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miinatozakiii · 7 days

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i fall in love too fast

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader (remastered) ; part two; fluff

summary: your niece needs to stop watching so many romance movies because what the hell she's five and sana... well sana thinks she's crushing on someone's mother.

wc: 3.9k

warnings: mentions of food ; not proofreaddd

a few customers held you up, you were supposed to be in your car earlier, supposed to be at hana’s school early – but of course, someone had to order six drinks during a rush, keeping you at work for a few more minutes than you’d like.

once you make it to the car, you rush to startthe engine and get out your parking spot. tapping your finger on the steering wheel as you drive, you glance at the car's screen. the time reads '3:11 pm,' which means hana will be out in about four minutes. you make a guess that you'll arrive in a few minutes late. the worry that hana might be confused about where you are runs through your mind, but you convince yourself not to fret. after all, she's strong, and you know it – she’s your niece after all.

somehow you manage to make it to the entrance just before hana is supposed to be out. fiddling with the collar of your white button-up shirt that you still have on from work, you anxiously await for when the bell will ring, anticipating the kids to start spilling out of the entrance doors to reunite with their families – eagerly waiting to see hana again.

you check your watch, reading the 3:15 pm, and seconds later – the bell rings.

it was only a minute later that you started to see groups of kids being led out by various teachers. you scanned the area for a bit, thankful that your height allowed you to see over some of the parents' heads. finally, you spot your little niece standing with a group of kids, holding each other by the little hook-like fabric on top of their bags to stay connected.

amidst the sea of parents and children, your eyes also locked onto sana, effortlessly standing out even in the crowd of chaos. her gentle hand held that of a child at the front of the group, a caring smile gracing her features.

you made your way over to where hana stood, her eager eyes scanning the crowd until they finally landed on you. without hesitation, she dashed towards you, her arms outstretched in anticipation of the hug she knew was coming. for a five-year-old, her determination was astonishing, and the way she almost knocked you off balance was comparable to a linebacker (well, close enough. maybe a linebacker on the youth team). as she crashed into you with surprising force, you couldn't help but marvel at her energy, laughing, and wonder if she should consider joining a football team someday. yeah, definitely her dad’s genes.

"y/n!" her grin widened as she approached, and you quickly knelt down to her level, wrapping her in a warm hug. "i missed you, y/n!"

“hey, hi,” you feel her squeezing you tighter as you hug her, kissing the side of her head as you do. “i missed you too!” you greet happily, voice muffled a bit. pulling away, you brush some of her hair out of her face, hair looking a little more ruffled than this morning. “seem’s like someone had a fun day at school.”

“so much fun! today ms. minatozaki let us paint and! and! she gave me more stickers for being good! they're sharks too!” the little girl beams, making you smile. “and then we had recess and i played a lot and ran a lot and– oh! ms. minatozaki said i was good today!”

you laugh. “is that so?”

“yes! does this mean we can go to the cafe? please? i was good i promise.” hana pleads, tugging at your rolled sleeve.

huming as you think to yourself, you her teacher in the corner of your eye. “hmm, we’ll have to ask ms. minatozaki to make sure, won’t we?” you’re really just saying that as an excuse to talk to your niece's teacher again.

you steal a glance at sana, who is smiling and waving to a set of parents, the dad carrying their child on his shoulders. her eyes sparkle with surprise and delight as they meet yours, her cheeks gradually tinting a shade of pink. unaware of her reaction, you remain lost in admiration as you stare.

sana bids a final goodbye to the parents and the kid before you and your niece make your way over to her.

"hana, hello there, sweetie," sana greets your niece warmly. then, her gaze shifts to you, her smile widening even further. "it's wonderful to see you again, y/n," she adds, her words sending a warm flutter through your chest, your heart skipping a beat.

she still looks as beautiful as she did in the morning, maybe even prettier. that voice of hers is still soft and sweet when she greets you with joy; her face lights up the same way.

"it's wonderful to see you too,"

without thinking, you straighten your shirt and adjust your pleated pants to appear more presentable. a smile graces both your lips and sana's. a brief silence ensues as you lock eyes with each other, and you feel a warmth rising in your ears, gradually spreading to your cheeks like a small fire.

trying to clear the tension, you clear your throat and tug at your collar, then respond, “how was hana today?”

hana looks up at her teacher with hopeful, puppy eyes, silently pleading for a positive response. sana chuckles softly to herself, amused by hana's adorable expression.

“she was great today, and really helpful too,” sana assures, earning a sigh of relief from hana.

“is that so?” you question – sana hums in response.

“she helped me put the paintbrushes back, as well as the markers. she’s a sweet girl, big help.” sana explains.

hana tugs at your hand, “i told you! i told you i was good! so can we go to the cafe? please?”

chuckling again, you nod at the little girl, then bring your gaze back to the woman in front of you.

“i guess we should get going then…” you begin, your gaze tearing away from sana reluctantly to look back down at the girl beside you. “why don’t you say bye to your teacher, hana?”

hana nods and you watch as sana crouches down to meet the girl's level, placing a hand on her head before sliding it down to the girls cheek. hana puts her smaller hand on sana’s before she hugs her, and for a moment you think to yourself: gosh, i wish that were me.

sana parts from hana, standing back up and fixing loose hair that falls over her face. you steal another glance at the young teacher before hana goes back to you to hold your hand and tug you away.

the last look you and sana share has this weird sense of longing, there’s an unspoken desire to get to know each other more, to maybe get a few extra minutes to, well, maybe just stare at each other’s faces until someone decides to say something.

but then, letting go, you finally wave to her with a smile, and she shoots you and your niece a toothy grin “goodbye.”

"alright, time to head home," you announce, grabbing hana's tiny school bag and placing it in the front seat. after securing her in the car seat, you close the door and settle into the driver's seat.

with a turn of the key, the engine roars to life, but before you can even back up, hana beams, “buckle up!”

“of course, i wouldn’t forget the most important step.”

a jazz favorite from months ago begins to play after you hit shuffle on one of the playlists you made with your niece. adjusting the volume to create a soft background melody, you listen along as hana starts to hum along.

you pull into your regular spot by the side of the cafe and turn off the engine. grabbing hana's bag from the passenger seat, you step out of the car and hold the door to the backseats open for her to hop out. her eyes light up at the sight of the cafe's exterior, and she wastes no time in darting towards the entrance.

“hana wait! be careful!” you call out, hurriedly shutting the door and fumbling with the keys to lock your car before running after the excited five-year-old.

entering the cafe, you're greeted by the familiar and inviting atmosphere. the air carries the aroma of freshly baked pastries mingled with the rich scent of espresso shots being pulled. the cozy ambiance of the cafe envelops you both, lifting both your spirits.

thankfully, it’s not too busy at the moment. you spot a few adults in their work clothing sitting and chatting at the table for four near the window, sipping on their drinks – looks like a couple of lattes and americanos. the dim corner to the right is lit up by a small lamp hanging from above, occupied by a few high school students laughing. they seem to be treating themselves to a small cake, a little candle is at the side – probably for someone's birthday.

you scan the area, shifting your look over to where the familiar baker and barista are. the baker notices you and stops what she’s doing to wave happily.

“ah, y/n! you’re back, did you miss me that much?” dahyun jokes, “oh, and you brought my favorite customer too.” she adds, redirecting her gaze to meet hana. hana gives the dark-haired woman a big, gummy, and toothy smile before going to hug the woman as she walks out from behind the counter.

“ms. dahyun! today was my first day of school! my teacher says i was great!” hana boasts, and dahyun laughs before ruffling her hair up a bit.

“wow, i’m impressed. hmm… maybe i should give you the special treat i prepared then.”

“please please please please please please-”

“alright, alright. a special treat for my favorite customer coming up! my favorite new student.” dahyun says cheerfully. the shorter woman heads behind the counter, and you lift hana onto the chair near the counter.

you make your way behind the counter as well, right over to where the taller barista works. he’s busy measuring the coffee grinds for an espresso shot, furrowing his brows as he takes a small portion of the ground coffee out from the portafilter.

“chaemin,”

he jumps a little and you laugh teasingly.

“my god! don’t do that!”

“oops.” you shrug. “can i steam some milk real quick? i need to make something for my niece.”

“you’re giving espresso to a five-year-old?” chaemin asks, visibly concerned. he turns his body to you fully, raises his brows, and looks down at you in disbelief.

“of course not, she’s already a handful without the caffeine. i’m just gonna make her a hot chocolate.”

“i see, okay. good.” he says before bringing his attention back to the portafilter and tamping the coffee grinds. “by the way, where’s johnny? i thought he would be the one taking hana to school – or picking her up – you know, since he's her dad and all.”

