.

Walking out of the kitchen, you stand at the bottom of the staircase for a moment looking up. Joel was nowhere in sight. You blow out the air you had been holding on to as you pad over to the living room, turning on the light. Bracing your hand on the threshold, you paused.

It was considerably messy compared to the other parts of the house. A blanket was lazily draped over the back of the couch, the guitar laid on it back on the ground as if he had been playing it and put it there to come back to later. Records were scattered on top of the coffee table, alongside a book laying face down open.

As you approach the bookshelves on the back wall, you run your hand along the soft blanket and carefully step over the guitar.

Reaching for a book that had a red-brown leather exterior with silver foil details on the side, your ears perk up when you hear Joel coming down the steps. You remain still, running your fingers over the spine before pulling it out. You hear the floorboards creak as Joel gets closer and closer to the living room, the louder his steps get, the weight in your chest gets heavier. You remain still, not turning toward the entrance to acknowledge his presence.

Seconds seem to pass by in hours, until you feel his warmth behind you. “You can borrow it if you’d like.” His voice shook slightly as he spoke, your breathing becoming shallow. No words would leave your throat.

Quickly, you turn to face him, your arm dropping to your side with the book still within your grasp. Joel took a single step toward you, closing the already little distance between your bodies. You brought your hand up to the middle of his chest, placing the palm of your hand flat against him; his heart was beating fast. Out of instinct, your body stiffens, your eyes softening as you lock onto his.

As you tilt your chin upwards, Joel leans in, his eyelids fluttering as the two of you become closer to one another. Your eyes remain wide open as you relish the sight, total relief overcoming you at what was about to happen. Your tortuous thoughts from earlier completely disappear and burn in the fire that rose in the core of your pelvis. It was just you and Joel right now. Right now that's all that mattered to you.

Just as his lips met yours, your eyes fluttered shut. Bursts of colors explode beneath your eyelids, and at some point the book slipped from your hands, landing with a dull thud. His hands were all over you now, one fisting at the back of your oversized night shirt, and the other gently caressing the side of your hip. Joel’s lips were soft, his movement a lot more gentle than you imagined on the many nights you couldn’t sleep. Yet, he was still passionate and the intensity made jolts of electricity rush through your body.

You quickly pull back from him, both of your hands holding loosely onto his biceps. He went to lean in again, but you pulled back again. “Tell me you want me to stay,” your voice is barely above a whisper, smooth and alluring. There was nothing more you wanted than this , what was happening right now. After that first dinner with Tommy and Joel, that was the turning point for you and ever since then that– Joel seemingly wanting it as much as you did–it was all you could think about whenever you were around him or when you’d see him at the bar, or across the community.

Joel’s hands glided down your back before he clasped them together. His eyes shift off to the side before returning to you. You could tell he was contemplating, just like you had earlier; doing this…is it right or wrong? The way his hands press into your lower back told you that he wouldn't be able to resist you, not this time.

His throat bobs as he looks into your eyes, his eyes softening and his lips parting. No words came out as he leaned into you, placing his forehead on yours.

Joel nodded and whispers onto your lips, “Stay. ”

chapter eighteen coming soon! (I'm being so fr too, I'm just bad at writing smut and I want it to be perfect so bear with me)

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

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threewaywithdelusion · 1 year

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I Forgot What I Called This on AO3 (Stranger Things Fanfiction)

Because AO3 is down and I'm posting my fanfic over here for people to read. If you search "Mia writes fanfic" on my page, you can see all the fic I've posted here

Steve had been getting things ready for the kids all week and they were arriving tomorrow morning and he definitely wasn’t losing his mind. Robin had called him a mother hen three times already and had taken to just smiling fondly and rolling her eyes as Steve moved the couch for the twelfth time, trying to make sure Max’s wheelchair would fit through the tight space.

“It’ll be fine, Dingus,” she said for the millionth time. “The kids love you and they’re going to keep on loving you even if you don’t move our coffee table three inches to the left.”

Steve scowled. “You say that, but if Max hits the table Lucas is going to bite my head off. And Dustin will say something about how if I’d paid more attention in math or physics or wherever the hell you learn this stuff, I would have known to move the table three inches to the left. And then-“

“And then nothing!” Robin said. She set her glass of wine down on the floor — Steve winced, knowing she was going to trip over it later — and came over to take his hands. “They’ll still love you exactly the same. They’re your kids.”

“I haven’t seen them since Christmas!” Steve said.

Robin gave him a fond look. “It’s been three months, Steve. They haven’t forgotten you in that time. Now sit down with me before you give yourself gray hairs and ruin that pretty head of yours.”

Steve took a deep breath and followed Robin to the newly-relocated sofa, picking up her glass of wine and handing it to her moments before she could kick it.

Steve picked up his own glass of wine, which he’d barely touched.

“To our last moments of peace and quiet,” Robin said.

Steve knocked his glass against hers.

***

The kids looked so grown-up.

Lucas was insanely tall and he looked like a proper, put-together adult, pushing Max’s wheelchair with one hand and carrying two duffel bags on his shoulder. He’d clearly been working out and his clothes were a little trendier than what he used to wear. He was the only one of the three to have already turned eighteen, and Steve couldn’t believe how quickly he was growing up.

Max also looked completely different from the kid Steve had first met. There were the things strangers noticed about her first — the milky-white eyes she refused to hide behind sunglasses, even when the lights gave her headaches, and the wheelchair — but she’d also cut most off that long red hair off. She had a short cut which she’d spiked up with hair gel and Farrah Fawcett hairspray — Steve had taught her how to do it, over a year ago — and it made her look badass and alternative and like she was comfortable with herself.

Dustin still wore his nerdy baseball cap, but his curls had grown out past his shoulders — an homage to Eddie — and still wore a nerdy shirt with a button up over it. Of all the kids, he looked the most the same, the most like the thirteen-year-old who had dragged Steve into his life with a hunt for a missing demodog.

Steve loved them all so much.

He ran towards them, ignoring Robin’s “they’re walking this way anyway!” and immediately pulled Dustin into a hug. Dustin dropped his suitcase to return it, holding Steve tightly and already chattering away.

They rocked from side to side for a moment.

“I thought California was supposed to make you tan, but you look the same,” Dustin said.

Steve gave a watery laugh and pulled out of the hug. “I missed you too, you dick.”

“Is Steve crying?” Max asked.

“No!” Steve protested.

Max raised her eyebrows judgmentally. “Are you lying to the blind girl?”

Lucas grinned, leaning on the back of her wheelchair. “Not cool, Steve.”

Steve stepped around Dustin and Lucas came over to give Steve a hug. God he was so fucking tall.

Behind him, Steve could hear Robin greeting Dustin.

Steve bent down to give Max a hug too. She squeezed him, then traced over his head before letting him pull back.

“Did you cut your hair?” she asked.

“A bit,” Steve told her. “There’s a longer floppy bit in the front, but it’s shorter all around.”

Max tilted her head. “Does it look good?”

“Of course!” Steve scoffed, right as Lucas said “eh.”

Steve snapped his fingers at Lucas. “You’re dead to me, Sinclair.”

“So your hair got worse and you’re pasty, Steve?” Max teased. “What have you been doing out here?”

“I’ll have you know that I look amazing,” Steve told her. “Lucas and Dustin are just liars.”

“You are pasty!” Dustin protested.

“It’s okay, I don’t have to see it,” Max said. She put a hand over her heart. “I’ll always remember you fondly, the way you looked on Lovers Lake.”

Steve grinned. He’d heard this story many times over the years and he always loved it, even though the details tended to change depending on whether Max, Lucas, or Dustin was telling it.

Lucas scowled. “Forget him! You should remember how hot I looked!”

Max reached behind her and Lucas put his hand where she could find it just so that she could pat it condescendingly. “I remember, baby. You looked great for fifteen.”

Lucas made a sound of indignation, but he was smiling fondly as he picked Max’s hand up and kissed it.

Dustin groaned. “I’ve been third-wheeling them the whole way here. Please tell me I don’t have to share a room with them.”

“We’re not that bad,” Lucas protested.

At the same time, Max said, “You’re just jealous because you don’t see Suzie until Wednesday.”

“You don’t have to share a room,” Steve said. “Robin and I are taking her room, Lucas and Max are taking my room, and Dustin, you get the couch.”

“Why do I get stuck with the couch?” Dustin asked.

“Because you’re only here for four days,” Steve said.

“Yeah, Steve’s jealous that you don’t like him as much as Suzie,” Robin teased. “You’re breaking his heart, Dusty-Bun.”

“That is not true!” Steve protested.

“So does this mean you two are finally…” Dustin directed at Steve and Robin, eyebrows waggling.

Steve groaned. “No, Dustin. Never going to happen. Come on, let’s get going.”

He grabbed both of the duffels Lucas had been carrying so Lucas could use both hands to push Max.

“Why would we be paying rent for a two-bedroom in San Francisco if we were together,” Robin asked Dustin. “Have you seen rent prices around here? Cause I could probably sell a kidney for less than an apartment.”

Dustin got a thoughtful look on his face. Steve wasn’t optimistic that Dustin would give up if he hadn’t in the past four years, but he watched as Robin walked with him, trying (hopelessly) to talk him out of it.

“What about Robin?” Max asked.

Steve didn’t answer at first, assuming she was talking to Lucas, until she poked him in the thigh.

“What?”

“Does Robin look hot?”

Steve groaned. “Not you too, Mayfield.”

“Come on, Steve, you have to tell me.”

“Her hair is a bit longer and the tips are blue,” Steve said.

Max huffed. “Thank you for that being completely unhelpful. Do you even like girls? That was the lamest description I’ve ever heard.”

Steve sputtered.

“Yeah, she looks hot,” Lucas said.

Steve shot him a look, trying to warn him that when your girlfriend asked if another woman was hot, it was always a trick question. You should never, ever answer with a yes.

If Max and Lucas broke up again right before staying with him for a week, Steve was going to lose his mind.

“Thank you, Lucas!” Max said, sounding triumphant. “That’s how it’s done.”

Steve blinked, first at Max, then at Lucas.

He would never have gotten away with saying that to Nancy or Debbie or any of the girls he’d dated. Hell, the only woman he would say that to was Robin, and that was because she had equal interest in pretty women.

Lucas gave Steve a little smile that Steve couldn’t interpret.

Steve gave up.

“Whatever is going on between you two, just know that I promised Mrs. Sinclair multiple times that you wouldn’t be in the same room. So if anyone asks, Dustin bunked with Lucas and Max stayed with Robin while I took the couch.”

“How noble of you,” Dustin shouted back, the little eavesdropper. “To take the uncomfortable couch instead of forcing it on your unsuspecting guests!”

Steve flipped him off.

“We’re not stupid,” Max said. “We know how to lie our asses off.”

“And I don’t want to hear any noises!” Steve added. “I don’t care what you do in there, but for the love of god, don’t make me hear it!”

Lucas made a horrified face. “Man, please stop talking.”

Steve was also blushing, but he forged on. “Last thing, I promise. I’m hating this just as much as you are.”

“I doubt that,” Max muttered.

Steve’s face was burning. “There are condoms in the bedside table,” he told the floor.

There was no response. Steve risked a peek at the kids and saw that they both looked vaguely traumatized and bright red.

Robin and Dustin, who had stopped by the car, watched as the three of them approached.

Robin took one look at Steve’s face and cackled. “Did he give you the safe sex talk?”

Dustin groaned.

Robin looked gleeful. She patted Dustin’s arm as she leaned in, pretending to whisper while talking loud as fuck. “Don’t be jealous, Dusty-Bun,” she teased. “Steve also bought you condoms to take to Utah.”

She and Max burst out laughing while Dustin turned to Steve with a look of horrified betrayal.

Steve pinched his nose. “Everybody get in the car or I’m leaving without you.”

***

Of course it didn’t matter how much Steve had fretted about preparing everything just right, because disaster struck just as they were getting ready to leave for their dinner reservations that night.

Max accidentally hit the end table. Steve watched in what felt like slow-motion as Robin’s half-full wine glass from the night before teetered off the side and into his lap, soaking his jeans.

He cursed at the huge red wine stain in his lap.

“Whoops,” Max said.

“Robin!” Steve hissed.

“Sorry!” Robin said. “I forgot I left the wine glass there. But like, in my defense, if the end table had been in its usual place or the couch had been in its usual place or you hadn’t rearranged literally all of our furniture, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“So it’s my fault?” Steve asked, pouting at her.

She was unmoved by his puppy-dog eyes. “Go change, Dingus. I’ll clean the couch.”

Steve stood, ignoring the wine running down his legs, and went to Robin’s room. It was a disaster because Robin emptied half her closet onto the floor every time she tried to decide what to wear. Two years of living with her had been enough for Steve to unlearn two decades of keeping his parents’ house neat and clean, and when he’d grabbed clothes from his room to give it to Lucas and Max, he’d ended up dumping most of it in a pile on the floor.

Steve toed off the dirty jeans and looked through the pile as best as he could. He’d grabbed way too many shirts and it looked like the only pair of jeans he’d taken were his going out jeans. They were tighter than his usual pair and made his ass look amazing.

He yanked them on quickly and met the others in the living room in time for them to head out for the reservation. They made it to the restaurant with just enough time to spare, Steve dropping them all at the door to claim the table and then driving a few more minutes to find parking.

When he finally entered the restaurant, the kids enthusiastically waved him down and he couldn’t help his smile as he slid into the booth beside Robin.

It was great to catch up with the kids in person instead of over the phone or Dustin’s Cerebro. Like this, Steve could watch Dustin’s eyes get all fond when he talked about going to school with Suzie in the fall if they both got accepted into MIT. He could hear Max’s laugh without static interrupting it. He could watch Lucas act out the plays in his most recent basketball game and see the way he still looked to Steve throughout the story, wanting approval.

Steve was so fucking proud of all of them.

Robin squeezed his hand under the table. “You look happy,” she whispered.

Steve squeezed back.

