#I hope I hope I hope she’s not going to accept any half-measures anymore | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosanna-writer · 5 months

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (17/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~6k

It's brief (one sentence each), but please note this chapter contains mentions of suicide and animal slaughter.

The last line of dialogue is lifted directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the seventeenth chapter below the readmore.

The townhouse was empty when I got back. At the realization I was alone, I reached for my thigh instinctively, where my hunting knife would be if I still carried one. Perhaps I should have still carried one.

My heart leapt to my throat at the sight of a note sitting out for me, even though I recognized Rhys's handwriting now. I forced myself to breathe before my mind spiraled down a path of panic about kidnappers and attackers.

I was safe. No one could winnow in besides Rhys and Mor. No one would touch me here. I was safe.

Even so, my fingers shook as I picked up the note to read. It was still slow going, but at least this time, I recognized every word, though not always on the first try.

Feyre darling,

I'm at the library and will be back this evening.

The contraceptive tea is still where you left it, but if it gives you peace of mind, you should know that the tonic I was taking Under the Mountain won't wear off for another week.

With all my love,

Rhys

I stood there for a long moment and waited for the sensation of the bottom dropping out of my stomach to pass. Rhys could have told me all of this before he left or said it through the bond—but he'd written a note instead, even though he knew reading still wasn't easy for me.

Once my head cleared of panic, I understood. His side of the bond had been quiet, and I'd assumed there just hadn't been anything to say or any strong emotions he was feeling. But his shields were up and reinforced. Either Amarantha had forced him to take the tonic or he'd been doing it without her knowledge, and…that was something he was only telling me because it might give me some measure of reassurance. And even then, he'd only managed it because he'd insulated himself from my reaction first.

Rhys knew I wouldn't be upset and that none of this was his fault—or at least, I hoped he did—but apparently that didn't stop him from feeling ashamed anyway.

Something about the note made my fingers twitch for a pen. There wasn't one, probably because he didn't want a reply, and I assumed the paper wasn't enchanted to send one anyway. But still, I had the urge to flip the paper over and sketch something beautiful, as if that could beat back the ugliness that had necessitated the contraceptive tonic in the first place.

Even though I knew where the pens were, I didn't go find one. I wasn't entirely sure I could make something beautiful anymore.

I tugged a blanket off the sofa and pulled it around my shoulders instead. The townhouse was warm, but I'd never once felt too hot Under the Mountain. The extra layers and soft blanket against the exposed skin of my arms seemed to ground me, to remind me that I was in the Night Court and not there.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep, but I'd spent half the night on the bathroom floor, shaking like a leaf while Rhys held me. Even though it was barely mid-afternoon, once my heart stopped racing, I drifted off and didn't wake until Rhys winnowed in as the sun began to set. And somehow, even though I was worried and groggy, I found myself appreciating the way his blue-black hair shone in the golden hour light.

Cauldron, the mating bond was relentless.

Rhys didn't move from the the spot where he'd winnowed, right in the center of the living room. He was watching me carefully, and as I sat up, I glanced over him and was relieved he looked fine. Even if he wasn't getting closer to me.

After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I said.

I wasn't quite sure what he wanted, so I moved to one side of the sofa and extended my arm in a wordless invitation to share the blanket. To my immense relief, he hid his wings and joined me, snaking an arm around my waist as I tucked my legs under me and curled up against him. We loosed a breath at the same time.

A talon rapped politely against my shields, and I dropped them for him. The beast he usually kept hidden, all wings and feathers and talons and elongated canines, entered the antechamber of my mind. Then it turned around once and lay down, like a dog that had come in from the cold to curl up in front of the hearth. I closed my eyes and let my head fall against his chest.

His breath tickled my ear, making me shiver as he scented me, even with the glamour still in place."You smell like safety," he murmured, "and your mind is a more peaceful place than mine has been lately."

If I hadn't felt the change in both of us just now, I would have pointed out that was a patently ridiculous thing to say when I was a human who could barely manage to sleep through the night, let alone protect myself. But maybe…I was safe to admit the worst to.

And maybe even if I had the heightened senses of a faerie, I couldn't distinguish safety from danger anyway, smell or otherwise. Tamlin had certainly exploited that.

I couldn't hold back a small noise of protest as Rhys pulled away for a moment, nearly taking the entire blanket with him, then relaxed again when I felt his fingers in my hair. My braid had come loose in my sleep. Once he'd slipped the tie off the end, Rhys started gingerly untangling the strands.

Perhaps it was reckless to dive straight into it, but we needed to talk, so I said, "Was this morning—"

"This morning was everything," he said, answering the question before I could finish asking, "but I didn't anticipate how it would feel to go straight from that to an in-depth discussion with the healer regarding how weak my wings were. I needed time. The library helped."

"And now?" I would have turned my head to look at him if that wouldn't have pulled roughly on my hair.

"I'll be fine." It wasn't harsh or unkind, but there was a distinct note of finality there. A bit more softly, he added, "And for you, was—"

"I want more mornings like that." It was all that needed to be said.

He let the lock of my hair fall from his hand, and I turned my head to kiss his cheek before he carded his fingers back through my hair again. This close, I caught sight of a bite mark I'd left, peeking out from under his collar. A mark like that, shaped like my mouth and visible to anyone who got close…it filled me with a sense of feral pride. Rhys looked good wearing it.

The beast that had been resting inside my mind stirred. And preened.

"There's no need to wait until morning if you want more," Rhys said, suddenly all dark promise.

But as much I ached to go down that road, there were questions I wouldn't get to if we did. "What did the healer say?" I asked, a little too quickly, even as I pressed myself closer.

Rhys explained—apparently, the process wouldn't be too different from when his wings had been injured during the War. The best method would be to winnow up high and drop back down slowly to the ground and do the same with repeated takeoffs, all while carrying increasingly heavy weights. Progress might be slow, but steady if he kept at it.

An idea stuck me. "How heavy of a weight would you use?"

"It depends," Rhys said slowly, suspicion creeping into his voice. He pulled away to study my face, and I clamped my hand back down on the blanket to keep it around my shoulders.

"I don't weigh very much. Might be more fun than using a sack of potatoes or whatever you were thinking of instead," I said, smiling.

He didn't smile back. "You could get hurt if I'm not careful."

"Hell will freeze over long before I ever get hurt while you're around."

I raised my brows, daring him to argue—I was right, and we both knew it. He shook his head and sighed. "You don't have to be so eager to test that theory."

"It's a certainty, not a theory," I said, pulling him close again. I took advantage of his wings being hidden, resting my chest against his broad, muscled back and my chin on his shoulder.

The wings, the flying…I knew what it meant to him. And maybe selfishly, I wanted him to hold me tight against him while we were high above the ground, just for the joy of being in the air. Cassian and Azriel might have flown me to the House of Wind, but that would never be the same.

Rhys told me about the sleeping draught next; the healer had said to halve the dose for a human if I took it, too. Apparently it was strong enough that we'd sleep through damn near anything—even each other's nightmares. It took some prodding, but we agreed to take it together or not at all, lest someone be left to face bad dreams and vomiting alone.

Over the next few days, things began to feel…a bit more settled. As much as I hated how fuzzy my head felt on mornings after taking the sleeping draught, I couldn't deny that the rest helped. And though I wasn't quite ready to see them yet, Azriel reported that my family was still safe and cared for. I went to dinner with Mor and managed to ignore the obvious stares in my direction and awed whispers behind my back. Even reading lessons had become less of a slog, full of chitchat about books as Evelyn found ones that would be an appropriate challenge—she'd even collected a few picture-filled volumes on art that I spent an afternoon flipping through.

Sex helped, too. There were far worse things I could have thrown myself into with singleminded focus than making Rhys climax, and I think he needed to hear someone tell him his pleasure mattered and insist he sit back and enjoy it. He responded in kind of course, and somehow his hands and mouth quieted the restlessness that plagued me, enough to stop feeling on the lookout for another threat, at least for a while.

We were coping. And it was strange, but not unpleasant, to find myself slipping into a life I'd ached for but hadn't really known I'd wanted until a few weeks ago.

Illyria, however, was becoming a problem. And so was the Hewn City. I hardly saw much of Cassian; Azriel took over training me so his brother could stay in Windhaven. Mor was more than capable of overseeing the Court of Nightmares herself, but it wasn't enough to completely stave off the question of why the High Lord hadn't shown his face since returning home.

And it all came to a head during the next meeting of the Inner Circle.

The six of us had gathered in a meeting room in the House of Wind. I'd trained with the Illyrians beforehand—Cassian had wanted to see my progress—and though I was still flushed and sweaty from exertion, the leathers and sword strapped to Rhys's back were the only signs he'd been sparring. Perfect and polished as always. If he weren't mine, I would have hated him for it.

But there was work to be done, so I forced myself not to stare. Cassian spoke first, and the picture he painted was bleak—not only rampant disregard of laws Rhys had put into place centuries ago, but rogue war-bands. The groups that had been loyal to Amarantha had splintered, and the situation was delicate and unpredictable.

"I won't have any opportunists in Hybern or the Continent catching us flat-footed," Rhys said, slipping into that clipped tone he only used when he was working. "Take whatever measures are necessary to bring the army back in line. You have my full support, whatever it takes."

To his credit, Cassian didn't hesitate as he said, "Does full support mean I can call you in to make an appearance if needed?" Not a challenge, but it put an unpleasant truth out in the open.

I knew what he meant, and though Azriel's grimace only lasted a moment, that was enough to tell me that he did, too. Rhys's wings were still an issue. If he arrived in Illyria unable to fly properly and word got out, he might only make more of a mess. It didn't matter why his wings were so weak—the Illyrians would see it as shameful regardless.

"It's vital to the security of the Night Court. When I said whatever it takes, I meant it," Rhys said, his voice going colder. Darkness made the faelights flicker for a moment.

The tension that had been simmering between them was back. There was a forced lightness to Mor's voice as she said, "You should make an appearance in the Hewn City first, anyway. They're under control, but it would do some good to flex your muscles before they start getting ideas."

It made sense—I'd heard Mor's updates to Rhys, her concern about Keir becoming too bold without Amarantha making him cower—and releasing the damper on Rhys's power to make a point was simple enough. Or it would be, if that didn't mean sending him straight to the place that Amarantha had modeled her court after. If it were me, I wouldn't be ready yet.

The least I could do was make sure he wouldn't be facing it alone.

"I'll go with you," I said, the words out of my mouth before I'd thought them through. "It might be easier on you with me there."

I hadn't been to the Hewn City, but I knew enough to understand what sort of role I'd have to play there. If it helped Rhys, I'd do it without hesitation. It might even feel good, just to have something to do that made me feel useful. Even though it was underground, I'd manage.

"No," Rhys said, and the word came out as something that wasn't quite an order but sounded uncomfortably close.

He'd never spoken to me like that before. I hated it.

His regret crossed the bond immediately, but that didn't matter. I knew it wasn't the same, not even close, but the harshness in his voice reminded me just a bit of how Tamlin had sounded when I'd overheard him speaking with Lucien, an inkling of how much was really being hidden to manipulate me in Spring. And that was enough to set my temper ablaze.

"What's in the Hewn City that you don't want me to see?" I snapped. Aloud, so everyone could hear.

Rhys's voice was softer, almost pained, when he spoke again. I half-expected darkness to ripple off him, but he kept the leash on his power. "There's nothing in the Hewn City that you didn't already see Under the Mountain."

"Then why not bring me?" I said, just as a horrible thought dawned on me. He'd been so angry that I'd gone Under the Mountain. Before I knew what I was doing, the words were tumbling out. "Is this about keeping me in Velaris, like you did to the rest of the Inner Circle?"

Rhys flinched. And the air in the room seemed to go very, very still.

"For what it's worth, I'm not proud of that," he said, not looking at any of us, "but I can't bring myself to regret it, either. You're alive."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I know it wasn't an easy call to make. You chose the least shit option out of a bunch of shit choices."

"That still doesn't mean we had to like it," Azriel muttered darkly, tucking his wings in tight.

"No, we didn't," Mor agreed, shooting a warning look at Azriel before turning to Rhys, "and it's hard not to be resentful. We were trapped. But…we all know it's not your fault for having to make that decision, and I hope you know that, too."

Rhys closed his eyes, and I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took in a breath and let it out. He started to say something, but Amren cut him off. "And Velaris is by far the most pleasant of all the places I've been confined. Let's move on," she said briskly.

I didn't want to think about what other places she could possibly have been imprisoned. Or how many there had been. But somehow, Amren of all people had cut through the tension in the room. Mor caught my eye, hiding a smile behind the back of her hand.

"I'd put that on tourism brochures if Velaris had any," Rhys said drily, then turned his attention back to me. "After sending Mor in my stead for so long, I'll get the point across most clearly if I go alone, Feyre. It isn't dangerous. But with the attention the Cursebreaker will draw…you'll be most effective as an ace up our sleeve for now. Is that alright with you?"

I considered that. It seemed like an honest question, not just something intended to mollify me enough to move on. And the word effective clanged in my head like a bell. It took a certain measure of confidence in someone to make a calculation like that. I felt…a little less useless.

"That's fine," I said, giving a gentle tug on the bond to indicate all was well. Rhys answered with a feather-light brush of his fingers against mine under the table.

The rest of the meeting was long, if uneventful. I followed more of it than before—while he'd been catching up on the state of the Night Court, Rhys had answered every single one of my questions about it. There were decisions to be made about resuming trade agreements that had been in place before Amarantha and intelligence to be gathered about the extent of the damage in other courts. Our agenda that day was full.

I wasn't used to sitting still for so long, and it seemed like an eternity had passed by the time Cassian finally flew me down to the street. He took off for Illyria just as Rhys winnowed next to me, shifting out of his leathers and into his usual black jacket and pants.

"Take a walk with me?" he said, offering his arm. I hesitated, not quite sure if he merely did just want to walk with me, or if this was about what had happened earlier. Catching the look on my face, he added,"It's a beautiful day, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste."

That, at least, was the truth. Though it was the middle of summer, the Night Court was too far north to get uncomfortably hot. I suspected that wasn't everything—it might also have been one of those days he needed to feel the breeze on his face, but there was no use in pointing that out.

Instead, I just nodded my agreement and took his arm. My hand felt snug and comfortable in the crook of his elbow, but I was shameless about twisting it to the side so I could feel the hard muscle of his bicep through his shirt. Rhys smirked, curling a wing around me in a gesture I was beginning to suspect looked equally as possessive as my fingers around his arm.

"You know the city best. Lead the way," I said.

We walked in companionable silence towards the Sidra. If we'd wanted to, we probably could have stayed quiet the entire evening without it feeling awkward or uncomfortable. But…I wanted to clear the air anyway. After a little while, I added, "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

"They were valid questions that you had every right to ask," he said evenly. I couldn't quite read his face—Rhys seemed unbothered, but I didn't know how to tell if he was pretending or not.

"I could have phrased them better."

Rhys shrugged. "It's better than if you hadn't said anything at all. You should question me, call me out. And if being comfortable doing that means you're a bit harsh about it on occasion….well, it's not as if I haven't survived worse."

He pulled gently on the bond again, and I took that to mean there truly had been no harm done. It made me feel oddly reassured, as if I'd pushed on something that looked delicate and found it to be much sturdier than I'd thought.

We followed a path along the Sidra, and on a day like this, we were far from the only ones out and about. It seemed silly not to have realized it, considering he'd been High Lord for centuries, but everyone in Velaris seemed to know Rhys. People smiled warmly and nodded at him, a few even greeting him by name and taking his hand to welcome him back. Even after fifty years away, he knew them too, sounding earnest when he asked about how their families were faring.

It still came as a shock that they knew who I was, too.

The first time a faerie, one with horns and horizontal pupils like a goat's, called me Cursebreaker and thanked me for challenging Amarantha, I'd nearly blurted out then and there that anyone with a mate would have done the same thing. Instead, I stammered my way through my reply about how it was good to see Rhys home, which wasn't even a lie.

The people of Velaris were respectful, genuinely warm but never attempting to drag him into a long conversation. For me, the attention was still strange. Rhys must have been handling it since birth, but I'd spent so much of my life alone in the woods, doing my best to blend in with the trees as I hunted.

We were arm in arm, but still in my fighting leathers at his side….I don't think I seemed much like an emissary. And certainly not like a lady, either.

If anything, I looked like Rhys's knight.

But it was…nice, to just walk and be together like this. Velaris was beautiful, rows and rows of pretty, well-kept townhouses in bright colors and the flowers along the river in full bloom for the summer. Peaceful and untouched—and protected with the utmost ruthlessness.

I was so caught up in drinking it in—and in truth, watching Rhys drink it in—that it was a while before I realized we were still walking away from the townhouse. Not that I minded, but I still asked, "Are we going anywhere in particular?"

"Yes. I have something to show you," he said, violet eyes bright.

"What is it?"

"My favorite view in the city."

I'd half-expected him to answer that it was a surprise or with some other teasing, flirting response. But maybe by then he knew it was important to me that my questions didn't go unanswered.

When the sun had nearly set, we stopped at one of the benches that lined the path, facing the river. It didn't seem different from any of the other places we'd passed, save a row of low buildings right on the riverbank across from us. Rhys sat, letting his wings hang over the back of the bench, and I followed suit.

We were in public, so I left a careful few inches of distance between us. I ached to be closer, but I wasn't sure it would be welcome out here. "Can I—"

"I was just going to tell you that you were too far away."

I couldn't press myself to his side fast enough. As Rhys wrapped an arm around my waist, the bond seemed to uncoil in my chest, and I was struck again by that sense of rightness, the feeling that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I doubted I'd ever get used to it—not just the mating bond and all the instincts and urges that accompanied it, but being wanted like this.

But that was too much to talk about on what was proving to be something close to a normal evening. I just said, "Why is it your favorite?"

"You'll see in a few minutes, once night falls properly," he said softly, "but it's not just that. Before Amarantha, nearly everyone in Velaris came to watch the boat races down the Sidra on midsummer. It's been a tradition since my ancestors founded the city, and this is where the races always finished."

"Did you…row?" I wasn't entirely sure if faerie boat races were anything like human ones, though I was fairly certain the line of buildings across from us were boathouses.

"Cauldron, no. Training in Illyria was exhausting enough. This is where I came to drink and cheer on my sister."

I had no idea what to say to the mix of quiet sorrow and warm nostalgia in his voice. Telling him I was sorry seemed insufficient. But…I could practically feel the weight of whatever was on his mind pressing down on us both.

"I'll trade you a thought for a thought," I said after a long moment. "Tell me one thing on your mind, and I'll do the same for you."

I half-expected Rhys to balk, or at least, to be irritated with my prying. Perhaps I'd pushed too hard. But he played along.

"The boathouse on the end was green last time I saw it. But at some point in the last fifty years, it was repainted blue, and now I'm thinking about how strange it is to notice all the ways Velaris is different now. Everything is different now, really."

As I watched the last rays of the setting sun dance on the water, I felt Rhys's gaze slide towards me. I took a moment to consider my words. "I'm thinking about how every summer I used to hunt and hunt while the game was plentiful. If I didn't do enough then, we'd starve during the winter. And now it's summer again, and I feel like I need to find a way to hoard days like this because nothing ever stays easy."

"For what it's worth, I'm not stupid enough to think I can pacify you with pretty lies about how you have nothing to worry about ever again."

I snorted. "Have I mentioned how much I love your pragmatism?" It was true, though. His willingness to make difficult choices, no matter how unpleasant, was one reason I'd choose Rhys to be my partner in everything.

Rhys leaned in close, his nose brushing my temple. "Was that an attempt at pouring honey in my ear, Feyre darling?" he purred.

"With you? I don't need to bother."

He nipped at my earlobe, drawing a surprised laugh from me. "Cruel, beautiful thing."

The first few stars appeared in the sky, and suddenly I understood why this was Rhys's favorite view in city. Lines of lights flickered on outside the boathouses, so many that that the buildings themselves seemed to be fashioned out of stars. The sky and the city were reflected on the surface of the Sidra, and in the distance, the colorful buildings of the Rainbow glowed warm, bright, and inviting.

City of Starlight, indeed.

But the sight of it was more than just beautiful. Something about the stars and the city lights on the water brought a buried memory rushing back. I almost couldn't believe I'd forgotten.

"Rhys," I hissed, sitting up straight. My hand curled tightly around his arm.

"Feyre?" he said, suddenly all concern. "Are you—"

"I've seen this view before. In a dream. This exact view. The boathouse on the end was blue, just like it is now."

I wrenched my gaze away from the boathouses to find Rhys staring at me with naked shock. "You were dreaming of Velaris?"

"It happened the day I'd first killed a rabbit. I was eleven. We'd been starving, and the Mother knows where else we would have gotten dinner from if I hadn't done it. But I— I'd never killed something before, and even though it was an animal, I lost a piece of myself that day. I'd cried and cried, and whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was the blood from its throat leaking onto my hands. It took a long time to fall asleep that night, but when I finally did…this is the view I saw in my dreams. And I felt at peace with what I'd done."

Rhys's eyes didn't leave my face, but something in his expression shifted. I could see the wheels turning in his head. "If you were eleven," he said slowly, "then I wouldn't have known about you yet. I didn't start having dreams of you until three years ago. And if you saw the boathouse as blue…then we can be certain I didn't send that image of Velaris down the bond, even unwittingly."

"Then where did it come from?"

"You have a connection to the Night Court's magic, and it's clearly protective of you. A dream like that, on what must have been the worst day of your life….perhaps Velaris kept you from breaking, too."

If Rhys hadn't needed to protect this city and the people it, he would have killed himself Under the Mountain, probably long before I was born. He'd never said as much, but I knew. And perhaps that was the real magic of Velaris—not the wards shielding it, but the magic of art and dreams and peace. If that had sustained my mate for decade after lonely, hopeless decade, then…perhaps after one of my darkest days, Velaris had reached for me as I slept.

After all, it was called the Court of Dreams for a reason.

We watched the lights on the water for a long time, together but both lost in thought. But eventually, my inability to sit still reared its head, and we found ourselves walking through the city again, talking quietly about the places we passed.

Rhys was trying to be subtle about it, but I could tell he was attempting to nudge me towards the Rainbow. I understood; he knew what painting meant to me, and he'd had probably looked forward to showing me the artists' quarter. Last time I'd been in a gallery, though, I'd been falling for Tamlin's manipulations, and now that I knew that…I wasn't sure how I'd react next time I entered one. If I panicked or ran like a coward, I didn't want Rhys to see.

I certainly wasn't brave enough to admit that, either. Instead, I murmured something about it being time to start heading back, and when the worry didn't quite leave Rhys's face, I changed the subject. "Why is your house on the other side of the river anyway?"

But it must have been the wrong thing to say because Rhys suddenly went still. "You don't feel at home here," he said, so softly I almost didn't hear it. Even if I hadn't caught the words, the hurt in his voice would have been unmistakable.

That was ridiculous—I'd never felt such a sense of belonging in my life. "Of course I feel at home here."

"You called the townhouse mine just now. Not ours."

"It's where I live, and I'm comfortable there, but…it's still yours. I don't feel unwelcome, but there's no point in pretending you wouldn't be upset if I just started redecorating or painting all over the walls." That first morning after we'd gotten back, he'd said it was mine too, but in truth, I'd assumed that was just an empty platitude.

Rhys took a step towards me, and the intensity of the way he was looking at me was so strong I wasn't sure I was breathing. "Everything that's mine is shared with you. Because you're my"—a tug on the bond to avoid saying the word aloud where there was a chance of being overheard—"and because I love you. Even if that weren't true, the first dream I had of you was your hand painting flowers on a table. It meant more than I can say, and as far as I'm concerned, you should paint any surface in this world you wish."

"I love you, too." The only words I could manage in the face of…everything.

Then before I knew it, Rhys was kissing me in the middle of the sidewalk. For a moment, all the thoughts flew from my mind, and I looped an arm around his waist to press him against me. But before he had a chance to sweep his tongue into my mouth in front of any passersby, I stepped back to catch my breath.

"What you said before, about the townhouse being mine, too…I thought you were just being nice to spare my feelings," I said.

Rhys huffed a bitter laugh. "I've been accused of a great many things over the centuries, but mincing words to be nice isn't one of them."

I'd take it over being lied to day in and day out, I supposed.

He slid his hands into his pockets and tipped his head to the side. The wind ruffled his hair, and for a moment, that instinctive irrational jealousy struck again—I didn't even want the wind touching his hair instead of me. It nearly distracted me enough to miss the too-casual way he was studying me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're planning something, aren't you?"

He flashed me another one of those feline smiles—the smirking, put-together High Lord was back. "I was just thinking that if I'm not mistaken, there's a set of half-opened paints in storage. Amren attempted to learn one summer, got bored, and gave up. No one will take an open can as a donation, and she's certainly not going to use them. It would be a shame to let them go to waste."

My mate knew me too well. Even though I could tell what he was doing, it was working—I'd struggle to accept a gift, but I hated waste. Just the thought of an empty canvas made my chest tighten uncomfortably, but if it meant something to Rhys, I could manage a simple, repetitive design of flowers on the edge of a table. I'd done far more dangerous, difficult things for him.

"What's your favorite flower?" I said with a sigh.

"Snowdrops," he said without having to think about it. "There isn't much else about winter in Illyria that's pretty, and the blue ones only grow in the Night Court. They're the same color as your eyes."

Elain had planted snowdrop bulbs one fall, and when I'm asked her about it, she'd said that in the language of flowers, they meant hope. I'd thought it seemed pointless then. Now, I wasn't quite sure.

Rhys said something about being back with the paints, kissed my cheek, and winnowed away. As I stood there for a moment alone, I realized…he'd called my eyes pretty. I willed myself to stop blushing so furiously by the time he got back.

Not long after that, we made it back home, and I sat on kitchen floor, mixing Amren's half-used paint while Rhys watched. He hadn't told me where he'd gone to get them, but he'd come back smelling faintly of pine.

It took a few tries to mix the blue to match the shade in the image Rhys sent down the bond, a blue flower pushing its way through a heavy snowbank, on a mountain that must have been somewhere in Illyria. And perhaps finding the right color would have gone faster if he hadn't been leaning in to kiss me so often.

When I began to form the first petal on the edge of the table, the feeling of a wound healing over was so acute that I nearly dropped the paintbrush.

I was safe in the Night Court. I was painting. A mate I loved was sitting beside me. We were clawing back, slowly but surely, the sense of security that had been ripped away when Rhys had been trapped Under the Mountain and I'd been dragged across the Wall.

I painted a few more petals and managed to finish the first flower before the tears pricking at my eyes made me stop. Rhys kissed them away gently. And that was all I needed to dip the brush back into the paint and keep going.

There was a line of flowers extending along one side of the table when something made Rhys stand up. The movement was too fast for me to follow—one moment, he'd been sitting, then the next he was halfway across the room. I turned to see what it was and found that Mor had just winnowed into the kitchen.

I'd never seen her look so grave.

"It's too late to save anyone now," she said, "but there was an attack on a temple in Cesere. Almost every priestess slain, the trove looted."

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home #this chapter was a doozy but the magic of canned soup got me through it

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lady-thorn · 1 year

Text

The Dragon’s Hoard Pt. 3

Summary: The beginning of a life-changing adventure.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen & Ravella Whitmore (OC)

Warnings: Smut. Fluff. ESL, please be patient. Unedited.

Word count: +12k

Disclaimer: I’d meant to post this earlier, but life’s been crazy; at least, I’ll be able to post pt. 4 soon. I love Ravella and Aemond. I’m actually thinking of writing this as a shorter serialized stuff, because I do have plans, so any feedback is appreciated. I hope you enjoy it.

***

Aemond looked at his reflection in the mirror. This time, his eye didn’t drift to the background, where Ravella, back half-covered by that glorious curtain of glossy black hair, slept on her side, still enjoying the leftover heat of his body. No, now he was staring at himself.

The scar was hideous. Hence the eyepatch dangling off his fingers — a measure of protection. Only… he didn’t want to wear it anymore.

He’d never wanted to, really. It had been necessary, however, so he wouldn’t offend the ladies, many of whom got faint whenever they saw the maimed prince coming. That always filled Aemond with shame, and no matter what his mother and sister said about any woman being lucky to have his love, he didn’t believe them, finding peace at the idea of an arranged marriage. Naturally, his wife would’ve despised his looks, but with an arrangement of that sort, he wouldn’t have to fight for her. Wouldn’t be haunted by the prospect of her rejection. Fulfilling their duties to their Houses would’ve had to suffice.

The thing was, after getting the sapphire, he shouldn’t have worn the patch. Ravella had called him Symeon Star-Eyes, and asked that he not hide behind the eyepatch. At the time, he didn’t have words to explain his choice to wear it wasn’t to hide, but to avoid causing discomfort to others. How could he say that when the woman he loved accepted him as he were, and didn’t consider him lesser than for being eyeless? When she’d compared him to a hero of old, and went so far as getting him a dual-bladed staff, the same weapon legends said Symeon used to fight?

Three months had passed since they were wed in the godswood, in the eyes of the old gods and the new. Three months since Ravella scolded him for belittling himself over the loss of his eye.

Three months since his wife stated her ownership of him.

His lips curved at the memory. Helaena had told him he was the dragon jealously hoarding a butterfly, but his sister omitted — likely because she didn’t see it — the fact that it was the butterfly the one who wielded real power; she could make the dragon bend to his knees for her, fly to the confines of the world to get her heart’s desire. A command, and the dragon was her willing slave.