“he wanted to, but he had this last-minute business trip. the way he complained in person and over the phone was… rough – but he’ll be back in two days.”

“i see.”

you and chaemin continue to engage in some small talk about whether it was busy or anything while you were gone for those few minutes while you make the hot chocolate.

dahyun has already given the giddy five-year-old her cream-filled croissant with a variety of fruits inside, along with a drizzle of milk chocolate syrup on top.

dahyun pushes the plate toward the girl. “i made it just for you, i even added extra strawberries and chocolate since you like them so much.”

“ms. dahyun you’re the best! it looks really yummy! thank you thank you thank you!” she says excitedly, then dahyun pats her shoulder.

“anything for the young scholar.”

“you never make me anything like that.” you mumble as you make a design with the steamed milk and chocolate.

“you’re not a scholar, y/n. you lack a lot up there actually.” she jokes, poking you right in the forehead.

“ouch.” you respond, looking at her with a pout and setting down the hot chocolate with the heart design you made with the steamed milk. hana smiles, looking at the drink and pastry eagerly, but just as she is about to dig in–

“phone eats first.” you halt her actions, forcing her to pose and smile for the family group chat. she groans in response before dahyun encourages her to grin for the camera, giving her a thumbs up.

you sit beside hana and watch her eat while you hold your head in your palm, smiling at her. dahyun goes back to rolling whatever dough she was working on before, and you scroll through the family group chat, texting your brother and mom.

“these are so good, thank you aunt y/n,” hana says with a mouth full of the croissant.

“you should thank dahyun for that, but i’m glad you like them. also, don’t talk while you have so much food in your mouth!” you scold playfully before taking a sip of the iced americano chaemin had made you. hana sticks her tongue out at you and you pinch her nose lightly, making the two of you laugh.

hana gulps down the bite she had just chewed up, then mumbles, “aunt y/n, can i ask you something?”

you raise a brow. “what is it?”

“do you… do you like my teacher?”

“oh, of course. she’s sweet and takes good care of you, i’m fond of her. she seems great.” you answer before taking another sip of your coffee.

“no, do you like like her? like in the movies? the lovey dovey ones where they kiss–”

“w-what? why- where did this come from?” you question, sitting straight up. hana’s directness nearly makes you choke on your coffee. chaemin overhears the conversation and his eyes land on the two of you.

“you like your niece's teacher?” he says in disbelief, a hand on his hip and a brow raised. you look at your co-worker and then back to your niece, waving your hand to shut down these bold (but pretty reasonable) allegations.

“no, no – it’s not like that,” you start, trying to keep your voice and tone relaxed. chaemin and the little girl don’t seem to be fooled. “she’s just nice, we’re just friendly. she’s your teacher, of course i’m going to be friendly with her.”

“ok, then why did you look at her like that? you looked all lovey-dovey and your ears turned red!”

“oh? what is this i’m hearing?” dahyun interjects, which earns her a glare from you before you look back at your niece.

“i- no, it’s not like that! we just met hana, don’t be ridiculous.” you say defensively, and then hana’s smile grows, it makes you uneasy.

“your ears are turning red again, just like in those cartoons and movies!”

“what movies are you watching? you’re like, five! shouldn’t you be watching some normal cartoons? like something with mermaids or superheroes or something?” you groan, growing more defensive as dahyun and chaemin team up with hana to poke at you.

you roll your eyes at them, but the thought of sana tugs at your heartstrings.

you don't buy into the idea of love at first sight; it seems too simplistic, too much like something out of a disney movie. however, you can't deny the impact the woman who will be teaching your daughter every day has had on you. she’s shot an arrow through your heart just like cupid.

she’s undeniably beautiful, but it's more than just that. you find yourself thinking about her infectious smile, her contagious smile, and the way her nose scrunches up when she does both. the memory of her holding your hand when you greeted her lingers in your mind, even as you're teased and poked fun at by those around you. god, you’ve just met her.

you won’t admit it outloud, but this woman did have an effect on you, and you were scared that it would be harder to hide that the more you saw her.

“look, i just think she’s a nice person okay,” you shrug, and then you begin (or at least try) to change the topic. “anyways… how was your first day of school? what else did you do?”

dahyun laughs at your attempt to change the subject and decides to give you a break by returning to what she was doing. she shoots chaemin a cheeky look, which you ignore, choosing instead to focus all your attention on hana.

“it was great! you were right y/n, i made a friend! her name is jiyeong, she’s taller than me by this much,” hana shows you the height difference by pinching her fingers down, except there’s an inch of space in between. “also,” hana begins, “ms. minatozaki read us a story, she’s super nice. she smiled and laughed a lot, she smiles like a princess. she kind of looks like one." hana adds, and you certainly agree with that statement. hana thinks to herself a bit, then adds her final remark, "she also helped everyone with their paintings, she’s so cool! i like her a lot.”

you grin at the girl and take her empty plate, pushing it to the other side of the counter for chaemin to take.

“i’m really glad you made a friend, i told you my genes were passed on to you!” you mess with her hair. “and i’m glad you like ms. minatozaki, it’s important that you have nice and caring teachers.”

“and pretty teachers too, right?” she teases, and you laugh, messing with her hair once more.

“alright smarty pants, finish up your hot chocolate so we can get going.” you sigh, rolling your eyes playfully before walking behind the counter to wash hana’s dish.

“how was work?” jihyo asks.

she backs her car out of the parking spot in front of the school. sana has never been one to drive herself, always relying on the bus or getting a ride from a friend. however, this year she's in luck, since she'll likely be getting regular rides home from both her best friend and the mother of one of her students – one of the best drivers of the century.

sana sighs and smiles, then sets her head down against the headrest of the passenger seat. “it was really good, the students are all great. your daughter did well too.”

jihyo smiles upon hearing this. “i’m glad jiyeong was good,” then she looks at her daughter through the mirror. “jiyeong, sweetheart, how was school?”

“good mom! i had lots of fun and ms. minatozaki is really nice! i made a new friend too.” the little girl in the backseat responds. “her name is hana, she’s cool and nice and funny and i like her a lot. we promised to be best friends this year!”

sana tenses up at the mention of hana, and she thinks of the girl’s captivating mother–you. sana starts to zone out whilst jihyo talks with her daughter, and she really just thinks about you. she replays the memory of shaking your hand–big, soft, nice to hold, the small peak of ink under your wrist, the bracelets, and wow she is a mess from just the interaction–and about your cheery grin, as well as your caring nature. the look you had given her this morning replays in her head, the small dimple you had, how perfect your teeth were, and the sparkle of your eyes as you looked at sana.

she daydreams of you the whole way back to her place, pushing aside the fact that you’re a mother, probably not single considering how charming and cute you are.

her heart sinks a little at the thought of that, and she tells herself to compose herself, there are always others, right? other fish in the sea?

(but none that were as cute as you.)

"alright, we're here. say bye to your teacher jiyeong." jihyo insists, adjusting the gear stick so the car is parked in front of the apartment complex. sana smiles at jihyo and steps out of the car, closing the door behind her. she waves at jihyo and her daughter through the window.

“thank you ms. minatozaki! see you tomorrow!”

“bye jiyeong, i hope you have a good night. you too, jihyo, thank you again.”

“it’s no problem, your place is on the way to our house anyway, have a good night sha.”

jihyo waves once more before rolling the passenger seat window up and driving away. sana clutches her work back and starts to walk towards her apartment.

the young teacher unlocks the apartment door and sets her bag on the hook to the right of the door. with a sigh, she kicks off her shoes, feeling the weight of the day starting to lift. as she moves into the kitchen, she finds herself drawn to the familiar routine of making a cup of tea. it's a comforting ritual, one that helps her unwind and transition from the demands of her day to the peace of her home. kids are amazing, wonderful, and adorable–but they’re also draining, very draining.

she leans against the counter in her work clothes, staring at the cup in her hand.

the thought of you reaches back, invading her mind, her.

you’re cute, you’re effortlessly cute with everything you do. sana thinks of the first glance, remembering how bells started to ring and imaginary petals started to fall after she made eye contact and– god she needs to stop watching those stupid dramas jihyo keeps reccomending her because they’re starting to turn her into some hopeless romantic. this can’t be, it’s only been one day, hell, not even an hour of being in the same room of you.

sana feels her cheeks warming up, cursing herself mentally.

you’re a mother, whether that be biologically or not, you’re a mother. it would (most likely–well, very_ unprofessional to pursue someones mother, especially if you have a husband or anything like that. she can’t pine over someone who’s taken, not again, she’s learned from her junior in high school already, she can’t possibly live through that again.

sana sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “i really have to talk to jihyo about this.”

taking out her phone, she finds jihyo’s contact and pauses, letting out another small sigh. the thought of having to navigate through the year while constantly encountering your pretty face and charming personality fills her with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. there's a part of her that can't help but look forward to the interactions and moments shared even if you’re taken.