After Steve paid the bill — something that was much harder these days, but which he wasn’t going to tell the kids — they all meandered back to the car. Lucas and Max went ahead, murmuring quietly to each other. It was a nice night, clear and relatively warm for March.

“If you think so, then I’m stealing your coat,” Robin told Steve when he said that aloud. She didn’t wait for him to hand it over, but started stripping it off him. “I’m freezing.”

She wrapped his coat around herself and he laughed and put an arm around her, pulling her into his side and rubbing up and down her arm.

“Better?”

She hummed. “Toasty.”

There was no comment from Dustin, which was suspicious enough to make Steve check he was still there.

He was, walking on Steve’s left, but his attention was focused on Steve’s ass.

Steve frowned. “Dustin?”

Dustin looked up at him. “I don’t get it. Is there some fashion trend that Eddie was years ahead of? Or are you doing it to remember him? Neither of you were even super close with him!”

Steve took a minute to try to understand that, but it made no sense. He glanced at Robin, wondering if she was being slow, but she looked just as confused.

“What?”

“Your handkerchief,” Dustin said. “Are you wearing it for Eddie?”

Steve’s stomach flipped as he understood what was going on. He’d grabbed his going-out jeans in a hurry and he’d forgotten to take the handkerchief out of the back pocket from the last time he’d gone to a club.

Steve glanced over his shoulder to check what color he was wearing. It was dark blue, tucked into his right pocket.

Steve bit back a series of curses. He glanced at Robin again, who was watching him with wide eyes.

“Um,” Steve said. “I’m wearing it… like Eddie? In the same way, I think.”

“So to honor him?” Dustin asked. He traced his long curls. “Maybe I should do that.”

“No!” Steve said hurriedly. “Absolutely not!”

Dustin looked hurt. “I was way closer to him than you were, Steve. And I was the one there when-“

He cut off, glancing away.

Steve felt awful.

He and Dustin had had a bit of a rough time after Eddie’s death. Dustin had blamed both himself and Steve for letting Eddie die, and he’d felt guilty being friends with Steve when they’d lost Eddie. Like he was replacing one friend with another.

He knew how sensitive Dustin was about Eddie.

Steve was so open in San Francisco. He had followed Robin here because she wanted to be able to live without the same fear she’d had in Hawkins. He would have followed her anywhere. If she’d chosen the most homophobic town in the country he would have gone, despite the fact that traveling Europe with her after defeating Vecna had led Steve to realize he was interested in men. He was here because of her, not because of him.

But he loved living in a place where he could openly be himself. Where he could pass other men flagging on the streets and not just in discreet bars, hidden in the back corner of alleys. He loved when he and Robin went out and both brought people home, some girl coming out of Robin’s room in the morning to find Steve and his one-night-stand already making breakfast in the kitchen.

Being bisexual was a bigger part of him than he ever could have imagined back when he lived in Hawkins.

But he’d never been brave enough to tell the kids. They lived so far away and he saw them so infrequently and he hadn’t wanted to risk a negative reaction. If it went badly, they didn’t live in the same town. He couldn’t keep running into them, forcing them to slowly accept what he was. If the kids took it badly, they could just decide to never come back.

Steve couldn’t bear it if the kids walked away from him.

Robin nudged Steve gently, knocking him out of his thoughts.

Dustin looked really confused and upset. Fuck.

Steve would get hurt a thousand times before he ever hurt one of his kids.

“I’ll explain when we get home, okay?” Steve asked.

Dustin made a face. “Why not now?”

“It’s not something I want to just explain on the street,” Steve said. You never knew who might be listening, even in San Francisco. Besides, Dustin was guaranteed to ask a million questions even if he took it well, and Steve did not want to have that conversation on a random sidewalk.

“Fine,” Dustin huffed. He sped up a little to walk with Max and Lucas.

“You okay?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tight with fear.

“Dustin will be fine,” Robin said. “He loves you. He loved Eddie. I’ve never heard the kid say a single homophobic thing in his life.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeated.

“Steve,” Robin said seriously. She stopped walking and turned to face him. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. You can still make something up.”

“No,” Steve said finally. “I can’t. You’re right, I don’t think he’ll take this badly. Which means the only reason not to tell him is because I’m scared. I’m being stupid.”

“You don’t owe it to him,” Robin said.

Steve smiled tightly. “I’ve faced Demogorgons. Coming out has to be easier than that, right?”

Robin shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong lesbian, Steve. I’ve only ever come out to other gay people. I mean, even when I thought I was telling Steve “the Hair” Harrington — which was already easier, cause I was like, high on Russian truth serum — and that he was all popular and straight and definitely not gonna take it well, I didn’t know that I was secretly coming out to a bisexual guy who was going to become my platonic soulmate. So. No words of wisdom from me.”

Weirdly, Steve felt better after hearing that.

“Thanks, Robin,” he said.

“I love you,” she said seriously. “I’m here.”

“I love you too,” he said.

***

When they got back to the apartment, Dustin stomped over to the couch and took a seat, arms crossed.

Lucas looked at Steve warily. “You also did the bandana thing?”

Also? Was Lucas also still thinking about Eddie?

Steve sighed. “Okay, sit down. I’ll explain.”

Lucas took a seat beside Dustin and Max rolled her wheelchair so she was vaguely next to the couch, bumping the table again.

Steve moved to stand in front of the couch, wringing his hands together. Robin leaned against the wall behind him, silently offering support.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m, um,”

Bisexual.

The word wouldn’t come.

“Flagging,” he said instead. “That’s what it’s called when a guy wears a handkerchief in his back pocket.”

Lucas frowned. “Is that a fashion thing?”

“Not exactly,” Steve said. “It’s, um, a code? To let people know what you’re looking for.”

He was met with three blank stares.

“In the bedroom,” he croaked out.

Dustin’s face twisted. “It’s a sex thing?”

“Dude!” Lucas said.

“Why were you wearing it to dinner with us?” Dustin demanded.

“I forgot it was there!”

“I guess the new hair and the pastiness are working for you, if you’re getting enough girls that you’re forgetting your freaky sex flag is in your jeans” Max said. She looked the least affected of the three, but she was also blushing a little.

Yeah, Steve didn’t want to be talking about his sex life either.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense,” Dustin said. “It can’t be a new thing because Eddie was wearing one three years ago. And it can’t be a big city thing, because Eddie and Will were wearing them around Hawkins. So who wears it?”

Steve choked on his spit. “Will?”

“Yeah?” Dustin said. “I told you. I said neither of you were close with Eddie, so it didn’t make sense that you were wearing a hanky like he did.”

Steve gaped at Dustin. He didn’t know what to say. Dustin had just outed Will to Steve and he had no idea he’d done it. And now if Steve told Dustin who used hanky code, he would be outing Will to right back to Dustin.

“Fuck,” Steve said, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Does it mean something bad?” Lucas asked anxiously.

“No!” Steve blurted. “No!”

“So what does it mean?” Dustin asked.

Steve hesitated.

“Come on, Steve!” Dustin whined.

“Okay,” Steve said. “Look, I don’t know about Will, okay? Maybe he’s doing something else. Maybe it really is for fashion or something to him. I’m just talking about me.”

Max’s mouth dropped open a little and a look of comprehension crossed her face.

Steve didn’t stop to wonder what she’d put together. If he didn’t keep going, he would lose his nerve.

“It’s a gay code,” Steve said, voice shaking a little. “To let men know what I’m looking for.”

Absolute silence.

Dustin was frozen, mouth open and eyebrows up. He was staring at Steve is complete disbelief.

Lucas’s eyes were wide, and darting between Steve and Max.

Max’s face was frozen, the way it usually was when she needed to figure out what expression she wanted to show. She was cagey, only showing what she wanted and rarely what she was actually feeling.

Steve hoped she wasn’t hiding a negative reaction.

“YOU’RE GAY?” Dustin screamed.

Steve winced and shushed him. He wasn’t sure what the neighbors knew and did not want to find out.

“Bisexual,” he said. He felt Robin come up beside him to slide a hand into his and he dropped a little of his weight against her. “It means I like both. Men and women.”

Dustin looked like he was processing a new scientific discovery. “That’s a thing?”

Steve nodded.

“How did you know you were bisexual?” Dustin fired right away, brain clearly whirring with questions.

“I slept with a guy and liked it. So I slept with a couple more and liked that too, and then I got confused because I didn’t know you could like both and I was really sure I liked women. So I talked to a friend and they explained to me what bisexuality was.”

“Huh,” Dustin said.

Steve couldn’t take the suspense. Dustin had skipped straight to the interrogation and entirely blown past any kind of reaction, and the other two kids were just watching them go back and forth like it was a tennis match.

“Is that… okay? With everyone?” Steve asked. He heard Robin’s shoes scuff the ground behind him, like she was also anxiously waiting for an answer.

“Of course it’s fine, man,” Lucas said. He still looked a little surprised, but definitely not confused or revolted. He was actually taking this suspiciously well.

Over the years, Steve had given a lot of thought to how each of the kids would react. He’d figured Dustin would be nosy but accepting, Max would try to act cool even if she was a little freaked out, and Erica would say something insulting but would defend him harder than anyone. Mike would almost inevitably be a little asshole about it — Steve had eaten dinner at the Wheelers’ a lot when he’d been dating Nancy and he knew what sort of ideas Mike had been raised on. He’d been preparing for years to not take it personally when Mike reacted badly. Will was a bit of a wild card — Steve figured he was probably gay, but that his reaction would depend on where he was on his own journey of self-acceptance and whether he would be happy to have a gay friend or if he would lash out in an attempt to seem straight.

Lucas, though? Steve had never gotten a good reading one way or the other. He’d never heard Lucas say anything about gay people, positive or negative. And Lucas knew what it was like to be hated on by bigots like Billy because of the color of his skin, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was okay with gay people. In retrospect, Steve was pretty sure Billy had been some type of queer (he’d spent a lot of time harassing Steve while they were either sweating on a court or naked in the showers) and that certainly hadn’t stopped him from being racist, so it could definitely go the other way.

But Lucas was acting as if Steve had announced something unexpected but vaguely boring. Like he’d said he’d started rooting for the Golden State Warriors or traded in his car for a new one, instead of announcing he was sexually and romantically interested in men.

Dustin, on the other hand, looked insulted. “You think I care if you’re gay? I’m a little mad you didn’t tell me, but I don’t care who you date.”

“Yes, you do,” Steve said. “You try to set me up on dates all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just cause you’re always single and you can never get dates on your own. It’s kind of sad. I care about you not being lonely, not if you like dicks or not.”

Steve frowned. “Was that an insult or a compliment?”

Dustin scoffed. “You’re an idiot. But I, uh, love you and stuff. Even if you didn’t tell me you were gay for literal years.”

Steve felt a little warm inside and he couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, buddy.”

He looked at Max for a reaction, but she looked deep in thought. Okay. Maybe she needed time to process. He’d circle back to her.

“Was Eddie gay?” Dustin asked.

“Um, I mean, I can’t know for sure. He didn’t come out to me or anything. But he was definitely flagging and I’m pretty sure he was flirting with me when we were in the Upside Down.”

Dustin squinted at Steve. “So you and Eddie…?”

“No,” Steve said. “I only realized I liked guys after… everything.”

Dustin nodded like that made sense. “Is that why you moved to San Francisco?”

Steve debated how to answer that.

“No,” Robin said. “Steve moved here because of me. I moved here because it’s easier to be gay in San Francisco.”

Steve turned to gape at her. Robin was shaking slightly and cutting off the circulation in Steve’s hand, but her chin was tilted up proudly and her eyes were boring into Dustin.

Dustin was gaping. Max’s face was turning red.

“Sorry to steal your thunder,” Robin whispered.

Steve squeeze her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

She beamed. “You too, Dingus.”

“Oh my God,” Dustin said slowly. “Is this why you two won’t date?”

Robin laughed. “Yeah. I’m way too much of a lesbian to date Steve.”

Steve scrunched up his nose. “Like I’d date you, Buckley.”

“You asked me out,” Robin sing-songed. “You would totally date me.”

“You asked her out?” Dustin demanded.

“Ugh, yeah. Back when we still worked at Scoops Ahoy. She told me I would have a better shot if I was Tammy Thompson.”

“I knew Robin was your type!” Dustin was bouncing on the couch in excitement.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said. “You also didn’t notice that Robin was a lesbian for four years, so don’t be too proud of yourself.”

“Oh come on, Steve, how was I supposed to guess that everyone I know is gay?”

“Everyone?” Steve asked.

Dustin listed them off on his fingers. “You, Robin, Will.”

“You can’t be sure about Will,” Steve said halfheartedly.

Dustin gave him a look. “I assumed he was gay when we were like ten, Steve.”

Yeah. That made sense. Steve barely knew Will Byers before all the Upside Down shit had happened, but even he’d heard rumors in the days following Will’s disappearing about Will being gay. It made sense that Will’s oldest friends would have heard those rumors — and probably more — and that they would wonder if some of them were true.

“One out of three isn’t terrible gaydar,” Robin said.

“One out of four,” Max said.

They all turned to look at her. She was staring vaguely in the direction of Steve and Robin, holding Lucas’s hand in a death-grip.

“What?” Robin breathed, sounding excited.

“I like girls too,” Max said. “And Lucas.”

God, she was so fucking brave. Max had no choice but to stand out. Everywhere she went, people stared at the blind girl in the wheelchair. They pitied her. They pitied Max, which was insane. Max was smart and brave and stubborn and sarcastic as hell. She wasn’t someone to be pitied, she was someone to be admired.

Case in point: she didn’t have to paint another target on her back. She could have kept quiet and kept dating Lucas, who she was probably going to marry, and no one would ever assume she was anything other than straight.

Steve was twenty-two and had known he was bisexual for two years and had only said something because he hadn’t seen another way to keep from hurting Dustin.

Max was seventeen and already braver than Steve would ever be, holding Lucas’s hand defiantly and volunteering the information that she liked girls.

