hi! i love the sparklemuffin series! it's so good. do you perhaps have a sparklemuffin inspired playlist you could share with us?
heyaa!!! im so so so glad you're enjoying sparklemuffin!! here are a few of the songs that are most integral to this fic, but of course i have more in the playlist below!!
i have an exam tomorrow and then i will post ch11 of sparklemuffin!!! then you will be getting probably no updates until after the 30th of june (last exam and then i will be on a PLANE to EUROPE!!!) so i will be writing a lot on the plane xoxoxo
iâm so sorry abt the inconsistent updates. mental health is a bitch
WIPS: sparklemuffin ch.11
REQ: no non-con, abuse, other fandoms
AKOTSK
sparklemuffin series
‷ modern!au targaryen family x fem!reader; in which you are a bartender and you run into some interesting patrons... chaos ensues!
HOTD
nothing to see yet!
PROJECT HAIL MARY
stop crying your heart out
‷ ryland grace x pilot!reader; a pilot? good at karaoke? love confessions before you are shot into space.
content warnings: minor swearing!!! and a nonconsensual kiss!
series masterlist | prev part | next part
Dunk is sitting red-faced and red-eyed on your couch. Syrax perched on his knee, he cups a bowl that is steaming, and he blows on it softly, before slurping a few noodles into his mouth.Â
Itâs two-minute noodle Tuesday, so you and Dunk sit on opposite ends of your couch, staring at the screen currently playing a space movie you both really, really enjoy. Youâre both trying hard not to cry as the music envelops the both of you.
Heâs currently failing at that.
He hasnât brought up the fact that Aerion came over yet. He hasnât really said anything when he walked in (unannounced â because of course he has a spare key), picked up Syrax, plopped her on his lap and turned on the tv to play his favourite film, Interstellar.
You have opted for a tshirt emblazoned with a massive fish and the word âfihâ printed out â a present from Tansy for Christmas which she found hilarious. Dunkâs isnât too much better (itâs just a photo of a plate of fettuccine pasta, paired with the phrase âmilf - man I love fettucineâ). Paired with some pj pants, you and Dunk looked the epitome of cosy dorks as you consume your weight in instant noodles.
Itâs been a little while since you have seen him, and you hadnât realised how much you really needed this. Heâs the brother you always wanted, and to have him back in your apartment is a soothing breath of fresh air.Â
You know that Dunk can sometimes be in need of companionship but without explaining yourself â which is how youâve come to right now.
Dunk always cries during Interstellar.
âAerion came over last week.â The movie had finished, so now the both of you are just scrolling aimlessly through Youtube.
Dunkâs eyes are puffy and red as he looks over at you. Thereâs an urge settling deep in your stomach that says something else is up, that it wasnât just TARS and Coop and Brand and their story that made him so upset.
But he will bring it up when he wants to.
âThat so?â He croaks, looking back to click on a compilation of funny moments from the Simpsons.
You nod, reaching over to snatch the remote from him and effectively muting the tv.Â
âHey, I was watching that!â Dunk attempts to grab the remote from you.Â
He fails.
âAerion said you told him where to find me.â You point the remote at Dunk like a weapon.
The bruise on your cheek had settled to a yellowish-green, with a spot of light brown around the scab â which has now lessened to a tiny smudge blurring your features.
It is barely noticeable even without makeup, now.Â
Youâre glad it healed so fast.
Dunk purses his lips together. âAh.â
You raise a brow. âAh? Dude. Asking permission would have been nice.â
The large man shifts his head to the side.Â
âYeah, well. You wouldnât talk to me or Tanselle about it.â
âBecause I didnât wanna have to relive it!â You shriek. Usually you donât lose it, but itâs Dunk. Heâs seen you through thick and thin, seen your worst moments and your best, seen you crying on the floor after a boy broke your heart in ninth grade, seen you naked and seen you in your shittiest clothes.
âIt terrified me. It still does. I donât like walking home alone anymore. I look over my shoulder every time Iâm in town.â You sob, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. The emotion overcame you instantly, and now youâre crying, stupidly.
But itâs just Dunk.
He knows you donât need physical contact right now â he knows you just need to vent. So he sits, and you talk. He listens.
âDunk, Iâm so fucking scared. It was a freak accident, sure, just a random guy. And you scared him off, and Iâm so grateful to you for that, because I have no fucking clue how to deal with it. But you told Aerion, and now he thinks I canât do anything, he thinks I canât even walk home without being scared!.â
âBut you canât.â Dunk says your name softly, and you sniffle, blinking through tears as you hiccup and look at the man cuddling Syrax.
âYou just said you canât.â
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish. Like your tshirt.
Oh, heâs right. Heâs so right.
You needed someone like Aerion to show you that, and Dunk knew it.
Dunk smiles at you. All-knowing, kind and caring, the boy who has known you since birth, Dunk.
He did exactly what you needed.
You sit on the couch and press play on The Simpsons compilation.