(it’s not like she can’t control how she feels, so if she’s able to at least hide it–then that should be fine.

–

right?)

she clicks on the little phone icon, and after a few rings, it's answered by jihyo. the sound of her voice comes through the line, accompanied by the faint background noise of what seems like the opening of a door.

"sana? hello? what is it? everything okay?”

"jihyo."

jihyo blinks, letting her daughter into the house before answering in a slightly concerned tone, "yes?"

“on a scale of one 1-10–and be honest–how wrong is it to have a crush on your students' mother?”

#sana x reader #twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #sana twice #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader

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brittle-doughie · 3 months

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A Witch’s Castle?

If you guys are looking around on Twitter, you’ll understand what prompted this one ;)

“Y/N Cookie….”

You heard a voice call out to you…

You were floating in a void, nothing but the stars all around you the more you looked….

You asked the voice who they were, what you were doing here…

“It is okay that you do not recognize me, but I know all about you, my dear…”

“You’ve been through a lot. You’ve experienced the present where you were a friend to all cookies, even experienced what a prosperous future held in store for you, a kingdom you called your own…”

“But one must wonder….do you wish to know how it all began? Or at least..one way it began?”

“You will see faces, some familiar and some new. Help them the way you know how all the same…”

“We will meet again someday, Y/N Cookie. Until then, I’ll always be watching over you…”

———————————————————————

The sounds of footsteps leaving you stir you awake as you find yourself within a small cage hanging from the ceiling. Judging by what you heard, it seemed your captor had just left you.

You stood up and gripped the metal bars, trying to see if you can bend them somewhat to free yourself. It was when you stopped for a second that you hit the sounds of pattering footsteps somewhere below you, you looked down to see if you could find the source of them.

“Was that the witch just now?!”

“Let’s make this quick before the witch comes back!”

“Gotcha! Hey, up there! Can you hear us?”

You looked down to where the voices were and spotted a small group of cookies looking up back at you. Some of them..you felt like you’ve met them before, two of them though…you had no idea who they were. You told the cookies that, yeah, you can hear them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of that cage! Leave it to us!”

(Cue a puzzle level or two later)

Woo! You thanked the group as you could finally stretch your limbs. The cookie with the ponytail spoke up.

“Why would the witch want you in a cage? We found Wizard Cookie in a chest!”

“Hey! I was only looking around for any useful spells, I was NOT trapped inside there.”

“And if she had placed this cookie in a cage, maybe the Witch was saving them for later. Their dough does appear more..crispy?”

Saving you later for what? The cookie with the sleeping hat spoke up.

“It’s horrible! The Witch wants to eat us cookies!”

Ok, that did sound pretty bad. All the more thankful of them for helping you out of that cage.

“No problem! Want to come with us?”

You were just about to answer his question when the sounds of creaking metal echo throughout the castle.

It sounds like you weren’t alone in being trapped by the Witch, other cookies were likely in cages or whatever prison the Witch had them in!

You wanted to go rescue them! You asked the group if they were willing to help you!

“It sounds dangerous, but if other cookies need our help..”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

“W-what?! We had only just met this cookie and now we’re going to run around the castle?!”

“We did just meet each other too…”

“Yeah! This cookie didn’t give us a reason to not trust them.”

Being the player be like:

“Eh…fine!”

Awesome! You led the group as you journeyed into the castle, excited but careful. You didn’t know who could be watching you all in this place..

#cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run witch’s castle #cookie run the witch’s castle #cr witch’s castle

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sailing-through-hawkins · 7 months

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death says hello

✧ written for 'charm' ✧ word count: 548 ✧ rated: T ✧ cw: major character death (temporary) ✧ tags: supernatural vibes ✧ @steddiemicrofic (• ▽ •; )⁠✧

With a sigh, Death glides through the veils to meet their latest soul, gasping when they see -

“Steven! You keep coming by like this and a girl’s gonna get ideas.”

“And I thought you’d be happy to see me.” Steve bows with a smile.

Death sniffs, breaking out into a grin when Steve looks back up. “That charm of yours is going to get you in trouble someday.”

Steve sobers up at that. "Think we’re in trouble now," he rubs the back of his neck. "I don’t think I can keep them away from you this time.”

Death stills. Oh, the poor thing. “There is something impeding on the horizon,” they say, as kindly as they can. “This trouble seems to be the closest way to me than what you’ve all faced before.”

“Please,” Steve begs, eyes sunken in, skin pale, already becoming the apparition Death has allowed him to walk away from being so many times already. “Can’t you help us?”

“I’m afraid not,” says Death, stroking a hand through Steve’s hair. “You know I’ve been breaking the rules for you enough as is. That uniform of yours was far too convincing the last time.”

“The one thing Scoops was good for,” Steve grins, his eyes going soft. “Well, other than Robin of course.”

“Oh yes, you mentioned her before! How is she?”

“She’s good! She’s – she was scared. I didn’t – ha.” Steve shakes his head. “I was asleep this time, wasn’t I? The bat bites.”

“The venom went unchecked,” they pet his shoulder apologetically. “Too long, too much stress. I am sorry to always have to meet you in such painful circumstances.”

“What – what about Eddie?” Steve asks, out of nowhere. Death blinks, in as much as they can. “Have you – met him yet?”

“Eddie? I’m afraid I haven’t found anyone recently by that name.”

“You – you haven’t?!” And Steve’s eyes light up and his soul glows and oh, Death just knows they’ll let him out of their grasp once more. “How - that means – he’s still alive! We have to – we have to go back and save him!

“Please,” Steve begs them once again. “Let me go back and save them.”

“Steven,” Death sighs with a smile. “You know you never remember our little conversations when you go back.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” he pleads with his righteous eyes. “I have to – Eddie might get to meet you later instead. Maybe – maybe this time we’ll make it.”

Death takes Steve’s hand, cold as their own. They stare into his eyes and he looks back unwaveringly. With another sigh, they say, “You won’t remember this. But you’ll have a feeling. You’ll be desperate to save him, with no good reason why.”

“Never needed a good reason before,” he jokes and Death laughs. They press a kiss, in as much as they can, to his forehead, a little piece of themselves to keep an eye on him. His eyes flutter shut and he smiles. “Thank you.”

“You better be grey the next time, you hear?” Death glides him over back to the Life he had. They pat his back cheekily. “And bring this boyfriend of yours over.”

“I promise.” Steve says and breathes Life again.

⁠✧ dedicated to @unamusing-s because we were crying about this one together also thank you so much mickala for double checking this one for me⁠ ✧

#sailor✧writes #steddie #microfic #writing #steddiemicrofic #au content #I'M BACK AGAIN WITH ANOTHER HIT SINGLE -#steve has died so many times during the upside down shit but death looks at his big old puppy eyes and says welp back you go now #this was partially inspired by an idea i had where if steve had superpowers it would be an insane healing factor #except this superpower is just charming death by being himself

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controlmyfeet · 6 months

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dad!matty is everything to me. maybe something with reader having a grand reveal that she is pregnant and matty losing his mind and after the news he always keeps his hand on her belly AHHHHh!

when we are together - matty healy

future dad!matty healy x reader

fluff

warnings: emetophobia, pregnancy, simp matty

a/n: at first i loved this, then i hated it, and now i think i like it. i hope you do too. also to everyone that sent requests, i saw them and i’m working on them but it’s going to take a while! thank you for your patience <3

2463 words

i thought the nausea was just a consequence of the migraine i had at the beginning of the week. for the past month, i’ve been trying to adapt to my new job. i’ve been working at the same place for almost a year, but recently i moved to a new department, and everything has been so stressful that i haven’t been sleeping or eating enough, but it’s been two days, and i am once again spilling whatever i had for dinner down the toilet.

it’s 3 a.m. and matty has been to go to the studio early in the morning, so i decided not to wake him up. but when i hear our bedsheets rustle a little louder and the sound of the bathroom door sliding open, i realize it was no use.

“oh baby,” he says softly and reaches towards the counter to grab a hair tie. he runs his fingers through my hair and puts it in a loose ponytail to keep it out of my face. “let go, you’re alright.”

he sits with me until after i’m done throwing up, his hands running up and down my back. i try to use the feeling of him to control my breathing.

“sorry i woke you up,” i say, still breathing heavily after a long silence, my arms propped on the toilet seat and my face still hovering over the toilet bowl, just in case.

“don’t apologize, darling” he squeezes my left shoulder and leaves a little kiss. i turn my face to look at him, eyebrows frowned, and lips pursed “i’m worried about you.”

