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codfanficedits · 7 months

Text

The Silent Treatment.

Pairing:

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader.

Wordcount: 3695| Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Arguing, cussing, swearing, mommy issues, communication, mention of a finger in an ass, angst with no comfort.

A/N: No alternative endings for this one, life's a bitch and if I have to suffer so have you <3 also maybe thinking about taking request, idk.

There were three rules in your relationship with Simon.

One – NEVER eat leftovers that aren’t yours.

Two – Bending over is NOT an invitation to poke someone’s ass.

Three – Never go to a mission while still in an argument.

Rule number one was an easy one. You’d gotten fed up with him eating your leftovers. You’d spent the whole day dreaming about the leftover pasta carbonara only to be met with an empty plate when you came home. An innocent look on his face when you scolded him. “I was hungry.” He pouted. “If your name isn’t on it, it isn’t yours!” You scolded him.

Simon would just put a post it with his name on your leftovers. A cocky grin on his face whenever you called him out on it. “Whaddya mean lovie? It clearly says my name.” In the beginning you wanted to wipe that cocky grin of his face, but over time you found yourself cooking a little extra, just so there would always be a portion of leftovers for Simon. In return you would just keep the good leftovers in an old, empty tub of butter. Your little secret and he didn’t need to know.

Rule number two was brought to life when Simon was finally fed up with you trying to poke his ass every goddamn time he bended over.

“It’s off limits!”

“But that’s not fair.” You protest. “My ass is not off limits for you.”

“You like it.”

“You won’t know it if you won’t try it.”

“You are out of your goddamn mind.”

“Just once.” And with those words you take a step closer, holding out your pointer finger.

“I swear to God, one more step and I’ll put you up for sale on Facebook Marketplace.”

A loud exaggerated gasp leaves you while you lower your hand. “You would never!”

“Correct.” A twinkle in his brown eyes. “I would have to pay people to even be interested in picking you up.”

“Simon!”

You’re met with two arms around you and a million soft kisses on your cheek, forehead, neck. “I would never do such a thing.” He mutters into your ear. “I like my money too much.”

It became a little inside joke. Every now and then he would take the most unflattering picture of you, his favourite was the one where you’d fallen asleep on the couch, your mouth open, snoring while a little bit of drool was on the side of your face. Simon would proudly show you the picture.

“This is the one I would put up with that Facebook Market place ad.” He would grin.

“Please do. Maybe some rich prince will pick me up.”

“Yeah if you count someone with a Burger King crown a prince.”

In return, when the two of you were watching tv, you’d point at some of the rich women you’d see on there.

“That would be me when some rich man responds to the ad you made about me.”

“Be sure to send me some allowance every now and then.”

“As if!” You scoff. “I’d be too busy being rich and pretty to think about sending you a tenner every month.”

It would always be met with a low, grumble, mixed in with a laugh. “You’re already pretty, lovie, pretty sure you can miss a tenner too already.”

But he would always, always pull you close to him and press a kiss onto your hair, and you were pretty sure you could hear him mutter the word “mine”.

Rule number three came to life after the first time the two of you had a big argument. While the two of you could communicate perfectly fine most of the time, every now and then it would escalate. He had a temper, you were so fucking stubborn and sometimes it just had to clash.

And this was the first time. The two of you had just moved in together, and with that came a lot of irritations. Both of you were used to living alone. You didn’t have to worry about people nagging you about your dirty sock scattered around the floor. Simon was used to putting his socks directly into the hamper when he took them off. In return, he could make the kitchen explode while cooking and was perfectly fine with leaving it like that for the night, your fingers would itch whenever the kitchen wasn’t spotless after dinner. But this was new for the both of you, and all of the sudden the two of you weren’t just soldiers, but two people, madly in love but both trying to be right on an argument that only needed compromises.

And it felt as if the world was coming to an end at the kitchen table, while the two of you were arguing and crying, eating of the last, sweet bite of your relationship.

Unfortunately a mission doesn’t stop for a little argument, so the argument had to be cut short. You’d be sent away for no longer than two weeks, and leaving tore your heart out, leaving it behind on the shoe rack for him to look at while you were away. You didn’t even know if you would be single or not when you would come back.

Inside your shared house, Simon would be sitting on the floor, gaze fixed on the door through which you left, hoping you’d come back through that door, tell him you love him, and that you would clean up your socks.

But you didn’t.

Instead he received the news that the communication was cut off between your squad and base. An unforeseen enemy ambush that no one had seen coming. And your socks on the floor no longer mattered to Simon, he promised himself he would never, ever complain about the socks scattered on the bathroom floor if that meant you would come home safe. Simon had never been a religious man, but he would find himself praying at your empty side of your bed every night he was home, begging all the Gods above that you would come home to him.

And you did.

He had been waiting for you the moment he got the news you and your squad had been found. Nervously pacing around, while he was Ghost out on the field, for you he was just Simon, and right now Simon needed you more than ever before. You had been gone for nearly a month now, and he could no longer care about your socks, or the way you would kick out your shoes. All he could care about was you, and having you.

You on the other hand, had no idea what you would come home to. Maybe he had left, maybe you would come home to an empty house with a lover long moved on. But that wasn’t the case, you were greeted by a large man, his hands instantly cupping your face, lips all over your cheeks, nose, lips, eyes, forehead as if his lips were trying to imprint your face in his mind.

After that, the two of you decided to never, ever leave on a mission again while still mad and that rule needed a little tweaking.

By the next big argument, months later, the both of you stayed up all night, trying to talk out the argument. The lack of sleep only fuelling the anger on both sides. It made you both irrational and unable to think in solutions. Eventually the both of you fell asleep, Simon sitting at the kitchen table, you had made your way to the couch, holding on to his hoodie out of spite. The next morning the two of you could in fact talk it out, without the crying, without raising your voice, without the cussing.

So eventually rule number three became really simple. Don’t go on a mission while you’re still in an argument. No matter the subject, no matter how angry one of you was. If someone had to leave for a mission, the argument was put on hold, almost always accompanied by some soft words.

“I’m still mad, but I love you, and we’ll find a solution when you’re back”

“You’re still a pain in my ass, but I love you, and we will work this out.”

“When you’re back, we will talk about it, but for now, all you need to know is that I love you.”

A kiss always followed afterwards, usually on a lips, a single time on the forehead.

Today the two of you were about to break rule three. The past few months had been hectic, to say the least. A lot of missions, birthdays, other obligations. Not enough sleep, not enough intimacy, not enough time for each other. It had placed a ticking bomb under your relationship with Simon. An argument waiting to happen. The little things that would usually just make you shake your head and go on with your day, suddenly became a big deal. The way he would leave the kitchen, the way he would drape his shirts over the armrest over the couch. How he would leave his razor in the shower, always next to your shampoo. Speaking of it, you were certain he was using your shampoo, despite you asking him not to. Multiple times and he never fucking listens.

On the other hand, Simon was getting annoyed by you more and more, the way you would leave your socks on the bathroom floor, how you would leave a door open if you had been in that room. And you always left the fucking light on in the bathroom, no matter how often he would tell you to be mindful of it.

So there you were, walking into your kitchen after he had come home after a long, tiring mission. You had just come home from a day full of meetings and preparations for your upcoming mission.

Your whole kitchen a goddamn mess, who the fucks needs two pans, a cutting board, three plates and a fork, a knife AND a spoon for a portion of scrambled eggs anyway? But you try to let it go, you try counting to ten, you try to ignore the eggshells on the stove, the ketchup on the counter, you try to ignore it all.

Then he barges in, a pair of your socks in his hands, while he looks you in the eyes, using his foot to open the bin, tossing your socks in there.

“What the fuck is that for?”

“I’m sick and tired of finding your fucking socks everywhere.”

“Oh so you can throw away my socks, but throwing out eggshells while you’re cooking is too much to fucking ask?”

“I was going to do it after my nap.”

“Sure you were.” An eyeroll from you followed.

“Don’t give me that fucking attitude lovie.”

“Attitude?” You narrow your eyes.

“Attitude. All I want is some fucking peace and quiet and all you’re doing is fucking nagging.”

“I wouldn’t have to nag if you would just clean this fucking kitchen! Other people want to live and cook here too.”

You can see him press his lips together, a sign that the temper in him is rising, but you don’t care, you can feel your own anger building up and it needs to get out.

“Well, other people would like to go to the fucking bathroom without having to cross a fucking path of dirty, filthy fucking socks!”

“They’re just fucking socks, what is your big fucking deal?”

“My big fucking deal is that little miss perfect over here is nagging like a fucking bitch, while I’m following her around cleaning up her fucking socks, closing fucking doors behind her fucking ass. You can’t even turn of the fucking light after you’ve been in a room and you’re whining about the fucking kitchen!” His voice is raising with every word that comes out of his mouth.

But you were raised by a woman couldn’t love herself, so you don’t back down, instead you get in his face, your tone and volume matching his. “Because this kitchen is fucking disgusting Simon! How the fuck could the army recruit someone so fucking filthy?” Bringing in his career was a low blow. “How fucking hard is it to clean the goddamn ketchup if you spill it?”

His hands form two fists, clenched while they hang beside his body.

“Do not.” His voice is a hiss. “Bring my fucking work into this.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Whatever you fucking say Simon.” You turn around as you spit out your words.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Out of this fucking swinery of a kitchen.”

“We’re not done talking.”

“What else is there to fucking say? You’re a fucking pig and I am the problem apparently.” Another turn to face him again.

“You know, when you act like this, you’re just your mother.”

Oh, your mother. The woman who was your first friend and your first enemy. The woman who had taught you that your worth was what men thought of you, while slut shaming you in the same sentence. The woman who never loved you how you needed her to. The day she called you ugly wasn’t the day you stopped loving her, but the day you stopped loving yourself, and you had told him. You had cried in his arms about your fucked up relationship with your mother, you had cried about what you had wanted her to be, but what she never could be for you.

“If I’m my mother, then you’re your fat-“ He cuts you off.

“Don’t fucking go there.”

“Why not? You can compare me to my fucking mother. My MOTHER out of all people!” It’s your turn to raise your voice at him.

“It’s different.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite Simon.”

“I’m the hypocrite? I can’t even come home without you nagging on my fucking ass about this fucking kitchen while you leave a trail of your fucking mess throughout the whole fucking house.”

“Oh well, I’m sorry for not wanting fucking eggshells on my stove, or your fucking shirts all over the couch. Or your FUCKING razor next to MY fucking shampoo!”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“Oh don’t fucking act all innocent now, Simon. I’ve told you plenty of times to keep your hands of my fucking shampoo. That shit is fucking expensive.”