“See!” Dustin said, gesturing at Max. “Everyone I know is gay!”

That was a very Dustin reaction, even if it wasn’t necessarily the right one.

“Thanks for telling us, Max,” Steve said.

“If you ever wanna talk about girls, you can call me,” Robin said. “I talk to Steve sometimes, but he has terrible taste and he has the audacity to say that I have terrible taste and I would love to talk to another girl about this.”

Max grinned. “I get to talk to Lucas. And I know he has perfect taste because he chose me.”

Dustin made a gagging sound.

Lucas pressed a kiss to Max’s shoulder, looking embarrassed but pleased.

Steve was so proud of him. Max had clearly told him before tonight, and he was still here holding her hand, so he must have done everything right. He obviously hadn’t acted offended or taken it as a challenge to his masculinity that his girlfriend liked girls.

Steve thought of their little exchange in the airport and the way Max had asked if Robin looked hot.

His heart warmed, watching them.

He never would have believed that a relationship between two thirteen year olds would last this long. He was going to walk Max down the aisle someday, and he was willing to bet his measly life savings that Lucas would be the one waiting for her at the end.

“Am I gay?” Dustin wondered out loud.

Steve laughed. “Dude! I think you would know if you were gay.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Robin said. “But sometimes your twenty-year-old best friend tells you he thought everyone thought about pretty boys and you realize that some people are too much of a dingus to realize they’re gay.”

The kids all laughed.

“So what does your bandana mean?” Max asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Dustin made a face. “I don’t wanna know what Steve does in bed!”

Max shrugged. “I do.”

“Okay, someone’s a little too interested, Mayfield,” Steve said.

“I’m bisexual too!” Max protested. “I need to know this stuff.”

“You’re blind,” Dustin muttered. “You can’t even see the bandana.”

Max hit him threw a pillow at his head with unnerving accuracy.

“Girls don’t really use the same code,” Robin said. “You have to actually have the guts to go up to a girl and talk to her instead of knowing what she’s into based on what she’s wearing.”

“But how does it work?” Lucas asked. “Are you just saying you’re looking for a hookup?”

Steve blushed.

“Educate the queer youth, Steve!” Robin said, the traitor.

“Only one of them is even gay!”

“You can’t tell Max and not me!” Dustin immediately protested.

“And Max tells me everything, so I might as well hear it too.”

Steve groaned. He kind of wished a gate to the Upside Down would open under his feet so he could get out of having this conversation.

“Okay. The colors mean you’re looking for different things. And it also matters if the bandana is in the right or left pocket, because that tells people if you wanna do the thing or have the thing done to you.”

There. That was a kid-friendly description, right?

“So if Eddie’s bandana was black, what does that mean?” Dustin asked.

Steve gulped. Robin cackled.

“Um, black is sadomasochism,” Steve said. He had to force every word out of his mouth. “So he liked, um, rough sex.”

He cringed as the kids all turned bright red.

It wasn’t a new feeling, wishing Eddie hadn’t died. But this was the first time Steve wished he was alive specifically so Eddie could be having this conversation instead of Steve. Eddie would have been shameless, loudly proclaiming his preferences to everyone around, and then the kids would learn to stop asking invasive questions when they learned much more than they wanted to.

“What’s yours?” Dustin asked.

“None of your business,” Steve said quickly.

“Come on, Steve,” Dustin said. “Now that I know you can’t date Robin, I need to find someone else to set you up with. And how am I supposed to know you’re compatible if I don’t know what your bandana means?”

Robin was shaking against Steve. He looked at her briefly in concern, only to see that she was losing the battle against a fit of giggles.

“Save me,” he hissed to her.

“Steve, this is the best entertainment I’ve had all year. I’ve never you seen you this red, even that time in Scoops-“

“It’s dark blue,” Steve said, to keep Robin from telling that particular story. “So just regular sex.”

Dustin frowned. “You’re wearing a bandana that literally just says you’re looking for sex?”

“What’s regular sex between two dudes?” Lucas asked, frowning.

Steve groaned. “Did your parents never give you the sex talk?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t cover that.”

Steve scrubbed his hands down his face. He remembered when he’d first started sleeping with men, how much information he hadn’t known. He’d been traveling through Europe with Robin, hitting different gay clubs in each city, and he’d initially picked up a guy because he was bored and thought he might as well try it. (In retrospect, the man had been really pretty and Steve had been curious for a while, but boredom had been the excuse he had given himself to go through with it).

He hadn’t known what two men could do with each other. He hadn’t known how to be safe. He was really goddamn lucky that he hadn’t taken home the wrong guy, or gotten an STD, or gotten AIDS.

No one had ever given Steve the gay sex talk either, and if they’d offered it to him back when they’d given him the straight sex talk, Steve wouldn’t have wanted to listen.

And here his kids were, asking him to explain. Sure, Dustin and Lucas were probably straight, but everyone had thought the same thing about Steve.

It couldn’t hurt for them to have more information than they needed, but it could definitely hurt for them to have less.

“Fuck it,” Steve said, “Fine. Always the goddamn babysitter.”

Robin made a squeaking sound. “Are you seriously giving them the sex talk?”

Steve nodded wearily.

“I’ll go be other there,” Robin said, gesturing at her room.

Steve caught her hand to keep her from leaving. “Absolutely not. You’re here to provide a girl’s perspective.”

“Steve, I did not sign up for this and I’m in no way qualified to give this talk.”

Steve stared at her. “And you think I am?”

“Goddamnit,” Robin huffed, conceding the point. “Fine, okay, sex talk, yay! This isn’t awkward at all.”

What followed was the most embarrassing hour of Steve’s life. He tried to start with the basics (consent, condoms) and only give the kids the absolutely essential facts, but they all asked really pointed and specific questions. Even Lucas, who Steve couldn’t imagine asking these questions in a group setting, was emboldened by Dustin and Max’s shameless questions to ask about a horrifically detailed “hypothetical” that had Max blushing and burying her face in her hands.

Dustin made Steve explain the entirety of the hanky code (“Wait, why would you wanna be the one getting fucked? How does that feel good?”), asked a million questions about Steve’s type (“Hot brunettes isn’t a type, Steve!”), and then asked for advice about how to make sure a girl was actually ready to have sex and wasn’t just doing it to rebel against her super-religious family (… uh, Robin? Any thoughts?”).

At the end of the night Steve was pretty sure that he was going to have a bright red face forever and that his hair was in disarray from how many times he’d run his hands through it, but he also felt like his kids were thoroughly prepared for any situation they might encounter.

He sent the kids use the bathroom first and started laying sheets on the couch for Dustin. He layered a few blankets on because San Francisco could get cold at night, then was handed a pillow.

“Thanks,” he said, looking up to see it was Dustin helping out.

Dustin barreled into his chest, throwing his arms around Steve in a tight hug.

Steve dropped the pillow and hugged him back.

“I miss you,” Dustin said.

“I miss you too.”

“Will you still come visit me when I’m at MIT? Even though it’s farther than Hawkins and the rest of the Party won’t be there?”

“Dustin, you haven’t even gotten in yet.”

“But will you?” Dustin asked, planting his chin on Steve’s chest to look up into Steve’s eyes. And even though Steve knew he was 17, almost a full adult, he looked just like the kid Steve had first met, wide-eyed and looking to Steve for reassurance.

“Of course,” Steve said. “I’ll be over there so much you’ll get sick of me.”

“Even though you have a job and Robin and you don’t have to drive us around everywhere anymore?”

Steve huffed. “Dude, I haven’t driven you all everywhere in years. And Robin can survive without me for a few days. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Steve said.

Dustin pulled out of the hug, giving Steve a toothy smile. Then he scowled and punched Steve’s arm. “Next time, don’t wait years to tell me something important, asshole!”

Steve grinned.

Dustin didn’t care. He wasn’t pushing Steve away for being queer. He was actually trying to make sure that Steve would stay in his life, that growing up didn’t mean Steve would leave.

Steve pulled the brim of Dustin’s cap down, earning him a disgruntled yelp.

“Alright,” Steve promised. “The next time I have a life-changing realization, you’ll be the first to know.”

Dustin smiled evilly. “Even before Robin?”

Steve froze. “I’m not picking favorites Henderson, so don’t even try it.”

Max and Lucas emerged from the bathroom and Steve gently pushed Dustin towards it, finally joining Robin in her room.

Robin was lying on the bed in her pjs, still faintly blushing from the sex talk. “I am never having kids. That was the worst, oh my god. I suddenly understand why my parents just threw a bunch of books at me and told me to figure it out.”

“I got the sex talk from health class,” Steve admitted, digging through the pile on the floor for pjs. “It was not helpful at all.”

Robin snorted. “I’m sure you learned from hands-on experience, Romeo.”

“No, but that’s my point,” Steve said. “I slept with all these girls and all of them only said nice things. I was so sure I was doing a good job, and then I date Nancy for longer than a few weeks and she’s Nancy, so she does research.”

He hissed the word and Robin sniggered. “Oh, she would.”

“She did! And then she gave me notes. Literal, physical notes, on how to do better!”

Robin laughed so hard she went quiet, rolling from side to side on the bed and clutching at her ribs.

“Robin, Robin, don’t laugh at me,” Steve pouted. “It was humiliating.”

Robin could not stop laughing. “Were the notes on flashcards?”

Steve aggressively yanked pajamas from the pile and refused to answer. The notes had been on flashcards. And they’d been color-coded into general tips and things Nancy specifically wanted to try.

Steve changed into pajamas as Robin gradually got her giggles under control.

“Hey, babe,” Robin said.

Steve looked up. “Yeah?”

She looked serious, sitting up and meeting Steve’s gaze. “I’m proud of you. You were really brave tonight. And you gave me the courage to be brave too, and I never could have imagined a few years ago that I’d be living in San Francisco with my queer best friend and platonic soulmate having an extremely embarrassing sex talk with a bunch of teenagers, but it’s kind of perfect. I kind of love it.”

Steve smiled. He never would have imagined himself here either, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. His friendship with Robin was the most important thing in his life. And his kids, his wonderful, amazing, brilliant kids, who accepted him and admired him and needed him and loved him — they were here. They’d traveled 2,000 miles just to see him.

“I kind of love it too,” Steve said.

Robin beamed. “Definitely worth a little Russian torture.”

What a weird, fucked-up metric. And Robin was still absolutely right.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #platonic stobin #the party #Steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #max mayfield #Lucas sinclair #max x lucas #mia writes fanfic #ao3 #because ao3 is down

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reds-skull · 5 months

Text

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

The finale! Post script will be uploaded right after this, fair warning it's a damn long one lol

Thank you for reading this far, this chapter is called "Where All Permanence Rests". Enjoy!

Edit: I forgot to add the final poem before, it's fixed now!

Page 67 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 18:

The village people, hearing of the hunter’s fall, Find before them, the Blind man and the Beast, Yet they do not look with malice, they do not fear, As the veil has been taken away, their eyes see truth, That this is no Beast, but a man. The Beast, the Cursed Man, He does not rejoice, for the Blind Man has seen him justly, When all saw a monster.

Isla,

I don’t think I’ve ever written an actual letter, like this. Certainly not in circumstances like these. But this is the most secure way to contact you. I shouldn’t talk to you at all, if we’re being honest, but… I couldn’t just leave without a word.

In the following weeks, or days (depending on when this letter will reach you), you will receive news that John MacTavish is dead. And for all intents and purposes, in all ways but physical, I am dead.

I’m writing this to apologize, and to thank you.

Simon never thought he would return to Mexico by his own volition. Even before Soap, he refused to take jobs anywhere near Central America.

Only Johnny could give him enough strength to be here.

It also doesn’t hurt that they’re not here to fight the cartel.

“déjennos en paz!” a man screams further down the cobbled street. ‘Leave us alone.’

From the American-accented shouts that follow, the man’s pleas are ignored, “donte esta el Irani?!”

A woman joins the man, screaming that they don’t know. Simon continues sneaking past dark roofs. They can’t afford to attack just yet - their target has far too many soldiers in their disposal at the moment.

A couple of shots ring out, making his steps falter. The woman screams in anguish. He closes his eyes, attempting to not sink into the familiar embrace of cold indifference, like his instincts tell him to.

Being more than a weapon has its downsides.

“Ghost?”

“Johnny. Solid?” Simon answers on their private comm line, his partner’s voice relieving some of the uncomfortable ache cinching at his guts.

“Aye. Think I can see ye.”

He looks around for a moment, finding the red skull mask across several rooftops, crimson barely visible in the low light, “did you find any sign of the Vaqueros?”

Simon can almost feel Soap’s frustration from here, “negative. Only thing Ah’m seeing are American bastards and fucking corpses.” he grunts, “feels like the Hunter all over again…”

“Focus, Sergeant.”

“I am, LT.” he watches Soap’s form disappear between buildings, “gonna get on the ground, search for anyone we could rescue.”

“Copy, I’ll keep an eye on Graves.” Simon clicks off, knowing they both need the silence.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better brother to you. That I couldn’t take my head out of my arse and simply live a normal life, be normal. I think I never learned how to. But you deserved better. Could you tell maw I’m sorry as well? I don’t think I’ll make it to Christmas in the next… However long I have left to live.

Don’t worry about me (I know you always do, and always will), this is why I wanted to thank you.

After you called, on the day I got the notice of the eviction… I realized I couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t pretend I was fine, couldn’t keep this same, soul-crushing monotony, day in, day out.

Laswell contacted them two days ago, asking them to land in Las Almas and keep an eye on an American PMC called “Shadow Company”. They came to Mexico to collaborate with Mexican Special Forces to capture an Iranian and his stolen missiles. On paper, the citizens of Las Almas shouldn’t have been involved at all.

Graves and his Shadows move to another building, where several men have been rounded and lined up against a wall.

Reality never seems to match what’s on paper, when it comes to wars.

The Shadows lift their rifles, and shoot the civilians.