“i probably got a stomach bug or something.”

i see his sleepy face flash with the sudden realization, “when was the last time you got you’re period?”

as soon as i hear those words, i feel a wave of panic wash over me. i was supposed to have my period almost two weeks ago. my period was mostly regular, maybe some days earlier or later, but never weeks. with all the stress and meetings at work, i must’ve forgotten about it.

“oh shit”

he tries not to laugh at my reaction, seeming too calm about this situation. we’ve talked about having children someday, but this is so sudden. we have nothing planned.

“i can run to the store and grab a few tests,” he says before i start overthinking. hands moving to cup my cheek so i can focus on him, his warm skin contrasting the cold toilet seat. “if you want that, of course.”

“yeah”

“okay, let me just grab a shirt then” he moves to stand up, way too excited for someone who woke up in the middle of the night to his girlfriend vomiting. but i quickly grab his arm, pulling him closer.

“matty, wait,” he shuffles closer to me and i hug his arm tighter. “and what if i really am pregnant?”

“we’ll do whatever you want,” he grabs my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “you know i’d love to have a baby with you, and i understand if now it’s not the best moment. but we could work it out, right? we’re in love, we’re settled, and we’re surrounded by people who love and care for us; we’d be alright.”

i nod and take a deep breath, feeling much happier and calmer about the situation. and also very grateful to have someone so understanding and loving by my side.

“do you want to lay for a bit, or do you want to stay here in case the nausea comes back?” he asks, still holding my hand.

“i’ll lay down, i don’t think there’s anything left”

slowly, he stands up and helps me get up. i turn to the sink and he helps me hold my balance on the counter, standing behind me while i brush my teeth and holding my waist so i can stand up straight.

“you know i love you no matter what, right?” i feel his lips moving against my hair after i spit out the toothpaste. “and having a baby would just make me love you even more.”

i turn around and wrap my arms around him, hiding my face in the crook of his neck and leaving a kiss there. “i love you too.”

matty helps me to bed and adjusts my pillow before grabbing a used shirt and his wallet. he sits with me for a while. calloused fingers stroking my hair softly and his low voice telling me i’ll be alright. we’ll be alright. he pecks my lips before telling me he’ll be right back.

before i can even hear our front door closing, my thoughts are already taken over by little feet, bouncy curls, and big brown eyes.

–

i realize i had fallen asleep only when i feel matty’s fingers brushing my hair away from my face and his lips pressing against my forehead. “you ready?” he whispers

we make our way to the bathroom, and i take the three tests he bought. i place them next to the sink and he sets a timer. before i can feel the anxiety creeping in once again, matty pulls me into his arms and rests his chin on the top of my head.

“i don’t know if this is more scary or exciting,” i whisper and wrap my arms around his waist tightly.

“i know, baby. but we’re in this together, okay? i’ll be here for anything you need.”

he runs his fingers through my hair, and i leave a kiss on his chest. the room is quiet for a while; the only noise i can hear are our breaths and his heartbeat. the silence makes my earlier thoughts come back. pink chubby cheeks, little hands wrapping around my finger. high-pitched giggles echoing throughout the house.

“i think we’d make pretty cool babies,” he says after a while, reading my thoughts.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” i can feel his grin on the top of my head. “half me, half you? that’s a recipe for the coolest kid ever.”

we stand holding each other in the middle of the bathroom until the timer goes off. hiding my smile on his chest as he kisses my head. when the ringtone echoes in the cold bathroom, i feel a rush of adrenaline running through my veins, and i’m pretty sure my hands start to shake.

“i’m not sure if i can look” i let a nervous laugh out and cover my face; he lifts a hand and softly caresses my arm.

“do you want to do it together? or do you want me to look first?”

“no…no, let’s do it together.” i cup his face and give him a chaste kiss.

matty takes each of the tests out of the little cup and turns it around. and as soon as he does, i see the two little red lines, and before i can even process it, matty is already looking at me, waiting for my reaction. but i can see the twinkle in his eyes and the smile he is trying to hold back and i let out a laugh.

“i’m pregnant,” my eyes crowd with happy tears threatening to spill over “we’re having a baby!”

“yeah?” he asks, fully smiling now. i can just nod. and smile.

matty wraps his arms tightly around my waist and lifts me, peppering kisses all over my face. his laugh mixed with sobs. i hold him just as tightly.

“oh darling, i love you so much.” his voice is muffled as he rests his head on the crook of my neck, tears of joy dampening my skin.

“i love you too, matty,” i reply, nuzzling my face in his hair “i can’t wait to see you with our little baby.”

i feel his grip tighten around me, more than i thought possible. face still hidden in my neck and leaving little kisses there.

“you’re going to be the hottest mum ever.” he lifts his head to give me a heartfelt kiss when i start laughing, “best mum too.”

–

it’s been a few weeks since we found out i’m pregnant, so to enjoy the little free time the boys had before going back on tour, matty and i decided to host a sunday lunch at our house. we haven’t told the news to anyone besides our parents. we wanted to enjoy it by ourselves for a bit, even though i worried at first that denise’s enthusiasm would give it away.

i was chopping up some peaches for the pasta salad recipe i saw on tiktok while sitting on a stool. i usually would do this standing up, but matty has been watching over me like a hawk and insisted that i sit down, saying that i shouldn’t overwork my body. whatever that means, i guess. i haven’t even started showing yet, i can’t even imagine how he will act when my bump starts growing.

he comes into the kitchen carrying a few packs of beer and some of the extra ingredients i asked him to buy, and settles everything on the counter. he steals a small piece of the peach i’ve been cutting and comes behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing a sloppy kiss to my cheek.

“how are you feeling, my love?” he asks, moving his right hand to rest on my stomach. i stop what i am doing and turn my head to face him.

“i’m good, i think the nausea phase might be coming to an end.” he nods and i place my hand on top of his. “you’re gonna have to be more discreet, y’know?”

“what do you mean?” he frowns and i fight the urge to run my thumb over the crease between his eyebrows.

“i mean that if we’re going to keep a secret, you can’t be with your hands on my tummy all the time!” i explain while holding back a laugh. “and you also can’t treat me as if i was made of glass.”

“but i want to feel her!” he protests and his frown gets deeper as he tries to prove his point by pushing his hand more firmly on my belly. i move both of my hands to cup his face.

“baby, there is nothing to feel yet.” i try to be serious, but matty’s desolate face sends me into a fit of giggles, “and you don’t even know if it is a her, we won’t know for a few months still.”

my attempt to reason with him completely fails as his face turns into one of shock, as if the things i was saying were the most absurd he’s ever heard “oh, i know we are having a little girl, alright? i’m a hundred percent certain.”

still laughing at my boyfriend’s antics, i give up on reasoning and entirely turn around, wrapping my arms around his neck and bringing his lips to mine.

–

adam and carly were the first ones to arrive, with little baby hann clinging onto both of their hands. soon, ross arrived with his girlfriend, anna, and matty started grilling the burgers, knowing that george and charli would most likely be late as usual. after our talk in the kitchen, he sulked but understood that he couldn’t be on me all the time or it would look suspicious. sure, he is an affectionate person, but with how he acted, everyone would notice that there was something more to it. still, he would go out of his way to pull my chair and refill my water while not subtly caressing my belly.

i had told everyone i wouldn’t be able to drink since i would have a medical checkup the following day and had to do some routine blood tests. which wasn’t exactly a lie, but i was leaving some crucial information out, of course. so when george and charli showed up with an entire jar of clericot, i knew we’d have some problems.

she bought my excuse at first, sharing most of the drink she made with carly and anna, but after two glasses, she started getting a little persistent.

“girl, i made this whole jar of clericot just because i know you like it!” charli complained, almost pouting at this point. and it really is one of my favorite beverages for the summer, but it’s not worth it. i can see matty at the grill giving me not-so-subtle glances as if to say, ‘don’t do it’.

“i can’t, charli, it’ll mess up my tests,” i tried to reason while nibbling on a slice of seasoned peach, but george’s girlfriend is just as stubborn as my own boyfriend.

“oh c’mon, just one glass won’t hurt,” she protested. “it’s not like you’re pregnant.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, my eyes widen and matty turns his head so quickly that it might’ve given him whiplash. so much for being discreet. we exchange looks while my brain works to come up with something to back up my excuse.

“well, uhm, i–those are some very important tests i got to do.”

“oh yeah? what are they for?” carly–who usually would just watch and laugh at our banter–joins in, not at all convinced by my excuse.

“cholesterol?”

no one responds. the girls are exchanging suspicious glances with george and adam–whose little boy on his lap is too preoccupied with his toy cars to pay attention to the conversation–as i turn to matty, begging for some backup. he just looks at me nervously and shrugs.