That she wanted nothing but his love, and to build a family with him, humbled him in a way nothing else could. There were days he had to pinch himself to admit his life was true, and Ravella — the former bane of his existence — did love him. Not too long ago, they’d have probably considered their love a nightmare.

“You’re so handsome when thoughtful…” she drawled in a voice husky by sleep.

Aemond strode back to their bed, sitting beside her. “Per you, I’m the most handsome man in the world.”

“You are,” she pinched his cheek, eyes roaming over his naked body. “Are you going to the training yard?”

“Yes. I need to train today, if I ever hope to wield your gift in battle,” he grinned. “However, I’m going to the Pit first, unless you want me to stay with you in the godswood?”

“No, you wouldn’t appreciate my art,” she pinched his cheek again. “Although you’d make me feel good about it.”

Aemond had asked his father, King Viserys, to allow Ravella to carve up the weirwood tree, and Viserys granted it. Only, it took Ravella several weeks to decide what to carve, as she exchanged messages with several Houses that still worshipped the old gods of the forest instead of the Seven. While she refused to divulge what she was going to carve, she was very open about her suspicions — that the tree had been carved so long ago, though its continued growth deformed the carvings and made them look like bumps in the bark. At least, that was the theory she’d come up with after talking to a Blackwood.

Now, over a hundred years after the Conquest, the weirwood was finally “adult” enough to sustain the carving she meant to make, and carry it on through the years.

She was grateful he was able to secure his father’s permission for her to carve up the weirwood, as that would allow the old gods to be strong in the south once more. Just yesterday, Lord Blackwood had approached Ravella to chat with her about the upcoming carving, and Aemond had a feeling it’d be a spectacle.

“Are you going to the Pit to continue teaching Vhagar how to protect me?” He nodded, and she rolled her eyes in false impatience. “You know it makes me mad that you’ll say you’re training her, but not how.”

He smirked. “You might find out soon enough. What are you going to carve up?”

“A face,” she wiggled her eyebrows, pointing to a bag containing a collection of chisels and sharp blades, unable to mask her animation. He scowled in answer, unimpressed by her secrecy, but the grimace only sent her into a fit of giggles, the sweet sound titillating against his eardrums. That’s what true satisfaction sounded like, he thought, bending down to give her a kiss.

She pulled him closer, until he was lying on top of her. His right hand found her breast, the pad of his thumb drawing circles around her hardened nipple, his mouth swallowing her moan. His left delved between her legs, and his breath caught— “You’re so wet,” he mumbled against her ear. It shouldn’t surprise him; there were some days she became a ravenous, frantic beast. Aemond couldn’t tell if it was only the lust she felt for him, or if it was her way of forcing a pregnancy. Ravella was eager for a child, after all.

Last night, she made him leave his family’s company before dinner was over. He got worried about the way she was rubbing her temples and forehead, and asked his parents to excuse them. Ravella refused seeing a maester, insisting she needed a good night’s sleep, so Aemond took her to their quarters — instead of carrying her. When the door bolted shut behind him, he turned around to find her hurling her body against his, kissing him and trying to undress both of them.

He didn’t scowl. He didn’t like being lied to, but he could forgive her for that transgression — at least, that was the idea until she told him she was unwell. She laughed against his lips, saying he could cure her headache. And then she forced him to lie down flat on his back, and rode him with an intensity that had them both groaning out loud and banging the bed against the wall.

“Aemond,” her hands closed around his shoulders, “stop.” He did, and knelt down on the bed. She followed him, sitting up. “Shit,” she shook her head, looking at his blood-stained fingers.

“I don’t mind,” he tried to kiss her again.

“I do.”

He sighed. It was his turn to shake his head. The erection he was sporting wasn’t going anywhere. “Fine. Are you in pain? Can I get you anything?”

She laughed. “No, my love. In fact…” she said after thinking better. “Come here.”

He crawled his usual side of the bed where she was patting the mattress, and lied down. Maybe she needed to not look, he thought, and the feeling got stronger as she cleaned his fingers on her forsaken nightgown. “I don’t mind, Ravella. Really.”

“I know. But the bed would be a mess. Let me,” she insisted when he tried to reach for her.

He settled. She smiled, then lowered her head, closing her lips around his nipple and taking a deep suck. His cock, already rock-hard, became a diamond. If that’s what she felt when he sucked on her nipples, then he’d make sure to do that all the time…

He recalled that was how he’d given her first orgasm, in the cold, rainy darkness of the kingswood. He teased her breasts with his hands and lips until she came, screaming and trembling. Then he went on to claim more climaxes from her overworked body by worshipping the sweet flesh between her thighs.

By getting addicted to her.

“Does this feel good?” she asked after taking a lick of his hipbone.

“Better than good,” he mumbled, opening his eye to see her beam. “Ravella—”

“It isn’t fair that you leave my bed unsatisfied, husband,” she said, voice severe, fingers working his shaft. Back then, he’d wondered what his cock would look like between her hands. A month later, with their wedding, he knew, just as he knew what it looked like coming in and out of her, thanks to the mirror he’d placed across the bed so she could watch as he fucked her.

“Please…” he wasn’t above begging.

“What do you want?” she arched a brow, squeezing the cockhead. He was too thick for her to close her hand around.

“Your mouth.”

“You pervert,” she said, but laughed and did as he asked… kind of. She didn’t part her lips to take him, but did as she was wont to — covered the shaft with soft, close-lipped kisses, using his juices to rub her mouth against his skin, pressing her tongue against the throbbing veins.

That first night, Aemond was resented she was using him — the conclusion of what they must do to retain and generate heat came from him, but it was Ravella’s decision to explore his body so she’d learn how to pleasure her future husband. He couldn’t describe what he felt at the idea of her with another. Now, though, he was grateful of the lesson she learned, because it made her pretty much uninhibited in his arms. She was comfortable voicing her wants and needs and making demands, and encouraged him to do the same; she didn’t consider anything shameful, for “lovemaking’s a physical way to love each other,” as she’d put it.

Moreover, Ravella ached to be a mother. And she’d figured out that Aemond was equally stimulated by the idea, to the point that she used the imagery of his breeding her to make him mindless with lust.

His hips shot up when her lips closed around the head. She couldn’t go past the first four inches of his cock, no matter how hard she tried; even so, he was at peace with not knowing what it’d be like to be fully inside her, massaged by the tight muscles of her throat. He forced himself to hold still while she worked her mouth around him, unwilling to put more strains on her; the first time she’d tried to suck him, he feared her lips would split.

“Ravella…” he moaned a few minutes later, while she sucked on the head as if she were nursing. He said her name again, because she liked the sound of it on his lips, coating with both yearning and agony.

A deep rumble formed in the back of his throat when she intensified her movements without taking him off her mouth, which she always did when she noticed his orgasm was about to happen. His hand found her hair, and though he tried to force her to stay quiet so he could pull out, she refused. Her eyes, a perfect mix of violet and blue, were nearly black as they pled in silence that he let her finish, so he relaxed his grip… somewhat. He kept holding the strands, massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers, but stopped fighting her.

“I’m going to—” he warned, breathless.

She beat on his lower belly, opening her mouth more. As she did, Aemond growled, his eye rolling back as he shouted his release to the sky.

She swallowed each spurt of his come, and cleaned up the rest running down his shaft with her tongue. When she licked at her lips and pressed them together, as if she were applying a balm she’d bought to keep them moisturized, Aemond lost it — he brought her closer and claimed her lips. “You’re still wet,” he could feel it against his skin.

“My blood—”

“Ride me anyway.”

“Your cock’s limp,” she pressed their foreheads together, staring into his eye.

“And whose fault is that?” she laughed, weak. “Ride my thigh. Friction that sweet cunt against me until you come.”

It was clear the suggestion shocked as much as it aroused her. She did as he said, straddling his left thigh. In no time, she was moaning his name, her body undulating, clit constrained between their bodies, her wetness coating him. His nails dug into her hips as he held them to help her grind harder. He watched her flushed face, a violent possession spreading through him. That was how she was supposed to look.

“Aemond, my breasts feel so heavy… they’re so sensitive—”

“I can’t touch them now. Do it yourself,” he ordered darkly, and she obeyed. He licked his lips as he watched. He wanted to take each nipple in his mouth and tug, but didn’t. Ravella pleasuring herself was so much better, he was loathe of ruining the moment. His gaze closed on the bruises his passion drew on her skin last night. He loved watching them. Her.

The wave came crashing upon her when he tightened the muscle of his thigh, making it contract against her clit. She screamed his name, her spine arching at the lower back. She fell on his chest, heaving against his skin, the puddle of her juices squishing as she moved, allowing them to run down to the linen. He kissed her forehead.

***

One hour and several kisses later, she took his hand into hers as they left their quarters to have breakfast with the rest of his family, after which Aemond kissed her knuckles and joined Aegon, leaving Ser Arryk behind to guard her. The idea of needing a Kingsguard in the godswood was ridiculous, but Ravella knew her husband wouldn’t change his mind; as a prince, he was used to getting his way, and she supposed it’d cost her nothing to oblige him.

She was, per his own admission, his greatest treasure.

“Lady Ravella,” Lord Corlys Velaryon greeted her. His wife, Princess Rhaenys, was beside him, her hand tucked between his. It never failed to amaze her how those two behaved like their love was still new and green, and she wished for the same happening to her and Aemond.

“Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys.”

“Are you going to the godswood?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Are you going there, as well?”

“Yes. Would you mind if we walked with you?” the princess asked.

“‘Course not. I could do with the company.”

In a matter of seconds, she began questioning her acceptance of their company, for a few seconds later, their grandchildren fell into step behind them. Ravella didn’t mind the princes and ladies, but Aemond would, if he were there. The four were directly involved in his blinding, with the younger boy having cut his eye. She wanted to hate Prince Lucerys — Aemond’s nephew — with the same fervor Aemond did, but as an outsider, she considered it a waste of time. The children were shaped by the adults raising them. In her mind, there was no doubt their relationship wouldn’t have turned out so strained if the rest of House Targaryen had taken measures to create a safe family life for the children.

They hadn’t, and Aemond ended up hurt.

Thankfully, she was able to shake off her uneasiness and make small talk with them, even if she could feel the slight mockery in the princes’ voices whenever they mentioned she was their aunt — something they took great joy in repeating, until they realized she wasn’t upset.

“Lord Blackwood!” she opened up a smile, and the man, a few years older than Aemond, approached them, paying due note to Aemond’s family. “Have you come to watch?”

“I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious, my lady,” he smiled, his dark-gray eyes sparkling.

“Maybe you’d like to help?” she offered.

He held up both hands. “Oh no, I couldn’t. That’s your right. I’m just going to watch. I wrote to Alysanne. A mistake, of course. Now she wants to come to King’s Landing.”

“I’d love to see your sister again. And your son, I imagine he’s all grown, isn’t he?”

Lord Samwell agreed with her policy of strengthening the ties between the followers of the old gods, so they made it a point of keeping correspondence with each other, as well with Houses from the north. Not only that, but she suspected that, if Lord Blackwood hadn’t been married at 12, and she hadn’t married Aemond, he’d have proposed to her, and she’d have accepted. It wouldn’t have been a love match, but as she’d told Aemond’s parents, she’d settle for a good man who kept her faith, and Lord Blackwood had a good reputation.

(That was assuming she were informed of Lord Blackwood’s offer, since his parents had rejected some over the years behind her back, hoping she’d end up marrying Aemond. She tried, but failed to see what had led them to believe they’d be a good match, when they spent the entire time bickering.)

Engaging Lord Samwell in conversation made it easier to avoid the Velaryons and Targaryens. Not to the point of rudeness, though; she tried to include them in their conversation, but mostly, Aemond’s nephews and cousins just stood listening.

“Did you bring a sketch?” Samwell laughed.

“Yes, of course. I don’t want to offend the gods.”

He shook his head. “They’ll finally have eyes here. I’m sure they won’t be offended.”

“Yes, but their eyes won’t change. Pleasing them is important. I shudder just imagining how accomplished a carver I’ll turn out to be,” she said, and raised the hand holding the smallest chisel.

She took a while to arrange her skirts to allow herself freedom of movement when she knelt, and voiced a quick prayer to make the carving justice. She knew there was a big difference between what she envisioned and what she might accomplish, and truly didn’t want to harm the tree. Like Aemond, the bark would be forever marked.

Onyx, her raven, landed on a branch, black wings spread, his curious, intense black eyes watching her with undivided attention. Other ravens joined him, but she didn’t pay them mind, saying, “I’ve tried to discover how they made the first carvings, where to begin from, but couldn’t find anything. So, I’m just going to start by the eyebrows.”

Forty minutes later, she took the handkerchief Lord Blackwood held out and wiped at the sweat at the roots of her hair. Her methodical work was paying off — she’d carved the contour of one eyebrow and eye, as well as some discreet laugh lines at the corner of the eye and above, at the “forehead”. Her fingers were stained red with the sap running off, and her smile was strained as she returned the handkerchief to Lord Blackwood. Still, she’d anticipated the sap running in heavy rivulets down the white bark, and planned to carve a smiling mouth, so the tree would appear to be laughing so hard, it cried.

“Shouldn’t you carve a serious face? I heard most faces are solemn,” Lady Baela asked.

“They are. The Blackwoods’ have a serious, but not unkind face,” she grinned up at Lord Blackwood, then glanced at Aemond’s cousin. “But for me, the godswood is a place meant to do one’s soul good. It’s where I feel at peace. If I’m sad, I come here to get cheered up. This is what I’m trying to convey.”

“Like the Mother’s statues are always benevolent,” Princess Rhaenys spoke up, and although she was serious, something about her bone structure made it look like she had a permanent smirk on her face.

“Precisely like that,” Ravella confirmed.

“So, you’re carving a female face?” Prince Lucerys asked.

“No, she’s carving Aemond’s,” the king’s hoarse voice made them all pause and look at him. Ravella tried to stand up and curtsy as everyone else, but Aemond’s father didn’t let her. “Keep on, child. Does he know?”

“It’s a surprise, Your Grace. He has no idea.”

Viserys chuckled. “I understand. That’s why he isn’t here, trying to stop you.”

“Why?” Prince Jacaerys asked, sneering. “Shouldn’t it be wrong to carve his face? Besides, he’s only got one eye…”

“This face will have one eye, too, when I’m finished,” Ravella gave him an ugly onceover. “As for it being wrong, I was going to carve up my father’s face, but then settled on Aemond’s.” Not because her father’s face wasn’t as vivid in her memory anymore, but because he hadn’t been haunted by a scar and painful memories that made him doubt his self-worth. “When I’m done, no one will have a choice but to see what I see when I look at my husband.”

Her response obviously angered the younger prince, but Ravella didn’t care. She was smiling to herself, her father-in-law’s smirk, so similar to Aemond’s, lost on her as she worked.

It didn’t take long for Lord Blackwood’s handkerchief to drip red, useless, so she started to wipe off the sap on her own gown, for she was risking slipping her hold on the chisels and cutting her fingers off — and Aemond would be furious, she thought to herself with a silent giggle.

The left eye was carved deep, the shape of an eyepatch surrounding it, a scar just like Aemond’s cutting through it. Then she looked around, and finding what she wanted, let out a little scream and held up the weirwood seed, meaning for it to represent Aemond’s sapphire eye, and used the chisel’s handle to secure it inside the eye after deepening a portion of the hole. The red sap made it appear like the improvised eyeball was bleeding, and while it wasn’t what she’d meant, she took great delight in the way Aemond’s family flinched.

She’d have to tell him about this, once they were alone in their room.

***

Aemond had no doubts where Ravella was, and the crowd around the heart tree confirmed his suspicions. He tried to keep his arrival a surprise, but her stupid raven, perched up in a branch, spread his wings and croaked in a shrill voice, “Toothleeesssss!”

He gritted his teeth. One day, he’d shoot an arrow between that little bastard’s tiny eyes and cook him into a stew. His anger inflamed when he saw Ravella’s shoulders shaking, though she did nothing to acknowledge his presence. She was the reason the cleverly evil animal called him that.

At least, no one seemed to catch up. He much preferred the raven calling him One-Eye. That was scarier than Toothless. The latter made Aemond suspect he’d lose fear and respect, as if his bite had no… well, bite. A toothless dragon, as his wife had put it.

“Aemond, come here,” Viserys said, so Aemond went to stand beside him, a little apart from the crowd. He scowled when the king mouthed silently, “Toothless?” and laughed when Aemond nodded, glaring a hole into Ravella’s head.

Please, gods, don’t let milk of the poppy make Father tell anyone about this, he prayed in thoughts. Aemond wouldn’t survive if Aegon were to find out. His elder brother could be mean when he wanted to — and he always wanted to.

“What do you think?” his father pointed to the tree.

“I—” he paused, doing a double take, frowning slightly before a foolish smile curved his lips and his heart skipped a beat when he realized what it was. “The woman’s infatuated,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.

Ravella laughed, not denying his words. “Just you wait until I start on the lips,” she said, her voice melodic.

“Ravella, don’t,” he crossed his arms, unwilling to blush. It wasn’t uncommon for Ravella to rub the pads of her fingers on his lips and comment on how much they were ‘begging for a sweet kiss’. If she did that to the tree, he’d be lost.

“Ravella, do,” she winked at him, laughing.

He sighed, shaking his head. His wife was impossible — it was why he loved her so.

As the hours passed, the crowd dwindled. Many left to have lunch, including his father, although the king returned not long after, accompanied by Aemond’s mother. Only Lord Blackwood, and the men sworn to him, remained throughout it.

“Is she supposed to do that?” Alicent asked, brow furrowed, and Aemond stopped watching his wife to look at her carving. It was his face, carved in gigantic proportions — his eyes alone were each the size of Ravella’s fist. But once she finished the face, she began carving a winged creature… not a dragon, but the ravens, especially the one looking over his shoulder, had a distinctive reptilian look about them, and he could also make out the faint shape of a butterfly’s fluttering wings.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, glancing at Lord Blackwood. “My lord?”

“Prince! Prince! Prince!” The raven next to Onyx croaked.

Samwell’s dark-gray eyes were covered in a milky-white curtain, but acquired some focus as he blinked to stare at Aemond, though they remained slightly vacant. It was pretty much the same way Ravella’s looked when she was warging. “My prince?”

“Is that supposed to happen?” Aemond nodded at the tree.

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” the man replied, but he didn’t sound worried. “It isn’t uncommon that the gods use us as tools to enforce their wills. I wouldn’t be concerned—”

The shrill scream that escaped Viserys’ mouth interrupted him.

***

“Ravella? Little butterfly, wake up,” the beloved voice came from a long distance.

“What?” she opened her eyes, and found herself staring at the reddened weirwood, a chisel two inches away on the ground, its broken end aimed at her eye. “Aemond?”

“My love,” her husband clutched her limp form to his chest, kissing her temple, and holding her tight. “You passed out. The maester is coming—”

“No,” she tried to stand up, and he helped her sit. “I don’t need a maester,” she held on to his wrist, though that was a lost battle. Aemond wouldn’t accept her rejecting an examination. “Everything I’m feeling is related to my moon’s blood.”

He nodded, but the concern didn’t leave his face. “I’d feel better if you saw him anyway. You fainted. Father had a seizure. We were rushing to his side when you simply dropped to the ground. I was so scared.”

While he carried her to their chambers, he told her about the incident — of how she and Lord Blackwood’s minds seemed to vanish, as if they were warging, and then the king screamed and passed out as well. Even her comment about his father’s frail health didn’t dissuade his resolve, so she accepted to see the maester, if only to tranquilize him before she explained that what had happened was magical in nature.

Grand Maester Orwyle said she was fine, so Ravella expected to be let go, but Aemond insisted she rest. “It’s late,” he pointed out, “you can’t finish the carving. You also need to eat.”

After studying him for a while, and disliking being the reason of his worry, she nodded. She didn’t like being bedridden, but as Rosey scolded her for being careless — spending so long under the sun, without eating, in her condition (as if Ravella were sick), when she knew fully well there were months her menses were terrible —, she didn’t put up a fight. But she insisted on seeing the king.

Surprisingly, Aemond didn’t argue. He took her hand and put it on his elbow for support, and let her determine the pace of their walk as they went to the king’s quarters. His mother met them by the door, her eyes rimmed red… a common occurrence as King Viserys got worse day after day. “How is he?” Aemond asked.

“Resting. The seizure didn’t cause any damage. However, the fall produced a new wound and—” the queen hid her face from view.

Aemond hugged his mother, and Ravella looked away. She couldn’t bear that forlorn look on his face. For all the complications in his relationship with his father, Aemond didn’t hate him. His current despair was directed as much at the disease eating at the king, making his flesh decay as if he were a corpse, as it was at his inability to shield his mother, because that’s what he judged his lot in life: to protect the people he loved.

“Can we go in?” he asked.

“Of course,” she wiped at her tears. “Everyone’s come to see him. Rhaenyra left a few minutes ago. I believe she means to fly to Essos, discover if anyone has developed a similar disease.”

Search parties had been sent in the past, Ravella knew. But it seemed like King Viserys’ disease was unique. Maybe a dragonrider could go farther; the envoys the Crown had sent went as far as Norvos.

Ravella stayed close to the queen, assuring her she was fine, and attributing her fainting to her menses and lack of eating. As Alicent reprehended her, fretting with motherly concern like Rosey, she watched Aemond approach his father’s bed, as if afraid of what he might find. She averted her gaze, ashamed and jealous both, that Aemond had parents to worry about and for, while she didn’t. She had a family — her mother’s family in Dorne, as well as Aemond’s relatives —, but they weren’t her parents. She had two mother figures, but neither her grandmother nor Alicent were her mother, the same way Uncle Arthur wasn’t her father, though she loved them with all her heart.

It was unfair that her mother was taken from the side of the husband she’d given up so much for, and the child they’d spent so long yearning for, that her father didn’t get to live long enough to see his only daughter grow up and marry a man he’d have approved of. Deep down, Ravella was terrified of the same happening to herself.

“Excuse me, Your Grace, Lady Ravella,” she greeted Ser Steffon Darklyn without paying attention, “Princess Rhaenyra requests your presence.”

Alicent answered, “Please, ser, tell her we’ll join her shortly.”

The man nodded and walked away, leaving them with Ser Criston Cole, Alicent’s sworn shield. “Don’t worry about him, Your Grace. If there’s anything to be done to help the king, we’ll find a way,” Ravella said, smiling at the older woman.

“He’s unconscious,” Aemond said, having ended his visit.

“That’s because of the sweetsleep. He was in a lot of pain. Would you join Rhaenyra and the others now?”

Ravella could tell he didn’t like the idea, but he wasn’t about to deny his mother, so the three of them went to the chamber where the Princess of Dragonstone waited with the rest of the family. Aemond was the first one to go in, a scowl on his face after Ravella pointed out she and Alicent weren’t Targaryen enough to.

Soon enough, the adult and teenaged dragonriders were in a heated discussion about the king’s health, so Alicent, as his caretaker, cleared her throat and stated the facts, “Viserys isn’t getting better. No matter what we do, the most we’ve accomplished is delaying the inevitable.”

“Is he—?” Prince Daemon asked. Ravella felt sorry for the king’s younger brother. They were close, and hearing that the person one admired the most was dying had to hurt.

“I believe so,” the queen’s face was sympathetic. “Grandmaester Orwyle has said he can help with the pain, but the wounds… won’t be stopped. They come and take on a strange shape. You’ve seen it, Prince Daemon.”

“I’ll fly to Essos. Someone must know what’s happening to him,” the Rogue Prince began pacing. “A reward should be offered for information—”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell if the information you get is real,” Ravella interrupted. For some reason, the older prince paid attention to her. She leaned forward, “I don’t know what you mean to do, but payment isn’t enough. And even if the information makes him feel better, I don’t know if it’s enough to restore his health. Doesn’t mean you can’t try, though.”

“What do you suggest?” Aemond’s uncle asked.

She looked around, and noticed everyone was holding their breath. Even Aemond. She rubbed her lips together, and said, “If I were a dragonrider, I’d search in Essos, flying past Qarth, to Volatis. I’d go to Pentos and Braavos and Asshai. I’d even go to Ibben, talk to the Jogos Nhai, the Dothraki… I’d also send someone to the Citadel, and to the Wall, to search the records there. I mean, I’ve never heard of anyone suffering from the same condition as the king. Doesn’t mean anything, really. But I wonder if this isn’t something he caught after flying somewhere he shouldn’t with Balerion.”

“You mean like Princess Aerea?” Aemond asked.

Ravella nodded. “Exactly like her.” Aerea Targaryen held the distinctive honor of having been the heir to the Iron Throne under two different kings; however, what truly mattered was her mysterious disappearance and death two years after claiming her dragon, Balerion — the same one Viserys claimed decades later. Something had happened to the Black Dread, which returned with a huge wound on his flank, while Princess Aerea boiled from the inside out from a fever.

At least, that was the official story. Reality was far more sinister, and Ravella only knew of it because Aemond had told her — the long-deceased Septon Barth and Grand Maester Benifer were the only two people who’d had access to the dying princess, and agreed to never speak of her death to anyone, even her family. Still, the memories of her last hours were so haunting, both men had written detailed accounts of it, and hid their diaries, which Aemond somehow uncovered some years ago while researching something about his House’s history.

“You should tell them,” Ravella said, touching his hand, when his relatives merely stared at them.

Aemond took a deep breath. “I’d better read it,” he said. When he came back, it was with a scroll — he’d copied the writings of both septon and maester because the diaries were too old, falling apart. “From Grand Maester Benifer,” he started after clearing his throat.

I joined the Citadel thinking I’d achieve as much success as a boy born in my conditions could. I did — the son of a stonemason and a kitchen girl became the Grand Maester for King Jaehaerys Targaryen. Serving the king, I’ve had the opportunity to continue learning and teaching, cultivating the clarity of thought that my mentors stimulated in order to clear one’s mind from worldly preoccupations so we could unlock the secrets of the world. That came in handy for a man like me, who isn’t of blind faith like Septon Barth, even if I’m willing to admit there are times when all hope seems lost… until it isn’t. There is something out there, even when my eyes can’t see, but most times, I don’t know if that something is the gods, or not. I used to be at peace with this uncertainty, for it brought me relief and a sense of security. My easiness died the day Princess Aerea turned out to be my greatest lesson.

The moon turned twice since her return to King’s Landing and death. Something that should’ve filled us with joy turned out to be a nightmare — not that anyone but Septon Barth and I known it, naturally. Perhaps Ser Lucamore suspects, as he was the one person who had contact with the poor girl.

Barth and I agreed to never speak of it, but I can’t avoid thinking about everything that happened since Ser Lucamore placed her on my table. So I write it down, in the hopes the parchment will absorb my horror with the same diligence it does the ink. That the sand I pour once I’m finished covers the weight in my heart. It’s hopeless, I know. But if the Seven are good, they’ll grant me the gift of forgetfulness as I grow older… if only I were sure what’s out there is the Seven, and not something else.

When I saw the princess, I thought she’d been tortured — she was skinny, just a bag of rattling bones with some strange cyst-like swellings underneath her skin. But when I touched her brow, I noticed she had a fever. I drew her many cold baths, and brewed so many teas, it looked like I was seasoning a piece of meat. Perhaps the comparison is unfortunate, because that’s what was happening to the poor princess. Nothing I did helped, and she got worse. No disease, not even greyscale, had ever made me feel so incompetent before. Everything I did turned out to be insufficient, and even milk of the poppy failed to give the young princess any relief.

When, after hours, it became clear to me that my efforts to lower her fever only seemed to make her worse, I heaved a sigh of defeat and called for Barth, while doing my best to keep the King and the Queen out of my lab. By the time the septon got here, the princess’s dried skin was bright red, as if she were losing buckets of blood and had red-hot lava burning in her veins.

The worst part was her talking. Something had gotten to the princess, but she never said what. Only apologies and assurances of her non-ill intentions were muttered through cracked and bloody lips. Her pleas for death would’ve shattered even the foulest man’s heart, I’m sure.

And yet, inspired by something — Barth’s unwavering faith, I think —, I found new strength to carry on the efforts to save that child’s life. I failed. But what happened while Aerea Targaryen’s body failed was much worse. When the fever reached such a degree that her eyes cracked like eggs and exploded inside her skull… I thought it was over, for no one could survive that. But then, as Barth and I lowered her into the last, coldest bath I could draw, feeling the cysts press up against our hands, her skin broke, letting out things that squirmed and wiggled in the water, letting out chilling, low little screams of their own, as if they were being tortured.

I’ve never seen an end so painful or agonizing as that of Princess Aerea Targaryen. I often wake up in the middle of the night, from a nightmare. I wonder if the child knew she was dying, if she had conscience of it. If, even with all the milk of the poppy I gave her, she was still lucid, trapped in the horror of her own body, a part of her mind watching as if it were happening to someone else. And I can’t tell if it’s worse that she was or not. Other times, I dream of her accusing violet eyes, weeping blood while she, from the depths of her ravaged throat, demands to know why I didn’t save her, or why I didn’t let her die sooner.

I wonder if Barth thinks there was a reason why a child so young had to through something so terrible. To me, a man not well-versed in the will of the gods, what happened to Aerea Targaryen looks like a deliberately, exceedingly cruel punishment for some perceived slight. That is, if what happened to her was brought on by the gods instead of some other, evil force.