“So I don’t deserve nice, expensive things?”

His comment makes your blood boil. “Stop trying to be the fucking victim.”

“The fucking victim? I can’t even use some nice smelling shampoo in my own fucking house without it being used against me.”

“Oh my God! You could’ve bought your own fucking shampoo. But noo, you always have to take my fucking things. Not even my fucking leftovers are safe from you!”

“Are you still upset because I ate some leftovers?”

“Yes!”

“You’re a fucking child.”

“You’re a fucking leech.”

“A leech?” His fists turning white at your comment.

“A fucking leech. Feeding off others like a fucking parasite.”

“It would be a very good idea if you learned how to shut up, lovie.” The last word didn’t even sound as a pet name anymore.

“Oh I’ll fucking shut up.”

“Finally some fucking peace around here.”

You press your lips together, not making another sound. If he wants some fucking peace he can get it. You turn around to leave the kitchen.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Without looking at him you point at the whiteboard, the date of the mission you had to go on today circled with a red marker.

“Be sure to pack some extra socks so you can litter the fucking battlefield.” He shouts at you as you walk off to pack your bag.

Never break rule number three.

You’re angry when you pack your bag, stomping around, making sure he hears how pissed off he has made you. You even want to take your stupid fucking shampoo with you, but you decide against it, it would be too much of a hassle.

You go downstairs again with your packed bag, and the two of you make eye contact. But neither of you says a thing. Neither of you say the words you had promised each other to always say before a mission.

You turn around while his eyes look back at the tv again, and you make sure to slam the door a little too hard while you leave on your mission.

Turns out all Simon needed was a good nap, some food, a shower and some more sleep. When he wakes up from his little nap and the sky outside is already dark, he realises how much he misses you, how he didn’t tell you he loved you when you went away. He lets out a sigh when he gets to the bathroom, your socks still on the floor, and with a small huff he bends over to pick them up, his hand automatically covering his ass, a force of habit to make sure you don’t poke him while he is bending over. A soft sigh leaving his lips when he realises you’re not there.

For the first time since the two of you got together, your side of the bed felt extra cold, extra empty, and he found himself on his knees again, praying to the heavens you would be home quick, so he could tell you he loved you, and so the two of you could have an actual conversation about the things that had been bothering the two of you.

Simon lets out a soft groan when he sees the kitchen, you had been right, it looked like an active warzone in there. Maybe he should learn to clean up the kitchen after cooking. He’s a grown man for fuck sake.

He rolls up his sleeves, puts on some music and it’s time to clean that goddamned kitchen. And while he is cleaning his thoughts wandered to you, how hurt you looked when he compared you to your mother, and a jolt of guilt shoots through him. It had been unfair to compare you to your mother. You were nothing like her, and when you would be back he would make sure to tell you that.

He's sweaty and Simon isn’t sure how it happened, but he got eggshells in his hair, but the kitchen is clean, and he intends to keep it that way. With a light spring in his step he makes his way to the shower. He automatically reaches for your shampoo, he just loves how your hair smells when you’re laying on his chest, or when he is your weighed blanket and his face is buried in the crook of your neck. Washing his hair with your shampoo reminds him of you during the day. Simon unscrews the cap, bringing the bottle to his nose and he closes his eyes, the steam and the scent of your shampoo give him the illusion that you’re with him again, and when he opens his eyes he feels empty when you’re not there.

He promises himself to tell you he loves you when you’re finally back.

When he lays in bed at night, and you’re not there to hold, he feels lonely, for the first time since forever, you had always feel like home, and now his home was gone. Simon keeps reaching out for you, only to be met by the cold feeling of your empty pillow. The scrolls past the pictures he has from you, the ones he had always threatened to put in a Facebook marketplace ad, and they bring a smile to his face. He remembers the first time he gave you the playful threat and how he had to make sure to smother you in kisses in case you were angry at him. But you weren’t, you had always been a saint and today he had let his anger take control.

He promises himself to tell you he loves you when you’re finally back.

But when you finally return and he gets the chance to tell you that he loves you, the words get stuck in his throat. Rule number three had been broken and he wasn’t sure how to continue from there. Eventually he finds the courage to speak to you again.

“I love you.” The words are simple, yet raw. But you’re not done being silent, after all, he wished for some peace and now he was getting it.

And so the minutes pass, the hours pass, the days pass, but your silent treatment doesn’t end, you’re a stubborn one, and he knows it.

But he has to speak to you, it is the least he could do, but it’s hard to speak to you when he knows you won’t say a thing back.

“I should’ve hugged you tighter the last time I saw you. I just miss you, in a quite simple, desperate, human way.” The words are raw again, as if they are ripped from the very core of his human being. Again there is no answer from you, and it rips his heart out. He just wishes the last thing you said to him were words of love, not words out of anger.

And now he is sitting next to you, a blanket around the both of you, while he finds the courage to speak to you. Simon’s gaze shifts from the flowers in front of him, to the stars in the sky.

“The stars will go out before I forget you.” His voice is soft, a whisper, the words are meant just for you.

He sighs when you stay silent, oh what he would give to hear your voice once again.

“You know, this is not how I had imagined life, lovie. I want to stay on the back porch, while the world tilts toward sleep, until what I love misses me, and calls me back to bed.” His voice breaks in the middle of his sentence.

Simon rests his head against your tombstone. “This silent treatment has been going on for long enough, don’t you think, lovie?”

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

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I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave

summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She's smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn't. (or, alternatively: "No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now.")

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +

warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he's clearly in love with.

author's note: I'm working on 3 fics at the moment, and it's taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er) for starters. I'm a bit more comfortable with sharing this one because I feel like it's actually more of my style (wow, that sounds kinda pretentious). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn't add anything to the story). also, I don't think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don't care ;)

Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He's been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn't very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.

Aemond's never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He's used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he's some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that's approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won't be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He's never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.

The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He's been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.

His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it's a topic he never brings up, it's a humiliating secret that's just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn't withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it'd always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.

He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn't get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can't bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it's the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.

All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what's going on.

"Aemond," she approaches him, whispering. "What's wrong? Is it the headache again?"

Aemond doesn't want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain."

"I don't think we have time to fuss over me," he declines with a pain-stained voice. "I was under the impression that we're expecting someone to join us today."

Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.

"Please don't tell me you require motivation," Aegon's voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.

"Undoubtedly you've interacted with women before," he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond's suffering. "Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won't run away."

Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

"Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself," her voice is tinged with irritation. "Just for one evening. Can you do that?"

Aegon's body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.

"As you wish, mother," he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.

Aemond is exhausted, anxiety's bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she's approaching the entrance.

When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It's not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn't seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won't let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she's used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.

"Someone is about to get a piece of cake," Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.

"Someone needs to shut up," Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn't even tasted yet. Aemond can't help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.

The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She's seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:

"You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I'm surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience?"

When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to Y/N, astonished by his own reaction. It's not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It's just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they're surrounded with.

"I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve," he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can't steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.

Aemond asks about her family, letting Y/N lead the conversation. She's easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would've really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That's until she abruptly stops.

"Are you feeling alright?" she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion.

"I apologize if I'm not exactly the best at keeping you company. It's been a long day," he knows he should've come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.

She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then Y/N moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It's obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he's the reason their conversation was cut short, but Y/N doesn't make a big deal out of it.

"We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested," she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.

Aemond seriously doubts that he'll get any rest as his head feels like it's gripped in an iron vise again.

The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he's almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it's the nausea, he doesn't know nor does he care. He's been handling this for years, he can survive another day.

Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to the King's Landing for a man she's never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there's only so much he can do without draining himself completely.

He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He's passing by Helaena's chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it's not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She's reading to them, and it's a tale they've heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn't need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N's shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.

"You are an impatient little thing," Y/N giggles.

"That she is," Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.

"Pardon me, I didn't hear you coming in," she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. "Your sister was kind enough to keep me company."

"I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven't left her side ever since," Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.

"Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?" Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.

"Make sure to be on time for dinner," his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.

It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. Y/N mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she's telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.

When they walk into the library, Y/N pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she'll ever be impressed by him.

"This is where you study?" she's admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative "hmm".

"How many of these have you read?"

"Quiet a few," he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.

"I wonder what are your preferred subjects."

"History and philosophy," he doesn't mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he's had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady's man.

"Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?" when Y/N glances at him, there's a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she's actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.

"I'm afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all," Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.

"Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time," she presses the matter further but does so very gently. "Name just a couple."

He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don't stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She's never too pushy with her questions, she's making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn't dare to leave Y/N hanging for the second day in a row.

The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.

"I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting," she says, almost whispering, when they're seated.

"You did not, no need to fret," Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can't curb the pain that's spilling out of him, he thinks.

Food is tasteless in his mouth. Y/N is sitting on his right, and Aemond's body can't adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He's so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.

Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother's gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it.

He regrets it the very next day.

When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They're rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That's why, when Aemond opens his eye, he's startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.

"I did knock but got no response," she gives him a look that's a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he's unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.

Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must've had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks:

"The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago."

He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance:

"There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal."

Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what's expected of him, it's about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn't want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.

"The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other," Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. "It seems like you're getting along quite well?"

"I could think of no better woman than Y/N," Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn't say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.

Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn't know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.

"Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you'd be happy to know," Alicent gives him a lax smile. "I shall let you go back to sleep," she adds and leaves.

Aemond knows he'll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N's chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.

To his surprise, Y/N is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can't find her in the library and she isn't in Helaena's chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He's lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.

"I've been looking for you," she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they're only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.

"We must've passed each other, because I've been looking for you, too," he confesses. Y/N seems very pleased with herself though he isn't sure why.

"I think the weather calls for a walk," she blithely suggests. "Would you like to accompany me?" — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond's looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes Y/N's hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they've done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn't. The feeling of holding someone's hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.

By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He's blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can't help but think that Y/N was the reason for that.

"Your mother came to me this morning," she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. "I assume she talked to you, too?"

"She did," Aemond confirms. "Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?"

"Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses," Y/N mimics a man's voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there, too. "Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech".

"He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience," the prince chuckles and she laughs. Aemond holds a pause and then adds:

"Forgive me if I'm being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you."

"It was not," she slows her steps. "I know what's expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I'm being honest...," she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. "I am glad that it's you," Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. "We'll make a pretty good team. Wouldn't you agree?"

Aemond lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at Y/N.