“that is such bullshit!” ross, who had been helping matty at the grill, exclaims after almost a full minute of silence.

matty comes up behind me with a big smile and wraps his arms around my shoulder. “just tell them at this point, love,” he whispers just for me to hear and leaves an encouraging kiss on my neck.

“well?” charli asks, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. as well as everyone else’s in the room. i take a final look at matty before turning back to them.

“we’re pregnant!” i exclaim, now smiling so widely my cheeks hurt.

all i can hear is the cheer and the laughter from our friends as matty presses several kisses to my cheek before they come to congratulate us. i stand up from my chair as soon as adam pulls matty into a hug and ross is the first one to embrace me, soon followed by charli.

the day resumes with a toast and lots of smiles after the food is served. adam and carly tell us stories of their baby boy, and george reminds us of all the anecdotes of the boys in their pre-teens. and i can’t help but think how it will be when our little one meets its lovely uncles and aunties.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty x reader #the 1975 fanfic #dad!matty

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 10 months

Text

Comet Donati [Chapter 4: Temporary Fix]

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, crepes, mental health struggles, the Cookie Monster pajama pants are removed...😏

Selected Chapter Quote: “I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

Word count: 6.7k.

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

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

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

“Our father never cared about us,” Aegon says at the rooftop bar in Kansas City, a full year before you meet Aemond, a full year before you know him as anything other than a face to be printed on t-shirts and keychains like profiles stamped into coins at a mint, things to be acquired, traded, hoarded, lost. Aegon is swirling the ice cubes in his Salty Dog with a green plastic stirrer shaped like a pirate’s sword. He’s glowing from his sunburn, but he glows from within too; you have the sudden and distinct impression that he’s made of weightless luminance, slice a vein and he’d bleed daylight. A year later, you’ll find yourself thinking that if you cut Aemond, storms and rogue waves would come pouring out.

“I’m so sorry,” you offer, knowing it will not help. But it can’t hurt either, unlike those platitudes that well-meaning but ignorant people like to besiege him with: Of course your parents love you. I’m sure they did their best. You’ll understand how hard it is when you’re a dad someday.

“I figured it out pretty early on. How much he preferred Rhaenyra. How I was the antithesis of everything he could have wanted in a son.” Aegon shrugs; it can’t be changed, it’s like trying to stop the rain. He sips his Salty Dog. Ice clinks; he licks his lips. “It took Aemond a little longer. Helaena was always with Grandpa and Daeron was mother’s favorite, but I remember Aemond trailing after our father like a duckling, asking him about history and books and whatever else, just desperate with this need to be noticed, to be loved. If my father was leafing through a biography at the kitchen table, Aemond would spend hours on Google trying to come up with a fact he hadn’t read yet. If my father mentioned a movie, Aemond would watch it over and over again until he had the lines memorized. I remember one Christmas, Aemond wanted the Helm’s Deep Lego set because my father liked the Lord of the Rings. Then he kept asking Dad to help him put it together. ‘We’ll do it this weekend.’ ‘We’ll do it after I get off this conference call.’ ‘We’ll do it tomorrow.’ ‘We’ll do it for your birthday.’ Never happened. Well summer rolled around and I guess Aemond figured he might as well just do it himself. So he stayed up all night putting that fucking Lego castle together and left it on the kitchen table where my father couldn’t miss it. So the old man comes downstairs the next morning for breakfast and we’re all sitting there with our waffles and orange juice, and Aemond is trying not to act too proud but he is, he’s literally shaking with impatience for Dad’s praise, even a crumb, even just a few words, the maple syrup bottle was trembling in his hands. And my father strolls into the kitchen, glances at this meticulously constructed replica of Helm’s Deep—I mean it’s like a sculpture in a museum, it’s goddamn perfect—and he gives this little snort of a laugh. He says: ‘Wow, look at that.’ And then he sits down at the table, opens his biography of King George V, and never mentions it again.”

This moment is real but it isn’t. Sitting outside in the warm, windswept Missouri midnight with a popstar you’ll never see again (an incorrect assumption) and stories you have no right to hear (so you believe).

Aegon takes another sip of his Salty Dog. “Not me,” he says with a puckish, sad half-smile. “I was never going to beg for someone to want me. I go wherever, I’m with whoever. No strings. No anchors. Nothing stays the same except the band, and that’s what bought me my freedom to begin with, so I don’t mind it so much. Me father is disgusted by me. But this is who I am. And I’d rather force him to watch me torch his legacy than break my back trying to earn love that was given away long before I was born.”

“Do you think that’s a part of why you have no interest in settling down?” you say. “I mean, commitment is a two-way street. And if you commit to someone, you have to trust that they’ll commit to you back. That they love you now, sure, but also that they’ll keep loving you. Maybe that’s something that’s difficult for you to accept. That someone could love you for more than an hour, a night, a day.”

He taps his Salty Dog against the tabletop, considering you, perhaps even marveling: wind in his blond hair, blood in his cheeks. At last he asks, teasing: “What are you, some kind of therapist?”

“Well, actually…in a year from now…” You feel uneasy assigning such significance to yourself—it feels inevitably pretentious, over-confident, unearned—but you can’t help returning his smile. “I sort of will be.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re laying in your bed with the French doors that lead out onto the balcony wide open. The breeze—sunny and warm and smelling of the bakery next to the hotel, croissants and baguettes and half a million different sorts of pastries—breathes in through the semi-transparent linen curtains, a great inhale, a sighing exhale. You can hear footsteps and laughing on the sidewalk outside. The tourists are a cross-section of humanity, with languages from across the globe: a sprinkling of Portuguese here, Arabic there, Mandarin and Hindi and Russian. When the wind flutters the curtains aside, you can see the Eiffel Tower across the Seine. You should be out exploring Paris, but you’re not. You can’t seem to get out of bed. It’s been almost one week since the fight in Reykjavik. You don’t speak to Aemond and he doesn’t speak to you, and everyone knows this but they don’t know why. Not the whole story, anyway. They caught snippets through the sliding glass door, but they didn’t hear what Aemond said to you.

You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.

And now Aegon’s words come back to you too: Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know?

You pinch your eyes shut and roll onto your side away from the open balcony doors. Earlier you had gotten up, showered, deliberated leaving your room…and then immediately put back on your pajamas and crawled into bed. You have no idea where Aemond is now. He mopes around, he avoids you, he disappears on his 1960 Gold Star for hours, he takes notes in white ink, he takes calls on his iPhone.

There is the sound of a key—not a card, but a real, brass key, old and worthy of preservation just like the hotel—jangling in the lock of your door. Aegon steps inside. He’s FaceTiming someone in extremely poor Spanish.

“Adiós mi amor! Sí, te extraño. Claro que sí. Te extraño mucho. Vale, adiós. Hablamos pronto.” He hangs up and slips his iPhone into the pocket of his neon yellow cargo shorts. He’s wearing matching Crocs and a black Comet Donati band tank top. He pushes his aviator sunglasses up into his hair. “Hey.”

“Hey. Who were you talking to?”

“Camila Cabello. But she can wait.” He kicks off his Crocs and walks over to the bed, looking down at you quizzically. He tosses the brass key back and forth between his hands; Criston keeps the second copy of each one, so Aegon must have borrowed it from him. More likely, he thieved it. “You okay, Stargirl? You look stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

He grins, an eyebrow raised, sunburn on his shoulders. “Anything I can do to help with that?”

And you remember what he said to you back in Kansas City last June, a lifetime ago: I don’t think my worth is determined by who or how I fuck. I don’t think yours is either.

Aegon would never call you a slut. And even if he said it, he wouldn’t mean it in the way Aemond did. It wouldn’t be an insult, a belittlement, a curse. You watch him as he stands in the golden afternoon light, caring for you, wanting you in a way that is pure but not innocent. Do you want him too? Sure; Aegon’s beautiful, and you already know you have chemistry, and more than either of those things he is safe. But he’s not the one who keeps you up at night. He’s not the reason you thought, fleetingly and poisonously as you swallowed your birth control pill this morning: What a goddamn waste.

“Actually,” you say, peering up at him, your lips curling into a drowsy smile. “There might be.”

“Yeah?” He’s a little surprised but very enthused.

“Yeah.”

He whips his sunglasses out of his hair and sets them on the nightstand next to your souvenirs: the Colosseum pencil sharpener, the alabaster Apollo, the fighting bull refrigerator magnet, Portuguese soap and Austrian chocolate, the moose snow globe, the silica mud mask, the stuffed comet, the Eiffel Tower keychain you bought yesterday here in Paris, and if that’s cliché then so be it. The mattress shifts when Aegon climbs over to you, pushing up your oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt. He touches his lips to the softness of your belly, bites lightly and playfully, gazing up at you through his shaggy hair as he works his way down to the waistline of your Cookie Monster pajama pants. And suddenly, you’re back in Kansas City a year ago, feeling the comforting, harmless heat of him in the downstairs bathroom of a rooftop bar, drenched in glowing florescence like moonlight, your back to a red wall and his mouth all over you, first above and then below, coaxing the darkness out of your veins like a shot of penicillin cures sepsis. He’s antivenom, he’s white magic, he’s a spell.