They don’t know what made Graves turn. But that’s not Simon and Soap’s job to figure out. Their only interest is to minimize civilian life loss and rescue the Vaqueros, the Mexican soldiers the Americans betrayed.

A weak voice on the other side of the block catches his attention. Simon makes the split second decision to take his eyes off Graves and investigate.

“No- let her go!” a woman, a mother, screams at a Shadow ripping a child away from her.

The kid in his arms cries, “Mommy! Mommy!”

“What do you think you’re doing, I’m with the police-!”

Simon catches another soldier moving to shoot, and in a flash, he takes hold of two throwing knives, and buries them deep within the Shadows’ throats.

The policeman and his family look at the soldiers fall with horror and confusion. Simon jumps down, revealing himself.

“Find a vehicle, and get out of the city. The Americans are not going to stop until they find what they want.” he grounds, staring at the cop’s eyes.

The mother asks shakily, “what- why are they doing this-?!” but the cop pushes her and the child, nodding grimly to Simon.

He climbs back up not a moment later. A voice in his mind tells him this maneuver might’ve costed him his cover, but alongside it, Simon doesn’t feel regret. He has learned to appreciate any win, no matter how small. And for those people, it is not small.

So I ran. I can’t tell you to where. I can’t tell you what I found there.

But I can tell you who I met. He’s… fuck, how could I describe him?

He was such a cunt at first, you would’ve ripped him a new one. But I learned he was also running away, in his own way. That he’s been running for a long, long time. And when I met him, when we actually started working with each other…

I felt like I was alive for the first time in a year.

“Ghost” Johnny startles him from thought, “found a Vaquero. Yer…?”

“Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra. Who are you?” a farther voice barely comes through the radio.

“Soap. Laswell sent us.”

“Kate Laswell? Are you with Shepherd?!”

Simon grinds his teeth, “we’re not under anyone’s command, Parra. Not military.”

“You’re… you’re mercenaries?” he can hear Parra curse under his breath, “is it just you two?”

“Aye” Soap answers, “Laswell hasn’t burned ye yet - she asked us to help ye.”

The Sergeant Major seems to sigh in relief, hopelessness coloring his next words, “I’m glad. Though… no.”

He sounds more assured when he speaks again, “my soldiers and Colonel have been captured by Graves. I’ll need any help I can get to rescue them.”

“You got it.” Simon rumbles, “any intel on their location?”

“Negative. Alejandro has a safe house outside the city, I might be able to find out if we get there.”

“Alejandro?” Soap asks.

“My Colonel.” Parra says, noticeably sadder than before.

“We’ll get him back, mate.” Soap attempts to comfort, “Ghost, still got eyes on Graves?”

Simon internally grimaces, “...negative. Had to help some civvies.”

He didn’t expect the pride in Johnny’s voice, but in hindsight he should’ve, “understood. Ye see the church tower from here?”

Simon looks at the far distance, a tall building lit by an orange glow towers over the city, “affirm. Lets RV there.”

“Aye. Keep yerself safe.”

“You too Johnny.”

I don’t know how, but I have the feeling me and him were meant to meet. Not in a soulmate kind of way… I’ve been feeling things like that a lot, since I ran. Like this is where I would’ve always ended up being.

You will not meet me again, most likely. Me and him… Just our presence will put you in danger. There’s a reason they had to kill us both on paper. Can’t tell you what we’re doing that required that, but you know I was never one to stick to things like “rules” and “laws”.

We’re not alone in this, we have allies, people that want to do good, but are stuck in a system that refuses to change to do that good. I wish you never experience the amount of evil truly festering this world, and we are fighting so you never will.

He begins combing the streets for Graves’s trail, mostly tuning out the conversation between Soap and the Sergeant Major. From what he does listen to, Graves’ betrayal seemed to come out of nowhere - they had successfully disarmed a missile not a day prior, having interrogated a cartel lord who aided the Iranian.

They were so close to finishing the mission. Which is why, when the Shadow commander turned around and stabbed them in the back, only Parra managed to shake off the shock and escape.

Graves is still on the hunt for the Iranian, convinced he’s hiding in Las Almas, while also searching for Rodolfo. It won’t look good for business if he can’t wrap up things cleanly, Simon muses darkly. He had enough encounters with PMCs in the past to know how they operate.

He eyes a group of Shadows standing around a couple of fresh bodies, all seemingly focused on their comms.

After a few moments, one of them answers to whoever is ordering them, “I’m here with a few others, sir, we can go search the area for the Mexican.” the soldier pauses to hear the response, “yessir! Let’s go, they spotted him at the northern plaza!”.

The group instantly starts sprinting, Simon following while radioing to Soap, “Johnny, Shadows heading to the northern plaza, said someone saw Parra!”

He hears the Sergeant Major through Soap’s comms, “mierda!”

Simon has to jump over an alley when the roof he’s been running on ended, “I’m on my way to you, can you hold them?!”

Soap huffs in a way that tells him he has something up his sleeve, “we’ll smoke up the plaza, they don’t know Ah’m here.”

He can just imagine Johnny’s sharp grin under his mask, “going undercover, hm? A man after my own heart.”

“Always, Simon.” Johnny whispers, just for his ears. Simon ignores the way it makes a shiver go down his spine.

Up ahead, a plume of smoke rises between buildings. Soap leaves his comms on, letting Simon hear how Johnny takes hostiles down one by one, going quiet until his cover is blown.

In the streets below, more and more soldiers funnel towards the plaza. Simon grits his teeth, pushing his legs to run faster. He will not let Johnny enter a losing fight, not if he can help it.

The shooting abruptly stops, making his heart still. A few moments pass before he can hear Soap’s voice growling, “let him go.”

He can hear the Shadows laughing, a churning noise grating on his ears. Simon slows, keeping to the swaths of darkness.

A half circle of Shadows formed in the plaza, Parra and Soap facing them. In the center, a shadow holds a pistol to a young boy’s head.

Simon doesn’t even attempt to swallow down the disgust that rises in his throat.

“No can do, pal. Drop your weapon and give us the cowboy, or the kid gets hit.”

He drops behind the Shadows, knife slipping down his sleeve silently. With careful steps, he closes in on the center soldier, while Parra curses at them.

Over the soldier’s shoulder, he meets Johnny’s eyes. With no words, they communicate. He waits for Soap’s signal, watching his Sergeant lower himself. To the Shadows, it seems like he’s bending down to place his SMG on the ground, but Simon can almost feel the tension coiling within Soap’s muscles, readying himself to fight.

“Alright, Alright!” Soap shouts, “I’m dropping my gun, just let the boy go.”

Johnny nods minutely. Simon strikes.

In a motion he’s done a million times before, the knife swings in an arc before burrowing into the Shadow’s neck. Simon doesn’t waste any time pushing the body aside, grabbing the young boy and pulling him back.

Soap snarls, righting his gun and spraying bullets to his left, clearing a path for him to take the kid and shove him into cover.

He swings around, ducking under a hostile’s incoming knife, unsheathing one of his own and easily stabbing it into the underside of his jaw. He throws it at another attacking soldier, noticing Soap and Parra being pushed back into a corner.

One of them gets the jump on Soap, the two falling to the ground in a struggle. His heart leaps to his throat, where it shouts, ‘Johnny!’

Simon takes a rifle off of a body, inhales to steady his breath.

Focuses his rage on the targets and shoots.

He drops the gun, rushing to Soap. The bodies on the ground don’t move.

A fast-paced chant screams in his mind ‘where is Soap is he broken is he dead have you failed him-’

“Ngh… Steamin’ Jesus, this fucker’s heavy.” Johnny grumbles, shoving the body covering his off.

Simon stares at him for a moment, before dropping to his knees and pulling him up. He searches for injuries on Soap’s body before two gentle hands stop him.

“Ah’m good, mo chridhe. Solid.” Johnny’s hands don’t let go, instead caressing his bloody palms.

An unexpected wave of emotion crashes into him, filling his lungs with warmth. He doesn’t know if it was the split second moment where he thought Johnny might be dead, or the gentle way he’s now comforting him, somehow always knowing when he’s panicked.

Maybe it’s all of it, that makes Simon blurt out, “I love you.”

And Johnny, despite having the majority of his face covered, looks up at him with so much care, blue eyes almost glowing behind the red mask.

Those eyes crescent with joy, Johnny pushing his forehead to bump against Simon’s in affection.

“I love ye too, Simon.”

And Simon finds himself thinking, that this is what he was meant to be.

Fighter.

Human.

Loved.

I’ll be trying to write as much as possible, but if this is the only letter you’ll ever get…

Just know that if I died, I went down fighting, and I went down with him. And I couldn’t have been happier with the way I lived.

I love you so, so much.

-J.M.

Page 100 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 20:

Where is your destination, now that the curse has been lifted, The Blind Man asks, with nothing but kindness on his tongue. I have no place to belong to, the once-Beast answers, Nowhere, but the path I walk with you, my fallen knight. Then we shall travel together, until we return to the earth, And perhaps, if God is to be so merciful, The paths we take will always, and forevermore, Be only by the side of the other.

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phillippadgettwrites · 1 year

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Dropped Call

Rated X / 2873 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3

See AO3 for a note about the prompt for this story

It’s past 9:00 pm when Scully finally accepts that she’s sick. Allergies, overtiredness, and the sinus-drying impacts of air conditioning were all hopeful contenders, but when her muscles begin to ache she picks up the phone to tell Mulder that she won’t be in tomorrow.

A sick day doesn’t sound completely terrible; at least she’ll get to catch up on sleep, but she can easily predict that Mulder will insist on coming by to bring her an endearing but inevitably odd care package consisting of chicken soup, hot tea, DayQuil, and a recent issue of National Enquirer, among other curiosities. She’ll feel embarrassed about looking terrible, and he’ll give her a thinly veiled compliment that draws unwanted attention to the undercurrent of sexual tension in their relationship, which she will then dwell on for the next 2-4 weeks. Splendid.

She hits speed dial #1 and flops down on the couch while it rings, already dreaming of the lengthy bubble bath she plans to treat herself to in what would otherwise be the middle of her workday. Maybe she’ll even order in for lunch.

“Hey, I was hoping you’d call back.”

She’s caught off guard, and briefly considers the possibility that she already called him but forgot about it in her congested haze.

“You were?” she asks, surprised by how raspy her voice sounds. This cold seems to be progressing quickly.

“I figured the call dropped,” he says, and it sounds like he’s on the move. She can picture him walking around his apartment with the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder; he never stays still for long.

She’s still rather confused, though, because she’s almost certain that she hasn’t spoken to him since they both left the office a few hours ago.

“What were we talking about?” she asks, then holds the phone at arms-length while she clears her throat. “When the call dropped, I mean.”

“My partner,” he says.

His partner? Is he seeing someone? A little flush of something between embarrassment and jealousy warms her cheeks.

“What about…them?” she asks, touching her forehead with the back of her hand. She doesn’t feel feverish, but this conversation is rather disorienting.

Mulder chuckles a little, and now she feels stupid on top of everything else.

“Come on, Electra, don’t be coy,” he says in an unfamiliar singsong voice. “I think you’ve probably paid off your mortgage with all the money you’ve made listening to me talk about her.”

Electra? Maybe she should get the thermometer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she admits.

Mulder laughs again, and the pitch of it makes her belly tumble. He’s being downright flirtatious.

“I appreciate your effort to maintain the facade,” he says lightly. “You’re a true professional. That’s why I request you, you know. When you’re not available they always ask if I’d like to talk to another girl, but I never do.”

She realizes at this point that Mulder thinks she is someone else. Someone named Electra. Someone he pays to talk to. She opens her mouth to speak but her jaw just hangs there, stunned into silence. The fact that he thinks she’s his 1-900 girl is embarrassing enough—for both of them—but the fact that he’s in the habit of talking to his 1-900 girl about his partner—her—is both enthralling and horrifying.

She should tell him it’s her. No—she should just hang up so he never has to know. That would be the kindest thing to do, really.

“Electra?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she sputters, sitting up on the couch. “I’m here.”

“You okay? You sound…different.”

She should hang up. She doesn’t.

“I think I’m getting sick,” she says, which is true.

“Ah,” he says knowingly.

“So, um…” she tries, feeling simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and curiosity. “What were you saying about your partner again?”

Mulder heaves a sigh.

“I was asking whether you think it’s misogynistic that she’s always submissive in my fantasies,” he says casually. “I think that’s when the call dropped, so I didn’t get to hear your answer.”

Scully’s entire body flushes, and she quickly looks around her apartment as though someone might be overhearing their conversation.

“Um…I guess it depends,” she answers, trying to think beyond the fact that Mulder has sexual fantasies about her so that she can actually engage in this conversation. “What’s the nature of the fantasy? Is it degrading?”

“No,” he says quickly. “Not at all. More like…” She hears the rustle of fabric, and she imagines him lying down on his recently acquired bed. “More like she wants to give up control.”

“Tell me about it,” she says, and as soon as the words leave her mouth her eyes widen. Surely she did not just ask him that. But apparently Electra did. “So I can tell you if it’s degrading,” she adds.

Mulder hums wistfully and she feels a hearty throb between her legs. This is objectively wrong. She should stop.

“There are several variations, but I’ll tell you my favorite one,” he begins. “She’s in a shitty mood, and she’s acting pretty bitchy.”

Scully scoffs reflexively, then cringes at her slip-up.

“I didn’t say she was being a bitch,” he corrects. “And you know it turns me on when she’s like that. I mean it in a complimentary way.”

“Right,” Scully says, feeling flustered between pretending to be Electra and gathering so much surprising information in such a short amount of time. He likes it when she’s a bitch to him?

“Anyway, she’s cranky and irritable, and we’re at the office,” he continues.

She’s picturing it now in her head, the two of them in the basement office, and Scully in a bad mood. It’s easy enough to imagine as it’s a semi-frequent occurrence.

“She says something to me, something derisive, and I snap at her and suggest that she needs an attitude adjustment.”