"It seems so," he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There's a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.

"But I shall give you a warning," Y/N says with a mischievous grin. "My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won't shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two".

"Can any of them outdrink Aegon?" he jokes, and Y/N bursts into laughter.

Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she's listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it's almost intimidating. But there's a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.

He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can't tell if Y/N senses that something is wrong but she's the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.

On the way back they're greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. Y/N lightly squeezes Aemond's hand.

"Tomorrow is a big day then," — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won't be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

"There is still time for you to plan an escape," Aemond jests half-heartedly.

Y/N looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head:

"Only if you're planning one. We are in this together, remember?" her thumb brushes over his. "It's all about teamwork."

Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn't want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.

When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It's the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn't grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They've tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that's known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.

But he should make an effort.

Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.

For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother's words — "I thought you'd be happy to know". Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.

But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there's more to life than what he's been through so far.

While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider Y/N his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.

And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep.

He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.

He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn't ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.

He doesn't get a chance to see Y/N throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.

The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots Y/N the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It's hard not to.

The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N's hand.

But right when they're standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, Y/N lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That's when it dawns on him that she's well aware of the attention but she doesn't really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it's just the two of them.

That feeling doesn't go away.

Usually, he's not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can't tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he's getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn't remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?

Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.

"Aemond, you've been dancing," she can't hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.

"Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion," Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.

"It is, indeed," she doesn't let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:

"I can assure you, this isn't a cause for your distress."

But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn't see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.

Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn't alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.

He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on Y/N's face is unreadable. She's oblivious to Aemond's presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he'll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.

"... It's not too late to change that, don't you think," Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.

"It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser", when Y/N talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.

"Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn't of a frivolous kind," he's circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.

"I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation," she recapitulates.

Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at Y/N and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it's not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She's looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.

But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.

"I can be very persuasive," his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. "I think you should appreciate the attention while I'm this generous and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he's not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she's still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.

"I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you're forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it," her voice doesn't lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she's not afraid of anything.

Y/N lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He's frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.

"You didn't... You did not just do that," there's a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.

"Did what, ser?" her tone is laced with coldness.

The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.

"You will not get away with this," he scowls, nettled.

"You're telling me that you're considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe," Y/N seems unfazed.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:

"You, insidious wre...!"

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man:

"I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed," Y/N flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.

"Shouldn't she watch hers? She's talking to a lord," Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.

"And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?"

"It was a... a simple misunderstanding," his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.

"And what was the matter in question?" Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.

"I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal," the man fakes a smile. "Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly".

"You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time," Aemond looks down on him. "Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?"

"I shall rejoin the celebration then," ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.

Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to Y/N. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can't stop himself from asking:

"Did he harm you?"

"He didn't get a chance," she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn't sure how.

"Dare I say we've got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.

"I'll escort you to your chambers," the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds: "I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist."

Y/N doesn't move an inch.

"...You are not mad at me?" she's looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.

"I'm thinking about cutting his arm off," he says under his breath, but she catches it.

"Aemond, there's no need!" Y/N gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

"I will have to disagree," he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond's hand — finally — clings to her again.

"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me," Y/N confesses.

"And I don't want you to get hurt," his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Y/N's cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.

"I think I... I was the one who did some damage," she complains.

"You must imagine my surprise," Aemond drawls, teasing.

"Oh, Gods," a quiet groan leaves her mouth. "That was not very ladylike of me."

Y/N covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.

"You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of," he enunciates each word. "He only sets an example of unseemly behavior."

"I'm afraid I wasn't too far off," Y/N remarks, her voice relenting.

"Hmm, you're certainly not to be truffled with," he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.

"May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?" Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:

"My father taught me that," her tone is surprisingly impish.

"And how did you manage to talk him into it?"

"Talking didn't help much, actually," Y/N grins. "And then I broke my brother's nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm."

"How old were you?"

"Nine," she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can't hold back the laugh.

Y/N joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other's company. But then her smile wilts.

"There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren't very nice back then," she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.

"What did they do?"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It's just um," she's looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn't any. "It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean."

Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.

While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, Y/N spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.

"Is it the headache?" her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn't know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that. Y/N is quick to clear up his confusion:

"I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn't ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive," she explains coyly.

"By asking about my health?" he finds his voice again. "I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions."

"We've only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you're allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone," she kindly points out.

A day. Up until now the only person who's known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.

"Did the ointment help?" she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on Y/N's face tells him otherwise.

"That was your doing?" he can't hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.

"I've been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required," she informs him.

"And what kind of witchcraft is it?"

"It is not," she playfully elbows him. "It was something my grandfather taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain," Y/N has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.

"After her death, he wouldn't let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret," her smile is bittersweet. "Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again."

Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would've done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.

"I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first," Y/N reveals.

"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester's face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.

"I shamelessly boosted his ego," she wrinkles her nose. "Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill."

"But I wasn't just that," Aemond cordially protests.

They already reached her chambers but he doesn't want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she's been a saving grace for him, but he's somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.

"It was way more than that and I...," never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I must admit, you exceeded my expectations," Aemond breathes out.

It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.

"I am glad to be of service, my prince," she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.

He didn't register the moment Y/N came a bit closer, but she isn't shying away from shortening the distance. There's something enamoring about her trusting nature but that's not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...

Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would've been disrespectful and naive. He's mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.

But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at Y/N, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.

"I shall bid you goodnight," her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.

As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends.

Lucerys's name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond's routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.

She's never nosy or clingy; he's the one seeking her company at all times. She's an early riser, too, and they're always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and Y/N can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.

She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it's all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.

When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she's terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives Y/N enough confidence to pat Vhagar's snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.

They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can't help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.

For a while, he's oblivious to how inseparable they've become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister's chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — "You two seem joined at the hip!", it startles him. But that moment doesn't turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.

"I will steal her away from time to time," Helaena says, as cheery as ever.

"Bold of you to assume I will let you," he chuckles, his gaze not leaving Y/N.

"I think she’ll have the last word," his sister retorts with a cunning smile.

Aemond doesn't think twice before admitting:

"She will never say no."

"My point exactly."

The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He doesn't want to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. Y/N asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that's when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn't want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn't like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven't been on good terms ever since.

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks:

"Must you really go?"

He ponders before answering with a sigh:

"It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect."

"I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you," she frowns.

"It would be a little too late for an apology," Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.

"I still think you deserve one," she says like it's the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.

"I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me," and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.

She bestows him with her softest smile:

"I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting."

Aemond doesn't know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn't involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that's what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.

"Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!" Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.

"I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him."

"I didn't say I want to switch places," he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.

"Although switching places with you sounds tempting," he sneers.

"And why would you ever want that?" Aemond raised his brow questioningly.

"You've got yourself a pretty wife-to-be," Aegon chants and whistles.

"Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged," Aemond deadpans.

" 'tis won't be necessary," Aegon's quick to object. "Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession," his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.

Aemond lightly chuckles:

"You'll get no argument from me."

Leaving Y/N is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.

When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.

She's standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they're both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that's not what motivates her. Instead, she's an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.

Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar's carcass away.

"You had a successful hunt, dear prince," when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.

"As usual," Aemond answers indifferently. "Never took you for a hunter."

"I cannot appreciate cruelty," Lannister forces out. "And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear's grip. So I am here merely to control my brother's primal impulses."

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

"Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him," the prince mutters.

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint.

"I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother's sympathy toward your..."

"You should not," Aemond cuts him off. "Would be better to address his manners but it's the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves," with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.

Except she isn't there.

The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.

Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he's never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would've been burned to a pulp as of right now.

Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it's already too late as Y/N is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.

"...What am I missing exactly?" she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn't care.

"You've been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing," she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.

"Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion," her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland's scared tone.

"But what are your accomplishments?" the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. "Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. He, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.

Y/N looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.

"You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above," Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she's seen enough.

"The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you're clearly lacking," Y/N casts Jason a disdainful glance. "So from where I am standing, it looks like I'm the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms."

When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn't surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.

"I would like it if we left earlier, my prince."

"As you wish," Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.

Disregarding everyone's attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond's ire.

"Give me just a second," he can't help himself.

Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn't let him make a sound.

"That was the second time your brother couldn't hold his tongue," Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. "If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time."

"Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like..."

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

"I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like."

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.

"Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore," Aemond says, sitting next to her.

"I sure hope so," she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.

"Y/N, whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture," way more than he cares to admit, "but there's no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me," Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:

"I will."

She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.

"No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now," she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.

Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

He runs out of luck so fast, he must've jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. Y/N notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.

"Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?" she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.

When Y/N finds out, she looks devastated.

"It must steep for a few hours, I can't make it right away," her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.

"There is another way that I know of," she slowly suggests. "But you will need to lie down."

"Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in," Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.

She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.

"Close your eye," she asks calmly and he obliges.

Aemond senses that Y/N leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.

"It was probably all the noise that caused this," she presumes.

"Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil," Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.

"He is pissed I didn't choose him," she laughs quietly.

"Choose him?" her words peak his interest. "You had a choice in the matter?"

"My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn't like," her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.

"May I ask what was your decision process?" Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.

"I've heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten," he can't see her smile but he can hear it. "That was impressive enough."

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes:

"That can't be the only thing you've heard."

"I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors," she notes imperturbably.

"I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm..."

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

"I decided I would be the judge of that," Y/N says firmly.

"And what is your verdict?" he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.

She doesn't think for a second:

"All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn't a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you."

Aemond shouldn't take it to heart but that's precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.

Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn't breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.

She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. Y/N removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.

"What do you see?" he exhales.

"Nothing scary, that's for sure," Y/N's gaze doesn't leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.

"Nothing I don't admire," her voice is a little above a whisper.

"Nothing I wouldn't love."

His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.

Y/N lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it's almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It's her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what's left of his eyelid.

When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.

He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it's on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn't want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.

She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.

"I must admit," she tries to catch her breath, she can't stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, "you exceeded my expectations."

Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.

"It's all about teamwork, as I've heard," he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they're kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He's lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.

His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.

Turns out, letting her in doesn't make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

> the title is a quote from Hozier's song

>> I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can't help but mention the extensive research that @ adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept.

>>> I have a playlist for Aemond 🎵 I didn't add any music in this fic BUT I've listened to "Mr Sandman" a lot, especially the instrumental version (I didn't mention it earlier in case you don't like listening to music while reading). 💕 my masterlist

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luxaofhesperides · 5 months

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Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem

Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship.

Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!

Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.

Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself.

He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.

To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement.

The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight.

“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone.

“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”

“Got your phone on you?”

Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It’s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers.

“Got it.”

“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”

Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him.

Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell.

“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor.

A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance.

Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm.

Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death.

Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.

“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.

He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.

Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are.

Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack.

“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets.

It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by.

They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger.

The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk.

Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.

The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.

“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall.

The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.

He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost.

And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse.

The teens behind him scream and Danny winces.

Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.

Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”

The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.

Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street.

“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.

“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”

“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”

“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”

“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.”

Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away.

Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?

There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.

Well.

It’s a problem for later.

For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.

He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.

“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”

Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life.

Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.

He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed.

When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes.

Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”

He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.

Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.

He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either.

Something cold lodges itself in his chest.

“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up.

There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.

Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window.

Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.

Nothing’s there.

Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal.

He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him.

His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.

But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.

He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder.

The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor.

“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Where were you?”

Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”

Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”

“Nope!”

“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”

“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”

Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”

“Oh, do we? Good to know.”

There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero.

“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”

Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”

He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.

“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking about?”

“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”

Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”

“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”

“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen.

“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”

“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”

“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”

He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”

Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.

Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”

“A car?”

“A car?!”

Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”

“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”

“Playing nurse for me now?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.

Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”

Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge.

“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”

“Danny, you’re killing me here.”

“Better me than a car.”

Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”

“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner.

Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.

He just needs to keep a secret.

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dpxdc fanfic #my writing #prompt fill #3.6k.... still counting this as short. i have not failed yet at my goal of keeping these fics below 5k!!#i love this prompt so much it even got me making ocs... i love making ocs this is such a treat for me #will 100% be revisiting this prompt in the future to turn into a longer fic bc i have SO MUCH to write for this #had to cut it off here to have just one scene that shows them as roommates w secrets #truly a struggle to keep this short. this could easily be 30k. the amount of identity shenanigans i can write....#also playing around with the cursed gotham thing by making it affect ghosts :) perfect excuse to make my own gotham lore :)#btw duke 100% got injured chasing down criminals and thats how he got hit by a car. he wasnt fully lying abt it #he also tried to come in through the window of his bedroom. saw danny. quickly left and went up the stairs like a normal person #duke has his suspicions. danny is trying so hard to mind his business when duke acts strange and secretive #disaster in the making :)#thanks for the prompt!!

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just1riqht · 1 year

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WHERE IS THE DAISY JONES AND THE SIX FANFICTION

#pretty please #I love how whenever I need fanfics I just come on here and ask y’all 😭#daisy jones and the six #Daisy Jones #warren rhodes #graham dunne #billy dunne #karen sirko #camila dunne #eddie roundtree #amazon prime #tv #show #imagine #fanfic #Warren Rhodes x reader #Eddie roundtree x reader #Daisy Jones and the six imagines

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magicpiano · 7 months

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AU where Von Karma kills Miles instead of Gregory

Manfred Von Karma just got a dent in his perfect record. Gregory Edgeworth almost took away the thing that mattered most to him. Isn't it only fair that he destroy what matters most to Gregory in return? Besides when that elevator opened it became obvious that the child was the one to shoot him in the shoulder. Turnabout is fair play, right?

So Gregory lives, but his son is dead and despite being the only possible suspect, Yanni Yogi gets away with it. His son's murderer walks free, so Gregory quits his job as a defense attorney. It is hard to believe in what he does anymore.

His life is mostly quiet— lonely. He doesn't really talk to his friends anymore. He doesn't do much of anything anymore. He does some kind of boring law work, like property law or contracts or something and everyday he goes home to an empty house.

Until one day he gets a call from his dead son's best friend. You see Phoenix Wright has been accused of murder.

Phoenix lost his taste for defense attorneys when one got his best friend's murderer off, and somewhere along the line he decided he wanted to become a prosecutor. He wanted to be the best prosecutor so that no guilty party ever got away with murder again. That goal led him to the court house one day, and led him to meeting his current girlfriend. Then it led to a murder accusation.

No, Phoenix doesn't quite like defense attorneys, but... He still remembers how Miles saved him that day. He remembers how Miles talked about his father the same way he talked about the Steal Samurai. Like he was a hero. And right now, Phoenix really needs a hero. Who else would he trust with his life?

Gregory hasn’t defended anyone in years. He is out of hope and out of practice, but Phoenix won't accept anyone else. For all that he has given up years ago, he can't let Miles' friend down. Because Phoenix is one of the only people still alive that remembers Miles— that still cares about him. Because in all the pictures where Miles was smiling the brightest, Phoenix was next to him. Because Miles thought Gregory was a hero. He isn't. He couldn't even save his own son, but maybe, just maybe he can save his son's friend.

But you see this girl named Mia Fey really wants this case. Phoenix might not want her as his defense attorney, but that won't stop her. She is going to be Gregory's co-council on this case whether he wants her or not.

And they win of course, but Gregory nearly has a heart attack when Phoenix eats a glass bottle of poison because he can't lose him too— But he is fine. Heartbroken, but fine. And Gregory had saved him.

For the first time in years he has a purpose again.

Mia has a case she is working on, and wouldn't you know it, Gregory is actually kind of involved. So she leaves her job with Grossberg and joins Gregory as he restarts his defense agency.

He starts taking cases again— he starts helping people again. He reconnects with the friends he has been ignoring for years, like Ray. He helps Phoenix study for his law exams. He researches that case with Mia. He starts to live again.

Mia is researching a dangerous case, a long history of blackmail and extortion. If she didn't have help it would have taken twice as long, if she didn't have help maybe she would have died. But she did have help. Gregory wasn't going to let anyone use his son's death as a weapon to hurt others, including the Fey family's reputation.

They find their evidence, press charges and wouldn't you know it, they have a prosecutor on their side, one who is not afraid of Redd White’s threats. Working together, Phoenix wins the case and gains a lot of fame for it.

(And when Larry is accused of murder, Gregory takes that case too, all the while laughing at what troublesome friends his son had.)

All of this is a problem for Von Karma, because Gregory is a very good defense attorney. Phoenix might have been the one to prosecute Redd White, but Von Karma knows where all the evidence came from.

Gregory wasn't a problem when he was depressed and not practicing law, but now all of a sudden he is gaining a name for himself again. He took down Redd White. He is winning cases and someday they might just face off against each other again. And if Von Karma isn't careful, Gregory just might win.

Gregory is the one person capable of beating Von Karma which is why he needs to be dealt with.

Maybe Gregory should have ignored a letter from Robert Hammond, but how could he? The man got his son's murderer off the hook! And so Hammond dies, and Gregory is arrested, but things don't turn out how Von Karma thought they would.

Gregory has a lot of friends who all help him investigate, and Mia has learned a lot under Gregory, and Phoenix has been running around looking for files from the prosecutor's side, and Gumshoe likes Gregory way more than Von Karma and helps in any way he can, and Ray has been doing everything he can to help too. Because while Von Karma has a legacy of victory, Gregory has a legacy of love.

And when Von Karma is arrested for Miles Edgeworth's murder, Phoenix turns to him and promises to be the prosecutor for his trial. He became a prosecutor because his best friend didn't get justice, but he isn't going to let that happen a second time.

It is not a happy ending. For Gregory, the only happy ending would be if his son was still alive.

But he has a reason to live again. There are always bad days, but he has friends who won't let him wallow too long. Every day he helps people, and when he visits Miles' grave he finally has stories to tell.

Phoenix is talking about routing out corruption in the prosecutor's office. For all that it sounds like an impossible task, Gregory thinks Phoenix might even be able to pull it off.

Miles used to think his father was a hero. Gregory isn't that, not by a long shot, but... He hopes he can be half the man his son believed he was.

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piratewinzer · 7 months

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This season is insane. They cat-girled Edward Teach and it's somehow not the only single thing occupying my brain. They put a literal collar and bell on him and I still have other things to think about, somehow.

#That's how bad it is.#I'm mcfuckin dyin over here #don't get me wrong this is still something that I screamed out loud about #and I cannot believe is real #even as I take this screenshot and post it i'm like wait are you sure #the even give him A FISH jesUS CHRIST #whose fanfic is this based off of i just need to know #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #our flag means death #our flag means death spoilers #ofmd 2 #ofmd 2 spoilers #our flag means death 2 #our flag means death 2 spoilers #edward 'catgirl' teach #DJenks is staring directly into our souls seeing what we want and saying yup me too here you go come feast

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henwilsonmd · 1 year

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post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

read on ao3

Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

#I'M BACK BABY #ofc i HAD to write a coda for this one come on #if this gets interaction i'll probably post on ao3 bc it's pretty long so i'll come back and edit this post if that's the case #anyway i have a LOT of wips that i'm planning on finishing and i want to be more active on here/make some friends #so drop a follow if you want to see any of that lol #anyway this was just a fun little thing that i hope y'all enjoy!#911 #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 6x18 #911 6x18 coda #writing #drabbles #even though it's not really a drabble i want it with the rest of my codas #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #buddie

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jar-of-maise · 8 months

Text

"Um Lyney," Paimon began, in an uncharacteristically hesitant voice.

"Oh? It isn't like you to be so shy, please go on, what's on your mind?" Lyney asked, looking up at her curiously.

Paimon looked at Aether anxiously, then floated a little closer to him, shedding sparkles as she flew, "well, some of the kids were telling us about how you tell them about fairytales..." She begins.

"Ah!" Lyney snaps his fingers, "are you here to ask me to tell you some stories? Well why didn't you say so?" He hops up easily, gracefully revealing several embossed hardcover books which fall out of his hat.

"Take a pick! There are many here, don't be shy," Lyney says cheerfully, showing the books off happily, "this one is a personal favourite," he winks at Aether.

The cover is of a golden-haired prince, drawing a sword from his sheath, sparkles dance around his figure. White armour adorns his strong figure. "It's a pretty cover...but," Paimon begins, raising a finger.

Lyney raises his eyebrows, "oh? Not to your taste? That's alright," he twirls the book around on his fingers, then tosses it up in the air, where it disappears after a sharp snap of his fingers.

"How about this one? It's about a mermaid and her journey to the human world," Lyney offers, smiling at Paimon and Aether as he shows them the book.

"Well, they're all very nice but–" Paimon tries again.

"Goodness! Have you always driven such a hard bargain?" Lyney asks comically, shaking his head, the books tumble down from his hands as he sighs in defeat.

"Lyney." Lynette says with a deadpan look on her face, "they probably want you to tell them a specific story."

"Yeah!" Paimon exclaims, "thank you Lynette!"