“You sure?” Aegon asks now, pausing as his fingers unravel the blue drawstring on your pajama pants like the bow of a Christmas present.

You reach down to knot a hand in his hair, wanting to be closer to him, and he smiles, knowing what you’re going to say before you say it. “I am so fucking sure.”

A resistless tug and your pajama pants have vanished. Aegon positions himself between your thighs and buries his face in the thin strip of fabric that still separates you, black lace you didn’t buy while thinking of him. Aegon inhales deep and slow. “Oh God,” he moans. “You smell just as incredible as I remember.”

His thumbs slip beneath the lace and whisk it away: the coolness of sudden air, the warmth of his tongue. You gasp, drowning in the best kind of sea, waves that cover splintering piers and razor-sharp barnacles, currents that erase memory. It’s exactly like it was before. It will always be this way with him, you know, you feel in your blood that carries all the same elements as his: iron, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen that builds DNA, hydrogen that ignites and burns. And just like that red-walled night in Kansas City, you are amazed by how quickly the ecstasy blooms in you, wispy and yet unbearably powerful, clearing thoughts and uncoiling muscles.

“Good girl,” Aegon murmurs with your wetness dripping from his lips, watching your face as he slides two fingers into you; his own eyes—murky blue puddles that hold few secrets—are entranced, rapturous. “Now come in my mouth, baby. I want to taste all of you again. I want to drown in it. Come in my mouth, can you do that for me?”

You can, and almost immediately: he plunges his fingers into you as he strokes you with his tongue and the rush is bliss yet superficial somehow, sunbeams on wave crests, without the kind of miles-deep tragedy, pining, promises that poets like to write about. Aegon notices the towel you’d draped over the desk chair after your shower and reaches for it to wipe his face with, but you stop him, drawing him to you by his tank top; and you drag your tongue up his chin and over his lips, tasting yourself on him, licking him clean. Then you take his fingers into your mouth and suck them until he looks like he’s going to pass out, like he’s going to forget how to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and he kisses you just like he did a year ago, with an intense sort of need and his hand against your face, his flesh and blood hot and pressed to yours, palm lines on your cheekbone. He wants you in a way that is unburdened by pasts or futures; and who is anyone to condemn that? Perhaps that is the most painless form love can take.

And as the high dissipates, fog burned away at noon only to creep back in the next morning, Aemond returns to you: his words, his wrath, his flawed yet flawless face. You feel unexpectedly, overwhelmingly low. But this is not the time or place for tears; Aegon is still here.

Now I have to get him off too. Now I have to repay him. That’s fair, right?

“Just do it.” You fling one arm across your face as you look towards the balcony, breathing in Paris and daylight, spreading your thighs wider for him, anticipating the faint pressure-pain that will blossom into pleasure as his body melds with yours. “It’s fine. Go ahead. Just fuck me.”

But when your eyes drift back to him, Aegon still has his clothes on. He sits upright and traces the line of your jaw with his fingertips, studying you with uncommon quietness. “No,” he says softly. “No, I don’t think so. You look sad.”

You nod, unable to trust yourself to speak without your voice breaking.

Aegon sighs and flops down beside you on the bed, pulling you against him, whispering as his fingers twist in your hair: “Come here. Shh, shh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

“You helped, Aegon.” Just not quite enough.

He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek, and then he looks at you expectantly. “Are you finally going to tell me what he said? That night in Reykjavik? I heard you screaming something about Missouri, but I don’t think that’s what fucked you up so bad.”

You hesitate as you lie together in the sunlit stillness threaded with distant footsteps and passing cars, Aegon twirling strands of your hair, fondness and familiarity and longing that he is politely trying to ignore. Beneath his neon yellow shorts, he is rock hard.

“Now I’m really curious,” Aegon says, smiling has he kisses your forehead again, entangled with you like tendrils of grapevines, morning glory, ivy. “Aemond’s fucked up too. He’s been lying on his bedroom floor and listening to The Script. He hasn’t done that since he and Shelby split.”

Shelby, you think desolately, flinching. “You warned me about Aemond. You told me he was full of demons.”

“Yup. I’m glad I can’t read minds. It’s gotta be like Poltergeist in there.”

But everyone has a few skeletons in their closet, don’t they? Bones that won’t stop rattling. Teeth that gnash and crave. “He called me a slut.”

Aegon pulls back, brow furrowed. He looks at you, trying to decipher which nerve Aemond hit. It is not a word that Aegon considers to be derogatory.

“But it wasn’t really what he said, it was how he said it, like…like…like because of what I’d done with you a year ago, I didn’t matter anymore. Nothing about me mattered. That he could never respect someone like me. That I had deceived him into thinking I was someone worth wanting.”

Abruptly, Aegon leaves the bed. He grabs his sunglasses off the nightstand and pads across the hardwood floor in his bare feet, steps into his Crocs, slides his sunglasses over his eyes, fluffs his blond hair that hangs in chaotic waves.

“Aegon…?”

“Come with me,” he says, nodding towards the door. He pulls a piece of cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum out of his cargo shorts and tosses it into his mouth. “Right now. Put some clothes on and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Aegon does not elaborate. He only repeats while chomping noisily on his gum: “Let’s go.”

You rush to the bathroom and are ready in five minutes: flip flops, tousled hair, a flowing turquoise sundress you bought yesterday while shopping at Hermès with Baela and Rhaena. “Okay, seriously, where are we going?”

“Out,” Aegon says simply. You follow him through the doorway and down the corridor; like a bloodhound after evidence, Aegon tracks laughter that drifts through the hallway to Daeron’s room. The youngest Targaryen brother is playing Uno with Jace and Baela; Daeron has just made Jace draw four.

Aegon smacks Daeron’s shoulder and demands: “Where is he?”

Daeron is startled. “Huh? What? Who?”

“Aemond. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Aegon smacks Daeron again. “Where is he?!”

“I don’t know!” Daeron wails.

Mercifully, Baela intervenes. “Luke and Rhaena said they were going to the Eiffel Tower. Maybe Aemond went too…?”

“Cool,” Aegon replies. And when he sails out of the room, it’s not just you that goes with him; Baela, Jace, and Daeron file after Aegon as well, chattering conspiratorially. Aegon doesn’t wait for the elevator. He races down the grand staircase to the lobby: white marble floors and Oriental rugs, velvet armchairs and chandeliers, butlers scuttling and women hauling poodles around on taut leashes. Aegon strides past all of it without any interest. You follow him into the street outside and then across it, dodging taxis and limousines. Aegon believes crosswalks are optional. Next he locates the closest bridge over the Siene and traverses it.

“Are they gonna fight?” Jace asks Daeron excitedly. “You think they’re really gonna fight?!”

You plead as you hurry across the bridge, riverboats and swans gliding by below: “Aegon, I don’t want you to say anything to him.”

“I’m not going to say anything.”

“I don’t want you to shout anything either.”

Aegon peeks back at you, smirking wickedly. You know him too well. His pace picks up as he exits the bridge; next comes the vast stretch of gardens that surround the Eiffel Tower, strewn with picnicking tourists, fountains, ferns, lilies, roses, shrubs and trees and waddling ducks.

Jace gasps, euphoric: “Oh my God, they’re gonna fight!”

“Do you really see that ending well?!” Baela hisses back. “Aegon has to be on stage tonight! That’s not going to happen if Aemond snaps him in half like a KitKat!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight him,” you say, petrified. Aemond would win. Easily. Everyone knows that.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Aegon, please!”

“What the hell happened?!” Baela puffs as she jogs up beside you, clutching your arm, bewildered and alarmed. You shake your head. Too long a story, not one you wish to share, not one you entirely feel you have a right to disclose. You’ve only told Aegon, and how is that going to turn out? You don’t want people to hate Aemond. You don’t want to alienate him from the band any further. That might seem contradictory given his recent disregard for your own wellbeing, but it’s—however regrettably—true.

“This is going to be so fucking epic,” Jace says. “Wait, do I have time to get popcorn? I think I should grab some popcorn. Wait, wait, there’s a crepe stand right over there, just give me five minutes. Aegon? Aegon?! Man, please, just postpone the beatdown for five minutes!”

“I hope you can sing Aegon’s parts too,” Daeron tells Jace. “I don’t have them memorized.”