“Uh-huh,” Scully says, hanging onto his every word in eager anticipation of what comes next.

“I think it’s pertinent that I’m already hard,” he says.

“In the office?” she asks.

“No, I mean right now, while I’m telling you this. I’m already hard and it’s not even to the juicy part yet.”

Scully squirms on her couch, ashamed, and uncomfortable, and decidedly aroused. Mulder’s erect penis is something she’s given more than a passing thought to, and knowing it’s right there on the other end of the line is certainly captivating.

“...Wow,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“So I tell her she needs an attitude adjustment, and she says ‘then why don’t you give me one?’ a little bit haughty, like she’s daring me because she doesn’t think I’ll do it.”

“And then what?” Scully asks, perhaps a little too eagerly.

Mulder groans softly, not at all attempting to hide it, and she starts to squeeze her thighs together rhythmically.

“She’s wearing a skirt,” he says, his voice husky. “I walk over to her and I grab her by the waist and pick her up, put her on top of the desk.”

“Your desk?” Scully asks. She wants to be sure she’s picturing it just right.

“Yeah. I put her on top of the desk and she’s looking at me like…like what the fuck are you doing ? But I can tell that she’s curious. She wants to see what I’m going to do.”

Scully is having the same experience as the version of herself in Mulder’s fantasy. She desperately wants to know where he’s going to take this. Where he wishes he could take it.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna eat her pussy,” he says without hesitation, and Scully sucks in a breath when her clit throbs violently at the idea. “But first I kiss her, ease her into it. She’s a little resistant at first—not like she tells me no or anything—but she’s worried we’ll get caught.”

Scully can no longer resist the urge to touch herself. She slips her free hand under her pajama pants and sighs with relief as her fingers glide over her slick lips.

“Are you touching yourself?”

She snatches her hand back and sits up, then looks around, half expecting to see him standing in her kitchen.

“What?” she stutters, embarrassed and confused.

“I know you aren’t actually doing it,” Mulder says, his voice momentarily returning to its normal cadence. “But I thought you might humor me.”

“Oh,” Scully says, sinking back into the cushions as her racing heart begins to slow. “...Are you?”

“Of course,” he says, and she knows that he is not pretending.

“Then…yes, I am,” she says, sliding her hand back under her pants. “Please continue.”

“So we do this whole ‘we can’t do this here, it’s against policy’ bit, which I’m a huge fan of. Maybe that’s fucked up, but I like to imagine that she tries to resist the urge on principle, but she can’t because she wants me too much.”

Scully is reminded of an occasion on which she slipped one of Mulder’s well-worn tapes out of the bottom drawer of his desk and into her purse, curious to see what kind of porn he gravitates towards. In the privacy of her apartment, she’d been surprised and intrigued to find that the tape was a series of clips from different movies, all depicting covert trysts between people who expressed first that they should not be doing what they were about to do, and then what they were doing, and finally what they’d just done.

“I don’t think that’s fucked up,” she tells him, sinking her middle finger into her cunt to the second knuckle.

“I take off her jacket, and unbutton her blouse, and then I just pull her bra down to get at her tits. I don’t even bother taking it off.”

She never imagined that Mulder would be inclined to use the word “tits,” but she’s surprised to find that it doesn’t bother her one bit. She’s much more interested in what he plans to do with her tits than she is with what he calls them.

“She has incredible tits,” he says, and she realizes that he’s speaking from an informed place because he’s seen her nude. Given, she was half dead, but it seems she still managed to make an impression, which is oddly gratifying. “I suck on her nipples and she’s fucking feral. She just…turns to putty. I know she’ll let me do anything to her. Anything I want.”

His voice has a staccato quality that leads her to believe that he’s stroking himself, and rather quickly at that. Scully swirls her slippery finger around her clit in time with the little hiccups in his words.

“But all I want is to taste her. Make her come in my mouth,” he says, and she knows she’s going to come right here on her couch if they keep this up. “So I tell her to lay back and I tear her pantyhose, then push her skirt up. She’s wearing these little white panties I’ve seen in her suitcase. Lace. I pull them to the side so I can see her.”

Later, she will recall his comment about her little white panties and wonder how many times he’s explored the contents of her suitcase or her underwear drawer. At the moment, though, she’s picturing him looking between her legs with a hungry expression on his face while she finger-fucks herself.

“She’s so wet I can see it running out of her. And her lips are all swollen and—fuck. I can’t resist so I get on my knees and bury my face in her pussy. She tastes so good and I’m so turned on that I get my dick out and jerk off while I eat her.”

Scully is beyond the point of forming words. She’s hovering just before the edge, ready to tumble over at the slightest provocation. She can only hope that he keeps talking.

“She grabs my head and digs her fingernails into my scalp, and I can hardly breathe but I don’t care. I can feel her quivering and pulsing on my lips and around my tongue, and then she moans and tells me she’s gonna come, and her whole cunt is just…throbbing against my face. She comes so hard she knocks half the shit off my desk. And then I come, right on the floor, because I can’t hold back. It’s too good.”

Scully is stonily silent as she comes around her own fingers, imagining that they are Mulder’s tongue and that the press of her own palm is his face tucked tightly between her legs. It’s powerful, rivaling anything she’s produced with her vibrator as of late, and she is only marginally aware of his soft grunts as he does the same on the other end of the line.

As she slowly comes down and the haze of lust fades away, she realizes what she’s just done and acute shame washes over her.

“Damn,” Mulder says, sounding satisfied. There is a long pause while they each collect their thoughts. “So, what do you think?”

Scully blinks stupidly, her hand still resting over her soaking wet cunt.

“About what?”

“Is it misogynistic? The fantasy?”

“Oh,” she says, pulling her hand free and sitting up on the couch. “Um, no, I don’t think so. I think bringing a woman to orgasm with no expectation of reciprocation is about the least misogynist thing I can think of, actually.”

Mulder chuckles.

“Well, that clears most of my other fantasies, then, because that is the running theme.”

“Really,” she says, more an expression of surprise than a question.

“With her, yes,” he says. She wants to ask him so many questions, but he cuts her off. “I think I’m just about at my weekly minute cap before I risk being late on rent, so I better let you go. Thanks for calling back.”

“Right, of course,” Scully says awkwardly, remembering that she is currently playing the role of Electra, the phone sex operator. “Have a good night.”

“You, too, Electra. Bye.”

Scully hangs up and then sits there for several minutes, shell shocked. When the phone, which is still in her hand, begins to ring, she startles so violently she drops it on the floor, then scrambles to fish it out from under the couch.

“Hello?” she says urgently, just before the machine picks up.

“Hey, Scully, it’s me,” he says, and the sound of his voice is like an aphrodisiac, even though it’s been less than twenty minutes since her orgasm.

“Hi,” she says, her voice unnaturally loud.

“Are you okay? You sound weird.”

“I was actually just about to call you,” she says, glancing at the clock. “I’m not feeling well and I think I might take the day off tomorrow to rest.”

There is an unnaturally long pause on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “Can I bring you anything?”

“No, Mulder, you don’t need to do that. It’s just a cold,” she insists.

“I’ll bring you lunch,” he says. “You like that soup from the Thai place, right?”

She smiles despite the absurdity of this entire situation.

“I do. Thank you, Mulder.”

“Happy to do it. Get some rest, G-Woman.”

“I will. Goodnight.” She’s pulling the phone away from her ear when she hears him speaking again. “Did you say something?”

“Yeah…um…Did you call me earlier?”

“...What do you mean?”

“Like half an hour ago, did you call me?” He sounds nervous, and she’s not sure what he’s hoping to hear.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” he repeats.

“No…No, I don’t think that was me,” she says ambiguously.

Another unnaturally long pause.

“Okay, never mind. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

Now it is she who speaks again when she’s not sure if he’s already hung up.

“Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

The speed of his answer tells her that he still had the phone to his ear.

“What if I did call you?”

She can practically hear his thoughts racing through the phone.

“...Then I would wonder if I’m still welcome to come by and bring you lunch tomorrow,” he says, sounding markedly meek.

“Of course you are,” she tells him, relieved that he isn’t angry. In fact, he sounds more concerned that she might be angry with him . “But to be clear, we’re having soup for lunch. Just soup. Because I’m sick.”

The overture, while thinly veiled, is so forward that she feels like she might vomit.

“Just soup,” he repeats. “But only because you’re sick?”

Scully pulls in a deep breath.

“I could see myself enjoying other meals when I’m feeling better,” she says on an exhale, then covers her own eyes with her hand.

“Well, then you should get some rest,” he says, and that gravelly, hungry quality from his phone call with Electra has suddenly found its way back into his voice. “We’ll want you back in action as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” she says, blushing and cringing and buzzing all at once. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Goodnight, Electra.”

He hangs up before she has a chance to respond.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #smut #xfiles #the xfiles

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curioussubjects · 5 months

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Kara/Lee Fic LiveJournal Links

It occurred to me a while ago maybe not everyone is familiar with navigating LiveJournal, much less how to go about finding fic there. I figured it could be helpful to have a list of personal journals and communities to make that easier, or just to have on hand. What's included on this list: * Authors (prolific and/or widely rec'd, some with partial AO3 archiving); * K/L Communities (great sources for other fics and fanworks); * General Battlestar Galactica (2003) fic communities; * Friend-Locked and Deleted Journals (for reference and archived links, if applicable); * Authors that moved all their fics to AO3 (not linked, also for reference). All that being said, this post is neither a rec list or comprehensive. Mainly, I wanted it to be a point of entry for new fans or fans who aren't familiar with LiveJournal. With that in mind, if I forgot a community or user you think should be here, let me know and I'll edit the post to include them. Let me know if there are any issues/questions!

If you see your username on this list and you'd like to be taken off of it, just let me know and I'll edit the post, and likewise if you have your fics listed on LiveJournal and you'd like me to link to them.

Note: You might notice reference to a specific archive for Kara/Lee fic, called Fallout Shelter, as you explore these links. The bad news is that the site is offline. Unfortunately, the site wasn't archived very well either, so pretty much all the fics that were exclusively archived there are gone. The good news is that the archive was a repository for fics originally posted on the ApolloStarbuckFic yahoo group, which was saved during the massive archival effort to backup YG back in 2019/2020. The even better news is that the data for that group might become available some time next week. I'll make a post explaining how to go about sifting through all the messages if/when the data becomes available. Keep in mind though that I haven't seen this data yet, so I have no idea what, if anything, is saved in the group's messages and files. Still, though, definitely something to be excited about!

Fics under the cut! ☺

General Communities

Battlestar Recs BSG 2003 Fics BSG Creative BSG Epics BSG Fic Finders BSG Kink BSG Remix BSG Slash

Kara/Lee Communities

The Applecart Beyond Insane KaraLeeFic No Takebacks Pilots Big Bang Pilots Presents Reel Pilots SASA HQ (additional fic tag)

Authors (A-Z)

alissabobissa (general k/l tag, ffn) anr (general k/l tag) apodixis bantha-fodder (general k/l tag on dw) that i should suffer (archived) brynnmck (general bsg tag) coffeesuperhero (general fic masterlist) daphnaea (general fic masterlist) dionusia (general k/l tag) elly427 (general k/l tag) embolalia (general k/l tag) fahye (general fic masterlist) hackaddict indigo419 kate98 (lj deleted, find on ffn) kdbleu leavingslowly leda13 (general fic tag) letterstonorah (lj deleted, general k/l tag on dw) liminalliz (general fic tag) lint (deleted lj, fin on ffn/ao3) lotus79 meyerlemon (lj deleted, find on ffn) mnemosyne olaf47 sangga (general bsg tag) shah-of-blah (general bsg fic tag) stars-like-dust (general bsg fic tag) svilleficrecs (general fic tag) tamsibling thefannishwaldo (general bsg tag, also on ffn) voleuse whatimages (general bsg tag) widget285 (general bsg tag) wisteria- (general bsg tag) zeplum (saintstreet, plumunited) F-Locked Journals queenofthorns (f-locked on dw) rawles/peri-peteia (ao3, dw) workerbee73

Deleted Journals/Fics

kag523 latteaddict nancy777ca (some fics on ffn) oxymoronassoc (archived, see below) Look Him Straight in the Eye Just Something Out of Step shawngf sloanesomething (archived, see below) And So I Woke (1 [might be gone], 2, 3, 4, 5) All the While Byzantium (SVU crossover) Terms Five Things that Didn’t Happen on Colonial Day Untitled

Find on AO3: callmeonetrack elzed Innibis ninjamonkey73 rachelindeed rayruz scifishipper SomewhereApart

#starpollo #kara thrace #lee adama #battlestar galactica #bsg 2003 #pilots lj fic links #fanfiction

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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 2 years

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Ineffable Bloom

Pairings: Azul/Siren MC

Summary: Despite your status as siren, there are not many words that reach those around you anymore, voice now muted and marred from the surgeries you have endured to remove the carnations that once suffocated your throat. But you don't mind it, serving quietly as the gardener of Night Raven College, making do with a notepad and pen when necessary. You are pleased to find your childhood friend, Azul, now attends the school, who spontaneously hires you for the flower arrangements he decides to decorate in his lounge with. There's little hope you bear with the silent poetry you weave with each meticulously placed flower, only an ache which tumbles over you like the ceaseless seas. However, Azul is not deaf to this song you have sealed in your bouquets, having cherished the morsels of sweetness in your childhoods where you shared the silent language of each flower.

Notes: Sorry this took ages lmao. Been in a “creating anything is obsolete” phase my/spring allergies are starting so I am. Dying. Part of the twst myth series, here is the post with some basics. I just reached 1000 likes on tumblr which might not be much to some but wowwww thank you guys for your support!!

GN terms for MC

CW: Emotional abuse and toxic parenting when we get into MC’s backstory

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

——————————————————

“Would you like to add a ribbon to this? I’ll add it for free since I have some extra?” You placed the last slender stalk of green hydrangea into the bouquet and move your hands in practiced shapes and swerves, forming each phrase with careful deliberation.