Barth’s certain the Princess attracted the attention of something in the ruins of Valyria; it’d explain the injury on Balerion’s side, the one that isn’t healing. However, I can’t help but go a step further: Aerea was infected with something. Not knowing how she got those human-faced maggots into her body, I can’t help but wonder if she wasn’t held captive and experimented on, like the animals kept at the Citadel for vivisections. And if the people who put those things in her didn’t release her with the intention that those maggots break out and spread. And now I’m afraid of thinking more of it, because the ones who hurt her are still out there somewhere.

I wish I could forget what I saw, but it’s branded on my brain — even if I were to give in to the urge of gouging out my eyes, the last hours of Princess Aerea Targaryen on this earth would be my last sight. The horrifying image of her emaciated, burning body, and the things that burst through her skin could drive even a wildling from beyond the Wall mad. I’d welcome the sweetness of losing my mind, but I fear this is a nightmare I’ll never wake up from.

He looked around the table, saying, “Septon Barth’s more detailed. Pay attention,” and went on to read the septon’s recounting.

Having Aemond tell her of the princess’s death was one thing, but hearing the accounts of two witnesses made it real, especially because Aemond hadn’t described the poor girl’s death with so many stomach-churning details. Ravella’s heart broke for the princess, whose only wish in life was to have a home.

She frowned, biting down on her lips, fisting her hands so tight, she almost drew blood. She wanted to find whatever did that to a child and kill them. Punish them. But there was nothing she could do, so she prayed that, whatever happened to a Targaryen after death, Aerea was in a better place now, where nothing and no one could hurt her, that she was back together with her beloved twin sister and both of them finally had a bond with their mother, Princess Rhaena, who spent months flying the skies in search of her daughter, but couldn’t make it back to King’s Landing to see her one last time.

Aemond’s soft touch startled her, so she whipped her head to stare at him. After giving her hand a squeeze, he put the papers on the table, and said, “Balerion was the first dragon to live in the Pit. I wonder if the injury he suffered was so great that it made him more susceptible to death.”

“Forty years doesn’t seem so short, cousin,” Princess Rhaenys said.

“For us, maybe. But dragons can live centuries,” he looked at his uncle. “Do you know if anything happened to Father?”

“What do you mean?”

“A wound or injury or illness… Anything that could explain what’s happening to him,” he pressed.

Daemon thought about it. “He tried to fly Balerion to Dragonstone the day he claimed him, but Balerion wouldn’t go. A year later, he was dead.”

“And he never tried to claim another dragon?” Alicent asked.

The king’s brother shook his head. “No dragonrider has ever had two mounts.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” Aegon spoke up. “Maybe he could try now. Vermithor and Silverwing are riderless and know him. He could try.”

“Dragons make a rider stronger. That’s why I was able to recover so fast,” Aemond whispered to her while his family debated Aegon’s suggestion.

“What no one is taking into account,” Rhaenyra spoke up, “is that Father has never tried to claim another dragon. I wish he would, brother,” she locked gazes with Aegon, “but he told me once that we’ve fooled ourselves into believing we control dragons.”

“We wouldn’t have made that mistake if every living Targaryen knew of Princess Aerea,” Aemond retorted, his voice dry.

His half-sister nodded, gracefully conceding the point. “I imagine there was a reason behind King Jaehaerys’ decision to keep her death a secret. He should’ve shared it with his children,” she glanced at Rhaenys, “Did your father never say anything?”

The Lady of Driftmark shook her head. “That was so long before my father’s birth… the only thing he said was that he believed Princess Aerea contracted a mysterious fever in Valyria.”

“How did he explain the Doctrine of Exceptionalism?” Alicent asked. Everyone looked at her. “You know what it is.”

“Targaryen superiority,” Daemon surmised.

“Yes. What I mean is, if Targaryens are so superior, how did a princess bonded to a dragon — the greatest living dragon, no less — die from a fever?” the queen stared at each one. “Someone should’ve suspected there was something wrong.”

“True,” Daemon crossed his arms. “They blamed it on Valyria, though. Barth believes that’s where Balerion took her. You disagree?” he inquired of Aemond, who was shaking his head.

“The Conqueror went to Volantis before he came to Westeros. He flew over Valyria and didn’t see anyone but stone men; same with older ancestors. I think if anyone lived there, they’d have tried to capture the dragons and riders they saw, right?” he sighed. “I’m not saying Balerion didn’t take her there, only—”

“What happened to the princess was magical, not a disease of the body,” Ravella said, covering his hand with hers. “Like greyscale is said to be a curse of a Rhoynish prince against Valyria.”

“Don’t stop now,” Princess Rhaenyra asked. Ravella was sorry the other woman was so anguished about the king that she was willing to consider what most would call ramblings.

Aemond’s encouraging squeeze gave her some strength. She grinned at him before saying, carefully, “I’m a skinchanger. I can… transpose my conscience to that of a raven if I so choose. It isn’t something that’s perfected like dragon binding, but my family has been gifted with this ability, which I inherited from my father. House Targaryen, more than dragonriding, can see the future,” she glanced at Helaena briefly. “That’s why you were able to escape the Doom. Only… I read in a book that ancient Valyrians used blood magic to create and tame dragons, so I wonder if it could also be used to twist the dragon-rider bond.”

“Meaning…?” Princess Rhaenyra leaned forward.

“If you found the right spell, you could bind King Viserys to a dragon, even if he didn’t want it — the objective isn’t making him ride the dragon, but to keep him alive. I also wonder if there’s another spell to break the bond, make the dragon turn on its previous rider.”

“You think that’s what happened to Aerea,” Aegon guessed, suddenly sharp. It was a wonder he wasn’t yet drunk.

“To a small extent, yes,” she glanced at Aemond. “What happens when a rider gets hurt?”

He didn’t consider her question strange, though his family did. “The day I lost my eye, Vhagar rose to the sky, roaring.”

A silence fell upon them, broken by Helaena, “Dreamfyre went feral while I was giving birth.”

“I had to go to the Pit and take control of her,” Aegon confirmed.

“I had to do the same while Laena gave birth,” Daemon said, refusing to meet Rhaenys and his daughters’ eyes.

“Syrax has always been protective of me,” Rhaenyra said. After her words, they all looked down, pondering on the implications of that.

“Vhagar’s been crazy of late. She’s irritable, like an annoyed old person,” Aemond revealed, and although his thumb was tracing circles over Ravella’s palm beneath the table, his eye was locked on Prince Lucerys. “I doubt I’d be able to control her if we met with Lucerys and Arrax up in the sky.”

“Doesn’t she obey you anymore?” Daemon demanded.

“It isn’t that. She obeys me just fine. But she registers Arrax’s presence in the Pit, and becomes a hound sniffing blood. She doesn’t let me walk away from her. I can tell it’s Arrax because she changes completely. Even when I mount her, she gets different. It’s difficult to explain.”

“In that case, we must keep Vhagar away from Prince Lucerys and his dragon,” Ravella said.

“I agree,” Rhaenyra said, glancing at her middle son with a warning glare. “However, I must ask what you mean by Vhagar doesn’t let you walk away, brother.”

Aemond spread his hands. “When I try, she uses her snout, her paws or her tail to shove me behind her. Some weeks ago, she held me between her talons and flew to the kingswood. I felt like a squirrel caught by a hawk. It’s worse if I am with my left to the Pit, like she considers it her duty to guard me because she knows I can’t see.”

“She’s only started to do that now?” Daemon asked.

“She’s always done that. Not to the point of shoving me, though. At most, she’d look left and growl. Now she seems to consider it useless.”

“Any theories?” Rhaenys asked.

Aemond glared at his cousin. “As a matter of fact, yes. Everyone was so amazed that your daughter chose to die valiantly, like a dragonrider,” sarcasm dripped off his words, “that nobody stopped to think what Laena ordering Vhagar to kill her did to Vhagar. Dragons are bred to protect their riders, but Laena refused to take up a dagger or something else and had her own dragon burn her to death. Vhagar had to obey the very thing dragons are trained to avoid.”

“And you claimed her a few days after that…” the older princess said, eyes widening at the implications of it.

A hard nod. “I was a child at the time, so I lacked the maturity to think of it, but now, I believe Vhagar would kill Lucerys even if I specifically ordered her not to. She’d consider it acceptable disobedience to fulfill her duty.”

“She’d see it as protecting you from yourself,” Daemon spoke up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seven hells.”

“I also vouch for keeping Prince Lucerys away from my son and his dragon,” Alicent spoke up, thoughtful. “Given the circumstances, it might be for the best.”

“Yes, well, Vhagar is the most fearsome war dragon of our time. We must find that spell Lady Whitmore mentioned, if only to fix whatever broke in her with Laena’s death,” Daemon said.

“How do we do that?” Alicent asked.

“Searching the best records in our possessions,” Aemond said, looking around. “We must fly to the Wall, Dragonstone and Oldtown. Their archives are enormous, and one of us will find something about magic. That is, of course, assuming there’s such a spell.”

***

“Are you really going to take me to the Wall?” Ravella asked when they were alone in their chambers.

“Yes, unless you don’t want to go…” he inclined his head. “Why do you always get nervous when we talk of it, butterfly?”

She sighed, and Aemond got worried at the tears welling up in her eyes. “There are many horror stories about the Wall.”

He nodded. “True, but that’s to be expected. The Wall is a formidable structure defended by one of the oldest military organizations in the world. But there’s no need to fear, my love. We’ll be together at all times. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know,” she smiled, looking down, at the entwined hands. Her next question, though, made the worry return to his heart. “Have you ever felt like Vhagar is too much for you to handle?”

“The day I claimed her, I thought she was going to burn me,” when she arched a brow, he said, “I tried to touch the ropes so I could climb, but she kept snapping her gaze to me, her mouth open, a ball of fire at the back of her throat. I was scared.”

“But have you never felt like she could be your doom, as well?”

“Being burned to death by a dragon I was trying to claim sounds like doom.”

“I mean, something worse than that? Worse than losing your eye,” she hurried to add.

Aemond frowned, then looked ahead, his gaze losing itself in the fireplace. Inside his chest, his heart was beating frantically to shake off the cold spreading through him. There was a hidden meaning to her question, and though he didn’t know what, he disliked it already. “The only thing worse I can think of is losing you. I’d give up my other eye for you.”

There was something wrong with the way she exhaled — it was too shaky, almost as if her ribs were rattling.

“I made a mistake—” she started. “It was an accident, but… have I ever told you it’s possible for a skinchanger to lose themselves to the animal?”

He peered at her. “What do you mean?”

“If a skinchanger spends too long inside the animal, they’ll be trapped there, in the animal’s body.”

“Has it happened to you?”

“No. Not that. But…” startled, he realized her hands were cold, and a blue tint painted the contours of her lips purple. She followed him to the settee in front of the fireplace, and didn’t complain when he covered her with a duvet. That only worried him more. Ravella wasn’t cold, he knew, because she was a vocal complainer — the physical reactions were a result of fear, and her conforming meant she needed what few comforts he could offer.

He poured her a cup of wine, too. It’d help.

“I visited the north when I was eight, after my father was invited to a tourney held in Winterfell.” She licked her lower lip, where a drop of wine was threatening to fall off. “In hindsight, I believe Lord Stark was going to propose a marriage alliance between me and his son, but Father was determined to keep me as heir, which would be impossible if I married a Lord Paramount’s.”

“I like your father,” Aemond drawled, fighting against the urge of getting upon Vhagar and melting every snowflake in the north, especially the ones that landed upon Cregan Stark. It wasn’t the man’s fault that his father had that unfortunate idea of stealing Ravella away — but he’d have benefited from it, and that was enough.

His wife kissed his cheek, saying, “You dislike Onyx, though.” Not explaining that comment, she grew serious again. “The day we left Winterfell, Father took me to the Wall. He wanted to see it after hearing a wandering crow speak of it. When we got there, as guests in Castle Black, I saw a raven perching on a tree in the forest, and skinchanged it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but at the time, it felt like an adventure. A group of rangers was riding into the forest, and we followed them. But the raven was faster, and we soon outflew them, going deep into the haunted forest. There was this stone ringwall on the top of a hill, which I later discovered was the Fist of the First Men. We flew past that, until the raven found a tree where other ravens were, overlooking another group of rangers. I could see there was something coming, but no matter how loud I screamed, they didn’t pay attention to us, even after the other ravens joined me. That was when one ran away, and the others… one climbed up a tree, the last one drew his sword when he saw this… white thing with steam… fog? I don’t know, there was just smoke coming off its body, emerge from the snow-covered trees. One, two, three… six of them. The Others. I screeched and screeched, but the ranger didn’t care. He challenged the Other and died. When his friend climbed down, also ignoring my screeching, the dead ranger rose and killed him… and looked up. And while his eyes had been black in life, in death they gleamed blue. Bluer than your sapphire. He knew we were there, and that’s when I left the raven,” her lips shook as she finished. “I woke up in the Lord Commander’s chambers, to a Black Brother scolding my father for not teaching me how to skinchange properly.”

“What happened after?” he asked.

“Father offered to make a very generous donation to the Night’s Watch if the Lord Commander allowed that man to accompany us to the Park, where he’d teach me more about skinchanging. My father knew something of it, but his knowledge was rudimentary, whereas Thoren grew up knowing as much about it as possible. He was born as one of the free folk — that’s how the wildlings call themselves —, and taken in by the Watch after his family’s death. Anyway, the Lord Commander accepted my father’s offer, and Thoren fulfilled his end of the bargain. He was so disgusted when he realized skinchanging was instinctive south of the Wall,” she shook her head, drinking her wine.

“Didn’t they do anything about the Others?” Aemond asked.

“They can’t. The Watch is dwindling, and even if not, there aren’t many people who believe the Others are real. It’s terrible. That’s why I got nervous on the isle and asked you to sing. I’ve always known the Others would return, I just never thought I might witness it.”

He sighed. His poor little butterfly. “You stay here. I’ll get Vhagar and fly beyond the Wall—”

She lunged to her feet, and next thing he knew, she was gripping his hands, knelling on the floor between his legs, frantic and choking on her own breathing. “Don’t! Please, don’t do this! Promise me you won’t!”

He didn’t care for histrionics, being too rational to withstand those. But Ravella’s agitation made him pause. He pulled her close, and not breaking their gaze, vowed, “I won’t. Be calm, my love. I’ll need your help, though — I must find this Thoren, so I can make the threat coming our way known. Will you help me?”

“Yes,” she said, fisting her hand through his hair, forcing his neck to move so she could press their lips together. He felt the salt of her tears. “Just don’t endanger yourself. Please—”

He promised again that he wouldn’t, his voice sweet and soft. It took a while, but eventually, her terror faded, so he carried her back to their bed, where they made love until clarity returned to her, and she realized she needn’t fear for his wellbeing. If there were monsters coming their way, Aemond would do exactly what the dragon in Helaena’s dream did — wrap her under the veil of his protection, and keep her safe.

***

Ravella was able to finish her carving the following afternoon. By then, Helaena and Aegon had traveled to Oldtown, under the excuse of visiting their younger brother, Daeron, and Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and stepdaughters were back on Dragonstone. She and Aemond would go north, straight to Castle Black, though he’d tried to convince her to stay as Lord Umber’s guest.

The little spitfire was determined to not let him out of her sight, though.

While they waited for Vhagar to land on the rocky cliffs beneath the Keep, Aemond turned to his mother. “What’s wrong with her?”

It didn’t surprise him that Alicent noticed his wife’s distress, but he refused to add to her worry. Her entire married life, she spent believing Rhaenyra would kill her children; he didn’t want to contemplate how she’d react if he told her all the horror stories they heard as children were real. At least, until he had proof. “She’s worried about Father. And about Vhagar killing Luke,” he grinned.

“You never said anything—” his mother started.

“I didn’t know, Mother,” he stared at her. He was a man grown, but if she were to pull him into her arms and give him one of those fierce hugs, he wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t too grown up to reject her affection. “I haven’t seen Luke since that night. Now that I know how Vhagar feels, I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at him. The smile was a bright one when she looked at Ravella again. “Vhagar loves her.”

He fully turned so he could watch as his wife placed the center of Vhagar’s snout with kisses and whispered some low words that made the enormous beast rumble. Around her, the dragon was as docile as one of the kittens Lady Stokeworth carried around. That was a result of Vhagar understanding the depth of Ravella’s bond to Aemond, the intensity of his love for her… and his training to protect Ravella in case of need. But mostly, it was about Ravella. Vhagar could sense her distress and was being extra careful with her; their bond was pulling at him, as if there was a question the dragon was dying to ask, but couldn’t, so he kept pushing back at it, signaling they had to be careful with her, because she was hurting.

“Vhagar has incredible taste,” he smiled. “We’ll be back soon. Maybe one of the rangers will have reports of a disease similar to Father’s, and a cure,” he kissed her hand. “I’ll write to you.”

“May the gods bless you so, my son,” she hugged him.

He stepped away, and nodded at Cole. He didn’t instruct his mentor to guard the queen, because he knew the man would — with his life. Instead, he walked away, only looking at his mother and waving before climbing onto Vhagar’s back, Ravella tucked safely between his thighs.

“Time to spread your wings, little butterfly,” he kissed her cheek, laughed when sand flew everywhere as Vhagar lifted her paws and took off.

“Can we make a detour to the Isle before we go?” Ravella asked.

“Anything you want, my love,” he confirmed. Finding a cure for his father’s ailment was important, but nothing mattered more than Ravella. She’d find sanctuary on the Isle, revel in the knowledge the Others were kept at bay, at least for now.

He didn’t bother to land close to Harrenhal this time, taking Vhagar straight to the isle in the middle of the lake. The dragon’s wings beat up while Aemond, holding Ravella, climbed down the ropes until dropping to the ground. While she removed the cap and shook her shoulders, he watched as Vhagar landed on the other side of the Trident and curled around herself to wait for them.

He took her hand again, a bag of corn and a light meal on his other hand, and together, they made the path to the center of the isle. It seemed to him the path was easier to follow… cleaner, though the sun would set in a few hours. “Prince! Prince! Prince!” some ravens shrieked.

“Grain!” another begged.

Ravella laughed, and Aemond shook his head, pleased at the sound. If the little beasts could make her easier, he’d give her a hundred ravens and let them call him names.

“To the table,” he mumbled, and the animals followed.

By the time they made it there, the trees’ branches were heavy with birds. He opened the bag with his dagger and threw all the corn on its top, letting the animals feast. Then, he took out the meal prepared for them and arranged it between them, to the right of the ravens.

Ravella grinned when he showed her the piece of obsidian he’d found, so he placed the long, tooth-shaped black piece on her hand with utmost care. The first time they came here, there was one on the same spot, almost as if someone had forgotten it. Now, Aemond believed whoever had left this one — and he liked thinking it was a child of the forest —, had intended for it to be found.

“Tell me about your childhood. A happy memory,” he asked.

She looked at a tree, and sighed. “In the first days following my father’s death, it looked like there was a raven following me. Not Onyx. He’d come and perch at any available space and watch me. If I were crying, he’d fly close and rub his head on my cheeks to dry my tears. One day, I asked if there was someone inside, and he just… tilted his head. So, I took a deep breath and skinchanged him. The first thing I knew was that my father was there, saying it’d taken me long enough.”

“Your father?” he repeated, brow furrowed.

“My father,” she nodded, a blinding smile on her face. “It isn’t uncommon that skinchangers pick an animal to live on after their bodies die. My father wasn’t ready to leave me alone. When I came to King’s Landing, he went into a dog.”

He remembered the furry animal that had followed her everywhere and slept on her bed, accordingly to Helaena. “And you could talk to him,” he guessed.

“If I skinchanged, I knew he was there, and he offered some comfort… not a conversation. It’s just that I knew him, and could tell his mood. However, his soul faded as the years passed, and now there isn’t much of him left. Onyx is a reminder. There isn’t a lot of him there anymore,” she reached out for his hand. “I wish there were, if only so he could see for himself that he could rest, as I finally had found the same thing he had with my mother. He’d have adored you.”

Her words made his throat tight. “And I’d have adored him as if he were my own father,” he kissed her hand. “He—” something behind her caught his attention. Carefully, Aemond picked up the shard of obsidian and held it up, “We’re guests here! Come share a meal with us and get your weapon back!” he called out.

Ravella grinned, her tension momentarily forgotten. She inclined her body, resting a forearm on the top of the table, and waited. After a long time, the bushes shuffled again, to reveal a nut-brown, bright-eyed, skittish… being.

A child of the forest, he thought, putting the obsidian shard to his right, and moving the platter of fruits close to it. He and Ravella held still as the child approached, weary; Aemond didn’t repeat his offer, though a smile opened up as the child selected a berry and took it to its mouth, before reattaching the obsidian to the end of what he realized was a spear. The maesters said they hunted and warred with obsidian.

“You came on the dragon,” the child said, and his voice didn’t look like that of a child’s. Despite his size — he reached Aemond’s hips —, he sounded like an adult, burdened by an ancient knowledge. He sounded like Vhagar would if she could talk, Aemond decided.

He nodded in confirmation. “Vhagar is her name. She’s bonded to me. I’m—”

“Prince Aemond, the One-Eyed Dragon.”

He arched his brows. “You know me?”

“Of course. The gods watch, though they’re eyeless.” A jerky twitch of large ears that looked like a cat’s. “You’re a Whitmore from Whitmore Park,” he addressed Ravella.

“Yes,” she beamed. “Is it that obvious?”

“We’ve watched you, too. I saw you as a baby in your cradle, before I returned home. We always visit those who keep the faith.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Not one you can pronounce,” he told Aemond, “though she might learn.”

“She’s perfect,” he agreed.

The child frowned. “You mean it,” he turned to Ravella, looking puzzled, “It isn’t a lie.”

While she was nodding, Aemond said, “Of course not. I love her. How do we call you?”

“How do you want to call me?”

“This one’s a bit too frustrating for me,” he told Ravella with a sigh.

She laughed. “Is Berry alright?”

The child looked at the fruit he held in his four-fingered hand. “I’m eating a berry,” he pointed out, and smiled. “Yes, it’s alright.”

“How do you speak the Common Tongue?” Ravella asked.

“One of my kin left the isle when young and explored the world. When she came back, she taught us all she had learned. Now it’s my turn to share the stories, but I want to meet the dreamer and the greenseer,” Berry answered.

“Excuse me?” A glance at Ravella revealed she didn’t understand it, either.

“The dreamer and the greenseer. They are close to you.”

“Are they?” Aemond exchanged a look with Ravella. She shrugged, indicating she didn’t know what Berry meant.

“Yes. I have to open the greenseer’s third eye.”

“Why?”

“It’ll be necessary, for when they come.”

“Who?” Aemond was feeling slightly stupid.

“The Others.”

Ravella choked on her drink and stood up, back stiff, saying she had to pray. While she did, Aemond turned to Berry, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. The greenseer—”

“Berry, please,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know the greenseer you’re looking for. The only thing I know is legends.”

“The Song of Ice and Fire,” the child supplied.

Aemond frowned. He was the family’s scholar; he’d found some scrolls about it. Coming across a copy of Daenys Targaryen’s Signs and Portents had made him research everything he could about what it could be about. He’d concluded it was the long night, and although he knew he wasn’t the Prince that was Promised — the hero who’d defeat the darkness that spread over the world —, he’d hoped. At eight, he was determined to make his ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, proud.

And he was convinced it was the only way to make his father see him. Not only Rhaenyra.

Now? He understood his father had groomed Rhaenyra to birth the Prince, because he didn’t consider any of his own sons worthy. And after he’d lost his eyesight, even Aemond agreed. The hero couldn’t be a cripple, a drunkard or a child. Daeron had potential, but if Berry was telling the truth, the Prince had to be an adult, fully matured and capable of leading as well as fighting.

“Why not the Starks?” he asked. “They’ve been here since the long night. Bran the Builder was the last hero, wasn’t he?”

“The Starks will be important, too. But the Prince that was Promised comes from the line of Aegon the Dragon. He’s the ruler of Westeros.”

“Then we’re lost,” Aemond shook his head. “The ruler of Westeros is anything but a warrior.”

“The ruler of Westeros will be,” Berry corrected.

Aemond thought of it. “When?” he asked.

“Soon.”

“Be a little specific, please.”

“Within your lifetime, Dragon Prince,” the child sounded irritated. “You’ll see for yourself.”

“My sister—”

“Have a role to play, as does everyone. They aren’t the Prince. The Prince that was Promised must be born of ice and fire, that’s the only way to claim the Song. Your sisters aren’t. Neither are their children.”

“You mean both of them,” he shook his head. “What can you tell us?”

“You must go to the Wall.”

Aemond nodded. “We are going. We stopped here because Ravella needed—”

“She’s a woman of faith. And good taste, too,” the child said, watching Aemond’s staff. Though the request remained unspoken, Aemond retrieved it, laying it on top of the table for Berry’s perusal. “You shall use it in battle soon. When you lift it over your head, it shall cast light over the world.”

“Please, no prophecies,” Aemond said.

Berry laughed, sounding just like his father. “You wanted me to tell the future. I can’t tell you much but what you already understand deep in your heart: the world’s going to unravel, and if you hope to set it right, you must fight twice as hard.”

“Stop making me curious,” he groaned.

Another chuckle. “Very well, Aemond Targaryen, I won’t burden you with your future, but I’ll extend the gift of the old gods over you if you’d allow me to.”

“I would, if you told me why,” he straightened his back, serious. “I’m not belittling your offer, Berry, but I don’t follow the old gods. I’ll consider their favor a great honor, because of my wife—” he trailed off. Berry looked straight ahead. Aemond turned to follow the direction of his gaze. Ravella still had her back to them, and it seemed, for a fleeting second, that the tree she was kneeling in front of, was weeping. “She deserves the honor of being gifted by the old gods. I don’t.”

The child tilted his head, his big golden eyes slightly narrowed. “Would you like to bear it for her?”

Aemond swallowed. The tree she was in front of was one of the few ones with a beam carved on its bark. “For Ravella, then,” he got to his feet, obeying Berry’s order to go away.

***

The sky was painted in shades of pink, orange and gold, some parts already the purple that came before the velvet black of night. Some lonely stars shone up in the distance. They sighted Winterfell at the same time, and Aemond made the decision of stopping there for a while, landing on the winter town outside the double walls. People pointed and whispered, bending their knees when they saw him — with a dragon, there was no doubt he had to be a Targaryen. It was a blessing, really, to be identified due to Vhagar and not the eyepatch, he thought as the gates to the keep opened, and when they went in, it was to find an army of people kneeling. “Lord Stark, please. We’re but guests here,” he said, uncomfortable.

“Welcome to Winterfell, my prince,” Cregan Stark said, standing. When he smiled at Ravella, Aemond made conscious effort to avoid breaking all his teeth. “Lady Whitmore.”

“Thank you, my lord,” they said together.

“Allow me to introduce my lady wife, Lady Arra,” he said, motioning to the petite woman with ash-blonde hair beside him. Her overcoat opened to reveal her swollen belly. Aemond wasn’t calmer by knowing she was pregnant. In fact, wondering how that woman was able to walk without falling face first only added to his pessimism.

“A pleasure, my lady,” he bowed and kissed her hand. He didn’t hide his surprise when Ravella simply took a step forward and exchanged hugs and kisses with Lady Stark.

Not only that, but Arra Norrey threw etiquette to the wind and clutched Ravella to her. Laughing, they walked into the castle at a sedate pace, so Lady Arra didn’t tumble.

“I’m afraid our wives became good friends as children,” Cregan smirked. “She was heartbroken she couldn’t attend your wedding.”

Aemond followed Lord Stark inside. Like Samwell Blackwood, Cregan was a few years older than himself. “If I had known Lady Stark and Ravella were such good friends, I’d have flown her to King’s Landing, like I did the Daynes.”

“That’s very thoughtful, my prince, though I’m afraid we wouldn’t have been able to accept it. Arra’s pregnancy has been hard on her. The maester says two babies drain her strength.”

“Two?” he widened his eye, but ended up smiling. “Congratulations, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

“Although, now that I’ve heard of Lady Arra’s struggles, I’m ashamed of coming here unannounced. In my defense, flying by without acknowledging House Stark felt incredibly rude.”

“If you want to make up for it, you can send reinforcements to the Watch, Prince Aemond.”

Startled at the man’s audacity, Aemond stared at him. Then, he burst out laughing. “I like your daring, my lord. Tell me how I can help, I’ll take this issue to the King in person.”

As Cregan Stark spoke, he decided stopping at Winterfell wasn’t his best decision. Throughout the night, the young lord painted an ugly picture of rangers lost beyond the Wall, and deserters executed in the south. Aemond knew he had to approach the subject with utmost care when he returned to King’s Landing. But, he thought hours later, laying under the furs next to Ravella, how could he ask men to die in the cold waste up north and act as if their lives had no valor, when the threat was against everyone, including himself?

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond smut

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ofcarnvge · 1 year

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Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

Ninja. The word still touched Amy in a way that made her laugh. “There’s so much attached to the name now that it makes me cringe to even hear it. But accepted it. The tactics Scarlet Ink used were in homage to the ninja of old, but they were no longer around to christen my work as an extension of their own. But this compliment, and others, feel just as good. I just hope I've earned I."

Amy studied her hands as the knife passed between her fingers. It was a miracle of dermatology that kept them as smooth as they were....but she wouldn't hesitate to ruin them for a smither's hammer. “Lux Hall is getting bigger every day," she mused. "If it hasn't made room for a smithy yet, I'll commission one. If my name still carries any weight, I'm sure your hammer will be the first of many requests. But, alas, the first." She winked.