“Cregan can do it.”

“Cregan is going to flay you alive if he sees you encouraging this.”

“He can’t sing all our parts,” Jace replies sensibly.

Aegon battles his way to the front of the long line of people waiting to purchase tickets to go up into the Eiffel Tower. They grimace and jeer at him, hurling swears in a myriad of languages. When he reaches the ticket counter, an aghast employee begins to implore Aegon—“S'il vous plait, Monsieur, vous devez attendre votre tour!”—until she gets a better look at him. Her mouth pops open; her sky blue eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh mon Dieu…”

“You know who I am, right?” Aegon says impatiently. “Yeah, you recognize me. Okay. I need to get up there right now. Me and my friends. What can I do to make that happen? I have lots of credit cards. I can also sign your arm or tits or whatever. What do you want?”

The employee settles for a selfie with Aegon, Jace, and Daeron. Daeron smiles dazzlingly and poses with two thumbs up. Jace gives Aegon bunny ears. Then the five of you receive your tickets. This time, Aegon is willing to wait for the elevator; it’s over 600 steps to the second floor alone, and you’re all already winded from the walk here. Aegon gets off at the first level, does a lap around the tower—tall glass barriers and metal cages around the balcony, a café and a gift shop—and then reboards the elevator to ascend to the next floor. The second level is more open. There is a railing around the edge of the walkway of course, but it only comes up to your waist. Next to one of the tower viewers is who Aegon is searching for: Luke, Rhaena, Cregan, Criston…and Aemond. He’s wearing dark jeans, a black Calvin Klein t-shirt, vintage Adidas sneakers like the ones Freddie Mercury had at Live Aid, sunglasses to shield his damaged eye from photographers, and a fanny pack. He’s biting into a Golden Delicious, round and shiny; juice glistens on his lips. None of them have spotted you yet.

You hear Luke ask Aemond: “Bruh, this is really embarrassing. You’re worth like $100 million. Why are you eating apples and pecans out of a fanny pack?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find vegan food in Paris?”

Criston spies Aegon just as he’s closing in. He reads the fury on his face, his outstretched hand. “Don’t—!”

Aegon thrusts his palms against Aemond’s chest, hard, hard enough to force him back a couple of steps towards the railing. “Apologize,” he orders.

Aemond looks at you—for a moment, only a moment—and then back at Aegon. “For what?”

“You know what you did. Apologize.”

Everyone has gathered around. Criston’s dark eyes dart between Aemond and Aegon. He has a grip on Aegon’s shoulder, but he hasn’t dragged him away yet. He doesn’t know what this is about, and though he would never admit it…he’s intrigued. Cregan hovers close by; he lights a cigarette, taking advantage of Criston’s momentary preoccupation. Baela and Rhaena are gossiping in hushed voices. From behind his black sunglasses, Aemond stares at his brother, the wheels in his mind spinning. He doesn’t hit him, though he easily could. He doesn’t seem to have the spirit for it.

“Whoo!” Jace shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “Fight, fight, fight!”

Daeron mutters to Luke: “Are we taking bets?”

“Um, no?!”

“Right now,” Aegon tells Aemond, and shoves him again. “I mean it. I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

“Whoa, illegal!” Jace hoots. Cregan hooks a hand into the collar of Jace’s polo and yanks him back. “Hey, referee abuse over here—!”

“I will break your fucking arm,” Cregan growls.

“Okay,” Jace says. “Got it. No problem. I’m done now.”

“Apologize,” Aegon commands again, as if you’re the only people here: him, you, Aemond.

You are mortified. “Aegon, please don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. He’s looking at you again, and this time he doesn’t turn away. You wish you could see his eyes: windows to the soul, however clouded they might be. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since Reykjavik. The gravity of it—his voice, his steady gaze, the gut-punch realization of how much you still want him—knocks all the words out of your skull. You sweep them up like a child collecting spilled coins in cupped hands.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Aemond’s tone is benign, calm, like he’s already rehearsed this and has just been waiting for the opportune moment. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was speaking out of anger. It was impulsive of me, it was indecorous.”

What the fuck? Indecorous…? Who uses words like that in casual conversation? Incurably pretentious Aemond Targaryen, that’s who. “Thanks, I guess. You must spend a lot of time with your thesaurus.”

“Well, I write lyrics, so.”

“Yeah.” You wait for Aemond to add the most important part: that he was wrong about what he said, that it wasn’t true. But he doesn’t go there. He only apologizes for speaking it into existence, for vibrating the air with its treacherous molecules. “Okay,” you tell Aegon. “I think you got what you wanted. Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Aegon slaps Aemond across the back and gives him one final glare, swift but cutting.

“What’s a thesaurus?” Daeron whispers to Luke, who shrugs.

“Some kind of dinosaur…?”

“That’s alright, boys!” Jace says, clapping his hands. “Walk it off! Take a breather! Plenty of time for Round 2 later!” Cregan bends one arm behind his back. “Ow—!”

“No smoking,” Criston snaps, ripping the cigarette out of Cregan’s mouth and stomping it into ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, after soundcheck, eating dinner in the gardens under the lengthening shadow of the Eiffel Tower, dark stripes that swallow up daylight like bathwater sucked down a drain. Everyone has a crepe that’s rolled up in wax paper, as Europeans serve it…everyone except Aemond, of course. He’s sitting by himself under a 200-year-old sycamore tree and gnawing morosely on a plain baguette that’s as long as his own forearm. His iPhone rings; he checks who it is and then silences the call. Luke goes over to sit with him, dripping whipped cream from his banana and Nutella crepe all over his white shorts speckled with sailboats. You keep trying not to look at Aemond. Each time you see him is like poking a bruise; it’s nothing but pain, but you can’t seem to stop.

“Oh wow!” Baela cries, beaming as she scrolls through her phone. “The Paris Opera Ballet is performing Romeo and Juliette this season!”

“Neat!” Rhaena says. “Like right now?”

“Yeah. We could catch a show before we leave next week.” She turns to Jace. “Baby?” And when he ignores her, she rubs his shoulder, her voice honeyed. “Jace?”

He groans. “Really? Ballet?”

Baela frowns. “I think it would be fun.”

“I think you can go without me.” Jace points to Aemond, grinning. “Take him, he likes archaic things. Hell, he is one now.” New lines appear in Aemond’s brow, but he gives no other indication that he’s heard this.

“You can’t spare one afternoon for me?” Baela says; and her words have turned from honey to battery acid. “Are you fucking serious? Do you know what I’ve given up for you?”

Jace sighs heavily. “I knew you were going to make this into a thing.”

“Me?! You’re the person who’s being unfair here, I’m asking for one afternoon—!”

“There’s literally no reason why you can’t go with someone who won’t feel like they’re being tortured for three hours.”

“Torture? That’s what my life’s work is to you? Torture?!”

“Well now I definitely don’t want to go anywhere with you if you’re going to act like this—”

“Act like what, like I want my boyfriend to occasionally show even a vague interest in something I care about—?!”

As they go back and forth, everyone else stares down at their dinner, actively dissociating.

Baela asks you: “You want to weigh in on this?” It’s not really a question.

You take a cagy bite of your baked apple crepe. “Um, honestly, I don’t really have much experience with couples counseling.”

“Great. Now’s your chance to acquire some.”

“Uh…” You eat some more of your crepe, slurp your citron pressé, a sort of do-it-yourself lemonade. Baela waits. Jace smirks at you, attentive but not for the right reasons. “Well. I guess what I can say is that it’s important for both people to have their interests valued and their needs met. So for every activity that Jace chooses, there should be roughly the same amount of time spent on something that Baela wants to do.”

“Yeah but I have a lot less free time,” Jace says. “Since…you know…I happen to be in a world-famous boy band in the midst of their third global tour.”

Baela pitches back: “Exactly, which has completely taken over my life, so I think if I could get just one fucking afternoon where you show me some minuscule amount of appreciation then that might be kind of nice, you know?”

“Jace,” you say gently. You can see on the periphery of your vision that Aemond is watching you, once again hidden behind sunglasses that you know he wishes he didn’t feel the need to wear. “It sounds like this is really important to Baela.”

He sighs again. “Baela, Baela, ballerina,” Jace muses, somewhat affectionately but without respect. “Okay. We’ll see. We might have time tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Baela agrees; but already she looks defeated. And she is not a woman who defeat comes naturally to. She’s been worn down by weeks, months, years of the same rote disappointment. She glances at a street vendor who’s selling falafel. “Hey,” she says to Rhaena. “Go get us some wraps.”

“Me?” Rhaena peers nervously at the falafel cart. “What if he only speaks French? Or some other language I don’t know?”

“Then point to the sign, you’ll figure it out,” Baela replies testily.