Jack struggles a bit in forming as keen language with his hands, but you appreciate that he has taken the time to respond in your vernacular. Writing does get a little tiring after a bit. “If you wouldn’t mind. I think Trey would appreciate that.” He pauses, looking to Ruggie, who sways around the room with his hands behind his head in boredom, dipping his gaze to the lilies standing tall in a bucket on the ground. “Right, Ruggie?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever is fine.”

The wolf huffs a bit before crossing his arms. “You know, you should be grateful (Name) is doing this so last minute since you forgot to place the order a week ago like we all agreed on.”

“Ugh get of my back‒ Leona had me running around more than usual last week…” His eyebrows raise a bit when he brings his attention to the dandelions drying above him, a slight movement you take notice to when wrapping the bouquet in its final layer. “Besides, who cares about all the details of each flower, it’s not like whoever is receiving them is looking into all the deep meanings of each blade of grass.”

You finish tightening the bow around the bouquet, assuring with your trained hands that it is secured tightly onto the broom, before handing it off to Jack. “Just like you mentioned in the interview‒ green color scheme, with symbols of loyalty, prosperity, and patience. Here is a card that has all of the flower languages on them.” You sign, which the man responds with a smile, and a clumsy thank you with his hands.

Ruggie has drifted over to the dandelion heads soaking in a bowl of water, being prepared for the dandelion honey you sell at Sam’s shop while his junior admires the bouquet in reverence. “You like dandelions?” You write on a notepad, poking Ruggie with it. He looks over lazily, shrugs.

“I guess.”

“They symbolize ‘an oracle of love’, resilience, and even sorrowful goodbyes. The name Dandelion comes from the word dent-de-lion, meaning the ‘jaws of a lion’- fierce, is it not?” Ruggie hums in curiosity in response, glancing at the flowers again to imagine it with a growing smile on his face. “Flowers and plants all have their silent poetry. It’s good to tip your ears to them once in a while, they may have something to say to you.”

“You hear that Jack‒ ‘jaws of a lion’..." The hyena says with his hand on his hips, a bashful finger grazing his nose.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get going, we have a lot of prep to do for Trey's celebration." Jack turns to you before he leaves "Oh, you should stop by if you have time‒ everyone was curious during my birthday who had arranged my broomquet. I'm sure the other students would be thrilled to see the face of our new‒ well, I guess not so new anymore‒ gardener."

You furiously shook your head, scurrying your hands across the air in a flurry. "I wouldn't want to intrude…my work is nothing worth fussing over…"

"Anyone with a pair of working eyes can see otherwise‒ your talent is unmatched, you nearly performed a miracle reviving my half dead cacti." Jack smiles, remembering fondly of the times he had come in, asking you for advice on his growing horticulture collection. "Besides, it's nice for the students and staff to get familiarized."

"And free cake." Ruggie adds.

You raised your eyebrows at that, quelling the swirling anxiety in your stomach. "…okay, I'll try to make it. Just have to finish a few things here and I should be good to head out."

"We'll see you then, (Name)."

——————————————————

You brush your apron, relieving the weariness of a day's work in the breath that swelled from the bottom of your stomach and escaped as an audible huff that loosened the tension of your shoulders. However when you glance at your phone, anxiety shot through you as you realize time had passed a lot quicker, and it was about half an hour past the time Jack had told you to come. In racing footsteps, you gathered your items, throwing your apron on the hook near the front door before slamming it.

By the time you arrive, everyone is singing happy birthday, gathering in a circle around who you assumed was Trey, who bore a bashful smile on his face with the broomquet in his hands. You catch the eye of Jack across the room, who lights up when you wave nervously at him. The room erupts in applause and bright laughter as Trey blows out the candles of his cake‒ a volume you take a mental note of to judge just how many people were at this celebration. Quite a lot, especially now as the students disperse, preparing plates and cutlery to cut the delicious looking strawberry shortcake.

"Hey~ what are you doing here?"

There’s a surge of anxiety when those words are pointed at you, which you respond with a pressed smile as you swerve your head to the voice. To your surprise, you recognize the face which greets you, though it is a bit unnatural seeing them without a bluish tint to their skin, or scales. You suppose it’s a surprise for them as well, seeing you out of the water for the first time in about eight years.

“I thought I recognized that face. Hello, (Name), it has been a while.”

You hands move automatically to the pen and paper stuffed inside your pocket. “Jade? Floyd? It’s been a while. What are you doing here?”

“Eh? What's with the notepad little siren?”

The anxiety returned with Floyd's words. Even with the Leech family’s connections and the chattiness of your hometown, it was hard for rumors to form with the eight years you had spent apart from your home‒ your friends. You were thankful a bit for the amnesty it brought you on rare occasions like this, but explaining the whole situation was difficult for you‒ making up a believable excuse even more so considering the one memorable thing your species was known for. Sirens‒ their voice famed to plunge sea farers into maddening passion, the talents of which even the great Sea Witch openly admired in historical record. Perhaps you had been an example of this once, training your throat to squeeze and burn itself to strike impossible notes, whirling an unmatched vibrancy when you perfected each lyric, each score, each tendon to stand straight, expand your lungs, smile, and sing. Even if you had such talents in the past, it was negated with every pinch and pull of your mother’s craft‒ that memory now clandestine, numbed from the surgery.

Or that’s what you told yourself, as your calloused fingers graze the satin ribbon around your neck, the scars marring it aching slightly as you adjusted the fabric in a slight nervous tick. They’re been healed from quite some time‒ or you believe they are from the years you had observed every winding crack slowly dull against time‒ but the mountainous fossils carved onto your flesh would grow tender like this, pushed then retraced piercingly like the jagged shores far from your homelands, leaving snowy, bursting seafoam prickling against your skin. You suppose all you could do is tighten a smile against your mute lips, maneuvering past it as best you could.

“I’ll explain later. What are you guys doing at NRC?”

“We’re students, see~?” Floyd flashes a crooked smile, turning to the side to show off his dorm uniform. “Jade here is even the vice dorm leader. Boring if you ask me.”

“What are you doing here, (Name)? I don’t think I’ve seen you in my classes.”

“My aunt just retired as the gardener here, she's back at her shop in the Shaftlands. So I've come to officially take her place."

"We'll have our quartet back in no time now‒ you should visit the Monstero Lounge sometime so we can catch up~" Floyd wraps an arm around your shoulder, hanging lazily off it while his twin smiles.

"I agree with Floyd. Azul would be more than happy to see you too." At Jade's words, you brighten, and quickly scribble onto your notepad.

"Azul here too? Is he here today?"

Jade nods. "He's our dorm leader, actually. And yes, I think he just went outside to get some fresh air" his smile widens "you know how he is."

You do. Surely he was tired of the noise and pleasantries of birthday celebration. "Azul the dorm leader huh."

"You won't believe how much he’s changed unless you see for yourself." Floyd switches his weight to his other foot, landing on his brother's shoulder while gesturing to the veranda doors. You swerve your head towards it, trying to make out a figure against the bright blue skies and roses reaching towards the mild sun. There's a slight silhouette, but you can barely make out its features with the glare of the glass.

"You should go to him. He talks about you sometimes, you know." Before you could turn around and question the twins, their backs are turned from you, melting back into the bustling crowd. Despite your initial excitement, your feet move in idle footsteps, weighed by the heaviness which emerges from your wrapped throat, plummeting to the soles of your feet sticking densely onto the ground. The notepad in your hand is gripped through your sweaty palm‒ there was only so much space in each sliver of parchment you could fill with your words, the rest of your language lost to the silence which cages your throat. Even if you could rasp through your disfigurement with a language people would lend an ear to, you were sure that your thoughts, refined through your mother's distant voice, would drive you back into forlorn silence‒ your hands clawing and reopening your wounds wide and fresh enough to assure not even a breath could be heard from it. Flowers always came to you with such ease in comparison, eyes turned away from your secret adoration for something far more beautiful in perfectly placed petals, inventing no hope that you could cling to that would turn your throat raw with desire.

Even if these givings were seen, spoken of , or heard‒ you armor yourself by repenting‒ these gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Forgive me, for there is fear that one day that life will ripen within it‒ something as grotesque as myself, a venerable mirror to my slumbering desires to be swaddled and held. You arrive at the handle of the door too fast for your liking, hovering your hand over it with a heavy heart and tongue before grasping it quietly, hoping a little that your soundless footsteps would turn you into a phantom.

But when you are faced with a familiar image‒ his weaving dusty mauve hair, and the arctic clarity of his blue eyes, you can't help but to pause your prayers for a moment, met with the blinding joy his face brings you. Dear, dear friend.

You're so used to his name springing from your throat that you nearly tear the fragile nerves of your lesions with a rasp threatening to boil over by the warmth in your stomach. But you clench that tension in your hand as you scribble his name in hurried, crude strokes across the entire page.

"Azul?" You turned the paper pad over with clumsy, shaking hands. He looks just as surprised as you, but he nods slowly.

"(Name)?"

You nod your head vigorously to your name, decorated sweetly with his voice. His entire body is facing you now, taking you in with the gulp of his gaze. You do the same, noticing that, actually, not quite a lot has changed. Sure, the soft little octopus had grown tall and slender during the eight years you didn’t see him‒ but still, there is that mole dotted prettily on his face you remember quite well, and the softness of his eyes when they meet yours is one of your fondest, most tender memories, unraveled whenever you saw the sea blue glow of freshly fallen snow, or the velvety reflection of the skies in gentle spring creeks. But now they were here, gazing back at you, there were no words that appeared in your mind, or which you could communicate with the likeness of flowers. It's so sweet again when you hear his voice.

"What's happening? Why are you writ‒ never mind that." He shakes the thought away. "How…How have you been? Last I heard from mother you had moved with your aunt somewhere on land."

Azul does not question how, or why you stood in front of him after eight years, but rather simply‒ how are you? The smile that blooms at that realization hurts your cheeks. Azul mirrors your sentiments silently, relieved that there were no comments on his appearance of how he's "changed so much". Dear, dear friend. He missed this. Missed you too.

"I'm well. Been working as a gardener here, I enjoy it. How have you been? I’m guessing busy, I heard you're a dorm leader from the twins."

"Ah, you've already met them I see. I just hope they haven’t said anything…unnecessary." His smile widens, you trace the movement of his mole which stretches against the curve of his lips. "I've been…alright. Land life has been a lot to adjust to, but I think I have the hang of it now."

"Haha. It was a lot for me when I first came on shore too. Pillows are so weird, aren't they?"

The dormhead chuckles as you approach him near the railing, situating yourself beside him to face the white roses dotting the garden. One meant mercy, purity, the breath of love; two‒ "I deserve you"; three‒ adoration; 99 white roses, and this would be an Eden of eternal love. But you're too enraptured by his laughter to count, caught in the waves of his lightness.

"They are. But I think it's nice now, might even be a hit at the reef if we sell them during spring break. You mentioned you're a gardener?"

"Yes. I just maintain the horticulture on campus, and I do bouquets from time to time like Trey's broomquet today." You write fast, wanting to answer Azul quickly, fill the time with as much of him as you could. He leans over, watching you as you scribble, relishing silently in the smell of fresh cut lilies and seaside rosemary tangled in a salty sweet ocean breeze.

"An impressive feat, considering the size of our campus. If you're willing‒ I may actually need your help with the twin's birthdays coming soon."

“I'd be happy to help! We would need to set an interview up like I do with most of my clients‒ just so I know their preferences more. But it'll be easier since I already know Jade and Floyd." Truthfully, you were already putting together the perfect bouquet for the twins, violet roses here, silver ragwort there, and a sprinkle of beauty berry should bring the composition together in a delicate balance. The meeting was just an excuse to assure another conversation with Azul again, a thought which churned a feeling of shame within you, rolling you smooth with its ragged tongue that sanded down the rough joy jutting out from you like an unfinished pearl. When Azul nods on confirmation, this sensation becomes slightly eased, but your muscles churn inside you like the dark, deep seas.

"I agree. Nonetheless, us four should meet at the mostero lounge soon to catch up. I could use a talent like yours to freshen up the look of the lounge a bit‒ perhaps we could work a contract of some sort out."

"I'm not that good, I'm not so sure I can hold up to your expectations, dormleader."

"Please‒ Jade's tastes aren't so bad but Floyd's sense of interior design is abysmal. His idea of interior design is a bunch of half finished snacks decorating the shelf beside his bed. Any help would be wonderful."

A silent laugh shakes your shoulders. "I'll think about it."

The patio door opens again‒ revealing Jack, who waves a hand towards you, and speaks with clumsy hands. "They're cutting the cake (Name)- Azul, you too‒ it's gonna be gone if you stay out here for too long."

"Be right there." You sign, lifting your body from the deck railing.

"Is that sign language? I've never seen it in person." Azul holds the door open for you, allowing you to scurry in with a bow of your head.

You nod. "Writing gets tiring at times. But I'm happy either way people speak to me." There’s a twitch in Azul’s eyes that you catch at your statement, regret tingling at your fingertips making your skin feel raw against your flesh. You squeeze the meat of your palm to ignore it.

"We saved you two some cake~" Floyd summons the two of you with a wave, gesturing to two neighboring seats across from them.

Jade smiles, scooping a part of his cake with a fork. "It's nice that we're back together like this. It seems forever ago that you left the reef (Name)."

"But eight years fly by, don't they? You're going to have to catch me up on all the embarrassing stories of each other."

"Only if you let us in on some blackmail about you (Name)." Floyd reveals his sharp teeth with a wide grin, licking the icing off his fork.

"I will." You write, hoping you can fill their heads enough with the happier moments at your aunt's flower shop and time so far as the NRC gardener, rather than deliberate the disease which flowered in your lungs, the sickness that came with it‒ the surgery, the scarring, the healing‒ your departure from your mother, from your home, from them. The ribbon feels tight on your throat, your smile grows tense on your lips. You try your best to quell the swelling waves of anxiety, eased a bit with the laughter of your friends that rang in your presence once more.