"No worries," Lynette says, crossing her arms and nodding, "my brother does have a habit of talking too much," she says, tail swishing side to side.

"Hey! I'm still here you know!" Lyney cries.

Lynettte fixes him with a very exasperated glare, "I know."

"Oh Lynette, how could you be so cruel to your dear brother?" Lyney whines, slumping, a few cards slipping out from underneath his hat. They fall sadly onto the ground, like limp autumn leaves.

"Um..." Aether begins, "we were hoping to hear about the story you created for the kids here," he says hopefully.

"The story...I made?" Lyney asks, perking up, "you want to hear my stories?" He asks in a tone so innocent that Aether can't help but feel endeared by his excitement.

"Yeah! Of course we do, you're a great storyteller Lyney!" Paimon cheers, "yeah!" Aether agrees, nodding vigorously.

"Well then," Lyney gathers his cards in one sweeping motion, shoving them back into his hat, "I can't disappoint my audience then, can I? Please take a seat, the show will be put on momentarily." Lyney grins, gesturing at the table in front of them.

"Please help yourself," Lynette says in a monotone voice as Paimon and Aether slid into their seats. She places her hat onto the table, and once she removes it, trays and plates of snacks appear magically.

"Wow! Thank you! Paimon's digging in then!"

Lynette nods, satisfied, she pours herself a cup of tea and takes a long sip from her cup.

"So Lyney," Paimon says to the magician, who's mumbling to himself as they help themselves.

"Hm? What's up?" Lyney asks curiously.

"The children here said that this story was called, 'The Thief's Hope' but, they also said that it has a sad ending," Paimon comments, "is that true?"

"Ah, you want to hear that story," Lyney says, there's an unreadable expression on his face, "well I wouldn't say it's that sad, uh, it's just not your typical fairytale."

"Yet the kids still love this story," Aether says, watching as Lyney puffs out his cheeks in slight disagreement.

"Yeah I don't really know why," Lyney laughs, slumping onto a nearby couch with a poof!

"Hey, at least that means you're a good story teller!" Paimon says comfortingly, nibbling on a cupcake as she talks.

"Perhaps," Lyney looks at Aether, then at Lynette. His eyes are wistful as he gazes at his hands silently. Outside, the rain was pouring ceaselessly. A cold wind brushed by and the water rapped on the windows. Lyney thought for a long time, then he just sighed fondly, fingers tracing a seam on his shorts before smiling brightly at Aether and Paimon.

“Alright! Let me tell you the story!” He jumps up from the chair and bows deeply, “Lynette, if you would please,” he bows towards his sister who sighs, “fine," she says.

Lynette snaps her fingers and just like magic, a large backdrop appears behind Lyney, Paimon gasps in surprise and Aether leans forward curiously. It’s a depiction of the Fontaine streets, and the desolate piece of artwork is crafted with life-like accuracy.

“Allow me to take you back in time,” Lyney steps forth, a hand tucked behind his back as he twirls his hat on his fingers.

“There once lived a young boy, he was very poor and often worried about when his next meal would come by,” Lyney snapped his fingers and a little doll fell down from somewhere above his head, it was neatly stitched together, yet dirty and battered as though it had been abused and never loved.

Lyney smiled and nodded at Lynette who waved her hand. A spotlight shone onto the makeshift “stage” focusing on the tiny doll who picked himself up and began to walk around.

“He was often bullied, looked down upon and slowly, he found himself pushed to the darkest streets, where the light did not fall,” as he spoke, Lyney flicked his fingers, they appeared as dark, long shadows on the harsh light of the backdrop and the doll was flung away.

“But he never forgot what being in the light felt like,” Lyney’s voice echoed from somewhere, like a omnipresent narrator. As he spoke, the little doll picked itself up and began to stumble slowly towards the audience, “he longed to go back, there was a hole in his heart that he wanted to fill. A void that was as dark as the night sky.”

The inky blackness that suddenly filled the stage was so desperate and suffocating that Paimon audibly gasped. No light shone, indeed, it seemed as though even the oxygen was being removed from their lungs. Aether wondered if this too, was a part of the magic.

"He tried to fill his heart with the scraps that littered the streets," Lyney's voice began to speak again, "he hoarded those little things zealously, even they had no love for him and he had no love for them."

A small pinprick of light appeared on the stage and focused on Lyney's figure, he stood in the centre, with a grave expression on his face.

"His fingers were nimble and his feet too, were agile," Lyney smiled, a small doll appearing on his hand.

"He took the memories and love of others, he tried to light up the darkness in his heart with the light and warmth of others." Lyney procured a candle, "but he could not chase away the cold in his heart, nor could he brighten any corner of that room, for it was locked!"

Lynette grimanced into her cup, but begrudgingly waved her hand. The flame of the candle died out as she waved her hand and Lyney smiled widely.

"How should I light up this dark heart?" Lyney walked across the stage, making a thoughtful expression, "Ah! The boy realised something, when he was wandering the streets one day!"

Lyney smiles, carefully placing the doll down, "people crave the unknown, they are fascinated by fantasy…and what better way to achieve that than–” a sudden burst of streamers erupted from behind his back, “magic?”

The backdrop changed, it was a light and happy scene, where the doll reappeared, looking much cleaner and put together, the doll was surrounded by other dolls, they were smiling at him.

"If I can't love myself...and I can't take it from others, what if I made them give it to me? That was what the thief thought," Lyney grinned, blowing a shower of confetti hearts at his audience.

Aether smiled slightly when some of the paper brushed his cheek.

"So he began to try and perform, with the few skills he had learned from stealing. No matter how he tried to mask his true self, this boy was a thief," Lyney pointed at the heinous doll with an accusatory finger.

"The truth was that he was a thief, and that all his story-truths were lies." Lyney declared.

Aether and Paimon smiled knowingly, Lynette helped herself to a muffin. She was enjoying the chance to enjoy as many treats as she could.

“So the thief had finally found something that could fill up his empty heart," Lyney kept talking, "but still, the feeling of emptiness persisted. So he kept performing, kept going, just to chase that feeing," butterflies flew out from Lyney's finger tips as he spoke.

“The treacherous thief lied his way to the top. He tricked people ceaselessly, putting on a show that the masses would love. Lies were piled up on falsehoods. The thief could no longer return to the shadows of his past."

Lyney made a shape with him fingers where the light reflected it's shadow onto the backdrop, "The Thief looked down at the world from on top of the tower he’d built. It was exquisitely crafted, held together by fabricated illusions. He was a sinner, a devil who’d escaped from hell who was undeserving of the light he had gained."

Aether's eyes narrowed slightly, he sipped some tea but listened attentively, Lyney noticed this change, smiling to himself he thought, 'ah he gets it.'

Lyney kept talking, "Like a famous actor, the parts that he had to play continued to increase. People’s lives were entrusted to his hands at night, and in the daytime, he stole people’s hearts. He had never been bested and life itself, was the stage for his craft.

He sat under the night sky one lonely evening, gazing out into the inky darkness. The thief looked at the stars, they had always sparkled so beautifully, untouched by pain or sorrow. He wanted that light, even though he knew he could never emulate that gentle radiance.

That was when he met her,” Lyney’s voice took on a reminiscing tone and suddenly Aether was seized by a strange thought, was this just a mere story? He had no time to ponder this question, because Lyney was moving onto the next part of the story.

”Who was she?" Lyney wondered aloud, "well, perhaps she could be described like a burst of sunlight in a cold, frosty winter, or a wonderful flower blossoming in a wasteland...but no," he paused, "she was more than just those."

"She was the steady roll of waves on the ocean, she was the star that never left the night sky," it seemed like Lyney had forgotten his magic in that moment. He stood before them, as a performer still, but Aether realised that this was not only a story, but a reflection of Lyney himself.

"She was not words, she was a feeling," Lyney almost whispered to himself. Yet in the breathless silence that beheld the room, he may as well have shouted those words. Upon beholding this vulnerable side of Lyney, Aether couldn't help but smile sadly.

"The Thief was a certain kind of summertime sadness, one that spring couldn't cure," Lyney said slowly, withered petals falling with every step he took backward, away from the audience.

"He had no words that could describe her, for all the stories The Thief had spun, all the lies he'd said, there was no word he knew that could speak about the truth in her. But The Thief liked to call her mon armour," Lyney smiled bitterly, there was a hatred in the way he uttered those words.

Aether was taken back, but he didn't know why Lyney seemed to dislike those last few words so much.

"Her presence was gentle, yet searing. To The Thief who couldn't remember hugs or caresses, her touches was an uncomfortable, addicting burn."

Sitting in the audience, Lynette looked at her reflection in her cup sadly. This, was his way of atoning for lies, by weaving truths into his stories so that he might not spin falsehoods. She knew Lyney better than anyone else, to most this was obvious, but they didn't know about the hopes of her older brother. Past his light, and his shadow, was a young boy who loved to love and be loved.

That, was also a kind of truth.

"This Thief," Lyney murmured, "he was a haunted house, hollow from inside to out, plagued by a restless soul that was more focused on destroying the construct that kept it existing than anything else. Every now and then, a wind would rush through and open half-closed, weeping wounds.

The people who sojourned in this house did not help the soul, they loved only the mystery, the romance, the unattainable nature of his performance. And often left the house shabbier than when they first entered.

But not mon armour, she came in, like a little ghost. Planting purple wisteria in his mind, with wonderful trees that entwined their roots around the house and bound him to the earth. Camomile grew from his scars, moss and dewdrops patched his wounds.

She planted gardens of lavender in his mind, so that his anxiety might be soothed.

If there was anyone that might make him feel like life was worth living on, it would be her. A gentle love, that didn't demand. How funny, The Thief had never once known how to care, he did not think about the emotion itself. Never committed." Lyney nodded, though Aether didn't know if he was talking to himself or his audience.

"Yet he tried, loving was clumsy. He couldn't make sense of the lines he was meant to colour inside and often scribbled outside of those boundaries. But at least, he was less transient, and more of a home now." Lyney drifted off into his own thoughts, "my love, what a wonderful name, if only..."

Aether lets him mumble to himself, Paimon also floats over to him with a soft, melancholic smile. "Poor Lyney..." she says quietly, "the story must mean a lot to him."

"I think there was a bit more than just that," Aether comments, but refrains from saying some of his other thoughts, knowing Paimon would just freak out.

"My brother finds it hard to express himself," Lynette chips in, "thank you for listening to him," she bows her head.

"It's okay, please tell him that we'd listen to him anytime!" Paimon exclaims waving her hands.