“I’ll go too, Rhaena,” you offer. “And you can order but I’ll stand there with you and help if any charades need to be done. Will that make it easier?”

“Sure,” Rhaena says. “Okay. Deal.”

And when you return ten minutes later, along with all the other food you have one order of plain falafel: no yogurt sauce, no wrap. You bring it to Aemond, who is stunned. “What’s this?”

“It’s vegan. Falafel is vegan. So here, your dinner just got a little more exciting.”

“Well…thanks.” He takes it with tentative hands.

“That’s so thoughtful of you!” Luke says cheerfully. “Do they have falafel in Kansas?”

“Missouri,” you correct. “And not really. But I ate a lot of it when I was at UChicago.”

This captures Aemond’s interest. “You went to UChicago?”

“Yes, Aemond. Shockingly, liking sex does not make women stupid.”

His iPhone rings: Mr. Brightside. Less than ideal timing. He rejects the call.

“Who was that?” Criston yells over.

“No one,” Aemond responds irritably.

“Your mom?”

“No, Criston.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She wasn’t the one calling, Criston!”

“Okay but I’m just asking, how is she doing like in general…?”

Back at the hotel, Comet Donati is getting ready for their first show in Paris: drinks in glasses, white lines on tables, hair and makeup, cigarettes and pills. You soak in your massive jacuzzi tub and stare up at the ceiling wondering: What am I doing here? What the hell am I still doing here?

But the thought of actually boarding a plane back to Kansas City is terrifying. Never seeing Aegon again? Never seeing Aemond again? Never seeing any of them except on YouTube or Spotify? You don’t want to leave their orbit. You don’t want to zoom off to the other end of the solar system just yet.

You wrap a towel around yourself and mosey out into the bedroom to get dressed. He’s there inspecting the souvenirs on your nightstand, chuckling and pushing them around with his knuckles, wearing a sequined blazer and skin full of ink: not Aegon, not Aemond, not Cregan, but Jace. You squeal, startled, and clutch your towel tighter around yourself. Unfortunately, it’s a very small towel. A very very small towel.

“These are neat,” Jace says. “So I collect tattoos and you collect souvenirs. We have so much in common.”

“We have exceptionally little in common. What do you want?”

He smiles, but never quite kindly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to take Baela to the ballet,” you say. “And I want you to get out of my room now.”

He turns all the way around to face you. He flings your moose snow globe from Stockholm into the air and then catches it, again, again. “Do you really?”

“Yes, Jace.”

And for a minute, or two, or what feels like forever, he doesn’t move. He just stands there staring at you, not moving any closer but not leaving either. Not listening to you. Not hearing you because he doesn’t want to. And you think, your heart hammering in your chest: At what point should I scream for Aegon or Criston? Will they hear me? Will they help me?

“Alright,” Jace says at last. He sets your moose snow globe back down on the nightstand, roughly, with a loud clunk. Then he walks across your room; but before he disappears through the doorway, he throws you a brass room key. Instinctively, you move to catch it, almost dropping your towel in the process. You snatch it back into place just in time. Jace is amused. Perhaps he planned it that way. “Aegon left that lying around,” Jace says, meaning the key. “Maybe you should be more discriminating when choosing who you give it to.”

“I didn’t give it to him. He took it from Criston.”

“Sure he did.” And finally, Jace leaves, as unwelcome as a funnel cloud or a hailstorm.

Aemond spends the concert in the shadows: pacing, taking his notes, ruminating over his many grudges. You spend it in the front row with Baela and Rhaena, wearing the neon yellow gown you found in Reykjavik. You try not to scan the arena for glimpses of Aemond. You fail miserably. Comet opens their concert with an interesting choice, an upbeat cover of Third Eye Blind’s How’s It Going To Be. When you ask Rhaena about it, she says it was Luke’s idea, which in your experience means it was almost certainly Aemond’s, or at least one that he enthusiastically endorsed. Daeron begins, peppy and animated, strutting across the stage:

“I’m only pretty sure that I can’t take anymore

Before you take a swing

I wonder, what are we fighting for?”

Aegon is next, characteristically a little sloppy, a little shaky, yet getting colossal cheers:

“When I say out loud

I want to get out of this

I wonder is there anything

I’m going to miss?”

Cregan’s voice is deep, sensuous, inviting yet with an edge like a blade:

“I wonder how it’s going to be

When you don’t know me?

How’s it going to be

When you’re sure I’m not there?”

Jace is technically the best singer, rich and smooth and nearly always pitch-perfect:

“How’s it going to be

When there’s no one there to talk to?

Between you and me

‘Cause I don’t care…”

And Luke leads the harmony as guitar notes pluck out of the monstrous speakers:

“How’s it going to be?

How’s it going to be?”

Aside from the cover, the setlist is the same as it’s always been since you joined the tour in Rome…but you’re experiencing it in a new way. You are needled by jealously every time you wonder what woman, moment, day, night inspired one of Aemond’s songs; you are nauseous with envy for everyone who’s ever been able to touch him. When they perform A Girl Named After A Car—which had previously always struck you as fun, light, unserious, perhaps satirical—you are consumed by a specific conspiracy theory. After fighting it for half of the song, you Google two words with your iPhone: Shelby car. Sure enough, there’s a vintage Mustang model called a Shelby. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect for Aemond.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself.

“You okay?” Rhaena asks.

“Yeah,” you reply, slamming your phone back into your purse. “I’m awesome. I’ve literally never been better.”

“You don’t look awesome,” Baela says, smiling. “That’s okay. I’m not so awesome either at the moment.” She takes your hands and starts spinning you around the floor. “We can be hot bitter bitches together.”

It’s tradition for everyone to hang out after the concert, but you’re in no hurry to get to Jace’s suite; you certainly don’t want to be one of the first people to arrive. You don’t want to be alone with him. You walk very slowly, taking a detour to touch up your hair and makeup. As you are wandering a quiet section of the hallway, you observe that Aemond’s door has been left ever so slightly ajar. You peer inside to find it empty…but his notebook is on his nightstand.

No way, you tell yourself. No no no. Huge violation of privacy and respect.

“Oh yeah?” you object, barely audible. “And what would you call what he said to me?”

You go to the notebook and flip it open. Matte black pages slip beneath your fingertips.

“Just the first page,” you swear to yourself. “That’s all. Then I’m leaving.”

There’s a song written there; or, rather, partially written. He’s only worked out a verse and the chorus so far. Your eyes skim over it with lightning-flash quickness, cognizant that you cannot allow yourself to be caught. At the top of the page is one word in pale gleaming ink like pearls, opal, moonstone: Magic.

(Ver1) You walk into the room and I think:

How am I going to get you out of me?

Are you an infection, a lethal connection,

Or are you a fire to burn me clean?

“Nice,” you breathe, with hushed awe you wish you didn’t have.

(Chorus) Are you a witch or are you a spell,

Is loving you gonna be heaven or hell?

Black cats and white salt, ladders and doorframes

I think of magic every time you look my way

There are drunken, giggling voices and the sound of doors opening and closing in the hallway. You scurry out of Aemond’s suite and proceed to Jace’s before anyone thinks to come searching for you.

The room is thick with label executives and hangers-on, smoke and music; Watch by Maisie Peters is playing. She’s a friend of the band. You’re reasonably sure Aegon has hooked up with her, or at least aspires to. Speaking of Aegon, he is currently flitting around with Cregan. He stops briefly to say hi to you, a chilled emerald bottle of Kronenbourg 1664 in one hand, white powder on the other. He’s there and then he’s gone again. He might as well have been slingshotted to the other end of the galaxy. Criston is standing by the open balcony doors and talking to Daeron. Jace is at the bar laughing loudly—obnoxiously, hyena-like—with some mid-twenties guys you don’t recognize. Baela is glaring at him from one of the couches, seated next to Rhaena and Luke. But when she sees you, the rage vanishes from her face. She waves you over rather frantically.

“Look, I know this probably isn’t going to help your situation, but I just wanted to let you know that I am really, really hoping you’ll be willing to stay with us a little longer—”

“Yes! Totally!” Luke seconds, nodding.

“—And it’s not like we’re going to forget about you or prefer her over you or anything—”

“No, definitely not,” Luke says.

“What are you talking about?” you ask them. “Prefer who?”

Rhaena grabs your hand and squeezes it. You follow her eyeline across the room to the opposite couch, a mirage through warm smoke and icy dread. And you think: I should have known. I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course it would be here—in this city of Instagram models and Hallmark-card romance—that she would reappear like the moon growing large again after fading to a sliver, everything back in its rightful place, nature restored to harmony.

Sitting beside Aemond—on his good side, his unscarred side—is Shelby.

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