Amy stowed the knife and looked out the window. "Most of the journey is behind us. We'll be over land soon, and after that, it'll only be about two hours. I imagine Floss is already on the move, getting everything she needs for her solution--"

Amy's phone buzzed with a message: ....about that.... txt me at this number. --amber. Her brow furrowed. "And the plot continues to thicken," she muttered. She began to type away a response but managed to divide her attention for Go Go.

"I will ask a favor of you, however," she said. "Leslie's spent the better part of a year trying to set herself apart from Agnes and Saga. If she is successful in any measure of that goal...it would ease a lot of her pain to know it. I imagine hearing it from you would mean quite a deal. It may even lead her to use that gift of hers for more good. I imagine it would do wonders for therapy. Anything other than simply sticking needles in her neck daily."

Amy hit send. "Just a thought."

---

Amy: Not even tapping phone calls anymore. youre just flat-out listening.

Amber scoffed into her straw as she drank the last of her soda. She tossed the can, opened another, and wrote back.

Amber: its not all that hard.

Amy: Can I help you??

Amber: Floss's solution involves a synthesizer. She's cast a net for one in the area around her.

Amy: Yes. and?

Amber: Someone in Texas cast the same net. I was gonna let it go, I figured it was maybe one of you, but...its bothering me.

She'd never admit that these strangers across the sea were the only "friends" she had. Eventually, the data on her screen boiled over into action.

Amber noticed that Amy's response was slightly delayed. No audio from her phone tap either.

Amy: There was an inquiry into air traffic that may have involved the Eboncry just before we took off. If I give you the plane's old transponder ID, can you see if there's any correlation?

Amber: No need. Already got it. one sec.

Amber turned to her left, pulled up the data, and ran a brief cross-reference. After seeing the result, Amber sat her can down.

Amber: Two terminal users in different locations, one searching for the synthesizers and another who ran the search for the Eboncry's last known. They've been in constant contact with one another.

Amy:...so we are being tracked. But only by two people?

Amber: Yea. Both PCs are personal terminals. One of them is a laptop.

Again, there was a pause in Amy's reply.

Amy: What would it cost me to convince you to keep a quiet eye on this and report back?

Amber: I'm already on it. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll think of something.

Amber moved across the table to the screen on her right where she performed a series of commands for a remote hack. It was simple... but doing it with enough grace to not be detected took a degree of patience.

Patience that Amber had in droves. Half an hour of commands later and she found herself smiling at two remote access feeds, complete with device data, MAC addresses, and more. She had them dead to rights.

"Hello Mallory," she cackled. "Hi, Milo." She reached for her can again and took a sip. "Hope you don't mind me sitting here."

The smile stayed on Go go’s face at the thought. To just be able to train for the pleasure of it, it was a gift.

“You’re on, and I’d take any tips on the kunai - I was never any good with them.” She replied amicably. Amy’s phone snagged at her and Go go wondered what she’d meant when she said Agnes had her hand in a far worse crime; the Shadows existed in a complex web, one she was only just starting to get any understanding of.

She unfolded her arms and stood from her perch on the back of the chair. “When I get a moment with Leslie I’ll try to have a talk with her, I’d like her to know. For now I’ll be sitting with O-ren. let me know when we’re landing.”

Go go departed for the makeshift infirmary where the once Yakuza Queen still lay serene and still, apart from her steady breathing. Go go reached out to brush the few stray strands of hair away from her forehead.

“Not long now.” She said quietly. “And then we’ll have you back on your feet, we’ll deal with everything else after that.”

That smile came back to Go go’s face. It hadn't just been violence and manipulation that had driven her to her occupation. She remembered, with both the wince of immaturity and a twinge of tenderness for her younger self that being a skilled martial artist was just, cool.

But since there was no one to see in the solitude of the room she took O-ren’s hand and leant down conspiratorially, looking for just a moment like the weight of the world had never broken her spirit, never turned her into a weapon, never created the need for the painful but necessary growth on the other side of those events;

“...And get a load of this...Amy’s a ninja!”

The genetic laboratories at Cambridge University had always been in the basement. Initially it had been a space issue - the machines were large and the department was new. Not so much these days, but the little scientific eco-system of researchers and PhD students clung tenderly to their subterranean habitat.

When Lillian Evans, a visiting researcher from a few years back turned up in the staff room with Danish pastries everyone was pleased to see her. She had a way of being generally liked. And they certainly asked no questions when she asked to borrow their machines for the day. It was, afterall a favor for a student she was supervising, and they’d all been there.

The genetic data streamed into the machine from the hard drive Lillian hooked up to it and promised she’d be back the next day to check up on it’s progress. Once the sequencer had done it’s work the synthesizer would kick into life automatically, generating a completely unique code for a vaccine.

Lillian walked out of the building and got back in her car, the Italian she’d ordered would be ready to pick up by now.

There were three sequencers at Cambridge University; Two were old dinosaurs, two decades old without so much as a usb port. Lillian had walked past those to the one at the end of the row, the recent model the university had splashed out on, it could sequence about a third quicker than the others...and it had a small bundle of ethernet cables connecting it by hardwire directly to the university’s computer infrastructure.

The progress bar on the screen moved along gradually but steadily.

When it reached forty percent, a laptop in an apartment in Texas gave a high pitched jangle of a notification and Mallory Llewellyn ran over from where she had been preparing dinner in the kitchen.

She was so excited she picked up and hit speed dial on the phone, ignoring the pan that was threatening to boil over on the hob.

“Milo! We got it!”

“That was fast, where??”

Mallory left the phone on speaker on the kitchen island as she ran around frenetically, shoving everything she’d need into a case.

“My instinct was right -” She finally ran over and turned off the rice pan. “-I’m getting the next flight to England, probably have to fly into Norwich since Heathrow is long gone. I’ll hire a car to get to Cambridge.”

“And then what Mallory?”

“This is just surveillance for now.” She paused after she said that. The contacts she would have used for arms had disappeared with London, and getting a weapon through a commercial airport unseen was always a hassle, but perhaps necessary. “Lets find out who we’re dealing with.”

#annalis-e--shadowofpanem #Unarmed

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

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write-r-die · 2 years

Text

Prisoner - Part 24

Masterlist - By Tomorrow - Previous Chapter

So I started this story exactly a year ago and I want to thank everyone for sticking with it. My friends haven’t read it so your feedback is what keeps me going! I think this is one of the best stories I’ve written and I really hope I can get it published one day (after a shitload of edits and name changes). This chapter is dumb but good stuff is on the way! (I’m serious this time).

Thomasin stared at the ceiling as she thought about Simon and Charlie and Henry and why they’d come to England. She did it every night since her husband left.

She resented all three of them, even Henry, for attacking her people and destroying her country without mercy or cause. But it wasn’t for vanity’s sake that any of the brothers came to her shores, and that counted for something.

It seemed to her that all the other Normans came to England for riches and glory. The Cavills came because they simply could not stay in Normandy.

She thought about Roger, too. Was it a sense of duty that brought him here? She didn’t believe that he enjoyed this campaign – or violence of any kind. So why wasn’t he here? Did he feel trapped in Normandy the way Charlie had? Did he feel that he simply couldn’t stay?

Thomasin spent most of her life in isolation, but it wasn’t until she met Henry that she ever felt lonely. Once she knew what it was like to have someone of her own, she knew how painful it was to be alone. And these nights without him were torture.

Kal’s companionship simply wasn’t enough, and he’d be of more use protecting his master in the wild than babysitting her here in London.

She did her best not to dwell on Hammond, whom she loved and hated in equal measure. He had no place in this Norman world. Neither did she. But Thomasin could at least accept her fate. She’d already accepted an invader as her husband, hadn’t she?

***

Thomasin woke to Etheldreda’s gentle prodding. “Milady. It’s well past dawn.”

Thomasin’s mouth was dry and her limbs stiff, a sign that she had been dead asleep – and probably drooling. “Is it?” She was a heavy sleeper but usually an early riser, but lately she woke in the middle of the night and fell asleep sometimes during the day.

“Come, milady. I’ve prepared your bath.” Etheldreda guided her half-sleeping mistress into the steaming water. Tom hissed at the unbearable heat but felt her muscles melt into it only a heartbeat later. “Have you not been sleeping well?” the servant asked.

“Very well, actually,” Thomasin said. She slid down in the tub and submerged her abundant hair. “I think that’s the problem.”

“Mmm.” Etheldreda worked the floral soap into a lather and massaged it into her lady’s scalp. “Milady,” the servant said cautiously; Thomasin didn’t open her eyes. “There hasn’t been blood on your sheets in a long while.”

Thomasin did open her eyes now; she fixed them on the ceiling. She’d been dreading this conversation for days now, for her maid would certainly be the first to catch on. “No, there hasn’t.”

Etheldreda grinned widely. “Perhaps it is time to speak with Lady Elaine about what condition you might be in. I know for a fact that she has some sort of test to determine whether or not a woman is–”

“I will not be speaking to Lady Elaine,” Thomasin said sharply. “She has enough to worry about without my burdening her.”

“It won’t be a burden,” Etheldreda insisted. “Lady Elaine will be pleased to help you. A child –”

Thomasin held her hand up for silence. “I don’t wish to discuss this anymore.” Her tone was far harsher than it should be. Etheldreda only meant well.

But frankly, she was afraid of the answer Elaine would give her.

If she was in the family way, she would be angry and terrified. She wasn’t ready to be a mother, not now, not with everything being the way it was. She was afraid to risk her life in childbirth. She would be resentful of a child for coming now, for being forced to dedicate her whole being to it after her previous life was ripped away so recently. And her marriage to Henry was still so new – she wanted it to just be the two of them, just for a little while, at least until things settled.

If she was not with child, she would be painfully disappointed, though she couldn’t think of a real reason why. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she was desperate for a new family to fill the hole left behind by the family she lost. Maybe she was afraid of letting her husband down.

Thomasin spent a long time drying herself in front of the fire as Etheldreda went about cleaning the chamber.

“Etheldreda,” Thomasin asked as her maid braided her hair back, “do you have children?”

“Oh, yes!” the servant replied. “I had six of them. Four by my first husband and two by my second.”

“Where are they now?”

“My oldest boy is a metalworker in town. His brother assists the stablemaster here at the castle. The three girls all have young children.”

Thomasin smiled at her maid’s obvious pride. It fell away. “Five,” she said. “That’s only five children. What about the sixth?”

Etheldreda was quiet for so long that Thomasin thought to ask her question again. “He was a sickly boy,” the maid said. “He took ill in his third summer and died.”

This was something Thomasin hadn’t thought about.

Children died all the time. Thomasin’s own parents lost their first little girl before any of the others were born, and her mother gave birth to a stillborn boy when Thomasin was ten years of age. Thomasin’s mother took a fever and died a few days later.

But not only did Tom have to worry about her own death, no – she would have to worry about the child’s, too.

She couldn’t withstand anymore heartbreak. She wasn’t strong enough. Over the past few years parts of her life were taken away one by one as if tearing feathers from the wings of a live bird, and the last six months in particular were almost too much to bear. And the loss of a child . . .

She tried to imagine what would happen if little Mercia passed on, if Elaine would be able to live without her, but her mind refused to conjure such an image.

Thomasin had trouble breathing. Suddenly it felt like she was back in the secret passage under the chapel at home, surrounded by pitch black and tight walls that seemed to grow tighter every moment.

She couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t.

***

They cleaned and dressed Roger’s wound constantly, but by dawn on the third day the fever had taken hold.

Roger himself was in high spirits, all things considered. He worked diligently to distract himself, primarily by playing cards. Most of the group was happy to oblige him, though Charlie had a difficult time hiding his feelings behind a smile.

The hallucinations started slowly at first – Roger called people by the wrong name or behaved as if he was still in Normandy. A few times, he asked someone to fetch his mother. “She’ll know how to fix this gash,” he’d say. His friends corrected him at first, though as the fever worsened, they slowly started to give up.

Edwin had no interest in any of it. He was disquieted. “If we stay here, we risk losing Hammond. He’ll flee north to Scotland,” he hissed. It was the middle of the night, exactly two days after Roger was injured. Henry and the others had spent most of the day digging one large grave for their fallen comrades.

“He won’t flee,” Henry said, sighing.

“Then he’ll come back and strike again while we’re down.”

“He won’t come back.”

“Are you sure?” Edwin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s what Lawrence would do. It’s what I would do. It’s what your brother Charlie would do.” Henry said nothing. “We don’t know him. We don’t know how his mind works. We can only rely on our instincts to predict his movement, and my instincts are telling me he’s either fled north or he’s waiting in the wings to attack again.”

Henry shook his head. “He’s in the woods somewhere. If he hasn’t returned to his family’s keep. That’s where we will meet him again.”

Edwin looked murderous. “This is precisely why William sent me on this mission. To keep you from dragging your feet.”

“Dragging my feet? My kinsman may die and you call it dragging my feet?”

“Would you have stayed so long if it were my kinsman? If it were Lawrence?” Edwin and Lawrence were distant cousins, but he neither one of them was the sort to mourn a peripheral relative.

“You’re welcome to go hunt him down,” Henry said. “I will stay here with my friend.”

Another two days later, Henry emerged from Roger’s tent just as dusk was falling.

The handful of men that Edwin sent out to scout returned with rabbits and birds for supper. The men sat in clumps around the three fires, except for Jamie.

Henry found his squire sitting against a tree, his expression pensive. “Jamie?” he asked. The boy looked up as Henry took a seat near him. “What ails you?”

Jamie looked up. “Nothing, milord.”

“You’re a poor liar, Jamie. It’s no wonder you bleed coins when you play at cards.”

“You have enough on your mind, my lord,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “I cannot add my troubles to the mix.”

“You can and you will.” Henry took the waterskin nearby and started to wash his face and neck. “Out with it.”

“I did not think I would care the first time I killed a man,” he said. “Crispin has killed three and he is proud of it,” he said, nodding to where the squire was practicing archery. “But it troubles me.”

Henry looked into the fire and frowned. “Do you know why I chose you as my squire?” He looked back at Jamie, who mutely shook his head. “Because of your conscience. Men like Crispin and Charlie were created to be soldiers. You and I were not.”

“You’ve seen yourself that many men can lose themselves in battle. They seem almost to go mad.”

Jamie was silent.

“You gave him a quick death. That is an act of mercy in and of itself.” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And you saved my life. I am in your debt, my friend.”

Roger started shouting nonsense from inside his tent. “Not from outside! You can’t let her in! Mother!”

Jamie looked over his shoulder toward the source of the sound. Henry hung his head.

Charlie, who was sitting in the tent with him, quieted him almost immediately, but the damage was already done. Everyone’s mood fell into a quiet, palpable mix of pity and discomfort.

Jamie looked to his master. Henry pretended not to notice and kept his eyes fixed on the small campfire a few feet away. “You should eat something,” he said. “Then try to sleep. We’ll have a long night ahead of us.”

They only had an hour or two to themselves before Roger woke them screaming.

@khadineberry @lunedelorient @amberangel112 @sauvage-et-libre @summersong69 @rocket44 @xxxkatxo @sarcasmoverlordxo @kebabgirl67 @pterodactylterrace @joaniepencil @littleone65 @nilletellsstories

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triptuckers · 3 years

Text

New In Town (part seven) - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: after kaz outsmarts you, you're desperate for a new way to get your information. it turns out kaz has a solution to your problem Warnings: none Word count: 2.4K A/N: the last part wow!! I had so much fun writing this, thanks to everyone who has read this series! <3 PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART TAG LIST (all grishaverse fics): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15@dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha@story-scribbler@romanoffstarkovs@daliareads@meiitanoia @itsnotquimey@sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone@aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy @brekker-zenik @just-deka @graceknxwlson @the-very-tired-mess @sassybadqueen TAG LIST (Kaz Brekker): @mufnasa @Janesofia7 @stairscortana @parker-natasha @illicitghosts @brick-by-brick553 @gallysonegoodlung @dropssofjupitter @earthtokace TAG LIST (New In Town): @calums-betch add yourself to my tag lists here

You couldn't believe it. You stayed up all night trying to figure out how Kaz could outsmart you. How he figured out how you got your information on his jobs.

You hadn't found the answer yet.

While you're kind of angry he figured it out, you're also impressed. It took him a while, but he did figure it out eventually.

But now you have to figure out a new way to get information.

You couldn't climb the roof again soon, obviously. No doubt Kaz would have sent Inej up there to make sure you couldn't listen in on their meetings again.

Even if you were to approach the Slat, you now have six people to be on the lookout for, instead of just Jesper and Kaz. And there was no way of telling wether or not Kaz had given your description to other Dregs as well.

You spend the rest of the day in your apartment, trying to figure out how Kaz could have figured it out. And sulking because they got away with your prize. Well, it was their prize first, so you didn't really have a reason to be upset about it.

The next day, you're walking toward the Barrel. You're wearing a coat with a large hood pulled over your head and part of your face. Even if someone did see you, there's a chance they wouldn't see your face.

But just how much does Kaz know about you? He knows your true identity, the name the Ravkans had given you, how you get your information. You'd be a fool to think he wouldn't recognise you if he saw you in the streets.

In the distance, you see the familiar crooked building appear. Your eyes are darting around the street, looking for any of the crows. When you don't see them, you slip in the alley behind the Slat.

Though you know you probably won't hear anything, you climb the building anyway.

All the way to your spot by Kaz' window. Maybe you wouldn't hear a detailed plan for a job. But you could happen to overhear something else. Maybe you could hold that information against him. Demand part of the prize.

But when half of the day has passed, you hadn't heard as much as a door opening.

Could they be away on a new job already? You had no idea just how many jobs he had in a week. After all, you only knew about the ones they talked about when they were in Kaz' rooms. There was no telling if they talked about other jobs in other places.

When you rise again, your muscles are sore and stiff. You would come back the next day, see if you could hear anything. Maybe they were out celebrating last night's success. They might be back tomorrow.

But they're not. Nor are they there to talk business the day after.

For an entire week, you hope to eavesdrop on them. No luck.

When a week has passed you find yourself on your way to the Slat again. You don't even know why. The chance you'd be able to hear something is basically nonexistent.

But there's some comfort in the routine. When you lay down on the roof, you can tell it's going to be a sunny day. There are no clouds in the air, and it's still a bit cold from the night.

You're starying to get lost in thoughts when you finally hear a sound in Kaz' room.

Footsteps. And of course his cane. You hold your breath, excited to finally hear him say something. You're surprised, when he seems to address you.

'Do you really think I'll tell you everything again?'

You carefully peer over the edge and see how Kaz pokes his head out of the window. You don't even bother to duck away. Instead, you glare at him.

'I've been eating the worst food every day because I need to save money for my fucking rent.' you say, frustratedly. 'My old job won't take me back.'

Kaz shrugs. 'Not my fault.' he says.

'Yes it is.' you say.

'No. It's not my fault that you don't get to steal from us anymore.' he says.

'Just give me a little something.' you say, almost begging him.

'I don't think I will.' says Kaz.

You groan. 'You're the worst.' you say.

'You have no idea.' says Kaz. 'Now come in so we can talk like civilised human beings.'

You glare at him again. 'Your words, not mine.' says Kaz.

His head disappears again and you hesitate. You then skilfully climb through the window. You let your eyes roam through the room.

It's clear that this is his office. There's stacks of paper everywhere, and though the room isn't that big, he's crammed a desk in there.

Kaz is sitting behind it, gesturing to a chair across from him. You look at him and slowly walk over to the chair to sit down.

He pours you a glass of kvas, then pours one for himself. You don't say anything, waiting for him to speak.

'So.' he says. 'Did you honestly think we'd have a meeting here again?'

You shrug. 'I hoped you would. Turns out I was wrong.' you say as you take a sip of your drink. 'How did you know how I got the information?'

'Inej.' says Kaz.

You chuckle softly. 'Of course. Did she see me?' you say.

Kaz nods. 'Once. She immediately told me someone was up on the roof near the window. I knew it was you. I suddenly knew that was how you kept getting the information.' he says.

'And you set a trap.' you say.

'And I set a trap.' says Kaz. 'You didn't even second guess it. Just took the bait like that. You ought to be more careful. This is still the Barrel. Everyone tricks everyone.'

'This is still the Barrel, but I'm still an outsider. I can make a few mistakes.' you say.

'Are you still an outsider?' says Kaz, finishing his drink.

You frown at him. 'Well, I'm not exactly Kerch now., if that's what you're implying.' you say.

'You don't have to be an outsider.' says Kaz. 'I've told you before, I value your skills. You would be a remarkable crow. An exceptional addition to the team.'

It sounds very tempting. Especially since you have no source of information now. Still, you should be able to survive on your own. Find and plan your own jobs. You're more than capable. But Kaz knows Ketterdam. Knows its valuables, its people, he's got eyes and ears everywhere.

But you're not a team player.

'I'll give you the same answer to the same question. I work alone.' you say.

'Fine with me.' says Kaz. 'Enjoy your cheap food.'

He gets up and walks through the door into a different room that's attached to his office. You're waiting for him to come back, but when he doesn't, you climb out of the window again.

You climb down to the street, and start walking back to your apartment. You really had to find some jobs, and fast.

After having declined Kaz' offer a second time, you doubt he'd offer it to you again. You're determined to find a job yourself.

You spend the next few weeks trying to find a job. But the more gangs won't accept you, the less jobs you find and the worse food you eat to save money, the more desperate you become.

Every day, Kaz' offer is still on your mind. You're starting to think he might have told every gang leader to not give you a job, so you'd have no choice but to accept his offer. You didn't even know if gangs had a lot of communication with each other, but you did know Kaz was more than capable of reaching out to them to stop them from employing you.

After no gang is willing to offer you a job, you try all the cafes and pubs in the city. You even try some near the university, but they'd taken one look at your clothes - not exactly student material - and sent you away.

And when your landlord approaches you and tells you that if you don't pay your rent on time she'll kick you out, you realise you really have to do something.

And desperate times call for desperate measures.

Your feet feel heavy when you walk toward the Slat. You feel like a fool. Declining Kaz' offer twice, and then going back to him when your landlord threatens to kick you out.

You don't bother to conceal your face, but you do take your weapons with you. It's still the Barrel.

Instead of climbing to the roof, you go through the front door of the crooked building. You step into a hallway, and when you look through an open door, you see something what looks like a combined dining room and kitchen.

Deciding it's a good place to start, you enter the room. There a few people there, none of which you recognise. They give you funny looks, but none of them speaks to you as they turn back to whatever they were doing.

You're standing there, unsure of what to do. Could you just walk up to Kaz' floor? Or would that be considered rude?

Right when you want to slowly turn around and walk the stairs, someone enters through a back door. You're relieved to see it's someone you recognise.

Nina walks up to you when she spots you.

'Y/N, right?' she says.

'Yes.' you say.

She smiles at you. 'You must be here looking for Kaz.' she says.

'How did you know?' you say.

Nina still smiles at you. 'He's always talking about you. He was convinced you'd accept his second offer. Is that why you're here?' she says.

'Yes, I want to talk to him, but wasn't sure if I could just walk up to his floor and knock on his door.' you say.

'Probably not.' says Nina. 'He might've made an exception for you, though. I'll take you upstairs.'

You follow Nina to the stairs.

'Why would he make an exception for me?' you ask her.

To your surprise, Nina chuckles.

'You're the only one to ever outsmart him. You've gotten his attention, and he's impressed by you.' she says.

'Really?' you say. 'But all the stories I've heard about him on the streets describe him as some indestructible, clever thief. Hard to outsmart.'

'He is hard to outsmart.' says Nina. 'Which is why he's so impressed by you. Here we are.'

You've stopped in front of a door. Nina looks at you, and with a wink, she knocks on the door.

'Come in.' says Kaz' voice.

Nina opens the door and gestures for you to follow her.

'Look who I found wandering around downstairs.' she says.

When Kaz' eyes fall on you, you can tell he's pleased to see you. He doesn't smile, but there's a hint of it in his eyes.

'Y/N.' he says. 'How's the cheap food?'

'Still horrible.' you say.

'Nina, leave us.' says Kaz.

'Give a yell when he attacks you with his cane.' says Nina, and she leaves the room and shuts the door behind you.

'I could probably guess why you're here, but I'd still like to know why Nina caught you wandering in the Slat.' says Kaz.

'Does that offer still stand?' you ask him.

'It does. he says.

'Then I accept it.' you say.

Now, he does smile. He stands and offers you a gloved hand, which you shake.

'Welcome to the Dregs.' says Kaz.

'I wasn't exactly sure if the job was still mine.' you admit.

'How so?' says Kaz, sitting back down.

'Well, I'd declined it twice. But then I got here and was told I'd impressed you.' you say.

'Did Nina tell you that?' says Kaz.

You nod. 'She said I'm the only one to outsmart you.' you say.

'Until I outsmarted you.' says Kaz.

'But I outsmarted you first.' you say with a smile.

'We'll get you a room at the Slat.' says Kaz, quickly changing the subject. 'We lost someone a few weeks back and the room's been empty every since. You can take it, it's on the second floor next to Jesper's room.'

'I'll move my stuff right away.' you say.

You get up and walk to the door. Just before opening it, you look at Kaz over your shoulder. 'Thanks.' you say. 'For the job.'

Kaz nods at you and you leave his office.

When you walk through the door and step out onto the street, you hear someone call your name.

You turn around to see Jesper and Wylan catching up with you.

'Hey!' says Jesper. 'Nina told us you accepted the job!'

'I did.' you say. 'Looks like I'll still do your jobs for you, only Kaz is aware of it now.'

Jesper places a hand over his heart. 'Already threatening us, you'll fit right in.' he says.

'Kaz gave me a room in the Slat, next to yours.' you say.

'We know.' says Wylan. 'He sent us to help you move.'

'Oh, I don't have a lot of stuff. I can manage on my own.' you say.

'Walk up and down three times by yourself, or once with our help.' says Jesper. 'And then we can invite you for your first drink at the Slat.'

'Alright then.' you say. 'You guys can help. If you let me buy the first round.'

'Agreed.' says Wylan.

With Jesper and Wylan's help, it indeed takes one trip from your old apartment to the Slat. You put your stuff in your new room, deciding to arrange everything later, and head back down.

You see Nina and Matthias have joined Jesper and Wylan, and right when you walk through the door you see Inej walking down the stairs.

Apparently, news travelled fast. They all welcome you and congratulate you on the job, telling you they can't wait to go on a job with you.

Just when you order the first round of drinks, Kaz comes downstairs as well.

He sits down next to you and grabs the glass Jesper offered him.

Kaz looks at you before raising his glass to make a toast.

'To Y/N, the newest addition to the Crows. And also the first person to outsmart me. I'm sure you're all going to make sure I will never forget that.' says Kaz.

You smile as they all raise their glass and say your name. You're glad you accepted his offer after all.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#lmao pAIN it ended :')#new in town #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #grishaverse #Kaz Brekker x reader #Kaz Brekker fics #Kaz Brekker fic #Kaz Brekker fanfiction #Kaz Brekker fanfic #Kaz Brekker fanfics #shadow and bone fics #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

Text

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 2: That’s Not Exactly Folgers In Your Cup

Warnings: Smut (Oral) and Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Hello! I hope y’all are as excited about this holiday special collaboration made with @what-is-your-plan-today and @jennmurawski13 as I am. It all blossomed from early morning (for me) ramblings and we decided to do it. 2020 has been a hell of a year and we all needed a little something to smile about. And come on, whats funnier then imagining Ransom Drysdale trying to be domestic? Plus it gives some feels. There will be smut written in occasionally, so please heed the warnings to each individual fic.

Also, we are alternating, but will reblog on our accounts, if you don’t want to miss any, send a message and we will get you added to the tag list. Happy Reading.

Series Masterlist

Ransom woke before you, the early morning light streaming through the window cut right across his face and he swore into the pillow while rolling to his back to sling his arm over his eyes to cut off the annoyance. He was almost there, back in that blissful state of unconsciousness when his body took over and insisted he get up. Any further attempt to return to sleep was now disrupted when natural morning urges overtook him and he sighed while lifting his arm to let the light return, blinking rapidly to adjust to the the most inconvenient thing to plague him at this hour.

Next to him you were still asleep, soundly, peacefully which made him scowl at you for being so blissfully unconscious. He envied you in this moment as he rolled up from bed and trudged into the bathroom to take care of himself. Afterwards once he came back out, he grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and slipped them on. You would be waking up soon, and there was one thing you always wanted before anything else, even before you were pregnant, it was a must have or else. Now you valued this all that much more since his child seemed to just suck all the energy from you, savored it more then he savored his biscoff cookies.

Your coffee. And hell be damned if you didn't get your coffee.

Now typically you make it, liking a certain amount of scoops to get you through the morning, touch of cream and a little sprinkle of sugar just to take the bite out of it. Ransom has seen you make it countless times in the morning, your over sized tee hanging around your thighs and hair piled atop your head. Your eyes would be closed while you measured, you just knew it down to the action how you wanted it. He never tried to mess with your perfection. In fact he learned early on to stay out of your way the first twenty minutes in the morning unless he was taking care of you between the sheets. That was the only equivalent you were accepting of in the morning.

This morning Ransom felt a twinge of affection now that he was awake, seeing you shift into the middle of the bed and pull his pillow into your chest like you were hugging it. Gently he leaned over and brushed the flyaway hair from your forehead and pressed a kiss there before leaving the bedroom to head downstairs.

Typically you just made Ransom a coffee too, it became almost a habit for him to want it, although he didn't need it, not like you did. But yea, he craved it and decided that this morning, since he was already up, he would just do it himself. Regardless of the fact that you had forbidden him to touch the coffee maker for some reason. Which fuck it was in his kitchen, if he wanted to use it he was going to.