"Thank you, I will."

"I know you're not much of a talker, but we'll also listen to you, if you need it," Aether says, smiling brightly at Lynette, who gives him a little smile in response.

"I will cherish that offer." She says, "honestly," she adds, looking at Lyney with a half-endearing, half-fond and equal parts exasperated expression, "for someone who insists he's unlovable, loving sure comes easily to him."

"He has a lot to give," Aether says kindly, Lyney is quiet, a broken piece of cermanic-ware, so fractured yet so well patched up he looks new. Aether is glad he has something to hope for.

"Lyney loves like he breathes but treats it like it's cancer," Lynette replies, "when he first realised he was infatuated he said he got a heart stroke. Yet if loving really was a disease, he'd hope he'd never recover from his illness" Lynette takes a sip of tea and rolls her eyes gracefully. "In that sense, he's utterly hopeless,"

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hcdragonwrites · 8 months

Text

A Tiger on the Mountain (a @semisolidmind Fanfic)

Here it is ! Another one. I made up a creature specifically so I could play out a scenario in my head and lead into another fic after this one. This is not a two parter but it leaves it open for a follow up!

TW: Blood and Violence and allusions to torture at the end. (Not of Peaches SHES fine)

“Get out before you become a new rug for me to wipe my feet upon.” Sun Wukong snarled over the table, his staff in his hands. The Nine Tiger Demon took a step backward at the fury. The expedition to this kingdom of monkeys and flowers had been a fools mission. Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, dipped his head cordially.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The tiger smiled and stepped out of the council room, his great black cape swirling as he exited in a flourish. He had made a jab at the Monkey Kings pride by calling him Lord. He knew that his patience was wearing thin with him. Especially after he had eluded to the weakness of mortal Ally’s.

“It is necessary to procure some of the goods they produce.” Wukong had waved the complaint aside. As if waving a fly. Zari was a lord of a snowy country where resources were few and blood was spilt as common as the snowfall. His kind had been hunted by poachers for their pelts. For the magic quality in their stripped bodies. Bones, blood, tendons, fur, claws… Everything in a tigers body was hunted for medicine, magic and mayhem. To hear that the most feared creature west of his kingdom, the great demonic Monkey King who had challenged Heaven, had made treaties with humans…

Zari had licked his muzzle sensing weakness.

“Why treat when you can take?” The tiger lord had questioned. His attendants beside him fidgeted, their hands straying to the scimitars belted to their sides. A twitch of his tail tip called them off. A tiger was playing with a monkey to see what sort of prey it had between his claws.

“And cause further disharmony around me ? Mortal men are easily placated. It leaves me free to put my resources into more important things.” Here the monkey leaned forward, eyes glowing with the torchlight. “Like seeking new territories in the east.”

The threat was received but Zari didn’t rise to the bait. He was a patient creature. The scars on his stripped hands and body proved how many battles and hunters he had outwitted.

Of course Zari had only come to sieze up the competition in the West. He never had any intentions of swearing allegiance to the ape. To debase himself to an ape? Never. So it only took Wukong a few more verbal jousts to also know the game was at an end. He had dismissed the tiger with a threat. Zari kept his claws velveted. For now.

As he stepped out of the corridor he let the slightest bit of agitation show in his whiskered face. A twitch of a tail brought one of his attendants forward.

“Gather the lower Claw.” Zari whispered. “They need a good hunt.”

“Of course my King.” The lesser demon bowed and raced off, light as a feather in the wind. At least that would humble the foolish ape—

Zari came around the corner and bumped straight into something soft, and pliable. His claws caught it reflexively before the thing fell completely onto his black armor and ruined his perfect complexion. He hissed, about to snap at this new weaker underling of a foolish king when the scent hit the top of his mouth.

Human.

“I’m so sorry!” It was female. The women pulled from the tiger claws. Her eyes remained cast down. Simple peasant clothes. Hair tied up in a messy updo. Flushed cheeks, good proportions. The tigers eyes had been blown wide.

“Are you alright miss?” Zira smoothed the twitching of his whiskers, kept the lashing of his tail to a minimum. But his instincts roared and his mouth pooled. “I did not mean to bump into so harshly.”

A captured peasant girl? A pet of this monkey kings?

“Oh no it was my fault!” The women said. She finally looked up and the tiger demon got a good look at the curve of her throat. The hot pulse just inches from his fangs.

From further down the corridor someone called “PEACHES!” The girl stiffened a bit then smiled sheepishly.

Zira felt as if he was a wolf in the sheep pen.

“I should have been watching where I was going. Carry on!” She bowed and then quickly scuttled off.

“Well well well…”Zira smiled to himself as another monkey ran past and after the fleeing women. He felt his grin widen, the drool threatening to slip. “Look like I have some entertainment myself…”

For Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, was whispered and feared by mortals across his snowy slice of the world. Legends told of how he would slip in as silent as a ghost. How he would visit families and paint their walls in red crimson and spattered gore. For Zari was a man eater, a enjoyer of mortal flesh. And his favorite prey that he enjoyed devouring most was women.

This conquest just got a bit more interesting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I Demand compensation.”

The threat would have come off more terrifying from the Monkey King if he had been dressed in his armor. However he was… not. Instead Wukong was at the present moment, begging on Peaches lap beneath a cherry tree. His face was a storm cloud as he lifted Peaches hands up to his head.

“I am afraid you won’t be getting any.” Peaches let her hand fall limply off. The stormy face broke into a beggars crocodile tears.

“PEACHESSSS!”

Macaque would have snickered at his sworn brother begging but he was also not getting any sort of touches from Peaches. He didn’t know why she had decided today of all days to deny both of them.

Why was she withholding scratches from her husbands? Well. For many reasons. For one, one of them startled her awake this morning by swooping her into his arms because he got a little too excited and woke her from her dreams. It also triggered a huge sort of panic because she has had enough of nightmares on being snatched away thank you.

Of course telling the one begging at her knees right now that his over exuberance this morning had been one of the reasons for no pats, would only lead to more exuberance.

A second reason she was including both and not just the one who scooped her ? Well because the day before Macaque thought it would be funny to pop one of his shadows beneath her while she was trying to brush her hair and in the fall the hairbrush - still tucked into her hair- wrenched. It had been painful and she had lost several bits of her own hair in it.

And thirdly? Because these two had, for all intensive purposes of the words, kidnapped her and forced her to live here upon the mountain. Yes she was still bitter about it. No she wouldn’t get over it. At least not today. Too many tricks were tugged and her personal space breached for her to simply let it go. A little bodily autonomy and boundary would be nice. Instead her two lovers would look at her as one would a family cat and go “awwwwwwww!” and scoop her up.

So two very peeved simians sat cross legged staring her down. Wukongs tail was lashing back and forth, his eyes narrowed like a cats. He reached forward and grabbed Peaches hand again. She had learned long ago that giving them the satisfaction of her resistance- how cute! They would say as she practically threw all manner of pellmell closet clutter at them- would only prolong their inevitable smothering of her.

Being impassive was her best weapon.

So she let her hand be limply lifted.

Just as limply it slid off the Monkey Kings head.

“Peaches! Come on!” Wukong groaned. He sounded like a kid begging for sweets. Peaches sniffed. The day was nice at least. She had made her way out of Water Curtain Cave and out onto the mountainside before her attendant could shove and stuff her into royal courtly attire. Not today! Peaches hadn’t wanted to attend court. She hadn’t wanted to be near that council room. Her accidental bump into that demon had been as close as she had gotten. A tiger demon? Now that was something she hadn’t seen yet.

Wukong laid himself over her lap, his face pouting up at her. He looked… adorable. It was almost enough for her to forget about his transgression this morning. It wasn’t enough. She turned her head away.

Only for Macaque to be there. He had somehow snuck up, as was his silent way, and pressed himself to her back. He slipped her into his lap, and Peaches felt a little spark of unease. Macaque was the slower of the two when it came to affection, sneaking it in or trying to tease it from her. Wukong was all action and joyful tugs and play. His was earnest and forward. Macaque was… sly. Teasing. A fox inside the chicken house.

“Sweet peach, come now.” His hands settled around her. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and Peaches fought the blush from rising in her face. Think of rocks and birds. What you will eat tonight. Anything but how his voice and how it feels rumbling against me.

“We just want to have a little comfort.” The dark furred monkey lifted her hand. He entwined his fingers in hers. They were so large. The practically swamped her own. The claws slide along the fingers as he lifted her hand and tugged it into his fur onto his cheek.

“Come on, little plumb.” His smile was as sweet as honey, as soft as downy feathers. If it had been any other day she would have mussed his fur and teased him back. However Macaque made a mistake of touching her hair with a free hand. Reminding Peaches that this little trickster had yanked some of her hair out.

She let her hand remain lax.

“No.”

“Then you leave both of us no choice.”

Macaque leaned back and with a woosh and gasp of air and black- they were back in their room. The pillow pit cushioned their fall, as did Macaque who lay beneath her. Peaches let out an indignant squeak as the demon monkey growled playfully in her ear.

“You have only a few moments before Wukong gets here. Do you want to tell me what’s up?”

“No.” Peaches sniffed. His hand was trailing along her skin, almost walking up her arm.

“Are you mad at him?” Macaque asked.

“Yes”

“Are You mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Is it … a mad kind of day?”

She didn’t respond.

He tutted and tugged her hands free of where she had shoved them beneath her arms. He placed one against the side of his head, eyes gently closing. He kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm.

“Come on my sweet… just indulge us both..”

“No.”

“Little minx.” The purple eyes flashed along with that sharp toothed smile. Peaches felt her face flush. Macaque leaned in and over her now, his free hand twining in the hair on the back of her neck. The demon was angling her from being the one on top, to sliding her into the pillow pit with the dark haired monkey hovering above. He pulled her up and into him, and Peaches had the startling realization that she was so very very small and he was so very very large all of a sudden.

“What sins do I have to whisper into your ears ? What marks should I leave upon your skin to earn your affection again?” His eyes dipped to her lips. Peaches face felt like it was afire. “Should I sing your praises into your skin with my teeth?”

Oh dear.

And then the moment of tension was broken by a furious orange blur bursting into the room and tackling both of them. Peaches cried out while Macaques face looked deadpan at his sworn brother. The moment of tension, of turning Peaches pink as a lychee fruit, was over.

“MACAQUE! THATS NOT FAIR!” The monkey king was entangled with both of them as he grabbed the other hand and shoved it into his fur. Peaches only held onto them now as they jostled her. “HOW MANY HEADSCRATCHES DID YOU GET?”