——————————————————

You meet them again at the VIP section of their lounge just a few days later, having planned a date to meet before you went home after the birthday celebration. Though conversation was a bit stiff at first, energy begins to swell in the room as you reminisce the events of your childhood, and the years of adolescence you missed in the 8 years of absence from your hometown. The conversation slowly progresses towards how the three would be able to see you more, shifting back to Azul's proposal to have you come to set up flower arrangements in the lounge.

"How about roses?" Floyd suggests. "Classic. Everyone likes them."

A shrug. "Hm. They're a nice touch‒ but a bit basic. I can add them in, but I wouldn't make them the focal point since there's just better flowers out there."

"What do you suggest?" Azul asks.

You think, flipping through the catalog of flowers in your mind. "Especially for the color scheme of your dorm, I think hydrangeas would be nice. Blue poppies, perhaps some rosemary in there as well. Maybe purple carnation‒” you scribble that last thought away as quickly and vigorously as it came, your throat tightening in remembrance at that thought.

“Those sound great‒ but I want something more elegant looking, the carnations you mentioned would be fitting‒ ah‒ remember those flowers from that story you always talked about? The one about the poetry being written on the petals?”

You were glad he moved from carnations. Besides, purple carnations signified grief and death in some cultures, far removed from the emblem of prayer they were in your culture. “Hyacinths?”

“Precisely. What do the white ones mean?” What about this one? What does this say? How about this, this, and this? You remember the way he pointed to each flower in your encyclopedia lent by your aunt, his small fingers fluttering across the page like a busy little cuttlefish at your riveting explanations. This is this, this and this. There was always a hurry to your words when you spoke to others‒ particularly your mother‒ rushing to seize the brief opportunity allowed for you to speak, but no matter how much you had stumbled over your words in clumsy delight, Azul listened with a smile on his face, making notes on paper for his experiments, words rushing to his hands like a school of fish.

“White ones mean a ‘quiet love’, or ‘love that is quelled’. If you want something with a happier meaning though, I would go with white wisteria, it means sweet nostalgic memories or drunken love; cornflowers‒ delicacy and elegance; or salvia‒ veneration and wisdom. Purple chrysanthemum would be splendid too‒ meaning your wish will come true."

You remember when your mother was kinder, tucking your small, innocent body into her soft arms‒ hushing your cries with a tender whisper. It was without that rattle in your throat she pointed towards you like a knife when you grew from that chaste form, sullied and filled with her disappointment. Your body was tall and flushed with it, but not quite tall enough, not quite curved and plump the way she liked‒ needed you to be to carve her desired image into you. A mirror within a mirror within a mirror‒ mother and child, mother and child. Her words lashing as the waves cracking against the jagged rocks, shaping you into a memorial of her pains, her aching hunger.

But you returned to that far-flung memory of her maternal care, remembering the legend she told you about purple chrysanthemums‒ placing one dearly to your hair, chirping her bright song with a story that was passed from the throat of her mother, to the her ears as a child, blood through blood. This was one of the only memories you remember of her singing not to an audience or a stage‒ but to you, flesh of her womb, skin and bones lovingly mirrored in babbling purity. You trace her unusually soft words with your hand, gliding across the page with the exact pitch of her voice swimming in your mind.

"There's a legend among our kind, of the purple chrysanthemum. We decorate our most treasured people with it, and wear it as a sign of someone watching over you to make a dream come true‒ whether it is a benevolent god, or another person." You pause your writing, the three looking over you to watch you write. "It symbolizes the victory of love‒ its power which pulls the best from you to achieve something as distant as a dream."

Your pen stills. "But‒ I should retract my suggestion. People of other cultures use it to commemorate death, I wouldn't want to offend someone."

Azul is brightened by the way you talk about flowers again, the fragrant morsels on his mind blooming, coloring him vividly in your dazzling artistry. This is this, this, and this. The way you forge lustrous, silent poetry with each careful placement of a blossom amazes him each time, finding your words lingering and echoing in the cove of his mind. "No." His mouth races somewhat brash, he tries again, clearing his throat. "No‒ I trust your initial judgment." He smiles. You trace that mole on his face. "I like it."

"Then it's decided."

Floyd yawns, draping his arms dramatically against the couch, and lulling his head upwards with a sigh. “Ugh. Enough with the flower talk‒ let’s talk about something more interesting.” He flashes a toothy smirk. “(Name), you wanna hear about the time Azul cried so hard he threw up?”

His twin clasps his hands with a similar expression. “Oh, that’s definitely a good one.”

Azul’s eyes blow wide open. “That is absolutely a violation of our contract‒”

“I don’t believe that includes (Name) actually.” Jade muses with a sly grin.

"Why was he crying so hard he threw up??"

The dormleader groans, dropping his hands into hands.

The twins exchange a look before Jade answers. "You, of course."

"Me?" You point to yourself in disbelief.

Floyd chuckles. "He sipped a little wine at the restaurant on accident. Then he starts blubbering about how 'oh I miss them', 'oh remember when they did this', and 'oh‒"

"I think they get the point, brother."

While Floyd ignores his twin in favor of continuing the story, Azul continues to hide his slowly darkening face behind his hands, while you sit, pen hovering over the paper.

“Why?”

The twins blink with a confused expression on their face, while Floyd speaks with a baffled tone. “Ha? Why? What do you mean why?” From the corner of your eye, you see Azul lift his head from his hands to look you, with what expression, you can’t tell‒ training your eyes on the paper with hardened brows, blood tinging on you tongue from the flesh drawn between your teeth.

The pen in your hand hovers above the paper with a soft tremble. Why? Why me? When you left that reef years ago, you left any notion that your presence would be something that would be worth lingering over‒ much more grieving about‒ a thought that was confirmed by the way your mother hurriedly dumped you at your aunt’s flower shop near the somber shores, her frosty gaze and distanced followed by years of inveterated silence as incurable and everlong as the one wrapped around your throat. Like the winter storms on the beach where your aunt's shop sat upon, that silence from your mother, and everyone else for that matter, was as thrashing and unforgiving to your empty ears and throat. There was nothing left for you down there, just memories that would make that scraped dryly against your throat and make you long for something your body was not mended properly for. So the proposition that Azul had felt something towards you‒ so much so that he had shed actual tears for you‒ threatened to bring the nausea deep in your darkened stomach frothing at the surface. You pushed through it, hand gliding clumsily across the paper.

“Never mind, sorry. I should get going soon‒ I’m behind on some duties in at the Botanical Gardens.”

Azul sighs in slight relief, and stands as you gather your things. "I'll see you off." You bid goodbye to the twins, who flash a pointed smile at you while Azul holds open the lounge doors to leave.

“Come back again so we can embarrass Azul more with our stories.” You smile at Jade's words.

Before you pass through the portal, Azul taps your shoulder. He lays his hand flat against his lips, sweeping it towards you. You're taken a bit by surprise, but soon your cheeks ache from the warmth squeezed into them by your curved lips, turning the nausea reaching from your stomach to your chest into something, you think, extraordinary.

You held that feeling in your chest as much as the rupturing threaded into yourself would‒ drinking in the ease of passing clouds and the clemency of rippling seawater tickling the bottom of you feet‒ much too quick, too light, too wonderful to be bound by the chthonic gods. Your heart races with the swiftness of sprightly, sun drunken waves. There was a rising ache‒ knowing your fractured body would splinter before you could swallow this feeling in its entirety, filling you body brilliantly like a blooming chrysanthemum‒ unfurling its divine petals towards all cardinal directions in a form which flared itself every which way. Victory of love. You knew it would not triumph against your fragmentation‒ but despite it all, you smiled stupidly, weaving your florid fingers against his to show him the correct placement of the word.

"Like this." You instruct‒ on his chin, near that dotted mark, then towards you in one motion. The word is practiced twice so you can linger your hands on his own. "Thank you, thank you." You mouth.

The heat of your fingers burns this motion into him, even as you let go. He practices it again, hoping to retrieve your sensation onto his skin with the repeated motion. “Thank you.”

You take your pointed and middle finger to your eye, then glide it towards the tip of your chin with a circle made with your pointer and thumb.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————

Carnations are always a favorite among your customers. The flower of love, of adoration‒ of the gods. They have been woven into hair to commemorate new beginnings, have been rumored to sprout from a devoted mother’s tears faced with her child’s death. Their name comes from carnis, or flesh, from the myth of innocent bloodshed, a shepherd who had his eyes gouged out from a goddess of the hunt, who was displeased by his flute playing which caused the animals of her hunting grounds to be spooked. From his empty flesh, carnations grew, white petals emerging, stained with blood. White carnations typically signify the mourning of lost lives, pure love, unrequited love, loyalty, faithfulness, a mother’s love.

But most of all, it whispers, my love for you is alive. It felt that way when they flourished in your lungs, choking the song in your throat in just a few months after they sowed into your meat. Alive and red and beating so vibrantly against your flesh‒ filthy with the darkened red of your aching insides. They came as impossible heaps from your mouth, emptying quietly as you could in the corner of your room so as not to bother your sleeping mother in the room over. You remember furling your body inward, praying it to become smaller, smaller, smaller‒ quieting your agony, erasing your swaying footsteps to the medicine cabinet, slicing your body up and down into manageable pieces. It was a dance in your eyes you carried everywhere with you that classified every variation of footsteps, the slightest inflection in tone, a twitch of the lungs before it even came‒ so you could shape yourself flat against the sharpened teeth of any who bothered to bite down on your brittle, bitter form, flaying and cleaving your meat carefully to its shape. Your eyes remembered these wounds, reopened and festering against your clumsy stitches to take into account next test‒ next time, next interaction, next opportunity to prove‒ I’ll be better, I’ll prove I am worthy enough to live.

‘You’re so sensitive‒ you would be good with flowers’, your aunt says. Thank you, you gulp in the ache of your disfigurement with pride‒ a medallion passed from your mother, passed from her mother, passed from her own‒ blood through blood it was gifted, and split from your strangled throat. It felt like your body rejected it, but oh, that was the best part of it all‒ more pain, more, more, more‒ something to wear on your skin as a testament to how you’ve been such a good child, to mutilate yourself against anyone’s maws. Something to show, mother, love me for all of these marks prove it, prove that I can cut open myself deep enough to mirror the perfected version of yourself.

Carnations are a symbol of that. People give them as a trophy of love that is agony, love that is alive, love which slaughters. It is a mother's love. They're popular in those early months during the spring, where the flowers devour the corpses mulled over by autumn and winter, chewing and spitting it out with a drunken splendor. As such you had many on hand during these colder months, surrounded by consecrations of this love, thrashing, bursting inside you like sea-brine churned into frothing bubbles, the waves breaking against it swelling them over the edge of the shore. You could feel the eyes of the flowers leering towards you, tightening the ribbon around your neck.

The hand in your pocket reaches towards the heads, your fingers brush against their cold petals. They are worn, withered from the days they have slept stagnant and untouched in their watery casket. You are quick to take them from their bucket, shoving in a bag to be thrown away in the compost, back into the earth to nourish the next generation.

“(Name)?”

Was it already that time already? You had promised him you would meet with him to plan the twins' broomquet after you closed, but the day had waded through you so quickly.

His name, as always, almost makes it out of your throat. But you held the silence in your mouth like your muffled heartbeat, quietly turning to him with weary eyes. He immediately drinks their lorn gaze, before he takes out a small leather bound pocketbook from his inner pocket, flipping through a few pages, returning it to his coat when he finishes reading the contents of the page. With clumsy hands, he signs. “Do you need help?”

You look him up and down, pausing your hands shoved deep inside the bag of wilted carnations. “You know sign language?”

“I learned.” He says sheepishly. “Apologies‒ clearly I haven't gotten too far with it. I don't know some words yet.”

Your eyes widen. “Why?”

He points to his head, then towards you. For. You. I learned for you.

A smile curves on his lips, but you avert your eyes from it. You’re afraid to measure that tinted color on his cheeks, the shape of his softened eyes, the length of his smile the wrong way‒ to take something without anything worthy from yourself to give in compensation, so you take his words instead, knowing you could at least repay them with something much more beautiful, whole. Flowers. You don't look at him. “I could use some help.”

He rolls his sleeves up, takes the carnations in his hands and brings them inside the bag. “What is the meaning of carnations?”

“Love, adoration, ‘my love for you is alive’.”

“Easy to capitalize on. I see why it is so popular.” He takes one between his fingers, twirls it with a sly smile. "I like it."

You return it best you could. “They’re a bit grotesque, don’t you think? The petals are quite unfinished, like they’ve been cut jagged.”

“You don’t like them?”

You remember the day after the surgery, your lungs emptied not only from the lack of carnations taking seed inside of it, but sapped from anything you had felt for your mother. You realized, that day, oh.

It was her all along.

You had searched far and wide for what the cause of your sickness was‒ you had given too much yourself to too many people to pinpoint who you had such feelings for. Your nerves felt exposed to all, to everything all the time, pricked and pinched at any abstruse movement, washing over you like a bloody crusade everytime.

There was nothing written about in the dozens of books, articles, and lyrics you dug up that had said anything about familial love specifically, so it never struck you that it was even a possibility‒ besides‒ your mother loved you, didn't she?

But of course, the carnations‒ of course. Your love for her may have been alive, but so were these flowers, once. Before they were picked from your tendons and emptied from you as rubbish.

The absence of your piteous devotion to her plummeted your heart deep into the ocean abyss, your flesh weighted as a museum of that dance, the butchering of your body, marked up and down with lines which traced the shapes of jaws with surgical precision. If you could not be loved by the flesh which founded your own, surely, it would be a ludicrous dream to wish for any other being to love you at all, to take the weeping, patchwork meat of your body and consume it.