“Can't be that hard, dump some grounds in, put in the fucking water.” He flipped off the top of the coffee maker to see if you pre-filled it the night before, sometimes you did. Last night was not the case though. Reached into the cupboard for the precious Starbucks coffee and opened the bag to breathe in the strong coffee bean aroma. Okay, he had to admit it was a pleasant smell, and already he could feel himself feel a bit more upbeat. He ended up setting it aside and searched everywhere for the measuring spoon, leaving a slight kitchen destruction in his path of open drawers and stuff piled on top of the kitchen counter, he just eyeballed dumping the coffee in. Completely forgetting the filter in the process.

Impatiently he waited, fingers tapping on the counter as the drip drip drip started. “It would be faster just to have someone deliver.” He muttered to himself, contemplating how much you would protest possibly hiring a housekeeper. Fran was decent… enough. He thought to himself. Aside from her being the most annoying woman his grandfather had hired. Of course she could be useful when the occasion called for it. Like now, how fucking easy would it be if someone was just delivering you two the coffee in bed.

Already he knew you probably weren't going to go for it, it was fine for Harlan according to you because he needed the help. In fact when he brought it up, your eyes rolled and you scoffed at him. “You are kidding right Ransom? You are a grown ass man, do it yourself.”

When the coffee maker finally gave the last spurt, and sounded exhausted, Ransom shook his head from the memory and turned to pull down two mugs and proceeded to pour into each. It was black, blacker than usual. He sniffed it, and needless to say it was STRONG.

Ransom just kept going, grabbing your half and half, as well as the small bit of sugar you like, he stirred it all together and brought it back up the stairs.

You were just waking up when he reentered the bedroom. Your arms lifting up to hit lightly against the headboard and your wiggling fingers while giving a yawn, you inhaled the strong scent of coffee and immediately pushed to sit.

“What is that? Is that what I think it is?” Your eyes widened as Ransom set the mug down on your nightstand with a roll of his eyes.

“Well good morning to you to Princess.” he stated as you grinned at him, reaching over for the mug while he sat on the end of the bed. You didn't dare take a sniff as if to check, not with the way Ransom was watching you intently and you just took a sip.

It hit your mouth with a ferocity that brought tears to brim to your eyes, and your taste buds screamed in protest at the gritty black death you were forcing yourself to swallow, doing everything you could to keep from spitting it out. You were just thankful that this morning you were dealing with morning sickness, yet. Somehow you forced the bitter liquid down your throat and tried to keep a straight face, as you were touched with Ransom’s act of kindness, something he was still working on. But there was no hiding your expression, as hard as you tried to keep it from Ransom.

His head dropped when he saw your face. “Fucking terrible isn’t it? See this is why you should let me hire a housekeeper.”

“Ransom, it tastes just fine. And we don’t need a housekeeper. This house isn't all that big.” You rolled your eyes as you showed him you were right by taking another sip of his coffee, forcing a smile on your face.

“I always had a housekeeper, and I turned out fine.” Ransom rebutted while moving to a stand. “Put that cup down. You can make some later.” He instructed and you were quick to set it aside, relieved not to have to pretend anymore. Ransom yanked the blankets away, making you tumble a bit in bed with a yelp.

“Ransom! What are you doing?” You looked down at him as he grasped your ankles, sliding you down the bed while he moved to kneel at the end of the bed, smirking at you.

“Cant make coffee worth shit. But I can do this, and I know you like this just as much.”

He was right, the man had a mouth on him that you had a hard time resisting, even when he was pissing you off.

Fingers delved under the band of your sleep shorts and slipped them off before draping your legs over his shoulders and pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thigh. “Okay, you have me there, maybe I do. I'm a little scared to see what you did down in the kitchen now.”

“Nothing that can't be cleaned up.” He looked up at you, and you opened your mouth to say something about how you were going to have to clean it when he let his mouth press against your cunt and his tongue bury between the folds.

That effectively distracted you, making your words stutter from the tip of your tongue into a moan while he lapped at you, shifting between quick flicks to flattening his tongue and dragging through your folds to suck at that bundle of nerves that made you gasp his name in a needy way. Your hands shoot down to twist into his hair, holding onto his scalp while he takes you apart with his mouth. Toes curled into his upper back when he teased you further, your hips starting to rock to meet the darts of his tongue in your clenching channel. You let yourself fall back into the pillows and quit trying to reason with him or make him feel better. You just let yourself experience this new attempt at treating you.

“Please Ransom, I want to come now.” You whined out while his fingers flexed on your hips, keeping you mostly pinned in place although your body was rippling to arch and grind into him. Your heels firmly pressing into his back in an attempt to lever yourself although he was firm in his hold. Unwilling to let you move just yet. Ransom sucked folds of flesh into his mouth, the lower part of his face slick when he lifted to smirk at you, and shifted a heavy forearm across your hips, careful not to press against your stomach.

“How badly do you want to come, Princess?” He licked at his lips, brighter pink with use then normal and you glared at him down your body.

“Considering I am growing you spawn in me, you think you would treat me better.” Trying your hand at using guilt to get him into giving you your orgasm, he let his fingers stretch your open, pressing into your warmth.

“You know I love you, and only treat you fucking good.” His fingers curled to stroke your fluttering walls, enticing you to come for him with every stroke against your sweet spot. “Come on Beautiful, come undone for me so we can start our day.”

You pressed to arch but he was sure to keep you held down. You started to see stars peppering your eyesight and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as you came for him, that rush enveloped you to send tingles all along your nerves, and your voice finally broke out in a soft cry of his name while your toes dug into his flexing back, and fingers twisted in the sheets in a weak attempt to stay grounded.

It didn't stop him, he kept lapping at your sensitive bud, sucking and driving you to another with steady strokes of his finger. “That was just one... you know we are not stopping Princess until you have had a couple more.”

Ransom couldn't make coffee to save his life, but he certainly knew how to make you come more than just the one time.

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #amber writes #sweater writes #ransom drysdale au #knives out #knives out au #knives out fic

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squidproquoclarice · 3 years

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What do you think of the missions for Beau and Penelope?

So if I remember right, this was an optional mission strand, and much like Rains Fall and Calderon’s later, something that initially could come across as just another Stranger for Arthur to help actually becomes very vulnerably illustrative of his inner self. (Even if he isn’t making verbal confessions of things in this one like those other two.) The Penelope and Beau missions emotionally revolve around Arthur’s own confused, blighted romance with Mary Linton. Forbidden “Romeo and Juliet” romance? Check. Opposite sides of some kind of social fence? Check. Overbearing, controlling, and disapproving families? Check. Longing to escape but fear of doing so? Check. The vibes and driving factors are so similar it’s pretty obvious that R* intended to evoke that aspect of Arthur’s life with these missions. The fact he has no other in-game romance, and even his closest friendships don’t have this same vibe, makes it an even easier correlation to pick up on. We already know by the first mission point in Chapter 3 that Arthur had a youthful romance that didn’t work out, that he and Mary still feel some pull even fifteenish years later, that it’s still acutely painful for him, and that his “not measuring up” and family disapproval played a big part in it. Then we get Beau and Penelope for a while, and then in Chapter 4, we get more of Arthur and Mary and find out more context there. And Mary asks him to run away with her. He’s tempted, but he declines. Because there are people who still need him. He can’t just leave. Then in Chapter 6 we get the end of Beau and Penelope’s story. They run away together to Boston, presumably to their happily-ever-after, and Arthur helps make it happen. And I feel like as he watches them leave, he’s hoping that their love survives and they have a better ending than him and Mary. Because he knows, even before that letter arrives, that they have no future. Even without the TB, I think he’d know it by now. He knows they could never run away together and have it work out, though you can’t just stop feelings on a dime so it still breaks his heart when she writes him to finally say that they can’t do this anymore, that it’s bad for both of them (and she’s right, and you can tell it’s breaking her heart to write that letter). Beau and Penelope do have a few things that are different from Arthur and Mary that mean they have a happy ending. For one, they very clearly admire each other. They praise each other as people openly to Arthur, and in ways that seem to prove true when we actually meet the other person. That’s very much opposed to Mary and Arthur’s bickering and uncertainty and resentment of “You’re a snob who condescends to me”/”You just seem to revel in doing the wrong thing”. Because admiration and even being in love isn’t enough. You have to like and respect someone, to truly know them rather than a perfect image you’ve made of them, and trust them. And both sides have to do so. There has to be equality. There can’t be one person who practically worships the other and one who sort of looks down on the other, or both people feeling an attraction but disliking each other as people so that there’s that conflict between that idealized romantic fantasy and the reality. And Arthur has a problem there, because we see with multiple people that he’s prone to idealize and put some people on a pedestal and think he’s not good enough for them, or else having to step up and be the reliable "big brother”/leader/mentor half of the equation. It’s very, very notable that he doesn’t readily relate to people as equals. It’s typically either a matter of how he needs to step up to protect and guide them, or else how he’s hopelessly too much beneath the image he has of them. That’s part of why I really love R*’s writing on his friendship with Sadie, because that equality of seeing each other as flawed but fundamentally good is there, so he can have the humor and vulnerability and trust that he can’t with Mary and others, and he can accept Sadie’s praise of him as a good person like he can’t from others because he knows she truly knows him. It’s a pretty glaring contrast in personality fit and that ability to be seen and be vulnerable that he’s laughing and joking with Sadie within thirty seconds of leaving camp as opposed to Mary criticizing with his dry sense of humor, or else being either super-serious-in-charge or put-you-in-your-place-snarky as he is with other people in the gang. And it really makes you wish that he had that partnership and comfortable ease with more people, because he needs it. It feels like he’s pretty much there with Javier pre-Guarma, which probably feeds into his Chapter 6 conflict with Javier. Seeing someone he trusted that much wandering into Micah’s group has to hurt, and ergo the kind of angry, lousy comment about how they should have left Javier on Guarma. He expected better from Javier, because if he’s seeing the truth about Dutch now, why doesn’t the equally loyal (but probably a little bit of “a better man than me” sentiment there) Javier? He doesn’t see that his few solid allies at the time have much easier choices than Javier: John sees Dutch having left him to hang among other things and very reasonably doesn’t trust him, and Sadie and Charles both have a much easier decision because as relative newbies to the gang and being there out of pragmatic “I don’t have anywhere else to go so this will do for now” rather than being fanatically loyal to Dutch, they can walk away. And Charles actually does that, quite rightly, by peacing out before the end to go with the Wapiti and be with a community we see he truly loves and belongs to, and bidding farewell to a whole bunch of bullshit that frankly isn’t his to handle. Even if the Epilogue tries to walk that self-assertion back pretty hard, unfortunately. The other big difference is that Beau and Penelope have absolutely nobody in their horrible families they care about anymore. Thus they can easily leave them behind to run away together. Mary may suggest running away on impulse, but we know she’s fiercely protective of her little brother Jamie. From their very disparate ages (late teens/early twenties and early thirties), it’s quite likely that Mary was both sister and mother to him. I doubt she could easily leave him to the bullying of their father, and especially after knowing how naive and vulnerable he is after the Chelonians. Arthur, of course, has many people he loves and desperately wants to protect and get to safety. Even by that point in Chapter 4, he may be seeing Dutch more clearly and starting to put a little distance there, but he can’t abandon the rest of his family. They may talk about running away together briefly, but like much of their relationship, it’s a romantic fantasy that can’t stand up to the reality of each other and their lives, and they both know it. And so Beau and Penelope also serve to show us, and Arthur, that it’s not a forbidden romance that’s the issue with him and Mary. Those can work out, because this one does. He can’t use the excuse that it’s them against the world any longer, try to apply Dutch’s, “It’s not my fault, it’s society” logic. Which means he has to take a good look at himself and that relationship and admit that it can’t work because of who they are as people, and because of the people that they love and still need to protect. At the end of the day, there’s just not enough there that’s true reality rather than delirious fantasy for them to possibly sacrifice almost everything to be together. They couldn’t do it when they were kids, and they can’t do it now. And that’s not wrong of either of them.

#arthur morgan #mary linton #penelope braithwaite #beau grey #sadie adler #javier escuella #charles smith #rdr2 #thank you for coming to my red talk #Anonymous

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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What’s your opinion for Leo’s reaction to finding out the mc was immortal as well- not necessarily a vampire, maybe they’re some other type of supernatural. I’m really curious because Leo seems like he’s mainly in love with the mc bec they are human.

Hi lovely!!! Always wonderful to see you, hope you’re well! 💛💛💛💛💛

Tbh I think my opinion remains the same about something like this? I'm going to link to an ask I wrote up a while ago, only because it's v pertinent to the subject matter and good background for what I’m going to expand on here.

That being said, I'm happy to kind of tl;dr/expand on what I talked about there. Basically I had the feeling that Leonardo choosing MC as a lover was more circumstantial--regarding the state of his life in the moment, regarding his general feelings about vampires and vampire society, and regarding his unresolved trauma as a young kid.

I guess my answer to that question--and forgive me if it seems like a cop out--is that it really depends, I feel? I think his attraction has a lot more to do with the kind of person somebody is, their sensibility, more than it has to do with mortal vs immortal. If it was an immortal MC that showed ridiculous fortitude and self-control, measured patience and maturity, I really don’t see him not noticing that? I think he would be wary at first (assuming it’s all a front) but with time would likely feel a great deal of love if they were interested in a life together. If they were able to see and understand what he needs and answered those needs, I guess I just really doubt his ability to say no. It’s all he’s really looking for, and the fact that he hasn’t found it after so long really speaks to his frightened evasiveness and the rare nature of that kind of unshakeable strength.

I also think a lot of his hinging away from purebloods (true immortals, in other words) is that he 100% does not want his familia having any involvement in his meaningful relationships. Which might be why he shows more acceptance towards turned vampires, or potentially different supernatural beings.

But I also don’t like giving a vague answer without some kind of explanation as to how I got, to that conclusion, so a boatload of analysis follows below the content warning.

Spoilers for Leonardo’s route and a few mentions of JPN ver content:

I think he has less of an obsession with the idea of mortality, and more like a constant association of goodness and freedom and maturity with humanity. And while it's understandable, there are signs that--when he has the proper time and space to heal--his views seem to soften from those extremes. I mean his decision to live with Comte is pretty much his first step in that direction; it was him acknowledging for the first time that vampires aren't inherently loathsome or incapable of normal living. (On a revealing note, I think it says a lot that he agrees with MC that she is living in a “wolves’ den” but also feels the need to clarify the men are basically the domesticated equivalent. They don’t pose the same threat other vampires typically do to humans because of their lifestyle and sire.) Additionally, his tsun-like behavior towards Comte also seems to solidify this concept for me: Leonardo’s trying to come to terms with something he's sworn to reject since he was young, but also can't entirely deny that Comte is as chill and mature as purebloods come lmao

[There was also an event in the JPN ver–which seems to be approaching the ENG version rapidly, though only the first part is here right now–in which Leonardo fully offers to turn her. MC is essentially on her death bed, and Leonardo doesn’t want to lose her after so little time together; it’s MC that rejects the future as a vampire out of sheer principle. Even more noteworthy is that, when a reincarnation of MC is reunited with Leonardo in modern times, he is revealed to be exceptionally shaken by that loss. There are suggestions he can’t take losing her again, which could mean succumbing to the desire to bite her.]

Two things I feel are necessary to hit home:

The first being that, at least within the storyline so far, the most mature and human-like vampires we’ve seen are Leonardo and Comte. They seek to emulate the maturity they see reflected in the human beings they’ve known all their lives. Given how vampire society and their hierarchies work, I get the feeling humans are nothing more than amusing tools to them--a way to survive and creatures to exercise control over. There’s an objectification and delusion that comes with what I’ve seen, and I think it’s important in this discussion? If the vast majority of vampires behave this way (because I’m ngl, Leonardo and Comte don’t seem very keen on remaining in touch with other vampires all that much) then it only makes sense they prefer the company of humans who can at least share this sensibility of “been there, done that--stop hurting people bc you’re bored/repressed, grow up.”

One event story where this was exceedingly evident was actually Leonardo’s proposal story. If y’all remember, an old pal/acquaintance of Leonardo’s finds out he’s gunning for a human woman and basically goes “lmao not on my watch.” His name was Adam iirc, and he felt he had every liberty to try and pressure Leonardo into turning MC. Failing that, he insisted they should break up and not be together anymore. Now, on the one hand, it’s fair to say that he was looking out for Leonardo in a way–he didn’t want him to end up miserable and alone when she was gone. But at the same time I feel that Adam’s behavior is deeply revealing of vampire society as well lmao. He doesn’t really try to understand the situation, just immediately assumes it’s the only appropriate outcome. It does insinuate a lowkey cultural disdain for humanity: they are imperfect, they do not last or cannot have real value without preservation. If Adam was really Leonardo’s friend, wouldn’t he realize that Leonardo considers vampirism nothing more than a burden that he would wish on no one, much less his future wife? Additionally, wouldn’t he also keep in mind that Leonardo considers human beings beautiful just as they are? Since he fails these basic requirements to understand Leonardo, my impression is that he is influenced by the larger vampire culture to some extent. Furthermore, it underscores just how thoroughly Leonardo has been trained to keep his cards close to his chest for fear of ridicule/violent reprisal: no vampires know his true feelings on the matter because he would be vehemently rejected outright.

[One can also offer that maybe Adam wasn’t being malicious, maybe vampires find human women they fall in love with all the time and turn them (or any other permutation of companionship that occurs), so he doesn’t understand why Leonardo wouldn’t. But even then, to try to force them to break up if she doesn’t turn? A bit overkill imo but also revealing--Leonardo’s will is being ignored for the sake of upholding a kind of ill-founded superiority complex lmao]

While Leonardo does have a somewhat overbearing need to control the pacing of his relationship and who sacrifices what, I don’t think it’s wrong to be cautious--to want to think things through. I think it’s fair to be afraid that the person you’re with can’t handle what you’ve seen/known. But that also leads me to a core issue I have with MC: she doesn’t inspire much confidence that she can handle the life he’s lived, and that’s a problem of both incapacity and incompatibility. I have to wonder how he reacts when he’s with somebody at the same maturity level, or at the very least somebody with whom he can see her strength with time. When MC’s life was dying out he was desperate enough to accept biting her because he didn’t want to lose her–human or not. It’s MC that rejects this solution, which leads me to further believe that he just doesn’t care about the divide when it comes down to it; it has more to do with his difficulty with being vulnerable and fully trusting someone to care about him. (Assuming they also have the fortitude to stay hopeful and relatively strong over the course of a very long life.)

In line with that, the second thing I think it’s important to acknowledge is how deeply hurt Leonardo is as a result of his family treating him like a fool/black sheep. He outright says and heavily insinuates that his family would write her off as worthless, that they’d never accept her--that's his first thought:

Leonardo: “My familia would call you frail. I think you’re strong and beautiful. You do more with your time than we try to do with ours.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MC: “And those letters were from your familia?”

Leonardo: “Yeah. I don’t talk to them or see them anymore. We don’t agree...on a lot of things.”

[Brief intermission here. But lmao. Who does that sound like? If any of you guessed Isaac, that’s exactly what I’m alluding to. Isaac says in his own route smth along the lines of “Why bother trying to get through to people when no amount of talking does any good or gets you any closer to being understood?” Which also explains the way they get along to uncanny degrees: they find comfort in making things/researching because it means being able to avoid the distress that comes with being blatantly misunderstood by others. Their pain simply comes in different dimensions; for Leo it’s about loss and hiding who he is out of fear of rejection, for Isaac it’s about betrayal and people turning on him--ultimately abandonment for both. But I digress, back to the main argument.]

Leonardo: “Once they discovered my location, they began hounding me with letters again. They don’t want me to be with just anyone...They want more purebloods. I’m no more than one half of an equation for them.”

There is a clear implication that his desire to choose somebody that truly makes him happy means jack shit to them. They keep talking over him and trying to wear him down to force him into what they want. It’s no wonder--imo--that he has such a hard time just saying what he wants in his life, to feel like he has the freedom to wish and pursue anything freely. It’s no wonder he just expects MC to spit on everything that’s important to him. It appears as though only other human beings in general and Comte have ever come close to understanding him.

At some point MC realizes that his insistence on being compagni provvisori was originally just another act of sacrifice, and that he was fine with giving up his time and a little privacy if it meant she would be safe. The thing she doesn’t seem to realize in the course of this--and he struggles to say it until later on--is that it stopped being blind generosity. He really did start to fall in love with her, and that’s the whole reason things became even more messy; because he didn’t anticipate not being able to let go on top of the vulnerability. And it’s a big part of why he��s hesitating to speak. He feels he has no right to those feelings, and that he’s imposing on her--not that he’ll be welcome.

And when she did finally admit those feelings were welcome, it was compounded by the parroted views of his family and larger vampire society as a whole. Saying that she herself wasn’t enough, that she had to become a vampire to make him happy. Imo that sounds very potentially retraumatizing given his experiences (people trying to force him into marriages with other vampires who didn’t remotely understand or care about him because it was “the right way of things”). It’s no wonder he freaks out and does something incredibly stupid and insensitive–which is pretty insanely ooc for him.

Leonardo: “...It shocked them. Quieted them down a bit. Hard to get peace when your familia is immortal. Grazie, cara mia.”

Leonardo: “You’re strong, and you’re kind. So probably you won’t cry while I’m here to see it. But when I’m not looking, you’ll cry. If I had done that to you (bitten her, in other words), you’d still be crying when I wasn’t watching... Maybe it’s selfish of me, after what I did, but I just wanted to make you happy. You always look pretty, cara mia, but your smile takes my breath away...It’s not your destiny to love someone who will only make you cry.”

This man literally cannot handle anyone deeply sad or in despair. He’s always going to try to cheer people up and care about them, but general tragedy/emotional discord affects him very powerfully--and it’s likely a reflection of what I’ve mentioned before. He can’t bear to see people feeling helpless or miserable because he’s just been there too many times to be able to cope. He wants to help and heal (even if he’s suffering from prolonged compassion fatigue), but he knows that his powers are limited--even if he is a pureblood.

And the thing is? While it’s misguided to believe she would cry alone when it comes to the context of healthy romantic love (bc the idea would be that you lean on each other when something upsetting happens) he has zero reference point. He was not born as a result of authentic love (his parents never married, he was the result of a procreative arrangement), his family talks over every wish and belief he has and they still claim it’s done out of love/honest concern for him. One can only imagine the serpentine and obnoxious lengths to which his family has deceived or tried to force him into reconnecting with them. Every person that ever did know him/care about him in a real way is gone. Love, for him, has only been a series of losses that left his heart hollowed out; I don’t really blame him for expecting further disappointment and isolation and exhaustion.

He’s also not wrong in the sense that he partially saw MC do what he outlined, and it’s a big part about what he loves about her. When she was feeling alone and lost–powerless–all she did was shrug and move forward. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, but focusing on what you can do instead of what you can’t do is healthier. And they both have the tendency to hide when they’re in pain or feeling lost, all because they don’t want to trouble anyone. Remember that when he says this, it’s a reflection of himself too: because even if he was heartbroken beyond measure, all he would do is hide it every second; he would never expect anyone to see right through him or care.

I mean I tend think of that one post I saw that talked about how people often see themselves as a social burden when most of their life has just been a series of neglect and loss. They don’t really have a concept of “you’re not heavy because I want to stay with you. It’s my choice to care about you.” How do you feel worthwhile an existence when four hundred years later your family still won’t treat you with basic dignity. The men in the mansion also all look to him for guidance and soothing because of the kind of person he is–he’s either silent in the periphery or helping. He never betrays so much as an inkling of insecurity or distress.

I mean the whole reason Leonardo comes to the mansion is because he has absolutely no issue helping Comte in a pivotal time of need without seeking much of anything in return. Remember that Comte explains how Leonardo came to the mansion in response to Comte’s distress about the future. This makes sense considering Comte was rapidly trying to stop Vlad by beating him to the punch, and had only enough time to plan the basics. He had no certainty things would work out, much less that his boys would thrive. But Comte, unlike the boys, has become acutely aware of how much Leonardo is hiding his fatigue and despair in the course of being helped. As such, he wants to return the favor--and tries to be a good friend to him as much as he can (handles his insane familia, keeps things light and silly time between them, takes him seriously as a person, doesn’t pry beyond what’s fair.)

[I also think of that psychology concept of “the good enough mother.” It’s not always about being perfect every second of your life. It’s about paying attention and acting where it really counts. I feel like people who grow up under an enormous burden of neglect or parental/mentor abuse have a hard time coming to terms with the idea. This notion that just trying is enough for a lot of people, that showing them they’re not alone is enough to make difficult memories bearable. Because it’s the oppressive silence and apathy that tends to kills people, imo--not people who mean well. But Leonardo doesn’t really understand any kind of reciprocal or non-self-emptying model because the concept is beyond him. He has no experience with it beyond Comte and a select few humans he’s befriended.]

Let’s continue on this point of MC crying where he can’t see her, shall we? The reason this scares him so much is not because he doesn’t care, or doesn’t want to make the effort. It’s precisely that he cares to the point of madness. It’s that he is legitimately convinced nothing he has to say, nothing that he can do, no part of him is enough to ease what she will have to trade away to stay with him. The core issue is not one of disregard or objectification, I find it to be more about his belief that he just isn’t enough. He doesn’t trust that anyone can love him to the point where just the sight of him or time with him can heal. And while there is a foolishness to this belief, it’s understandable when you consider where he’s coming from. You can call it selfishness, but it just feels involuntary--he has a lot of fear when it comes to love.

I mean Comte even says it himself? His words here always strike me: “I want you to understand, it’s because he cherishes you just as you are--more than he cares about his future or his well-being.”

Comte is openly identifying the way that Leonardo has a tendency to give more than is healthy. That Leonardo isn’t hesitating because his feelings are lacking, he’s doing it because he knows it’s going to hurt like a bitch trying to love her and never ask beyond what feels reasonable. (Spoilers: no request is reasonable. That’s the problem here. He’s convinced he deserves nothing.) Therefore turning her into a vampire to stay with him is--consequently, to Leonardo--out of the question. This is the literal hingepoint at which Comte and Leonardo divide; Comte simply tells MC he’ll take full responsibility for asking so much of her. He intends to make her happy with every single resource and skill he has at his disposal. Even if he doubts his ability or fears losing her to vampire rhetoric madness, he’d rather try than live with the regret and immediate loss. Leonardo is more resistant because of his dour outlook, that her fear of immortality is never going to be something that either of them can overcome. And/or he’s likely afraid she’s only going to regret being together after so long, and might succumb to the ridiculous sort of power/greed complexes vampires seem so attracted to by nature.

I think Leonardo is still coming to terms with the idea that he isn't alone in the world in a lot of ways, and I think he's also coming to terms with the idea that immortality does not equate to evil. Sure, human beings on average are probably more open to flexible modes of thinking and living compared to vampires--their maturity is in some ways guaranteed due to the instances they're forced to adapt to survive. However, just one look at the ruling class and oligarchies of all kinds (even just stubborn human beings) reveals how they are not immune to the same sort of megalomania, arrogance, and thoughtless violence purebloods/vampires are capable of.

So I guess I hesitate when it comes to the thought that he only loves her because she's human. If anything, I think he loves her for the fact that she's very rooted in reality--not quite so bound by the extremes that trouble him. It's one of the many reasons I believe Leonardo needs a lot of maturity and patience; the ability to differentiate between his panicked/overwhelmed/hurt reactions versus his calm is a skill in and of itself considering his capacity for concealment. To say nothing of getting him to slow down when this happens, too.

I suppose I think about it in a way that’s similar to how Napoleon’s main story narrative is framed. While Leonardo’s route doesn’t focus on the grandeur of being a former emperor, there is a clear insinuation here that he also craves normalcy? Just a little life, with a person he loves dearly, where he can rest and be himself for once. I think because he gives off such an appearance of steadiness, people fail to see that he is barely holding on--not to mention the kind of experiences he’s been deprived of (the exact security and understanding he so expertly emulates).

Closer to your question, it’s worth mentioning that Leonardo’s life goal for a while was the creation of an immortal human being--in that he fully recognized human beings could not offer what he needed as they were.

He loves humans because of their adaptability, their frequent desire to keep seeking out hope and making the best of the broken pieces they have. But then again, it has more to do with the nature of how frequently that sensibility occurs in humans vs vampires (and immortality in general): mortality does demand some level of necessity to change and grow. Which is one of the largest trauma points for him; the vampires around him just refused to grow up, always demanding at him like children and obsessed with their power complexes.

Thing is I also don't know enough about vampire society to know how correct this perceived ratio is. However, given Comte's similar avoidance of other vampires and general inability to live with them (he and Vlad were literal childhood best friends and Comte can't stand him anymore lmao) I think Leonardo may have more validity here than people give him credit for. Which begs the question--why did he quit trying to make a human immortal? What was it that stopped him? Was it the horror of what needed to be done to achieve it? Or would a potential companion start to fall more in love with the idea of immortality than they do with life itself/him? I think it’s a worthwhile question to ask, given the disdain he seems to aim at Shakespeare in particular--once human, but now emulates all of the violence and insatiability marked by vampirism.

This is where the transition from human to vampire/immortal contains another hingepoint: is Leonardo so incapable of finding a middle ground because he feels like any choice he makes will be a wrong one? Marry a human, deprive them of a normal love where they can grow old together. Marry a human and turn them, what if they are reborn with immortal wounds/psychological harm? What if time proves they get bored of him or hateful, what if they begin to act like the predatory purebloods he hates so much? Marry a pureblood/immortal, and be hounded by his family for heirs--risk being with somebody who will never love him or their children, and only inspire more misery in the world.