“None…” His face was exasperated, his tail twitching at the tip.

“None?” Wukong echoed.

“None!” Macaque slammed his head closer to Wukong. Peaches was perfectly sandwiched between her husbands very bare and very exposed chests as the two brothers bristled at each other. She was loosing her own power of wills because … well. Peaches was only human. She could barely stay mad at one Monkey half dressed. Two half dressed and practically pressed cheek to pec against either side of your face ? It was a marvel her body didn’t burn up on the spot from how much she was blushing.

“Why you shouting at me then?!”

“You spoiled my sport before I could tease some out of her.”

“Oh?” Wukongs eyes shot downward. Peaches looked away, feeling like she got caught watching.

Oh no.

The two demons looked down on her. And Peaches felt like she was in danger. Not a you-will-die-and-be-disemboweled way. More of you-will-be-turned-into-a-second-sun-from-how-much-we-will-tease-you kind of way. They loomed over their mortal wife, ears perked forward and grins becoming sharp and feral.

Another burst through the door however saved Peaches from being turned into a puddle beneath the attentions of her husbands.

“Ugh what is it now?” Macaque sighed.

“My King! We are under attack!”

The two warlords changed from flirting devils to stiff and immovable stones as they stood. Macaques ears swished, forward and back, each set twitching as he confirmed it.

Wukong was across the room, his armor back on his body in a flash. His staff was plucked free from his ear, elongating in a flourish.

“Where?” The Sages voice was a silent rumble.

“Off the south slope- a band of panthers by the look of it.” The sentry’s tail was puffed in fear. Wukong nodded and was off in a flash of fur and fury.

Someone was attacking the mountain? They must be crazy. Insane. Or have a death wish.

Macaque set Peaches firmly in the Pillow pit, eyes somber.

“Love don’t move. Don’t leave this room. Understand ?” His face was pinched in worry bordering on fury. He was trying to maintain his composure for her, to hold back the anger that was threatening to bubble upward. Peaches may think of her boys a lot of way. They were selfish when they wanted her attention. They had taken her away reluctantly from her home. She had been forced to live her for the past decade or so. Her husbands were warlords, murderers and Demons.

They also cared for her a great deal, in a way that no mortal could compare. They clothed her in the finest garb but also gave her the option of comfort. They brought her to the Palace and laid laws down among the fellow demonic ally’s that she was to be respected and treated as an extension of Wukong and Macaques power. They brought her gifts from the outside world when they came back from expeditions, made her foods from the finest ingredients, told her stories of their travels. On nights when the past came back to rear it’s head she could find comfort in one or both of their arms.

And at times like this, she felt thankful that, of all the kidnapping creatures in the world, at least it had been these two.

That didn’t sound like a plus at all.

Macaque was waiting for her response. Peaches shook herself free of the cobwebs, of the past and back into the present. The mountain was under fire. Something was trying to earn the ire of the Monkey King and his People. As a very soft once mortal immortal now, Peaches had no sort of power to defend with or help. She was a liability, at least until she began her own cultivation, on the battlefield. So Peaches nodded.

“Yes.”

It was all Macaque needed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered “Good girl.”

And he was gone, falling into shadow.

“Hellooooo?”

Peaches started awake at the voice. Disoriented she disentangled herself from the soft fur and pillows she had been wedged between. She must have fallen asleep some time in the day. The light coming from the windows was a burnished gold, sunset settling on the

“Someone help! Help me please…”

The voice was disjointed, the sound echoing from beyond the closed doors. It set her skin to crawling. Shouldn’t there be guards ? Shouldn’t there be someone outside the doors?

“HELP. SOMEONE HELP!”

The voice sounded like a baby! The shrill high note cut through the last hesitation Peaches had. She opened the door and rushing out into the corridor.

The echos of her footfalls bounced back to her from the stone walls. The cry came again, a baby monkey hooting in distress. It came from around corridors, downs passageways. Peaches raced forward until she had burst out of the cavern and into the dying light of the sun.

The grass swayed in the breeze. The shadows danced across the field, like stripes on a great tigers back.

She felt a shiver go up her spine. Something was terribly wrong. It felt off - the world felt off. The mountain was usually brimming with life and sound. Birds would be calling even at this late hour when day turns to night. The cicadas would be sonorously screaming their complaints to the night air. However…

Everything was still. Not a insect nor a bird called out. There were no generals or other monkeys present on the mountain. Usually sentries were littered about the fields and slopes. There was no one here at this moment.

That’s wrong. Completely wrong…

A faint gurgle, a dying cry of a baby monkey from somewhere just ahead.

“Where are You?” Peaches called. The child sounded in pain- and the sooner she got them inside the cave, the better. “You have to tell me where you are so I can help you.”

“Typical mortals.” The voice came from behind and peaches whipped around. A tiger demon, a creature of immense size and with terrifying teeth, toward behind her. Zira held the languid look of a cat with a full belly, tail swaying in the grass and claws meticulously being groomed. The blood from those long claws was the fresh scarlet of new blood.

“Your kind always come when lured by another— I was wondering if I should do a human baby or a mortal imitation but, seeing as you’ve been collared and tamed by monkeys, I thought that would be the easiest way to lure you out.” The tiger lord grinned. Peaches saw that he was fully armored. The black leather of his body was painted in dark splotches of red.

He’s … killed people. Who has he killed?? Where’s the baby ??

Peaches stepped cautiously back into the grass, heart racing. The tiger lords eyes grew round.

“Are you trying to run?” His voice was practically a pur as he stood straighter. “Please do. The chase will be good for me and clear this monstrous smell of ape blood.”

“What do you want?” Peaches needed to stall. To find a way to keep the beast talking. He liked to talk to full the silence. “Why are you here?”

“Those are boring questions dear morsel. Boring indeed. You mortals think all the same- but at least you taste better then your little brains think.” Zira stepped forward and into Peaches bubble- forcing her backward and further away from the cave. “Why am I Here ? Well to play. It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to play with another demons pet.”

Another slow pace forward. Another hasty retreat from Peaches.

“I can understand. I play rough. It’s hard when you all … scream at the slightest break of bone. At the sudden loss of limb…” the tiger lords body seemed to grow, a secondary face appearing from its left cheek. The new muzzle opened and in horror peaches heard people crying, of mortal women begging for their children. The voices of men pleaded for wives and sons and daughters. Anguished cries, cries of pain. Voices from the past.

Dead voices.

“They never last long.” The tiger smirked, that new face along his left side turning upward as well.

“So when I came to see this terrifying demon lord who has challenged heaven I expected him to have a show of strength. What I didn’t expect was a pet like you.” Those eyes flashed.

“Why? Wukong is the strongest Why—“

“Why did I not expect you?” Zira snorted. “Because demons forget themselves when they stop consuming lesser beasts and start befriending them.”

Peaches looked about her. She wouldn’t be able to make a dash back to the caves. This tiger was driving her further and further from safety. She had been a fool to try and help, a damned fool. The next best thing she could do was to try and stay alive long enough. Long enough for her to call out. Wukong or Macaque would hear her. She had no doubt on that. There was also the willow tree just ten feet behind her. If she could get to it and climb she may be able to stall out this demon.

“Now dear. How would you like to die?” The tiger was closer now as Peaches kept stepping back. She was almost back pedaling, trying to stay out of the range of those claws. Of those red teeth. “I could kill you by fang or claw. Or maybe a sword would be better. But then… where’s the fun in it for me if you die so quickly ?”

Peaches spun on her heel and ran.

“HELP!” Her lungs filled with more air, to shout to the Heavens above. The grasses bent beneath her flight. She had almost made it to the tree, almost got enough air to scream again when something slammed into her shoulder. Bright hot pain bloomed and she fell to the dirt. Her hands reached up and came away with sticky blood.

“Calling for help is useless.” Zira licked the fresh blood clean from his claws, enjoying the taste of terror on his tongue. “My men have them busy against the farthest side of the mountain.”

Peaches rolled, to get up to get away she did not know. Her movement was stopped by a booted heel to her shoulder. The new pain elicited a scream to peak from her lips. It rang eerily off the mountain that was so still. So awfully still.

“The pain will only be temporary.” Zira knelt. The tiger reached down with his clawed hands. He cupped her face as she fought him. He smiled and opened his jaws wide to close over her throat.

The suns last dying ray cast a shadow as black as night over the grassy floor. It pooled beneath the mortal women and then, with a slip and tug, Ziras prey was swallowed by the black. The tiger snarled claws raking the soil in a vain attempt to dig her back out.

“So it was you.”

Zira turned.

There, leaning against his staff was the Monkey King. His clawed hands and golden armor were covered in black blood. Zira felt a worm of unease creep into his calm and cocky smile. Those warriors had been the best of his Claw- the best in the Snowy Steppes. There was no way they had failed—

“Ah King Wukong!” The tiger Lord began. If he could stall him out, lead him into a false sense of security, then that would be better. It would buy him time to get closer, to steal into range and pounce. “So nice to see you agai—-“

The tiger lord didn’t even see the moment. On second the orange monkey was standing before him and the next he felt a blooming pain cut along his secondary face. He roared in confusion as the sight from those eyes was lost in a shower of blood. The tiger had no time to reorient himself however. The neck blow was to one of his hands. Sun Wukong clasped one in hand and with a terrible crunch, shattered all the bones within.

Panic came traipsing up the tigers spine. This was not good. The monkey was moving incredibly fast - too fast- for him to counter. He reached for his Scimitar- the blade of Nine Tigers- to end the fight. This blade could cut mountain in half- it could cleave souls from bodies and leave the flesh whole.

“You come to my mountain…”

The staff slammed into the side of his head, casting several of the tigers teeth from his jaws. He was unbalanced but determined. He just had to grab his sword —

“You attack my home…”

Another blow to his middle sent him slamming into the willow tree. The force of it snapped the bark and collapsed the Willow behind him. Zira felt stars float in his vision, tasted his own blood. He had a hand on his sword now though. He drew the blade, cutting it across the insolent ape that towered over him. Wukongs soul would be cleaved, his body left behind for the flies to lay eggs in. He would be dead. The blade sliced —

And snapped in half.

“You tried to devour my wife…” Fear is not something a tiger experienced often. It raced over his stripes, twitched his crushed whiskers, and made his eyes widen. That had been his wife ? That common little dustmote ? Zira had miscalculated. A pet was one thing. But a wife —

“You took… a mortal… as a wife? Pa—“ Zira tried for bravado, tried to spit into the monkey lords face. The tiger was desperately clinging to what remained of his pride. He had chased a rabbit into a ravine and found wolves.