You want to get rid of all these carnations, give them all away at once. Take them, take them all. Yes, your mother would love these‒ yes or course they're a sign of eternal love, pure love‒ anything and everything that is alive, they would be a wonderful gift. You offer them as extras to people, suggest them instead of those beautiful roses or lilacs or lilies. These gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Take them, take it all. Take everything from me.

You smile, squeeze your eyes to mimic candor.

"No, I hate them."

His expression is like sand, shifting in a thousand ways. You try to inspect each grain of lustrous sand to feel how they shape around your words, but always, the waves. Wait here, you tell him, to go toss the flowers back into the decomposing earth to become the blood and body their children will sprout from.

You set some lavender tea and dandelion honey cakes on the table‒ the bareness of the table is odious to you, sways you with abhorrence. Even with it filled, you sign. "I'm sorry, I wish I had more to offer you."

"This is plenty." He signs. You avert your eyes from that soft smile, but the warmth that bubbles in your chest knows the angle of its curve, the way his mole stretches across his chin, the world in his eyes.

"So, what exactly are you looking for in the twins’ bouquet?”

He thinks, you know he folds his arms to do this. “I trust your tastes. You were always better at reading people than I was.”

“I…” You pause. Yes, the dance‒ breathing in the world raw. But part of it is remaining silent to that ripening wound. “I guess.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“I think blue star would be great. Perhaps some ragwort, and I believe I have some dried sea lavender left from my aunt’s shop. Salvia would be great too, and some Zion, beauty berry as well.”

“What do they all mean?”

“Blue star and salvia mean trust‒ something they are bound by. Zion flowers signify that someone is thinking of you, even if they are far. And sea lavender lets someone know they are thinking of you. Beautyberry means a deep understanding. I can of course fill up the space with roses, some chrysanthemums, of course.”

Azul writes in his small pocketbook, scribbling your words across a page, then another, then another. He was always like this when you talked‒ recording the medicinal properties of plants, committing your sensitives to flowers with a fervor. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say he was excited by your words, but you didn’t.

“Is it alright if I came and watched?”

“Watched?”

“Yes, if I came and watched you work on the twins’ bouquet.”

“It’s boring work, you would fall‒“

You feel your hands in his, your words quickly swallowed by the warmth of his palms. He speaks with softness which reaches deep within your ears, tingles the back of your neck.

“I think it’s quite brilliant, the way you work.”

You want to clasp your ears shut, squeeze your eyes until you see stars‒ knees tucked into your body, forming an embryo to protect yourself from those words. Your tongue shakes in your mouth. You want to scream at him. However to realize this rejection through your trembling fingers would be to deny him something, even if it was the mangled scraps which make your bundle of flesh. You'd keep this revolution plunged deep inside the heart of your whirling sea, a war raging at your marrow to keep the shores lush with anything he'd wish to take. Take it, take it all.

You're still for a moment. "Have it your way, then."

He smiles, but this time, you can't look away.

——————————————————

When he comes a few days later, he brings tupperwares full of food.

"What's all this? A feast?" You see various dishes from the nights your mother brought you to perform at the Ashengrotto’s restaurant‒ fragrant steamed fish that falls off the bone, crunchy seaweed salad, steaming bowls of fish-broth soup, bursting with flavor.

“My mother’s recipes. Your favorite, at least from back then.” He remembers fondly of the times you would finish performing, joining him at the seat right beside him. You’d point to the aquatic plants, bring him to the magic and wonders of their chemistry, their mythos, your sensitivities to them, the world. He's shaped his shores against the curve of your gentle waves, your words always returning to his sandy beaches to leave a million gifts from the sea. This is this, this, and this. He'd hold each sparkling grain of sand, each seashell nymph like an exquisite pearl, cupping his ears to every single one to catch the whispers of eternity bundled in each of them. No matter how you would run yourself raw against jagged beaches and the maws of dark coves‒ he would remain a mirror to your sun faced sanctuaries, hoping that in this lifetime, you would realize that it was you‒ you all along‒ that he'd chased, parodying your brilliance to finally become himself.

His words almost bring you to tears. You gulp it down with the nausea that rises on your tongue, cindering the muscle with its heat.

"Why are you‒" your hands spit out these words in a fervor. "Why are you so fucking nice to me? What is all this?"

You hate the way his expression softens, the infinite arctic blue which melts against your image, the elation in your chest upon devouring such delectable things. It’s revolting.

"Because…" He begins out loud. There’s breath that swells his shoulders, before he gathers his fingers to a shaking fist, locking it under his chin.

Precious.

You swing your head left and right mutely, wrapping a hand around your neck as if to choke any sound that could be ripped from it. Still, it comes out like dried leaves, a strangled rasp, a whimper which rattles in your tightened throat. You hate how he pulls your trembling fingers from your skin, you hate it. But you let him.

His warmth comes as a cosmic storm stirring the oceans into inescapable waves. You were a fool to even try to shelter yourself from it‒ his tenderness beat against your form so loudly it hurt. You can’t pull away, your body does not let you.

Azul sees the fear that bruises your eyes, the way your chest lurches, in heaving, shuddering, controlled breaths to mathematically contain that terror inside of you. There’s a moment where he suspects himself to be the culprit, the distaste of his form, the vile nature of his weaknesses. But you had always consumed all of him, everything‒ his unsightly body, his awful shortcomings, all of the best and worst parts of himself with what surely was heavenly grace. Everything but his adoration for you, a mirror to your givings to the world, and most of all‒ him. This was something within.

He brings you to a seat, a cup of water to your hands. He lets you take time, sipping the moment in small gulps like the drink he sets in your hands. Silence, even with the lack of words exchanged between you two, was never something which was present when you were beside him. His mind always rushed with thoughts about you‒ all the more louder in the eight years you had been absent from his side. Even then, your likeness was always carved in the back of his mind, coming and going like a haunting oceanfront.

“Do you remember the first day we met?”

You remember. “Tell me.” You sign.

“You saved me from those awful kids, remember? I still got so scared of them I got ink everywhere. You were in such wonderful garments I didn’t want you to get dirty, so I told you to back off.”

His smile makes your own. He continues. “I was such a brat back then‒ even after you fended those kids off I told you to get away from me‒ ‘don’t come crying if I spoil your garments!’” A stiff chuckle escapes your nose as you remember the expression on his face. It was much like your own‒ frightened. “But you told me‒“

“Stain them, I don’t care.” Of course you remember. The surprise on his face, the stutter of his hands as you held them.

“Yes. We spent the whole day together. You took me to the shores for the first time, facing the field of‒ what was it?”

“Memorial roses.”

“Memorial roses. You told me they meant love for the honest form." He drags his gaze from his hands, and into your eyes. "I didn't even see the sun set when you talked about flowers the way you do. All my current knowledge of horticulture comes from you, you know.”

"Surely not all of it."

He shakes his head. "No, all of it. I've inscribed every word you've said to me in my mind and I've carried you with me all those years I spent toiling away in my octopot." The hand he rests on your own warms your fingers. "I have you written all over me."

You grip the heat of your throat, hands heavy as you raise them to retaliate, again. "No. Why would you want‒ ."

"I'm not. Why do you think so?" That softness, again, his eyes. Revolting.

You threw the words from your hands in frustration. Didn't he understand? "Why would you want someone like me to‒ to poison you?"

"I could say the same for myself. Why did you defend me that day?"

You remember the look in his eyes, the way he crouched low to the ocean floor in shame. "I saw myself in you. I couldn't‒"

"You couldn't bare it." He finishes.

"Yes, but you're different. With me, I'm not‒ I wasn't‒ "

"But you aren't different." There's a growing lump in his throat, frustration, heat‒ it rises with the volume of his voice, erupting raw at the back of his tongue. "Why won't you let me show you that you're worthy of the same treatment you give to the world?"

“How could I let you?" Your legs ascend from beneath you, your hands feel hot in the air as you flare them out from yourself, hurling them for Azul to see. "Look."

"Look at me." He would see, finally.

The nail of your thumb digs on your chin as your splayed hand sharply juts from your skin. It says, "My own mother".

You slip the ribbon from your throat, unraveling yourself in front of him. Azul sucks a tense breath in‒ you revel in it, your venerable mirror‒ it breaks against your old stitches, bringing you an ineffable bloom inside your chest. You don’t know if it's pleasure or pain which tightens it, but you feel as living, as chemical, as whole as a flourishing chrysanthemum‒ blazing your florid petals every which way, splitting the bud in a thousand directions. Here is proof. You lay yourself out, to him, flay your fragmentation against his eyes. The wounds burn fresh the air. This was your wish, wasn’t it? Still, the seafoam bursting against your skin, the ache, in waves. You hold the emptiness in your hand triumphantly, or, you try to.

He looks when you tell him to, of course, but the softness in his eyes tightens your chest. He's silent for a moment, thinking. "Aright." Finally, he speaks.

"Will you make a contract with me?"

"...what?"

"A contract. Will you make one with me?"

Your knees fall from you when you lean towards the table in support, seating you in the chair across from him. You open your arms, facing your palms towards him, empty, silent.

"I don't have anything I could trade you."

He reaches towards your emptiness, filling it with his warmth. "Then give me this. If you have nothing, grant me you."

You bring his heat near your face, hoping to harbor‒ at least‒ next to it. You won't take it, you couldn't. The fear laps upon you like stormy waves, it's force tearing your fingers from his. "I don't have enough of myself to give you."

"This." He replenishes the absence in your hands again. "This is more than enough‒ it will always be enough." It's a firm grip, it quells the tremble in your body slightly.

"So, will you make a contract with me?"

Hesitantly, you nod.

He guides you towards the shop window where the flowers swill in the moonlight, violet chrysanthemums shining pearly, plump with their honeyed sap. He slips one between his fingers, holds it between the two of you. "I lied when I said I only liked these. When you tell me of promises of success, of love‒ I feel like I can crack open this world with my bare hands. I don’t just like it‒ everything that comes from from you soars my soul."

He continues, bashfully. You feel filled with his words. "You're my ocean, the waters that shape my shores. You've always been where I belong, and what comes back to me to mold me to what I am even after your physical absence." The heat of his hands feel like fire on your skin as he pulls it towards his own. "This is a contract, a promise. Will you let love victor over you?"

You trace that spot on his face as he smiles, you find the small way that it curves mirrored on your own lips. You drink in his smile, returning it with your own; you breathe his scent in, exhale with the breath in your lungs that stirs his and yours‒ you mold yourself against him like you've done so many times against gnashing teeth and jagged seaside cliffs, but this time, your rolling waves kiss warmly against his sun faced sanctuaries, melding together to refract the light in your joint tenderness. The feeling begins as a seed he implants in your chest, pressed firmly against your heart, and you feel it slowly burst open when it is showered in his gaze, his touch, all of him against all that you can muster‒ an ineffable thing, a bloom which you could never put into words, even with the language of whispering flowers and the spectacular earth. It comes in heaping waves like the tears that draw flushed lines on your face. He takes all which falls from you in his hands, staining his hands with the salty fragrance.

"Stop that. I'll get your hands all dirty."

"Stain them, I don't care."

You sob, you smile harder. The tears make it impossible to neurotically measure the twinge of his muscles, the shape of his expression. But you don't think of this, filled with the knowledge of his tenderness, the precise shape of his smile, the softness of his seaborne eyes that fossilize deep within you. "You know I'll be difficult. I always am."

"And you know this about me to, don't you? But this feeling for you comes as easy as water to me."

It's true what he says, you feel like you're floating‒ weightless in the mild seas, drinking in the sunlight which trickles from the skies. Waves upon waves of this brilliance that tilts the light a thousand ways for you to admire. The chrysanthamum petals seem to widen with his warmth, the same unraveling comes bursting, flowering forward in your chest. Victory of love. It comes not as a whisper this time, but loudly as the beat of your blood. You feel it within you, that victory. At last you hold it in your hands, and it shines and lusters like a brilliant peal seeped into each of its petals, blooming forward with all of its love. You allow yourself place the flower in his hair, decorating his face with your love, your victory.

——————————————————

Notes:

All sign language is based off of American Sign Language

Part of the reason why I wanted to use hanakotoba (Japanese flower language) rather than western meanings for flowers was not only because I was more familiar with it, but because the twins I believe are Asian coded. The Octavinelle dorm is seen as the "yakuza" one (Japanese controlled crime syndicate), since they demand those Azul signs contracts with to pay the price, whether through general intimidation, or just straight up physical violence. Tweels also unfortunately sort of fit into the 'Asian twins' stereotype seen in Disney media (Siamese cats in Artisocats), but their overall design (ie eye shape and bristle-y, straight hair) fit into a pseudo Asian look. You know, as much as the fictional land of twisted wonderland will allow. But either way, I think it would be cool to see different species of seafolk have different cultures, and I think sirens in particular would have their own beliefs, systems, and traditions connected to verbal storytelling.

Not entirely sure if this is the case in the western world, but the east is very sensitive about numerology‒ so “bad” numbers are usually avoided when picking out the number of flowers to give to someone.

Chthonic gods are gods connected to the underworld

Carnations were used in coronation garlands for the Romans

Christians believed that it was the flower that sprouted from Mary's tears after the crucifixion of Jesus

Also associated with Artemis, who gouged a shepherd's eyes out because she blamed his flute playing for the lack of game that day. Therefore, they are a symbol of innocent bloodshed

Carnis, the word which is speculated the word carnation comes from, also means flesh. The genus name Dianthus comes from Zeus, connecting it to his daughter Artemis' story

Memorial Rose (ノイバラ) : In the western world, it is often a symbol of wisdom or talent, used often on literary and musical symbolism by writers such as Goethe. But in Japan, it symbolizes "love for the raw/honest form", as it is usually a wild flower that grows in the plains. Modest, but lovely. In Japan it is also called the ノイバラ or "thorn of the plains", so this modest but definitely still packs a punch. Just like Azul lol

Also often grows in the coasts

Omg I just noticed all of the fics I have written has had a toxic maternal parental figure don’t worry I’ll even it out soon lol

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