Does it make sense how this can really start to become an anxious downspiral for someone like him? How the personal insecurity and life history comes together to just compound stress endlessly?

That's the thing that's important here, I think. Leonardo just needs somebody who is open-minded, firm, and not easily deceived. If one takes a look at Leonardo's main story route, the whole reason everything goes to shit so disastrously is because MC stops listening at a critical point. Granted Leonardo could have been more forthcoming for sure, but when she started assuming Shakespeare was right instead of seeing how Leonardo was feeling/reacting, she responded in ways Leonardo wasn't prepared for. He never wanted to shake her faith or insinuate whatever she is is not good enough for him, and tbh I think Leonardo downspiraled because it was just the same thing all over again. What he is--a vampire and immortal--keeps ruining everything he wants with his life.

#asks #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp meta #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp leo #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp comte #can you tell i think too hard about these things kjhdglshf #sorry this reply took me a little longer than i meant to--but i really did want to do the topic proper justice!!#leonardo is such a dear person to me and I can't help but sympathize #people are free to disagree with this but it's just how i feel about the topic #the more i see about him in event stories--the sense this his trembling heart is slowly easing--the less i can believe such things matter #to him all that much tbh #i also think the event where he loses her is just all the more telling too?#i feel like if it really was a matter of principle and not love he would have just accepted it #humans have a v short lifespan--what can be done #sort of reaction #but that's not how he reacted at all: he was a man beside himself with dread and sadness #and even when he meets her reincarnation he can't help but want to be with her again #iirc he starts shaking at the slightest mention of when she died--and shows a lot less ability to resist the urge to turn her #so anywho brief summation is that i think this is more about so many sad boy hours and fear of widespread immortal megalomania #than it is abt hatred for immortality #he has no confidence good things can last without being warped--and that's the key issue here #'nothing gold can stay'#long post #rambles #not incorrect quotes #if you manage to read this without falling asleep i applaud you ajkhldghkfjsdg #thanks for the ask tho--i love any excuse to yell abt leo <333

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youarejesting · 3 years

Text

Hope In The Sheets.8

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers, Words: 2.9k

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Braxton hicks, Reader thinks she is being followed (but is mistaken), and a love making scene very short and sweet.

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

With your final month of pregnancy approaching you were finally ready to take your maternity leave. Deciding to continue working for as long as you could to save some money. The boss was getting super weird but you were holding your tongue and making up excuses to leave his presence.

Your last day was a little extravagant with cake and a card signed by your colleagues. The boss gave you a bouquet of flowers, which you graciously accepted as it was your last day. Everyone took photos and your boss awkwardly pulled you close, his hand resting on your belly.

Irritation growing, you wanted nothing more than to push his hand away and leave. The scent of his cologne made you feel a little sick and you were unbelievably sweaty. Excusing yourself to the safety of the women's bathroom you splashed your neck with some cool water.

Calling Jimin you whispered, “I need you to come pick me up, the boss is being weird again.”

“I am near by, give me a few minutes I will get you,” Jimin’s sweet voice rang like tiny chimes through the phone.

You waited another couple of minutes and heard your name called from the hall, “Y/n?, are you okay in there?” It was your creepy boss.

“Sorry, I am just having a hot flash so I am splashing water on my neck,” You laughed, trying to appear casual and not cause him any reason to suspect you are in distress as you would bet he would barge in otherwise, “I will be out soon.”

Your phone chimed.

[Jimin: We are in the elevator grab your things for a quick escape.]

Curious as to who he was referring to as ‘we’ but not questioning it, he was right you should get ready to leave as quickly as possible. Heading out to the gathering of your colleagues, you smiled fanning yourself.

“Here is some ice water,” One of the women smiled, “I remember when I was pregnant it was unbearably hot.”

“Thanks,” You took a drink and sighed happily at the cool liquid, standing in front of your bag, the flowers and card. The elevator doors opened to reveal a well dressed Jimin and a rather handsome man you recognized from the bar. Jungkook’s best friend, Taehyung was it? You smiled at the two as they smiled greeting everyone. “Hello, we are Y/n’s friends, I'm Jimin and this is Taehyung. We have come to pick her up.” Jimin looked around the room and his eyes lit up, “wow you are all so nice a party and everything.”

Jimin charmed the room easily and Taehyung wasn’t doing too badly either as he took the flowers and your bag. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Ah yes, I wouldn’t mind going home for a rest,” allowing the two young men to lead you towards the elevator, “Goodbye, I will hopefully see you when I am back from leave.”

They all waved and wished you good luck, and you didn’t miss the disappointed look on your boss' face. Your shoulders slumped as you leaned against the wall of the elevator, “I am so tired.”

“We will get you home soon,” Jimin smiled, rubbing your back and pulling you into a hug.

“Should we reschedule?” Taehyung said, “Or, I can um pay again, if you don’t mind waiting for a few weeks, I will save up enough money for another date.”

Jimin was at a loss for words. You knew he didn’t know what to say and you smiled, “Hey no, I will be home soon, just drop me off and go back to Jimin’s, he has a cinema room and you can order in and watch movies.”

“Yeah, we can do that.” Jimin smiled, reassuringly at Taehyung,

“Half a movie, I can only afford half a movie,” He mumbled downtrodden. Jimin wet his lips feeling awkward, he hadn’t dated anyone who wasn’t loaded with cash in a long time.

“Jimin has a rule that if he can’t make a date the next one is half price,” you took the art of improv to a whole new level, “he couldn’t make your date and it had to be rescheduled, right? So, this one is half price so you can get twice the amount of time.”

“Yeah, she is right so we can hang out a little longer.” Jimin bit his lip looking at the young man and seeing the small smile pull up on his lips. “So let’s drop the tiny mama off and go watch a movie.”

“Ok,” Taehyung smiled, you watched the two, nervous like a highschool crush developing between two students. The two graciously dropped them off and Jimin walked you to the door.

“You are smitten!” You grinned, teasing him lightly watching his blush grow. Your eyes catching Taehyung fixing his hair in the passenger seat drop down mirror. “You have never been nervous in your life, and he is so sweet.”

“I have been with rich men here and there looking for a date or a night, but I have never had someone scraping together their money to spend just a little time with me, making handmade gifts because that's all they can do.” Jimin was clutching his heart, and you finally found the key for the front door. “When he tells me I am pretty, or that he loves my voice, it’s different. I know those CEO’s had wives, but when he says it, I feel special like I am the only one in the world he says it too.”

“So what’s the problem?” You asked, letting Jimin walk you inside with all your items. “You have a lot of savings and investment properties, you could live off that money very easily.”

“How can I see him when he thinks he has to pay me all the time?” Jimin mumbled, walking back to the front door. “I don’t want him to go bankrupt because he thinks he can’t afford my rates”

“I heard at the bar that he like photography. Tell him you want a photoshoot but you don’t know a good photographer who you feel comfortable with.” You hugged and an idea struck. “Say you can’t decide on a concept and offer him a few different ones you want to try. He has been asked to submit his work into an exhibition. I think the theme was nightlife.”

“Nightlife.”

“It’s up for interpretation, but who has a more busy nightlife than you, and I am not talking about going out on the town. A sensual at home photoshoot of you in a sheet or a naked silhouette overlooking the night city.”

“Oh that could be fun, I could be part of an exhibition” he giggled, “I will ask him.”

Jimin hugged you again for safe measure and ran off to his van and climbed inside.

You waved shutting the door and heading to the fridge hoping some cold yoghurt would soothe your overheated form, whilst also feeding your almost insatiable hunger.

Opening the fridge, you saw the last of your yoghurt at the back, bending slightly you felt a twinge in your back and as you straightened up, Yoghurt in your hand as you were overcome with a tightness in your stomach. Was this a contraction?

You were two weeks out from your due date so it wasn’t unusual for people to have their babies early. You pulled out your phone calling for an ambulance and trying to breathe calmly.

[Y/n: I think I am in labor, and you’re the only one who is free today.] [DJSuga: Like really or that time you ate too much rice too quickly and got indigestion?] [Y/n: I just called the ambulance.] [DJSuga: I will meet you at the hospital let me know what ward you are in when you know.]

“Hello, I am looking for Miss Y/n.” Yoongi’s voice carried across the hall from the nurses desk to your room. “I would describe her as pregnant but it wouldn’t help.”

“Wow, you are very descriptive. You really have no words to describe me Yoongi? I am offended.” You pouted walking out into the hall, “Let’s go home.”

“What I thought you were popping out a baby today?” he said confused, “If you say it was constipation or something stupid I will hit you upside the head.”

“Well, it wasn’t that.” You blushed, “It was braxton hicks?”

“Who?” he blanked, utterly confused, “What are you talking about?”

“It means fake labor, like a test run.”

“Can you stop with the test runs, I don’t think my body can take it anymore?” Yoongi held his back waddling down the hallway making you giggle. “Come on, I saw a restaurant for lamb skewers and I have been craving it since.”

“You are acting more like a pregnant woman than I am.”

Walking out the front of the hospital you were bombarded by Jin, Jungkook, Namjoon, and a disheveled Jimin with Taehyung. You didn’t realize how your eyes looked for Hoseok, until you didn’t find him. The crushing feeling in your chest made you frown slightly.

“False alarm.” Yoongi muttered, “Apparently Barbie Hacks or something, we are getting lamb skewers. Come on, I hear Jin is paying.”

Hoseok arrived at the Bar and saw that no one was around, the place was locked up with a sign announcing that it was closed for the night. It was strange Jin didn’t ever believe in taking days off, even when he was sick he would be in his office resting.

He called Jin’s phone and heard laughter, “I will be back” Jin's voice called. Hoseok could hear Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi talking about something adamantly. Had they planned something without him.

“Hey Hoseok, what do you need?”

“Your bar is closed?” Hoseok mumbled, “I was wondering what you are all doing?”

“Y/n went to the hospital because she was getting contractions but they turned out to be Braxton hicks, so we are having lamb skewers on Yoongi’s request.”

“Why did no one tell me?” Hoseok felt a little sick that his friends were hanging out without him and there was a strange pull in his chest knowing that he wasn’t there at the hospital.

“I didn’t think we had to, seeing as you are not the father of any children.” Jin repeated his words back to him, “We aren’t picking sides but you made it clear you didn’t want to be a part of the child's life. So we didn’t want to force you to be there.”

“I never said that I didn’t want to be a part!” Hoseok shouted down the phone, “Urgh, this is fucked.”

With a sigh Jin grew deadly serious, “she was scared out of her mind today, she thought she was going to have to give birth alone, you have to talk to her.”

“I said some stupid shit, Jin. I don’t know how to fix this.” Hoseok pulled at his hair and started heading to your house, hoping that perhaps the two of you could talk this out before he ended up losing you.

He had so much that he wanted to say and get mad about, he wasn’t ready to forgive you but he wasn’t ready to let you go either.

You were dropped off at Hoseok’s apartment, the one you had lived in together before everything went wrong. Touching your rounded tummy you knew that this child wasn’t a mistake and apologized out loud for even implying anything of the sorts. Taking the stairs to the second floor you arrived at his door.

Knock knock.

“Hoseok are you home?” You called, taking the key from your keychain you peaked inside to see the lights were off. You sat for a moment but he didn’t come home and it was getting a little dark.

Heading out you locked up and walked along the road. You put a headphone in and pretended to be in a conversation. Speeding up slightly as you passed the men sitting on the steps of one of the stores that had closed up for the night. The men were laughing about something and you scurried along.

Sighing in relief when you went to cross the street, looking both ways you caught sight of figures following you. Were the men following you? What did they want? Thoughts were circling in your head as the adrenaline started to kick in. Dialing hoseok you crossed the road.

“Hello, Y/n?” Hoseok said “I wanted to-”

“Hoseok, there are men following me” you whispered.

“Where are you?” He asked, sounding concerned, which gave you a flash of hope that he would protect you like he always did.

“I am on our street, I am heading to Yuta, I need to go somewhere public.” You replied walking briskly.

“Keep walking, I'm on my way.” You heard the sound of an engine and you knew everything would be okay. Hoseok wouldn’t let you get hurt.

“Don’t hang up, they are still following.” Picking up your speed you noticed they had started to walk a little more briskly. “I sped up and they did too, Hobi, I am really scared.”

“Don’t slow down, you got this little darling, I will be there soon.” Hoseok said with desperation in his voice. “I won’t leave you on your own anymore. I should have been there today. I should be with you now!”

A hand grabbed your shoulder and you screamed phone clattering onto the ground, “I am sorry miss, we called out but your headphones were in, you dropped your wallet.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay, do you need help, can we escort you somewhere?” The other man asked. “There has been some break-ins recently so we have taken to watching the neighborhood.”

They walked you back towards Hoseok's and you sat with them as you spoke about what happened with Hoseok. Talking about how you stuffed up and lied to him. “You mean the really happy guy with the reddish hair? You two used to walk this street all the time. I knew you too liked each other,” they grinned

“So is it a little girl or boy?” One of the guys gestured to your belly. “Have you thought of any names?”

“A little girl and I have been thinking of some. Sun-Hee it just reminds me so much of her dad,” you hummed, a little nervous to hear their feedback, “does it sound silly?”

“It sounds beautiful.”

Looking up there was Hoseok panting and looking relieved to see you okay. Standing, you walked over to your longest friend, hoping he didn’t scold you. “Hoseok, I am sorry.”

He pulled you into a hug and buried his face in your neck, “I don’t care. I don’t care that you lied and kept this from me. I don’t care about any of that, let me be here for you. I will be by your side.”

You were crying, he took your face in his hands brushing your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “Alright love birds, Kiss each other.”

Your cheeks were bright red, ready to laugh and tell the men it wasn’t like that when Hoseok pulled you forward. Pressing his lips to your's, he kissed you fiercely, his hands holding your waist and cradling your head. He tried to pull you closer when your belly bumped against him. He looked down and rubbed your belly gently, “I am sorry I wasn’t there but I am here now, and I am not leaving.”

“Let’s go home, Hobi.” You whispered, he thanked the men for taking care of you and led you to his van. He drove back to your house and walked you inside, shutting the door and taking off his shoes. The two of you sat on the couch.

“I guess you have a lot to talk about.” Hoseok said nervous and you swung your leg over his lap and kissed him. It was difficult to maneuver with your big belly, but you were too busy enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against yours.

“I want to remember this time,” you breathed against him. “Please let’s just pretend that one didn’t happen and try again.”

Hoseok laughed and lifted you carefully and carried you to the bedroom.

Hoseok was gentle and passionate; he teased you with his fingers and lavished you with his tongue. You had never had anything like this. Usually you were chasing a high with some guy you never had plans to call again, and that was on the rare occasion you were looking for sex. This made you feel overwhelmingly good, your heart was pounding. Every thrust brought with it a spark of energy. You clung to Hoseok as he lost himself in the sensations.

He would open his eyes in moments of clarity and kiss you telling you how much he loved you. It wasn’t like jumping off the edge into pleasure; this was like waves that started small and built into a choppy tide never crashing upon you, just rocking you with pleasure. After the crescendo moment the waves began to ease back until it was the gentle waters lapping at the sand.

“Hobi,” you panted as he laid your head on his chest. He hummed encouraging you to continue. You took his hand and placed it onto your belly, “you remember two minutes ago when we had sex, well I think I fell pregnant.”

He laughed, throwing his head back into the pillow and leaned down kissing your belly, “I think you might be right!”

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scrapyardboyfriends · 3 years

Text

Here’s that fic I mentioned that I started. The one where Sarah escaped the fire and ended up in hospital with trauma based amnesia and then shows up in January 2015 as Robert and Chrissie’s wedding planner right in the middle of affair era. Someone read the beginning and make me finish it at some point. Haha. I did have it mostly planned out. I just got lazy.

-----------

It’s Monday morning and Robert’s in the office, tapping his pen against the desk. He’s the first one in, hoping that shows his initiative. Tap, tap, tap turns into Aaron, Aaron, Aaron in his mind. Aaron’s all he can ever think about these days. And right now, Aaron’s mad with him, which grates on him, makes him itch for another touch, another taste that he can’t have until he gets Aaron to change his opinion of him again. He’d managed before, at Andy’s wedding. He can get him on side again. Aaron’s a challenge but he’s a people person. He can do this. And it’s not like Lachlan isn’t perfectly alright again, home from the hospital and back to being a pain and stressing Chrissie out.

Tap, tap, tap. He should be calling a client back about a shoot they want to book next month but his mind can only focus on Aaron, Aaron, Aaron.

He pulls out his phone and the taps become a text. ‘Kiss and make up?’ He writes, chuckling to himself.

It’s Aaron’s birthday today, he knows. Vic had mentioned something the other day and he’d filed away the information in his head. He hopes Aaron doesn’t have big plans. Besides, what better present than Robert shagging him senseless? He doesn’t add that to the message, just smiles and hits send. Now he has to wait.

The papers on his desk flutter as Chrissie blows into the room, wedding binder clutched in her arms. He doesn’t even think she sees him there as she starts rummaging through every stack of papers she can get her hands on, lines of frustration growing deeper on her forehead.

“Have you seen the sample that the printer sent over for the order of service?” She asks. So she did see him. He takes too long to respond, so she stops her whirlwind and stares at him. “Robert?”

He makes a show of looking around his desk before shaking his head. “No,” he tells her. “Wasn’t that the whole point of hiring a new wedding planner in the first place? So they can keep all of this stuff straight?”

She huffs at him, looking irritated, which feels like her default with him at this point. He really should do something about that, so he gets up and starts helping her look for the sample which seems to please her.

She’d fired their first wedding planner, Leyla, after the suit measuring incident. Chrissie just didn’t feel comfortable having her work so closely with her husband to be. It was ironic then that that incident had given him the motivation to seek out Aaron in the first place. He didn’t think much more on that, shifting papers around for a distraction. After that, Chrissie had taken over the wedding planning herself, which was worse, because it meant she checked in with him on everything. He knew more about floral arrangements and place cards and the food allergies of her friends than he ever wanted or needed to know. Still, it had been going alright and Aaron had often given him a much needed reprieve. Then Lachlan had gone and decided to end up in the hospital full of drugs, which was somehow his fault by all accounts and it had all become too much for her. Seating charts and dresses and first dance songs, none of it had been important when poor little Lucky had gotten himself into a mess. Still, there was a wedding to plan because despite being furious with him, he’d managed to make amends enough that she still wanted to marry him and he needed to make sure it stayed that way. All he’d worked for depended on it.

He’d suggested hiring Leyla back but she wouldn’t hear of it, especially not since Katie had been in her ear again. Instead, she’d hired someone from Hotten and he’d encouraged it. Anything that got him out of being on hand for every decision. Except maybe cake tasting, he thinks he could do that.

“I still have to show her what I’ve done so far,” Chrissie tells him, looking around frantically. “She’s coming here in half and hour. I need that sample.”

“Then we’ll find it,” he placates her as his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He pulls it out to see ‘A’ pop up on his screen. It makes him smile. He can’t help it but he quickly forces the corners of his mouth down before Chrissie sees.

‘You think that’s all it’s going to take?’ reads the reply when he opens it.

His fingers are tapping out a response before his brain can even tell him not to, ‘oh I think you know I can do so much more than that.’

His body is singing with nerves as he waits for a reply.

“I expect you to be here when she arrives,” Chrissie says pointedly once she’s noticed he’s stopped going through the motions of looking for the sample.

Robert sighs. He really hadn’t planned on sticking around for her meeting, hadn’t even remembered it was happening until right now. “I uh-“ he stalls, trying to think of an excuse.

His phone buzzes in his hand again. ‘Fine. Barn in an hour. But ur not off the hook yet,’ he reads, picturing Aaron typing with that frown of his that’s not a frown.

“I’ve got a meeting,” he tells Chrissie. “I can’t.” The amount of meetings he’s lied about in the last month are getting a bit out of hand but what can he do?

“Surely this is more important,” she sounds cross with him. “Can’t Dad go?”

Lawrence can definitely not take this meeting for him. Still, he needs to keep on her good side or they won’t need this wedding planner at all. Abandoning the search, he sidles up to her, takes her hands in his and flashes that charming smile he’s perfected so well. “This is important,” he tells her, “you know it is. And I promise, I’ll make the next one and you can fill me in on every detail when I get back.” He can’t think of anything more tedious.

She purses her lips in a pout, making them look so kissable so he leans in and captures them with his. It takes her a second or two of defiance before she’s kissing him back, wrapping her hands around his waist. He loves Chrissie, he reminds himself. For a second, he thinks maybe Aaron can wait. No one is around. He could just push all of the papers off of his desk and...he moves his lips across her cheek and down into her neck, reaching out toward the desk with his hand when he opens his eyes and sees it, the sample, tucked under a file folder that he swears he looked under before.

“Here it is,” he says, pulling back. “Your print sample!”

Chrissie’s eyes light up. “Perfect!” She accepts it greedily and shoves it into her binder. “You don’t have to go right now do you? To this meeting?”

No, he thinks, licking his lips as he moves closer again, ready for more but she pushes him off.

“Robert!” She scolds him with a laugh. “She’ll be here soon, the wedding planner. You can at least meet her before you go.”

He sighs, disappointed at being denied. Sex, he’s always been good at that part. It’s the rest of making a relationship work that he’s sometimes rubbish at. “Yes, I’ll meet her,” he says quickly as another text comes through for him.

‘Well?’ Aaron asks him and he pictures him looking annoyed, glaring at the phone, a crease in his forehead between his eyebrows, but biting at his lip which always makes Robert weak for him.

“Briefly,” he tells Chrissie, giving her a hug so he can text behind her back. ‘I’ll be there,’ he tells Aaron. To Chrissie, he says, “I really can’t be late to this meeting.”

—-

By the time the wedding planner is due to arrive he’s pacing, back and forth across the living room floor much to Chrissie’s annoyance. He can’t help it though. He knows how stroppy Aaron gets when he’s late. Although, part of him enjoys the grumpiness, the part of Aaron that doesn’t just fall at his feet, that makes him work for it. He must be mad.

There’s a knock on the door and he’s hot on Chrissie’s heels as she goes to answer it, phone in his hand and ready to text Aaron and say he’s on his way. He’s already trying to think up an excuse if he’s late. Something that’s not ‘I had to meet with our wedding planner’. Nothing kills the mood more than reminding Aaron that he’s not the only one in his life.

The door swings open and Robert looks up, his phone slipping from suddenly sweaty hands and crashing to the floor. He’s sure his screen’s cracked but that doesn’t matter, his eyes are locked on the ghost in the doorway.

There’s concern in her eyes as she looks at him, concern he recognizes, remembers, has wished for, for years. It can’t be though. She’s older, but she would be. Her hair’s different, more modern, a bob with a bit of grey in it. Grey like she means for it to be there, like she’s proud of it. There’s still some of her old color too, though he’s sure it’s not real anymore. He doesn’t know if she’s real either. There’s crows feet around her eyes, that are still watching him curiously. Those are new. And then she smiles at him, maybe at Chrissie, but that smile is one he’s longed to see again, filled with the warmth of a home he’s been away from for too long.

All so familiar but what makes him certain, what makes him blurt out the word as she introduces herself, Vicky Roberts, the wedding planner, is what he sees under the scarf around her neck. It’s there for warmth, he knows, the scarf. It is January in Yorkshire after all. Underneath though, creeping along her skin up toward her jaw is the puckered skin of a scar, a burn. On the hand she extends toward Chrissie there’s another, reaching back under the sleeve of her jumper and coat.

“Mum?” The word feels heavy on his tongue and it lands like lead in the room as both women turn to gawp at him.

—-

“Robert!” Chrissie’s voice is sharp, half with surprise and half scolding him like a child for making a scene. She scoops up his phone and if he had any of his wits about him at the moment he’d be glad for the cracked screen. “What are you-?” She starts but then whispers, “Don’t be rude.”

He feels insane but it’s her, he’s so sure of it. Still, it can’t be. She’s been dead for so long. Surely he’s just seeing things.

It’s the woman in the doorway herself who makes it feel like he’s not completely lost it. “You-you know me?” She asks, her voice small and tentative.

“Well of course not,” Chrissie decides for the both of them. “Robert, darling, are you alright?”

She thinks he’s gone mad. Maybe he has but his mum is standing there in front of him, looking desperate for him to speak again.

“You’re my-“ It feels ridiculous for him to even say it again. “I think-“ he amends, “I think you’re my mum.”

—-

She’s sitting in their living room now, his mum, Sarah, Vicky Roberts, and she can’t stop staring at him and he can’t stop looking at her. Chrissie’s moving around their little bubble, bringing them tea, asking how she likes it.

“One sugar and a dash of milk,” Robert answers for her, the phrase coming back to him.

“How did you-?” his mum questions through a smile. Chrissie’s waiting, not believing him. “He’s exactly right,” she confirms.

He watches her sip at her tea and he feels like he’s gone back in time. She doesn’t remember the past though she’d told him. Amnesia from trauma from the fire she was in. She didn’t know anymore than that. Just that she’d been found on the side of the road just outside Hotten with no idea how she’d gotten there. A head wound and burns across her body had left her in a coma for months and when she’d come out of it her mind was blank and she’d been scrabbling around for some kind of familiarity ever since.

“It was a barn fire,” Robert tells her, twitching at the words as they still bring him pain. He wants to tell her everything, spew out his entire life story and hers all at once, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm her, doesn’t want to ruin this before it really begins. It feels like at any moment she could just blink out of existence and he’ll wake up somewhere, drunk and maudlin about what he could have had. What else could this be but a dream?

She’s listening intently, hanging onto his every word. He’s a link to a past she thought lost forever. “I don’t remember,” she says, her frustration clear and then, “Sarah Sugden.” She’s said it a few times now, trying see how it feels.

“You must remember something,” he says. “Where did Vicky Roberts come from?” He’s trying desperately to get her to grasp onto something too. What kind of cruel twist of fate to give him his mum back but without any of her left?

“I had to choose a name for myself and those just seemed right somehow,” she tells him. “And you’re...Robert.” She says the name with a thoughtful look and a slight grin on her face, happy that she held onto something.

He smiles back at her, beaming at the knowledge that some part of him stayed with her. “You have a daughter, my sister. Her name is Victoria,” he explains further, his voice shaking with nerves.

“A daughter,” she smiles again, working over the concept in her head. There’s sadness there too, he thinks. Sadness that she can’t remember, sadness that she’s missed out perhaps. He feels the same.

“And...An-Andy,” he trips over his brother’s name, the two syllables stinging his tongue as he thinks about having to tell her it was Andy who started the fire. He can do that himself, Robert decides. Andy owes that to her, to him.

Chrissie sits down next to him and he realizes he’d almost forgotten she was even here. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes, trying to be a comfort to him but he just feels suffocated all of a sudden. Next to her, in this house. Since he’d been back they’d been things to show off but now he feels almost embarrassed, even if his mum didn’t remember. He wonders what she makes of him, if she’s happy that he’s her son. He was always a disappointment to Jack, but never to her. He hopes that holds true now, deep down.

—-

An hour later and he’s sitting beside her on the sofa, flipping through the faded, sticky pages of an old photo album, one she had put together once. It’s surreal sitting next to her, leaning over her shoulder and pointing out memories that she doesn’t have. Chrissie sits opposite them, trying get a look at the photos. He realizes he’s never even shown this to her. Trying to get ahead, it wasn’t the best idea to show off his more humble roots.

“That’s Ollie,” Robert points at the owl in his arms. “I helped nurse him back to health and then I got so attached I didn’t want to set him free again,” he laughs, remembering.

His mum smiles again but nothing connects.

“And that’s you holding Victoria just after she was born,” he says, running his finger over the plastic page and the photo underneath.

“It’s so strange,” she stares at the picture, “seeing yourself doing things you don’t remember doing with people you feel like you’ve never met.” She pauses and does what he did, running her hand over the page before looking over at him. “Sorry,” she tells him. “These are all your memories and I can’t share them the way you want me to.”

Robert wants to hug her, tell her to take her time. Even if none of it comes back, she’s still here and alive and he’ll take that right now. He restrains himself though, not sure what she would make of him lunging at her. “Don’t be sorry,” he rushes to say instead. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” she sighs in frustration. “All I’ve wanted for fourteen years is to fill this hole in my brain.” She flips to the next page and stops, staring at a photo of her and Jack. Pointing at him, she turns to him again.

“That’s Dad,” he says, feeling uncomfortable when he thinks about what happened between them, what led her to be in that barn in the first place.

She stares a moment longer, lines on her forehead deepening as she concentrates on the face of the man she married once. “Jack,” she pulls the name out of thin air and Robert gasps, never so happy to hear his father’s name.

“You-you remember?” he blurts out.

She seems surprised herself, sitting up, eyebrows raised. Her mouth opens again, forming the name silently. “I screamed it,” she says, sinking back into the sofa again, closing her eyes around a memory. “I can feel it, the heat closing in, strangling my voice but I screamed his name.” Her body shudders and she reaches up to kneed her forehead between two fingers.

Again he wants to hug her, wrap her up in his arms and protect her the way he couldn’t back then. He settles on the squeeze of her shoulder, just to let her know that someone is here for her. Her eyes flutter open, startled and he’s afraid he’s made a mistake but then she settles again and leans into his touch. He feels his heart swell in his chest.