Zira opened his jaws to cast his last disrespect. Only for the claws of Wukong to cut along his jaw and crush it closed before he could finish.

“I will break every bone in your body before I let you die. You will wish you were dead before I’m done with you.”

The shadows swallowed Peaches and arms wrapped around her but she was still flailing. She grabbed at fur and skin and battered her fists and nails against it.

“Ow - PEACHES - PEACHES ITS ME!” Macaque voice cut over the adrenaline that floated high and fast in her blood. She blinked at him. They were back in their room, back inside Water Curtain Cave. Peaches hand was still curled in a fist, still raised up to beat along her captors face. Only. This wasn’t the tiger anymore. It was Macaque.

“It’s just me.”

“I’m not dead am I?” What stupid words to say but it was the first thing her numb mind could think on.

“What? No.” Macaques face was a sea of worry lines as he gently turned her shoulder to him. The blood was sopping beneath the cloth of her shirt. He gave it a sniff and murmured in soothing tones. Mostly to himself. “But I’m concerned for your shoulder. Let’s get that looked at alright ?”

Peaches nodded. Macaque used his claws to rip free the ruined cloth of the shirt and gain better access to the claw marks.

“It’s an ugly scratch but nothing deep.” She felt his hands, paper soft press along the skin. She hissed at the fiery pain as damaged nerves and sore skin protested. “Peaches you will have to be brave for me and let me stich it closed ok?”

She nodded. Her mind was still processing the events just moments ago. Of tiger teeth flashing to bite her throat. Of claws cutting her skin. Macaque returned to her and tugged her into him. She didn’t protest. Didn’t stop as he pulled her hand up to his face. She twined her fingers into the fur, needing the grounding almost, if not more, then he did. Macaque made soothing chirps and soft noises as he worked, pulling needle through flesh and closing it up.

It was only after a time, when Peaches own fear began to fall away, that he asked her.

“Why did you leave the room Peaches ?”

“I heard … it sounded like one of the babies Mac.” One of the little monkey babies all alone and crying for help. The haunting sound echoing off the stone and always just out of reach. “One of the littles in pain and hurt. I didn’t think. I just … acted.”

“Mmm.” Another stich pressed into her skin and she flinched. “You know this means you will have to have a day guard now yes?”

“Are you putting more restrictions on me after I almost got devoured ?” It was a bad attempt at humor but Peaches tried anyway. Whenever something happened to her - if it was an imagined insult from a courtier, a threat to her life because she tried something new and it didn’t agree with her- the boys would set new limits, new conditions. Macaque scowled at her and she bit her tongue from adding to the humor.

“Precautions. If I hadn’t heard you—“ His voice chocked at the end. Peaches looked back. Macaques ears were all low, dropping like flower petals. For all their faults, for their transgressions in taking her choices from her, they loved her. Peaches could see that love in Macs eyes as he imagined the possible outcomes that could have happened. She twirled her fingers around s patch of his fur, soothing him and herself with the confirmation that this was the reality now and not those flashing teeth.

“We can’t loose you Love. I — we — we were so afraid.” When Macaque had heard the strangled help in the heat of battle he had stopped. He had felt his heart give a lurch and Wukong had been of like mind. That battle was practically won. Between the two sworn brothers, nothing much could stand in their fury. But hearing Peaches— Peaches who they left back safe in their room, in the palace, calling for help—

“I was too.”

“When I tell you to stay inside - stay inside. Understand?”Anger laced Macaques words as he pinned her with a look.

“Yes.” It wasn’t good enough though. Not for him. It wouldn’t be for Wukong. The next time the mountain was under attack—if there was a next time— Macaque would lock the doors and the windows. He would shudder the room in shadow if he had to. But. A yes for now was the best he would get from her.

“Good. That’s all the chewing out I’ll give you because when Wukong gets here he’s going to have some very harsh words with you.” Peaches shoulders flinched a little.

“He’s mad at me?” There was genuine hurt and dismay in her voice. Wukong and Peaches had the toughest days when it came to their relationship. Some days she could forget he had taken her without her consent from all she knew- had wiped her village clear off the map. Other days she only saw the blood soaked Warlord in all his fury. On those days arguments ensued and the kings mood was ever sour.

“Never mad at You.” Macaque reassured. Wukong never was genuinely upset at their peach. How could he be when he was enamored with her so? Macaque couldn’t even keep his own anger at her negligence of self after todays events. All she had to do was look at him with that puppy dog look and he was wanting to tease and soothe her into smiles and comfort. “Never. Afraid for your life ? Absolutely. He has half a mind to keep you indoors from now on.”

“He said that ?”

“As we were racing to come get you yes.” Macaque finished the stitches with a pull and tug. The cord came free in his claws. He set about binding cotton gauze around the area to protect the stitches. In the morning he would let them breathe.

“But I think if you let him coddle you for a few days and you agree to a guard, he won’t take your outside privileges away.” Macaque teased and gave advice. Wukong could get a bit … territorial when it came to their Peach. He understood how important it was to give some sort of semblance of freedom to her. Peaches was like a flower- she needed light and air to thrive. If Wukong took that away, he wouldn’t like how she would wilt. Even though Macaque himself had half a mind to keep her inside forever. Especially after today.

Peaches head brushed beneath his chin suddenly and the monkey was jarred from his thoughts. She was nodding off, fighting sleep. Macaque gathered her up easily and set her into the bed they shared. He took care to arrange the pillows, to settle her into her most favorite blankets and soft things. It was a distraction from the rage that now was bubbling upward. For though Macaque had the calmest demeanor- he was just as bloody and furious as his brotherly counterpart.

“Go to sleep.” He commanded. Peaches yawned, catching the trailing end of his tail.

“You won’t leave me … will you?”

“I will be right here till Wukong gets back.”

It was hours later when Macaque heard his brother step into their rooms. Wukong had bathed and cleaned himself elsewhere from the smell of the water and floral oils coming off of him. They both knew how Peaches had an aversion to the scent of blood. The monkey king was across the room and hovering over the pillow pit where she slept.

“How is she?” Wukong asked. All the rage had gone from him. Only worry remained. His tiny little wife… he could still see the Tiger hovering above her, his jaws parted wide over her throat to devour. It made Wukong wish to break his muzzle again.

“Worn out. The cuts are superficial at best. I stitched them up.” The sheen of white medical gauze and cotton took over one lovely shoulder of Peaches back. Wukong felt his teeth beginning to grit in a threatening smile.

“Why would she go outside?! Peaches isn’t a fool.”

“And she wasn’t one.” Macaque soothed. He was standing now that Wukong was here, making his way to the door slowly. “She went outside because she heard the bastard imitate a baby cry.”

“A baby?”

“She thought it was one of the babies.” Wukongs heart gave a shudder. Of course she would throw caution to the wind. His Peaches loved the children of the mountain almost as much as he himself did. “Peaches said she went out to look and that’s when he leapt at her.”

Wukong felt a bit of his anger ebb. He was never angry at Peaches. He could never be. But anger around how she acted ? … yes. That was a possibility. Hearing how she didn’t go out until she thought it was a baby- well. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“The sentries are dead.” Wukong had come across their bodies after restraining the tiger demon. Seeing his peoples cut throats and crumpled bodies had not soothed his anger. He hoped the tiger healed quickly enough so he could repay them for each of his peoples lives. “The tiger killed them. He thought he could kill me by swinging his fancy sword. Too bad it snapped on the first try.”

“Did you leave him alive?” Macaque was at the door now, his fists uncurled.

“He’s somewhere beneath us in a wet cave. I broke all the bones in his body. But … I Left the tail for you.”

“Good.” The door opened and his brother was gone.

Wukong stared at Peaches as she slept for a moment. He had almost lost her today. He half wanted to wake her up and shake her and the other half just wanted to keep her tucked away and safe inside the mountain. Wukong would pull promises and such from her tomorrow. In fact, he may have to teach her some basic self defense. She would never be able to stop a full demonic beast. It would ease his mind however - it would sooth him and settle the fur that kept rising along his back- if she at least had an understanding of what tricks and traits demons used to tempt food out of hiding.

Wukong slid into the nest, settling himself so he didn’t jostle her awake. Tomorrow he could sit her down and tell her the new precautions he would have to merit out. A new guard, lessons in defense, maybe even a copy of him nearby or in the shape of some common item… Wukong could gift her a hairpin each morning and do her hair with a copy of himself. A magical copy that would have ears out for any mischief she may wind up falling into.

It would give her the illusion of freedom without telling her I put a spy on her person. That made Wukong feel better. For the next few days however, she wasn’t leaving his side. He didn’t care if she cried out or pouted or started to throw things. They had almost lost her.

Peaches half woke with a start as Wukong adjusted the blankets about her. Her face came upward, staring and trying to see all about.

“Wukong?”

“It’s just me… you can go back to sleep.”

To his astonishment Peaches shifted, settling herself into his chest. Wukong welcomed her tangle, twining has hands into her hair as she tugged on his fur. Her cheek was pressed to his chest where his heart must be hammering beneath. The Monkey king made soothing chirps and soft calls to her, a reassurance of safety and care. Soon enough her fingers relaxed again as she fell into sleep.

He kissed her temple and nose, twirling his fingers through her hair. It was just as soothing for him as it probably was for her.

Wukong was glad the tiger had been able to survive him. He couldn’t wait to gift his pelt to her when he was finished with him.

If Macaque didn’t kill him after all.

#hcwrites #hcfanfics #fanfic for semisolid #twice as bad au #bad end wukong #HERE YOU GO #again I could have made this longer but I was already at 6000 words and I did NOT want to go too overboard in detail #did I make up a tiger demon just to have an excuse for other things to come ? maaaaybeee #poor peaches #this probably is the only time this ever happens where the mountain is just not expecting some upstart demon to come swaggering by #you can bet Wukong laid waste to the snowy steppes #those are gone #and yes this one is a bit darker so read with a bit of caution #six eared macaque #jttw au #sun wukong #jttw tag #jttw fanfic #I See Mac as very support in times Like this while Wukongs gotta get his energy and rage out.#doesn’t mean that Mac isn’t capable of being a murder boy #just means he has more control #there is fluff in this I Promise I just wanted to write about a murdery tiger #and give peaches a reason to be afraid of tigers for #for future things 👀#jttw x reader #lmk #idk how to tag lmk stuff #lmk macaque #lmk wukong

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