“When I hired you, Robert, I did expect you to actually do some work,” Lawrence’s smug voice shatters the moment as he sweeps into the room, an intruder.

“Dad!” Chrissie scolds him and shoots Robert an apologetic look as she flies up off of the chair and leads Lawrence back out again.

A moment and a few whispered words later and he’s poking his head back in, wide eyed yet mistrustful. Robert’s only hated him more when he was faking that heart attack and interrupting his speech at the cemetery. It takes all his self control not to go off on him as he pops back out again.

“My soon to be father in law who hates me,” he says by way of explanation.

“Oh Robert, I’m sure he doesn’t hate you,” his mum tells him and he melts. She sounds so like how she used to and he wants to drown himself in that feeling.

She seems to feel it too, some connection between them and she looks bewildered by it. He can’t imagine how she must be feeling about all of this. An hour or so ago she was Vicky Roberts, a woman with a blank past and now she finds out she has all of this family she’d forgotten. Her fingers press into her forehead again, right between her eyes, making small circles there and he squeezes her shoulder again, the only thing he can think to do.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Bringing her hand back down to the page of the album, she shakes off whatever had come over her. “I’ll be fine,” she assures him, still staring at the photo. When she turns back to him she asks, “Jack...your dad, is-”

Robert swallows hard, doesn’t know if she remembers that they weren’t exactly together at the time. He doesn’t know how much this is going to hurt but he can’t lie to her. “He...died a few years ago,” he tells her.

“Oh,” she sighs, and there seems not to be sadness so much as frustration at a potential connection lost. “And Victoria and...uh...Andy?”

That doesn’t hurt as much to answer. “They’re both still in the village,” he says. “Vic works at the pub. She’s a chef. And Andy...he’s a farmer. Like Dad.”

She looks at him carefully, like she’s studying him. “You didn’t want to be a farmer.” It’s not a question.

His heart is in his throat. “You remember?” he nearly begs for the answer.

“It’s all so hazy,” she says, massaging her forehead again. “Like putting together a puzzle in the dark without all of the pieces. This, this is more than I’ve ever remembered before though. Being here, with you, seeing all of these pictures, it’s helping. I-I don’t-I don’t want the memories to stop.”

Robert smiles at her, his eyes tearing up. He never cries, not anymore, but having her here means more to him than anything else ever could. “I don’t either,” he agrees. “I can take you to the village, to the pub. Vic has a shift today. Maybe it’ll help.”

“I’d like that very much,” she says, her smile matching his along with the glistening tears in her eyes.

Chrissie appears in the doorway again, looking like a bit of a spare part and hating it. “Well that’s Dad sorted. Can I get anyone anything else?”

Robert stands, helping his mum up from the sofa and grabbing her coat from where it was laid over the back. “I was going to take her to the pub actually.”

“Oh right, of course,” Chrissie spits out quickly.

Reluctantly, Robert leaves his mum’s side and rounds the coffee table and the chairs and takes Chrissie’s arms in his. “You don’t mind do you? Only-”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she tells him. “Robert this is your mum. If I could have my mum back-”

“I know,” he whispers and kisses her cheek. “And thank you.”

His mum is by his side again, reaching out towards Chrissie, a hand on her arm above his own. “I’m so sorry. I came here with a job to do and I’ve-well we’ve gotten a bit side-tracked haven’t we?”

“Don’t be silly,” Chrissie assures her, a warm smile on her face. “This is more important.”

“And so is my son’s wedding,” she beams back and Robert feels his heart beat just a bit faster at hearing her call him her son. “We will reschedule. I promise.”

Chrissie nods, tears in her eyes as well as she takes in the moment, mother and son reunited, before shooing them towards the door. With a returned kiss on his cheek, she hands him his coat and wishes him luck.

—-

“I can’t believe it,” Vic just keeps saying over and over again, clutching her blue chef’s hat in tight, shaking hands. “I can’t actually- can I hug you?”

She doesn’t even let her answer before she’s flinging arms around their mum, burying her tear stained face into the folds of her jumper and scarf. For a moment Sarah freezes, unsure, but then something kicks in and she’s wrapping his little sister up in a warm embrace. Jealousy washes over him for a second before he pushes it down, feeling the acute absence of her arms around him. He wishes he had asked for a hug.

“Let her breathe Victoria,” Diane warns her off with a good natured laugh when the hug lasts a bit too long.

“Sorry, sorry,” she apologizes as she backs off, straightening Sarah’s scarf for her. “I just-“

“Can’t believe it?” Sarah finishes for her. “Neither can I. Certainly not what I expected when I took this job.”

“Job?” Vic asks. He didn’t really get a chance to explain the whole thing yet.

“She’s our new wedding planner,” Robert tells her. “If we haven’t scared her off.” He adds the last bit in, in some desperate need to gauge the situation all of a sudden.

“Oh that’s perfect, Rob!” Vic’s eyes light up. “Hey does that mean you’re actually going to give me the cake job then? Cause I’ve got ideas-“

“Vic!” He rolls his eyes. She’s been at him for a month now asking about it.

“I’d love to hear about them,” Sarah tells her, both in wedding planner and mum mode at the same time. “And of course you haven’t scared me off.”

There’s quiet voices behind them at the door that cease the moment they spot Sarah. Robert turns to see Andy there and the relaxed, warmth he’d been feeling immediately runs cold and his body stiffens. Katie’s on his arm, looking frosty. She still hasn’t forgiven him for the rings and ruining the wedding and normally when he’s reminded of it, he feels mostly smug about even if he wishes he hadn’t done it. Anything to wind her up. Now, he just feels ashamed, standing next to his mum. She’d probably have been furious along with the rest of them if she’d been here.

She could have been here, he thinks, looking at Andy. His brother might not have killed her in the end but he took her from him all the same. All the hatred he had for him back then comes bubbling back to the surface, all compressed and forced into a single withering stare. Andy has the decency to look guilty when he looks at Sarah but he hardly even bothers to glance his way, which only makes Robert all the more furious.

All these years, he could have had his mum. When Andy and Jack were united against him, he could have had her on his side. He might have done better in school, on his exams, if he’d had her there to encourage him, rather than just his dad’s disappointment hanging over him. He might not have ended up on that road near Wilson’s field, playing chicken and ready to kill his brother. He might never have been sent away, from his home, his family. So many what ifs swirl around in his head, making him dizzy.

“Hi,” he barely hears Andy say sheepishly even though he’s right in front of him.

“And you’re Andy,” she replies kindly but her expression looks a bit blank and it makes Robert a bit smug to know he has more of a connection with her than him.

“It’s so-I can’t believe-I-“ Andy stutters as he studies her. Robert sees the exact moment he notices the burn scars on her neck because his face goes white as a sheet and he blurts out an, “I’m so sorry.”

There’s tears in his eyes now and Robert’s too although his burn with hatred. Sarah looks taken aback by the display of emotion. She doesn’t have a clue and despite his anger, Robert doesn’t want to be the one to explain it to her. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to.

“I did it,” Andy blurts again, Katie hanging on his arm, trying to calm him down. The early pub goers are staring now, no one else is really there who knows the tale though.

“Did what?” Sarah asks, her face contorted in her confusion. The creases in her forehead deepen more as she tries to work out something she feels like she should remember. This isn’t one of those memories she should have though.

“I’m sorry,” Andy sobs and now Vic’s crying and Diane’s coming around the bar to comfort him and Robert just wants to roll his eyes. Andy’s trying to admit he almost burned his mum alive and they’re still falling all over themselves to be there for him. And what does he ever get? Nothing.

“Oh Andy,” Diane tries to soothe him.

Vic chimes in with an “Andy no.”

Robert doesn’t understand why his sister isn’t more upset with Andy for taking her mum away like he is. It only angers him more, his hands balled into fists at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms.

“I-I-I did it, I started the fire,” he finally gets out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“You didn’t mean it?” Sarah’s tone is harsh and Robert feels vindicated for a moment.

“I didn’t know anyone was in there,” he tries to explain frantically. “It was-it was for the insurance. It was stupid, I know, but the farm was failing and I wanted to help Dad and-“

Sarah backs up against the bar, using it to support her weight as she sags against it. It’s too much for her, Robert can see that, trying to process it all. Andy takes a step forward, still sobbing out apology after apology but Robert puts himself between them, a stern look on his face, hoping Andy gets the message.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Andy sighs. “I’m so sorry. Please believe that.”

He pulls free of Vic’s and Diane’s and Katie’s grasps and hurries out of the pub amongst the whispers of the punters. Before she runs after him, Katie shoots him a dagger filled glare that promises him death if he makes this worse. He only shrugs at her. Let Andy feel bad for what he did. He should.

Turning back to his mum, he helps her up onto one of the bar stools and Chas who’s joined them, briefed on the situation by Diane, gets her a glass of water. She’s got her eyes closed again and he wonders if she’s reliving the fire. Abandoning some of his earlier restraint, he pulls her into a one armed embrace and she lays her head on his shoulder. He couldn’t save her back then, but he can be here for her now.

—-

“Here you are,” Marlon says brightly, as he sets out their food in front of them. He doesn’t go though, just stands there with his hands on his hips, staring. “I just, wow,” he gasps. “Oh! You probably don’t remember me!”

“No,” she replies politely, but again, Robert can see the frustration simmering underneath. “I take it I should.”

“Marlon,” he introduces himself, “Marlon Dingle. We used to work together once! Like mother like daughter I guess, but well-“

“Marlon,” Robert cuts off his rambling before he sits down and recounts their whole history. There’ll be time for that later if she wants.

“Oh, right, sorry. I’ll just let you get on,” the gangly chef apologizes and heads back to the kitchen.

Sarah hangs her head as he goes, looking a bit defeated, a bit angry at herself. Over her head, Robert shares a worried look with Vic, both of them out of their depth with this. Fingertips pinch at her forehead again, like if she massages it enough, all of her memories will come back to her. He wishes that were the case.

“I should remember,” Sarah chastises herself, staring blankly at her meal. Robert hates seeing her like this, empty. He wants to see the quick witted fire back in her he remembers from his youth. “And I should...I should go after...after-”

“Andy?” Vic provides the name for her with a gentle smile. “Katie’s with him. She’ll sort him.”

“Katie,” she says the name to herself like she’s trying to hold onto it.

“His wife,” Vic fills in the blank. “It just, it took him a long time to get over what he’d done. Seeing you, it’s just brought it all back up.” She pauses, eyes full of sympathy, letting Sarah process the information and Robert keeps his mouth shut, or tries to, managing to only let out a quiet grunt of derision for his brother. “It really was an accident though.”

An accident that changed everything, Robert curses Andy to himself as he pushes his food around his plate. He’s not hungry even though it’s lunchtime now. He should just be enjoying having his mum back but instead he can’t stop his mind from working on overdrive. There’s others in the pub now too, gawking at them. Zak and Lisa are there and Paddy and they’ve got matching bewildered looks on their faces, mouths hanging open and closing so as to not draw attention. Robert sees them though, sees another familiar face wander into the bar as well. He’d forgotten about Aaron, about their barn meeting, his useless phone still smashed up back at Home Farm. Catching his eye, Aaron fixes him with an irritated glare and one of his frowns, this one saying ‘I don’t care about you’. Robert feels his heart sink at that but even as it does, he can feel shame prickling up his spine as he sits next to his mum. He tries to focus on her, on the conversation she’s having with Vic beside him.

“-out of the barn?” he catches Vic saying.

“I’ve tried so hard to piece it together over the years,” Sarah tells her, “but I’ve blocked so much out. I barely even remembered the fire beyond the feeling of burning before today.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Victoria cringe at the words and an apologetic expression wash over his mum’s face. But with his divided attention, he’s still watching Aaron at the bar, greeting Zak and Lisa, having an awkward exchange with Paddy who gives him some kind of envelope. A card. His birthday, Robert remembers suddenly, remembers all the plans he had for Aaron that morning.

“Sorry love,” he hears Chas tell him, nodding in the direction of their table, “You’ve been a bit upstaged today,”

Aaron shrugs and follows her gaze and they lock eyes again briefly but he doesn’t linger on him long before moving onto Sarah. “Who is that then?”

“Sarah Sugden back from the dead apparently,” Chas says it so flippantly, barely scratching the surface on what a monumental moment this is for him. “I never knew her but it’s knocked Vic and Diane for six.” Robert doesn’t miss that she leaves him out.

Aaron doesn’t ignore him though, eyes flitting back to his, widening in disbelief and Robert can only nod to confirm it’s real. For a moment, he’s caught, transfixed in Aaron’s gaze, lost in the concern for him he sees there, and then suddenly he’s back to spiraling, the what ifs assaulting his brain again.

Beside him, Sarah notices a picture hanging on the wall. “Is that Jack?” he hears her ask.

Vic’s on hand with an answer, “Yes! You remember Dad?” Her excitement pours out of her but it does nothing to penetrate the constant barrage of thoughts swimming around in his head.

What if Andy had never lit that match? What if his mum had come home that night?

“Only bits and pieces,” Sarah tells Vic.

He hears Vic’s sigh of disappointment humming underneath more questions.

What if his mum and dad had worked things out? What if she had moved back in?

At the bar the Dingles are talking, Paddy stuttering through a story about Sarah to Chas, Chas mostly ignoring him and focusing on Aaron, asking him if he wants a birthday pint.

What if they had become a proper family again?

“-on the wall?” Sarah asks and he missed the first half. “Did he own this place?”

“Oh,” Vic goes quiet for a moment in time for another question as Aaron ignores Chas’s question about the pint to keep focusing on him.

What if his mum had been there that that summer? When Tom had been helping on the farm?

“He uh-” Vic pauses again and he can see her looking at him for help but he has none to offer.

“It’s alright Victoria,” Sarah tells her, gives her hand a squeeze, her other hand still massaging her forehead. “I want to know as much as possible. Good or bad.”

What if she had found him in his room-

“After,” Vic starts, “after you-well he married Diane.” He sees her point to the woman in question, serving another punter behind the bar. “She put his picture up after he...after he died. To honor his memory.”

-when he kissed- Aaron’s name flashes in his mind before he corrects himself - Tom?

“He was with her before,” he hears Sarah say. “Wasn’t he?”

“I don’t-” Vic stops, unsure of herself.

What if he had told her about Tom in the first place? That he liked him? What if-

“Are you okay?” Vic asks.

It’s too much, he thinks.

“It’s too much,” Sarah says his words out loud, making him swing his head back towards his mum, angry at himself for getting distracted.

She’s got her head in her hands, her face gone pale and she’s shaking ever so slightly.

“Mum!” he shouts over his own thoughts, his voice too loud. He startles her and she turns toward him looking rattled, panicked.

“Mum,” Vic echoes him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, being a damn sight more useful than him at the moment. “Let’s get you to the back room. You can have a lie down.” She gets her up and looks toward the bar. “Diane?”

“Of course, pet,” Diane tells her, moving Dingles out of the way so she can let them through easier.

Robert abandons their lunches, trailing after them in a daze still himself. It was all too much, the thoughts swirling around in his head, all the pieces of memories flooding back into hers. Maybe the pub hadn’t been such a good idea but she’d wanted to come. She’d wanted more, he tells himself to assuage the guilt. On his way through, he brushes by Aaron, exchanging another glance, Aaron’s eyes full of worry, not for his mum but for him. Their arms brush, shoulder to fingertips and he can’t help but wish it lasted longer before he’s following Vic and his mum and Diane into the back, watching his little sister pull it together to settle Sarah down on the sofa. Diane’s getting her a glass of water and he’s just standing there like a spare part. He should be doing something, offering to call her doctor, something practical. That’s how he usually operates but all he can do is stare, thinking.

After another moment, frozen, Aaron comes through, Chas on his heels, offering help if needed. Robert can’t help thinking that Aaron should be furious with him for missing their barn meeting, should be telling him he’s blown it, that he should pull his investment from their non existent business or something, but instead, he’s just standing there, wanting to help in any way he can. And Robert wants him to.

What if she had known that he liked-what if she’d been alright with it?

“I need some air,” he says suddenly, the words barely a whisper.

“Robert!” he hears Vic shout after him but he doesn’t stop, needs to get out of there for just a minute or two.

---

He’s found himself a spot on the picnic benches, head resting in his hands, body shivering because like an idiot, he’d gone out without a coat on. It doesn’t matter though; he can’t go back in yet. Not until he clears his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. He has her here now and he should be in there helping her. Chrissie should be with him but he’d left her behind and Aaron-

The bench dips underneath his thighs as extra weight is added to it, a pair of black jeans appearing next to his blue ones. Reluctantly, he looks up to find Aaron watching him. His cheeks are flushed from the cold and his gelled hair is being blown free from its hold by the wind, but his eyes are kind and Robert knows he doesn’t deserve them.

“What was all that about then?” Aaron asks him. “They’re all worried.”

“Doubtful,” Robert defaults.

“Your mum is,” Aaron says softly and yeah, maybe just maybe that’s true. He’d forgotten what that was like. “Guess now I know why you stood me up.”

There’s that frown that’s not a frown again and it both settles something in him and flips it on its head all over again. “I didn’t-I meant-” he’s stuttering like Paddy now. “I was coming and then Chrissie-she wanted me to meet the wedding planner.”

“Wedding planner?”

“My mum was the wedding planner,” he explains.

Aaron laughs, covers it quickly, but laughs all the same and yeah, if he wasn’t all twisted up inside, it probably would be funny. He can’t laugh though so instead he watches the little puffs of breath from Aaron’s laugh dance in the cold air in front of his lips before they disappear.

“Wow,” Aaron sighs, shaking his head, before he turns more serious. “What ya doing out here then, eh? I know how much she means to you.”

He does know, Robert thinks. He’s the only one that listened to him when he was upset about Lawrence ruining his speech at her memorial and they barely even knew each other then. Aaron’s always ready to listen, just like now.

“I just-” Only he doesn’t know quite what to say. “Andy was here.”

“Oh?”

“You know what he did,” Robert says. “He told her. I didn’t think he’d have the balls but he told her.”

“Shit,” Aaron assesses the gravity of the situation succinctly.

“And all I could think was what if-” he stops himself. He can’t tell Aaron all of this. There has to be some shortened version, something he can say to make it all make sense. “I could be-if he-never mind.”

Flustered, he pushes himself up from the table and stalks off, hands tucked into his armpits for warmth, getting further and further away from where he should be. His mum is here, she’s here and she’s struggling and he’s running around the village like an idiot because-he can’t finish that thought.

---

Aaron finds him on the bridge, leaning over the railing, half wishing the river was deeper so he could just jump in and let it carry him away for a while. Quietly, gently, Aaron takes the place beside him, mirroring his pose, elbows up on the railing, a small gap between their bodies that Robert dares himself to close. He doesn’t and neither does Aaron. They just stand there in silence for a while, watching the cold water below.

Eventually, Aaron speaks. “I use to play a game with myself,” he says softly. “What if my mum had never left me as a kid? What if she had taken me with her when she went? What if I’d grown up surrounded by my mad family instead of isolated with my dad?”

The word ‘isolated’ strikes him as odd but Aaron rarely talks this much so he listens.

“Would my life have been different?” he continues. “Would it have been better? Would I have been better? Less of the screwed up mess that I am?”

“You’re not,” Robert can’t help himself but say.

Aaron huffs. “Yeah well you don’t know me that well, but you’ve seen-” he pauses, curls in on himself a bit, “my scars.”

Robert thinks back to that night in that - gay bar - what he’d said before he stormed out. He hadn’t regretted it enough then but he does now, seeing the way Aaron looks when he says the words. It was just, being in that place, it put him on edge. That wasn’t him, no matter what box Aaron wanted to put him in. That was one time Aaron wasn’t listening, not properly, not about Andy and the ring. He didn’t get it but maybe now-

“What if Andy hadn’t started that fire?” Robert says. “Maybe he didn’t kill her but I lost her all the same. What if I hadn’t? She always-she always understood me you know?” “Suppose someone had to,” Aaron quips, knocking shoulders with him to lighten the seriousness of the mood. He’s grateful, despite being teased.

“My dad never did,” he admits. “Everything changed when I lost her. My relationship with Andy, Dad. I set out on this path trying to prove- what do you do when you feel like you could have been a whole different person with a whole different life if you’d just-”

“You accept the way things are,” Aaron tells him plainly. “I’ve got my mum back in my life now and we’re in a good place. You could have the same.”

“I’ve missed her,” he blurts out. “So much.”

“I know,” Aaron says, a hand patting his shoulder and pulling him towards him. “Come here.”

A hug. They haven’t done this before and it shows, Aaron’s arms awkwardly wrapping around him, one over his shoulder and one under his arm. They don’t fit at first. Aaron’s on his toes and Robert’s just standing there, too stunned to make an effort. And then, warm, Aaron’s warm and his fingers are clutching at the back of his jumper, bunching up the fabric and tugging him in and finally, Robert allows himself to let go. He buries his face into the folds of Aaron’s worn purple hoodie, hands stretching across his back and meeting in the middle as they press closer to one another. They’ve seen each other without clothes but this is the most naked he’s ever felt with him. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time.

What if his mum had known back then he’d liked Tom? What if she’d known he’d liked boys as well as girls? What if she’d accepted him? What if this could be-no-no-Aaron told him to accept the way things are. He’s with Chrissie. He loves her. They’re getting married. His mum showed up as his wedding planner. She’s there at the pub, back in his life after all this time and he’s here, wasting his time on some fling, something that’s not even real. He can’t do this.

“I can’t,” he sputters, pushing Aaron away.

He tries to ignore it, but he can’t miss the hurt on Aaron’s face. It’s better this way though, to break it off now before either of them get in too deep. And yet-he lies to himself like he has before. He’s got Chrissie and that’s enough. It’s time to go.

“Sorry,” he manages at least before he’s taking off across the bridge and back towards the Woolpack.

“Robert!” Aaron’s call follows him for a time but he just pushes onward, trying not to listen.

#robron #fan fic #unfinished wip that someone should make me finish at some point cause i'm the worst at finishing things

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yamithediaperdork · 3 years

Text

A Bet can be costly (Percy Jackson)

A bet can be costly

It was only half past nine in the morning and already Percy and Jason were bored while hanging out in the latter's cabin. True it somewhat helped that Jason had somehow swung getting a TV and cable while even Percy despite being the son of one of the big three didn't but still there was just nothing on that held either boys attention for long.

Of course Percy despite his claims of being strait and sighting the fact he was dating Annabeth as proof of said straightness he found himself looking over at Jason who was in just his black shorts and nothing else as he relaxed on the cream colored sofa that the two boys where sharing.

Jason might of been younger but he was well more build compared to Percy who while wasn't fat or even chunky, was as ripped as the demi god next to him.

"Ughhhh, there is NOTHING to do.." Jason groaned and shut the tv off, leaning back and closing his eyes, then smirking and turning to look at Percy as he opened them. "Well almost nothing, but I don't think you're man enough for a little bet I have in mind."

Percy huffed a little at that, ever since he'd been caught with wet pants during a party, everyone had started to treat him like a little guy, even though he had to be one of the most hung guys there!

(Well at least he thought so, it wasn't exactly like he went around and measured everyone else's ding dongs.)

"I can take on any bet you have in mind!" he said and crossed his arms.

'heh, gotcha~' Jason thought and then flashed his pearly whites at Percy.

"Alright, but if you don't wanna take the bet even after I say it, don't feel bad alright?" Jason said, and waited for Percy, who was getting somewhat fussy to nod in agreement.

"Ok buddy, The bet is simple enough.. we're gonna drop our pants and compare cock sizes. Whoever is bigger wins, and the loser has to be the winner little boy for the summer, and do whatever he's told."

"..Where you dropped on your head as a child?" Percy asked, raising a eyebrow but then smirking. "But Fine, you're gonna look sooo cute as my little boy Jason. It's you who might wanna back down, I'm packing some major heat here." Percy said and patted his crotch.

'..Ok he's just asking for a cuddle now. just too cute.' Jason thought then out loud went "Well Mr.Jackson, if you're so sure of yourself go right ahead."

"heh, Wanna spare yourself the humiliation huh? I'll let you keep your modesty." Percy said, really full of himself now as he stood up and started to tug down his black jogging pants. "Your about to see why Annabeth walks funny every time she comes over to my cabin~"

with his pants around his ankles and his plaid boxer's on display, Percy hooked his thumbs in the waistband and shot Jason a shit eating grin.

"Last chance to back out, though I hope you don't. you're gonna look fucking adorable in a sailor suit on the beach making me sand castles."

"Sheesh you trying to be a Pro wrestler with all that trash talking, shut up and show me what you got." Jason laughed, the sheer attuide coming from Percy was just too cute, double so when he knew a few things about Annabeth that Percy didn't.

Smirking Percy dropped his shorts and showed off all 7 inches of his fuck meat, not as thick as he would of liked but it got the job done and his pubes were neatly trimmed , almost a buzz cut.

"Face it Jason, your F'ed in the A." Percy said, reaching down and stroking his semi soft cock and gaining a half inch as it went to full on stiff mode.

"Oh my~ That IS quite impressive Percy, way more then I thought a pants pisser would of had." Jason said and stood up, hooking his thumbs in his shorts. it was well known he went commando so there would be no build up here. "Too bad it's still not enough."

"What?" Percy asked, looking confused and then Jason's shorts hit the floor and a soft 8 inch cock was looking back at Percy, at least TWICE the thickness of Percy's proud fuck meat!

"But, wait, there's more!" Jason said in his best TV infomercial voice, and with a couple of pumps his cock jumped up to 10 inches and was leaking a little cock drool.

"H-Holy fuck!" Percy squeaked.

"So do we need the measuring tape? or compare them side by side or do you wanna be a good boy and take your shirt off so big brother can get you dressed little man?" Jason asked.

"ah..ah..about that..see..I uh..I was totally kidding about making you do anything.." Percy was saying, trying to back away from Jason now with his pants and undies around his ankles. "T-this was all just a silly joke so I don't think we reall-"

"Percy, I'm going to ask one more time, for you to finish striping, or you'll be going over my lap little man." Jason said, bending down and tugging his shorts back up.

"Well ok, when you put it that way that soun- LOOK A DISTRACTION!" Percy yelled and pointed behind Jason and then went to run, instantly tripping and boinking his face off the floor since he hadn't kicked the clothes off.

"heh..I can see you're going to be a handful." Jason said and walked over and picked the dazed Percy up.

"I can taste purple!" Percy coo'ed.

"-snek-, I bet you can."

After making sure that Percy wasn't concussed, Jason waited for a few for the poor soon to be little guy to get his marbles back, and when Percy did he'd find himself over Jason's lap, a firm hand on his lower back to keep Percy from taking off.

The boy had been stripped naked by this point and Jason had made sure his cabin was far enough away from the water to keep Percy from using any of his powers, plus his own taps and water tank were enchanted to 'help keep Percy honest'.

"i.. what... Ah!" Percy yelped as he came to his sense and realized the situation he was in.

"welcome back buddy." Jason said, rubbing his free hand on Percy's bubble butt, almost kneeing the semi fatty flesh of the older boys butt. "Never knew you had so much junk in your trunk!"

"S-Shut up!" Huffed Percy even as he fought to get free, but it was clear who of the two was the stronger and a sudden SWAT to his ample back side (when made a ripple to Jason's delight) stopped him.

"J-J-Jason...Big Brother..I-if I promise to be good, can we skip th-" Percy started.

"Sorry buddy, I don't wanna do this anymore then you wanna be spanked." Jason started, a bold face lie but still. "But you need to learn if your not a good boy there is a fallout. I'll only go with 10 swats THIS time and hopefully you won't make me punish you more."

Percy whimpered, giving a weak token effort to get free but Jason could tell he had more or less accepted his fate and in a small way made Jason hate he STILL had to follow though.

Figuring it was better to get this over with Jason brought his hand down hard on Percy's cheeks, making the demi god guy out and kick his legs.

before Percy could even fully process that swat the second was already happened, Jason wanted this to be fast and hard.

He was all of five swats in, and Percy was blubbering like a baby, his hot tears flowing freely when he felt Percy stiffen on his lap.

"JASON STAP I HAF-" Percy started to warn and then..

well Jason was glad he'd pick a bar stool he had for the spanking as his lap and legs were drenched and a smelly puddle was made as Percy's bladder unloaded itself.

"I-I'm sorry please don't spank me morrrrre!" Percy sobbed.

Jason, despite being soaked in his little guys wee wee, just tugged Percy up and hugged him, wincing slightly as the bawling Percy got snot all over his shoulder while glomping him.

'Yeah..we're gonna share a shower.' he thought.

One wash up later and Jason and Percy were cleaned and dried off, with Jason in a fresh pair of shorts and a t-shirt while Percy was just wrapped up in a big fluffy towel whining softly still.

As it had turned out Percy was NOT a fan of showers, and had wanted to go for a bath despite Jason pointing out how bad of a idea that would of been. Having to put his foot down Jason had been forced to threaten anther trip over his knee to get Percy into said shower.

Now with Jason dressed it was Percy's turn and Jason rummaged though a dresser drawer and came out with a perfect little guy outfit made to Percy's size, clearly he had been planning this for awhile.

Said outfit was a pair of white socks with little anchor designs in dark silver all over them, a pair of briefs likewise with the anchors on them and then following up from that, a pair of cream white shorts and a sailor top.

"..How long have you been-" Percy started to ask.

"long enough, now lay back and let big bro get you dressed. and try not to have anymore accidents little man." Jason chuckled, and smirked as Percy huffed and stuck his tongue out at him.

"You shouldn't stick out your tongue, only snakes and fools do that and snakes don't have arms and legs so you must be a fool~" Jason teased.

"Oh WHATEVER!" Percy fumed and went to stick his tongue out again, but seemed to think better of it.

Once the little guy was all dressed, Jason helped him stand up and kissed his forehead, Making Percy whine and squirm and lead him over to a mirror so he could look at himself, adding a little sailor cap to his head and smirking.

"...I look like a oversized 5 year old!" Percy whined, cheeks going bright red and huffing and squirming.

"That WAS what I was aiming for." Jason chuckled and smooched Percy's cheek, getting even more fussy whines from the newly turned little. "Your gonna look SO cute on the bench making me sand castles and I have a cute little swim suit for you and everything!"

"..why do i get the feeling even if I had won, you would of just found a way to little me anyways?" Percy whined.

"Heh, that kinda foresight would of served you well about half a hour ago little bro."

Leading the huffing Percy back out to the living room, Jason set out a blanket on the floor for the little guy and then as Percy sat there silent fuming, he brought over a cardboard box and set it down.

Percy peeked into the box and it was half filled with toy's that he was sure would of delighted any 4-7 year old but only made him roll his eyes and look up at Jason.

"Really?" he asked Jason."Even if I hadn't of stopped playing with toys years ago, i was more into action figures then stuffies and toy cars and boats."

"Well since video games are a no no for little guys like you and ditto for action figures, you better learn to like these." Jason chuckled.

"What? why can't I have action figures?!" Percy demanded, never mind he had JUST said he wasn't into them anymore.

"Too many little pieces that could come off when you chew on them." Jason chuckled and patted the top of Percy's hat covered head.

"I DON'T CHEW ON TOYS!" Percy semi shouted and huffed.

"That's nottttt what your mom said when I was getting her help with this." Jason said in a sing song voice. "she told me you had teeth marks all over your old power rangers toys.

"Slander and lies! ..WAIT MY MOM WAS IN ON THIS?!?" Percy shrieked.

"Heh, oh yeah. wants pictures and warned me if I make you feel too little to be ready to diaper you at night."

Percy's right eye twitched and then he went on a incoherent screaming and shouting fit that Jason let go on, just to get it out of Percy's system and was amazed it took about 10 minutes before Percy stopped, panting and huffing, spittle running down his chin.

"You wanna try that again, this time in English so I can actually understand what you say?" Jason asked, grinning ear to ear.

by the time Percy was done, Jason had tallied that normally he would of earned about four mouth washings and at least one trip over his lap, but again, was letting the little guy get one punishment free vent in.

"Free better?" Jason asked as Percy huffed and pouted.

"..Kinda."

"Good, that's the last time I'm putting up with a fit like that Percy, so I hope you got it all out of your system. next time you'll be treated like any other five year old who has a tantrum." Jason said.

"..what does that mean?" Percy asked, gulping. "A time out in the corner?"

"well a time out is part of it, but you'll find this isn't some new age parenting place. Here at camp half blood, we believe in spanking naughty little boys and girls." Jason said and the look on his face left no doubt he meant it.

"..Oh poopie." Percy whimpered.

"Really Percy? stand up and let me check. I don't smell anything." Jason said with a chuckle.

"T-That's not what I meannnnnt!"

after his twin rants and everything else, it was just about lunch time so after getting Percy to start playing with his toy cars, even though Percy looked bored out of his mind, Jason started to cook up some lunch for the boys.

"Percy, I don't hear you playing..you being good over there?" Jason called over his shoulder, cutting up some potato's to make them fries to go with the grilled cheese he was gonna make.

Percy almost snarled out a reply but the threat of a spanking was in the back of his mind and instead..

"Yeah I'm being good, I don't know how to make the cars make enough noise to convince you though." Percy said.

"oh well thats simple. Make the engine noises. go vrhoom vrhoom." Jason chuckled.

"...you are a sick sick man, you know that?" Percy asked, but knowing when he was licked, started to do the noises just like 'big brother' wanted.

blushing the whole time and feeling foolish.

'I suppose it could be worse, no one else is here. and he'll have to get tired of this before long.' Percy thought.

Of course with the way Percy's luck was going he wasn't exactly surprised when right as he thought that, the doorbell rang.

"Percy buddy, can you be a good boy and go answer the door? big bro has his hands full." Jason called.

Huffing and getting up, Percy semi stomped his way over to the door to Jason's cabin, never once realizing with his bratty attuide he seemed less like someone who didn't wanna show off his outfit and more like a huffy little guy who didn't wanna stop playing.

Opening the door without checking to see who was there, Percy entered a full body blush as his girlfriend was standing there, looking amused.

"A-Annabeth!! W-what are you doing over here?" He squeaked.

"Pfffttt, Oh my god, Jason actually got you to do it! this is too good!" She giggled. "I've known he wanted to dress you up for awhile but never in a million years would I of thought you'd -actually- do it!"

the clear amusement in her voice and the big grin on her face had Percy feeling like the little boy he was dressed up as and he squirmed and whined loudly.

"Percy! Who's at the door?" Jason called.

"I..I..It's.." Percy stammered.

"It's Annabeth!" Annabeth called over Percy's shoulder.

"Percy, don't be rude, Invite her in." Jason called.

the last thing that Percy wanted was for his girlfriend to come in but clearly it was out of his hands, so instead he looked down at the floor and then stood to the side, gesturing for her to come in.

'Dad, if your listening..I could really use a tidal wave right about now.' Percy thought.

Sadly, Either seaweed daddy wasn't listening or found this whole thing to be funny as Annabeth walked in and spotted Percy's play area, squealing with delight and laughing.

the next 20 or so minutes was spent with Annabeth 'looking after little Percy' and keeping him out of trouble while Jason made them all lunch.

As bad as playing cars and having to make the noises had been before when it was just for Jason, it was so very much worst doing it for the amusement of his girlfriend who kept asking humiliating questions, and 'Big brother' insisted that he answer them all.

"Awww are you having fun?" She coo'ed as she sat back on the couch.

"..Oh yes, Loads." Percy huffed sarcastically though to his dismay she took it as a honest answer.

"Well that's good! So which car is your favorite?" and she leaned forward now, studying the different types of toy cars.

"...I dunno, I guess the police car?" Percy said and semi shrugged his shoulders, and squirming from all of the embarrassment he was receiving.

"Heh, lots of little guys like cop cars, that makes since. Hmm..Your squirming a lot, do you need to use the potty? we don't want you to have a accident!" Annabeth said, looking mildly concerned though still grinning.

"I-I don't need help telling when I hafa potty!" Percy almost shrieked.

"Heh, tell that to the damp spot on the floor from your accident eariler." Jason called.

"Ohhh, did somebody wet his pants?" Annabeth giggled, looking totally delighted.

"I-It wasn't my fault! Jason was spanking me a-and I ju-" Percy tried to argue but got cut off.

"Oh, why did he have to spank you? were you being a bad boy?" She asked, leaning in close, eyes filled with excitement as she brushed her hair behind a ear. "Did you cry lots and lots and beg big brother to stop?"

Percy was having all sorts of warning bells going off in his head at how excited she seemed by this and just shut his mouth and crossed his arms turning away from him.

"Oh you did! Ahahahaha! Wow, spanked into submission by someone younger then you~" She teased, then got up. "Well all that aside, I don't believe you Mr.fussy pants, so come on, let's take you to the potty."

"NO! I don't have to!" Percy huffed, and winced, he HEARD how little he sounded.

"Percy, you come with me to the potty and try little man or I'll get Jason to do it. who do you think is gonna be nicer about it?" Annabeth asked.

"She's got a point buddy." Jason called over, he was almost done with the fries and grilled cheese that was gonna be supper. "Also you've had your mulligan, any more accidents and you'll be losing big boy underwear privileges."

"..You mean it gets worse then these baby briefs?!" Percy yelped out.

"Yup~ Normally next step down would be pull-ups but I couldn't find any in your size so right back to diapers." Jason called and turned and smirked. "So.. still think your good or wanna hedge your bets and go sit on the potty?"

"...I'm going to the potty because -I- choose to!" Percy huffed and scrambled to his feet.

"Mmmhmmm, whatever you have to tell yourself little man." Jason said and turned back to the cooking.

Annabeth had stood up as well and offered Percy a hand, and while he wanted to slap it away, somehow he just knew how that would end and accepted it.

"..Your waiting outside the door while I go." was the only thing Percy could think to say.

It never dawned on him that despite never being to Jason's cabin before, she seemed to know exactly where the bathroom was, though in his defense she was keeping him off guard.

"Oh my, such a big boy, going all by yourself.. Deal but remember to wipe and wash your hands."

'fuck my life..'

sitting on the potty Percy was mentally counting down how long he should play along with the potty game when he was shocked that a stream did escape him, followed by a couple of wet farts.

As such after the boy had wiped and flushed and washed his hands, his face was somehow even more crimson then before.

Not helping matters was Annabeth praising him for being a good boy and holding up a hand for a high five which Percy weakly returned.

Getting back out to the main room the table had been set and while Annabeth's and Jason's plate sat on the white table cloth, Percy's on was on top of a plastic mat shaped like a teddy bear.

when Percy whined and pointed Jason just gave a big toothy grin.

"Sorry buddy, but I've seen you eat, you're a messy eater and it's easier to wipe the plastic mat clean then to wash the table cloth. Oh! that reminds me.." Jason said as Percy fumed and took his seat.

His grilled cheese had been cut into four parts for him and his ketchup for his fries were in a little plastic bowl to the side. He was about to comment he wasn't that bad when Jason produced a teen sized bib,white in color with navy blue text on it reading 'I love my big brother!'

"..Your joking right?" Percy asked, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Jason while Annabeth covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

"What, you don't like it?" Jason asked, pretending to sound hurt while smirking.

"What do you think?" Percy asked.

"well ok, you don't HAVE to wear the bib if you don't want to, but if your not wearing it, i want you to strip down to your undies so you don't get your new outfit all dirty buddy." Jason chuckled.

"...Give me the effing bib." Percy growled though clenched teeth.

"Ah ah ah, none of that, that was too close to a swear word for my liking. try that again and your be a little bubble breath. also, as your loving big brother." and Annabeth couldn't hold it in and laughed out loud. "..It's my job to get this on you."

"..Of course it is."

Percy's one mulligan as the bib was put on him was that his drink was at least in a cup, though Jason noticed him looking at it as he finished.

"Ok buddy, I'm taking a chance and trusting you with a big kid cup. but if you spill it, it's back to sippy cups. Or if you wanna just use one now that's ok too. you don't have to put on a show for our guest." Jason said.

A swear was almost out of his mouth when Percy caught himself, and biting down on his tongue, he just ignored Jason and started to chow down on his fries, planing to eat in silence.

However much like most of his other plans for the day, this one fell to the wayside as while Jason and Annabeth started to chow, Jason asked Percy what he'd been pretending was happening while he played with his cars.

The tone in Jason's voice made it clear Percy better come up with something quick, and so the newly turned little boy spun a tale about some cops trying to bust a smuggling ring of counterfeit toys.Percy was getting annoyed though that despite how much of a excellent bullshit story he was weaving on the spot, Jason and Annabeth were apparently distracted and ignoring him.

the only time they seemed to chime in or respond to what he was saying was when he went quiet for too long.

what the Demi god turned little guy couldn't of known though since he lacked X-ray vision was that there was a good reason the two of them were semi ignoring Percy, except to encourage him to go on between his bites of food.

Jason and Annabeth were playing footsie under the table and sending each other signals of shared attraction.

What little Percy didn't know yet, but would find out all too soon was that Annabeth had been over to this cabin more then a few times, having hooked up with Jason while Percy was off being a good boy for his mom.

The idea of cucking the son of one of the big three had just been too much of a temptation to pass up, and it had been going on far longer then Percy himself would of guessed.

She had even faked being too sick to go out with him on his birthday, just to come over and get fucked by Jason, who had truthfully ruined sex with Percy for her but she still put on a show.

The moment that let her always squirt the hardest when neither boy was available though was how she had tricked Percy into eating her out, while blindfolded after Jason had cream pied her. she claimed the funny taste was a sugar cream she had picked up from a sex shop and Jason had been there, watching from the closet as Percy licked and slurped her clean, making her moan even as the poor boys face had been screwed up.

Clearly he hadn't cared for the taste but whenever Annabeth moaned and asked how he liked it, he would reply with a choked

"I-It tastes awesome..y-you should get more."

That had made her squirt right then and there and breathlessly after, she promised Percy she would.

She hadn't even returned the favor, just had Percy climb into bed with her and removed the blind fold once Jason was out the door, cuddling him and stroking him off and on so that in the middle of the night Percy had been forced to sneak off to the bathroom and jerk off, not knowing Annabeth was awake and could hear everything from her bed.

Percy finished his food and his drink, and let out a loud Belch as he finished his story, Annabeth and Jason had finished before him but stayed seated to 'listen' to his 'amazing' story.

"Wow buddy, you have a activate imagination!" Jason coo'ed, pulling his feet away from Annabeth and giving Percy his full attention and smirking.

Of course the sea brat had gotten ketchup on his face and fingers, and on his bib. add into it that while Jason and Annabeth had been drinking root beer Percy was sporting a purple kool-aid mustache and Jupiter, he just looked so cute!

"Heh, hold still buddy, I think somebody needs a quick clean up." Jason laughed, getting up and getting a damp wash cloth and rubbing over Percy's face as the little guy squirmed.

"Stopppp! I can do it my selfff!" He whined, making Annabeth snort.

Did Percy really not hear just how much of a little guy he sound like right now?!

Either way, over his own protests he was cleaned up and given anther drink of grape juice, though this time it was in a light blue sippy cup.

And boy, if looks could kill Jason would of hit the floor stone cold dead.

"I THOUGHT you said I could use big kid cups!" Percy huffed, furrowing his brow and once again looking like the little guy he was dressed up as.

"well your gonna go back to playing while me and Annabeth watch some TV and I don't want you getting too excited playing cops that you knock over your drink without realizing it." Jason said reasonably.

"I wouldn't!" Percy whined.

"well maybe you would, maybe you wouldn't, It's my floor so I get to make the call. when we're over at YOUR place you can knock all the cups over you want." Jason said and smirked, then tapped a finger on Percy's nose.

Leading Percy over to his blanket, Jason got him sat down and noticed Annabeth tapping her chin as she looked down.

"Penny for you thoughts." He said.

"I was thinking, you know that old play mat, where it's a toy and it's toy car sized? we should get one of those for Percy!" She said grinning ear to ear.

"I think-" Percy started to say, not looking happy but he was of course cut off by Jason.

"That's a awesome idea! In fact I think Nico has one still, I'll go see if we can borrow it later!" Jason said smiling and turning to Percy. "Doesn't Annabeth have the BEST ideas little guy?"

"I can barely contain my joy." Percy muttered, huff and holding his sippy cup up and taking a drink before he said more and got his mouth washed out.

with the TV turned on Percy tried to get into the movie that Jason had popped in, but it was some sort of a romantic comedy and he hated those and found himself legit getting into playing with the cars, talking softly to himself and not realizing he was talking out loud as he did a few more police chases, then had a whole story going on about a big race going on.

He found himself drinking lots of the kool-aid, it was really sweet but seemed to dry him out and more then once he had to go and excuse himself to go pee (though Jason or Annabeth insisted on walking down with him to the bathroom, just in case he needed help)

he also found himself getting super tired despite having a good nights sleep, though he chalked it up to everything he had been though so far and laid on his tummy and put himself on eye level with the car's as he ran them back and forth, watching the shiny metal of the the hub caps move and feeling his eyelids drooping.

"Percy buddy, you wanna go for a nap?" Jason called over, pausing the movie, making Percy sit up. he'd shut his eyes for a few seconds.

"Nooo I don't need a nap." Percy huffed and whined.rubbing a fist under one eye.

"Well you were laying there with your eyes closed for about a minute." Annabeth pointed out.

"wasn't sleeping..I was..checking my eyelids for cracks!" Percy huffed, pouting, and taking anther gulp of his juice.

"well ok, if you say so. if you wanna go for a nap it's ok though." Jason said, smirking.

"What EVER." Percy huffed and laid back down switching to one of the toy boat's and laying on his back, moving it in the air now.

he played with the boat for all of 30 seconds before his eyes closed again and soon the 18 year old going on 4 at best was snoring softly on the floor.

"Sheesh, I thought you said you were only gonna give him a light dose of sleeping pills." Annabeth said softly, leaning in and kissing Jason's cheek.

"I didn't. Sea brat is just a lightweight. still, we better move to the other room if he snores as bad as you say." Jason said.

as some deep snores started to come out, the cuck'ed demi god was left on the floor to sleep it off, though before Annabeth and Jason went to go and play 'hide the pickle' they were nice enough to drape a blanket over Percy and get a pillow under his head, setting his hat on the coffee table.

Kissing and mashing lips, Jason and Annabeth almost didn't make it to his bedroom before they were all over each other, she was trying to pull off his shirt as she pressed him against the wall.

"Some one's needy." Jason teased, though he only had slightly more restraint then her.

"I haven't had a real orgasm in 2 days..you turned me into a nympho, take responsibility for it!" Annabeth moaned and begged.

A slap on the ass brought he back in line and she manged to keep her clothes on till they were in Jason's room, with her going and kicking the door shut, or trying to as it only closer 3/4's of the way.

"Jesus, look how wet you are, I'm shocked you didn't leave a puddle." Jason teased, getting her on his bed and sliding two fingers into her dripping sex and hitting all the right spots to drive her wild.

"Stop teasing and fuck me already! I need a MAN, not a BOY!" She moaned.

"Far be it from me to argue." Jason chuckled and pinning her on her back, he entered her hard and fast, just the way she liked it.

Or so he assumed from the cries of pleasure that rang out and the way her arms and legs wrapped around him, trying to pull him in deeper.

her cries were muffled by Jason's lips on hers, his tongue entering her willing mouth and making her hers and when he pulled back, she was semi drooling.

even as he rocked his hips in and out of her, he held up a finger to his lips.

"Shhh, don't wake the baby."

Percy groaned and whimpered in his sleep, having weird dreams where he only came up to Annabeth's and Jason's knee caps and they were teasing him lots and treating him even younger then they already were, when a sharp cramp in his tummy woke him up and he sat up on the floor, rubbing a eye.

"Gotta poop.." Percy mumbled, half asleep and slowly making his way up to his feet, swaying a little bit and letting out a massive fart as he did so.

the poot drew a whine and a whimper from the sleepy demi god, who held his nose as the smell reached him and toddled away as fast as he could, a little cry of 'stinky' coming out of his mouth.

heading down the hall to the bathroom, which was across from Jason's room Percy mostly didn't pay it any mind, the absence of Jason and Annabeth hadn't really clicked in his mind yet.

He likely would of ignored the room all together if he hadn't of heard a cry of pleasure coming from it, and it wasn't Jason's voice.

Toddling over Percy took a peek and his eyes went wide and his sense got a rude wake up call, there was his girlfriend naked and bouncing up and down on top of Jason who was fondling her tits as he cried out and and had her hands on his wrists, encouraging it.

even as he took in the site and felt a rage boiling over, Percy's little sailor shorts painfully tented out and a cramp hit, making him go to his knees and keep watching.

"Fuck fuck fuck, you're so much better then Percy~" Annabeth was moaning and mewing, trying to lean down for a kiss. Jason instead rolled and now was on top of her, fucking her like the whore she was and looking over in Percy's direction, smirking.

"Of course I am. He's just a little cuck boi. I bet if he knew what was happening he'd just suck his thumb and jerk off." Jason said, and winked at Percy.

Percy wanted to get up and storm in there, to pound on Jason and put him in his place.

Instead he found himself reaching into his shorts and jerking his painfully hard cock, which had already leaked pre though the briefs and the shorts and his thumb found it's way into his mouth, sucking on it.

"Hell I bet once we get his stupid ass back in diapers, he'll be more then willing to prep daddy for mommy. can you picture him bobbing up and down on my cock, thickly diapers and whimpering but rubbing the front of his huggies?" Jason added.

Percy missed Annabeth's reply, mostly because as Jason said it Percy was picturing himself doing it, and accordingly the thumb started to move in his mouth, as if he was practicing for daddy.

"Might even let him have a load or two..I know you're gonna breast feed him but I wanna give him some daddy milk too." Jason chuckled, fucking Annabeth in ways Percy knew he never could and he whimpered around his thumb.

Normally Percy's stamina was as such he could fuck for at least half a hour without blowing his load but whether it was the scene in front of him, the scene in his head, the bowel movement pressing on his prostate as he was fighting to keep it in now or all three, his peak was coming fast.

Drool trailing sown his chin and shutting his eyes, he let the mental image of Jason face fucking him while he pooped himself fill his mind and had the biggest most intense orgasm of his life, shooting though the undies and shorts like they weren't even there and spraying his load on the wall, before slumping over, panting and eyes glazed over.

the last thing he recalled before conking back out was a loss of control, and a warm muddy feeling starting to spread on his butt.

Jason finished up with Annabeth and they cuddled, the smell reaching them both but oddly not bothering them as much as it should.

She had picked up Percy was watching from the looks Jason kept giving the door and then his dirty talk and smirked and she traced a finger on his pecs.

"You really are evil you know that~" She giggled.

"Oh please, if anything I just saved us about 2-3 days worth of effort in making him a diaper wearing cuck. trust me, he's never gonna be able to replace that feeling with anything less then watching mommy and daddy fuck." Jason said.

"heh, so you don't think he'll at least be able to hump his stuffies?" Annabeth asked.

"Oh, he'll hump them alright, but all he's gonna do is basically goon himself stupid. Add in maybe some hand jobs from you while your breast feeding him and that's what sex with you will become. him sucking on your titties and humping your hand." Jason laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. "Unless of course you don't even wanna grant him that?" Jason asked and smirked.

"Heh, Nah, I'm not heartless. what we had was fun and the least I can do is let him suck on my titties. though maybe I'll dump a condom full of 'daddy milk' over them first." She teased and they both laughed.

"Well, I suppose ONE of us should go and get him cleaned up and diapered." Jason said and gave Annabeth a hopeful look.

"Heh, nice try, diapers were YOUR idea, so enjoy wiping his poopie butt Mr.daddy dom." Annabeth said and rolled over, covering herself with a sheet and drifting off into a light nap.

"..Maybe it won't be so bad." Jason said softly and slid out of bed.

getting a pair of shorts on he moved out into the hall way and leaned in to check on Percy.

"Oh Jupiter! it's worse then I thought!" came his cry as Annabeth opened one eye and chuckled.

15 minutes later (though it felt like hours to poor Jason) and Percy had been cleaned up of all of his mess and taped up in a nice snug diaper.

the sea brat had woken up halfway though the clean up but hadn't offered one bit of resistance as Jason cleaned him, unless you counted him covering his face in shame when he got a stiffie as Jason wiped his winky.

Still he had been a good boy and lifted his hips when told to for Jason to slid the thick diaper under his butt and sucked on his thumb big time as Jason helped him to his feet.

"well, I guess it's save to say your not big enough for big boy undies huh buddy?" Jason asked and kissed Percy's hot cheek. "Wave bye bye to your undies." Jason added, tossing them in a waste basket and almost melting as after a second, Percy actually waved bye.

a pat on his padded rump and a point towards the living room had Percy toddling unsteadily on his feet, getting used to the bulk between his legs while Jason took the bag out of the trash can and tied it shut, unwilling to let the treasure so to speak linger.

As he came out of the bathroom he saw one of two adorable sights. the first was that Percy had plopped onto his butt and was trying to get back up. the second was that Annabeth was at the end of the hall, leaning down slightly and lightly slapping her thighs and coo'ing to Percy.

"Come on little guy, you can do it! walk for mommy!" She coo'ed."Stop sucking on your thumb and use both hands to get up and for balance~ that's it!"

Percy was clearly mortified, but had a silly grin on his face and pulled his drool soaked thumb out of his mouth and managed to get up on his feet and step by step made his way to her, arms held out like a baby learning to walk.

'Awww, babies first steps and we didn't record it.' Jason mused.

Percy huggled and nuzzled Annabeth who showed off her shocking power as he lifted him up and set him on her hip, taking over over to the couch and sitting down with him as Jason ran the bag with the smelly undies and shorts out to the trash.

Joining the other two on the couch, Jason and Annabeth were on either side of Percy and giving him lots of cuddles.

"So..I suppose you have a few questions for us." Jason started.

"MORE then a few.." Percy agreed.

Half a hour later and Percy was all caught up with what was going on, how this had been the end game from the start and how long he'd been cucked.

It hurt in a way but in the long run he could tell that despite him not being considered a man or even a big boy anymore, Annabeth still cared for him and well, he kinda liked the attention from Jason as well.

"Will I still get to have sex?" Percy asked as his last question.

"well, depends on what you count as sex. You'll get diaper rubs when being breast fed." Annabeth said.

"and your free to hump your stuffies, just not too much, I don't wanna have to replace the stuffing in them every day." Jason said then looked a little sheepish. "Thoughh uhhh..If you wanted to make daddy super duper happy and get a bunch of toys as a reward..I kinda like the idea of long term cock locks on little boys like you."

Percy whined at that and squirmed.

"H-How long?" he asked.

"ehehe well uh..at least a year at a time." Jason started and Percy's jaw dropped.

"Are you nuts?! I'd go crazy!! There's n-" Percy started to whine and have a fit, but was tugged suddenly by Annabeth.

while his attention had been on Jason she'd slipped off her top and now had Percy in her lap and one of her tits resting against his face, the hand on the back on his head and the other hand on his crotch.

"Shhh don't be so fussy and drink up and think about it." she coo'ed.

He tried to fight free for a few seconds but then while trying to yell actually tasted some milk coming out of Annabeth's perfect tits and calmed down, suckling away almost greedily now and thrusting his crotch into her hand over and over again as he drank up.

"if you end up creaming yourself while drinking titty milk I'm going to have to take it as a sign you wanna be locked up for a year buddy." Jason coo'ed, moving around behind Annabeth now and kissing the back of her neck. "Doesn't that sound fair 'mommy'?"

"Mmmhhhm~ totally 'daddy'."Annabeth moaned then turned her attention to Percy. "What do you think baby Percy? Does that sound fair and you want mommy to stop feeding you her boobies or do you wanna keep drinking. hold up one finger for stop, two for keep going."

To the surprise of no one two fingers were held up and she let Percy keep nursing, though she felt a need to toss out a warning.

"Percy sweetie, you might wanna slow down, titty milk is mean for real babies, not big ones and can react funny with your system." she warned.

"Like what?" Jason asked, looking a little concerned now.

"Oh, he'll have this go right though him and then you'll have your first stinky diaper to change." Annabeth said with a evil grin.

"..Uh Percy buddy maybe slow down." Jason said, sweat dropping a little.

It wasn't that he didn't wanna change a smelly diaper, more just he thought there would be more of a break in between said smelly diapers.

In any case Percy either didn't seem to hear mommy and daddy because he was lost in his own little world of diapie rubs and titty milk or he just didn't care, a ominous gurgling coming from his tummy.

"better get ready for anther present from your favorite little gift maker." Annabeth teased Jason as she increased the diaper rubbing which made Percy only drink harder.

Jason resigned himself to his fate and decided to help things along, reaching around Annabeth's arm and rubbing and pushing on Percy's tum tum.

the effect was almost instant and Annabeth pulled her hand away just as Percy started to spurt, the back of his diaper ballooning out with hot mush and hiting his happy spot on the way out and Percy was derpy faced and hand titty milk running down his chin as he diaper humped the air.

"Cumming! Baby Percy ish cumming while going POOPIE in his diapies!" he babbled out.

"heh, you sure are~"

-3 and half months later-

Adjusting to life as a family and living at the camp year round wasn't always easy for everyone, for one there had been a tricky business with calming down Percy's real dad when he found out what Percy had been turned into.

Thankfully Zeus and Hades had manged to calm him down and make him see how much happier their nephew was like this and sea daddy had let it go, though warned Jason and Annabeth that if they ever broke Percy's heart not even his brothers would be able to stop his rage before leaving.

(ironically this threat had made Annabeth have a slight accident and Percy had giggled for almost a hour about how mommy needed diapers too)

Switching all of his clothes into little style ones was anther challenge and then there was the fun of trying to figure out what he could keep from his old life and what he had to give away, though the little yard sale they had for his big boy stuff was helped with Percy in just his diapers and a pair of sandal's running around and gushing over different things and hyping up how kewl they were.

Today however Fall was well underway and Jason was sitting on the front porch with Annabeth sipping on some hot cider while Percy played in the yard.

He was dressed in light black sweat pants and white socks and a pair of light up heel velco strap sneaker, and wearing a light jacket colored blue to help with the chill in the air.

his thick diaper showed under the sweats but after so long in the diapers he only had trouble walking or running when they went up to three diapers just before bed.

Jason had just finished raking up all the leafs into piles before taking a seat on the porch and sighed a little as Percy apparently made it his mission to take out the 'evil leaf aliens from planet FART' via jumping into the piles.

"Remind me why I bothered to rake these when i knew he was coming out to play?" Jason asked, smirking slightly.

"heh,well if I had to take a guess I would suggest that your a glutton for punishment.. or you just wanted to watch him be a cute little dork." Annabeth said and took a sip, then placed a hand on her tummy. "So, I have a question for you."

"Oh?"Jason asked, his hand joining hers on her belly and feeling a little kick.

"How long do we wait to tell him he's gonna be a big brother?"

The end

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