@ syraxbaby
I think we should talk
about what happened.Â
Seen
You worry your lip between your teeth. Itâs bad enough heâs not in the mood to talk, but leaving you on seen sends your brain into overdrive â youâve never liked it, and so now you just canât not think about how much he probably hates you, and is telling Daeron and Valarr that he hates you and that they should hate you too, and all of that shit that you- oh.
He responds.
@ aerionbrightfl4me
i thought i âmake shit worseâ
@ syraxbaby
Oh God.
I am so, so so sorry.
I really overreacted.
Please. Iâd like to apologise.
@ aerionbrightfl4me
omg shes in love w me
dw love
meet at snow cafe?
@ syraxbaby
Thank you, Aerion.
You click your phone off and look over at Dunk sprawled on the couch â eyes shut, snoring softly, with his mouth half-open and a ball of orange fuzz curled in his arms, snoring equally as cute.Â
A small smile tilts your lips as you check the time â itâs only late afternoon, so you grab your bag and keys, scrawling a quick âout to meet aerion don' t worryâ note on a post-it and sticking it on Dunkâs forehead.
Syrax mrrps softly, opening a single sleepy eye to watch you. You give her a quick scratch under her chin and plant a kiss on Dunkâs cheek, before heading out the door.
Itâs as you step onto the bus that your phone buzzes in your pocket â and shortly after, the chime of the ringtone cutting through your previously distracted haze of listening to some strangerâs intense conversation with her friend about a guy she knows or something.
Fishing in your bag for the device, you pull it out to see the screen flashing Daeronâs name.
What.
You hesitate, looking around, meeting eyes with some old lady who sends you a glare and pointedly looks at your â still ringing â phone clutched in your hand.
You mouth an apology and swipe the call to answer, holding the phone to your ear.
Was it a coincidence that on the way to meet his brother, he calls you?
âHello?â
A giggle echoes on the other side of the phone, overlapping with another, older voice.
âOh my goodness she answered!â Very, very young. Definitely not Daeron.
Confusion crumples your face, and you frown.Â
âDaeron?â
âDaeron has a girlfriend!â The older, female voice calls out on the other side of the phone.
Realisation sinks into you and a fond smile spreads across your lips.
âEgg? Is that you and Rhae?â
Giggles, again. Well. You have your answer.
âIs Daeron there?â You ask, trying not to laugh at their excited chirps and questions and kissy-face noises.
âOoo, wanna talk to your boyfriend, ooo-â Egg sings, and itâs distinctly Egg because you can tell the slightly playful, extremely high pitched sound from Rhaeâs smoother, grounded voice.
And then a deep voice cuts through their giggles, and you hear a faint shout.
âOI! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY PHONE!â
You clap a hand over your mouth so as to not bust out laughing in the middle of the bus.
âGive me that- hey, come back here- who the hellâŠ? Oh. Oh, hi.â Daeronâs voice is smooth and dark and thereâs something behind it that you canât recognise.
âHi, Daeron.â You smile, and the same old lady shoots you another glare. You scrunch your face slightly at her, turning your back to face the other side of the bus.
âHey. Hi. Sorry. Um, how are you?â Daeronâs voice pitches high at the end which only makes you stifle another giggle.Â
âGood! Iâm good. Iâm okay.âÂ
âGood! Thatâs really good!â Daeron sounds just as awkward as you feel, though you're not too sure why. This entire conversation is a bit ridiculous.
âSo, Iâm assuming Egg and Rhae took your phone before you could realise?â
Daeron looses a breath. The crackly static of the line echoes for a second.
âYeah⊠yeah. Um, what are you doing?â
Heâs scrambling for small talk, you could only assume. Itâs sweet. Nice.
âUm, Iâm currently on the bus to a cafe.â You leave out the fact Aerion is the one you will be meeting, if only to avoid any kind of awkwardness.
âNice! You meeting someone, orâŠâ Daeron trails off.
You chew on the inside your cheek, before responding.
âYeah. Yeah, Iâm meeting Aerion.â
âOh.â
âI wanted to apologise to him, I guess. I havenât really been a good friend recently.â
Daeronâs silent on the other side of the line, which just exacerbates your nervousness. The bus bell chimes as you near closer to your stop.
âI really do value our friendship.â His voice startles you out of the current spiral you are drawing yourself down, making you start quickly.
You smile, without realising.
âYeah, me too.â
After a beat, you open your mouth to speak, only to get cut off.
âI havenât had as many nightmares since the other night.âÂ
A rush of warmth floods your body and a bright smile spreads your lips.Â
âThatâs so good to hear, Daeron!â
A small chuckle, and then. âYeah, it is. I think you have something to do with it⊠so, thank you.â
At this point, your gaze catches on the small screen at the front of the bus, and the flashing words of LANDING CORNER scrolling across the screen.
âThis is my stop, so Iâll catch you later, Daeron?â You say, as the bus driver glares at you and waves you to get off. You hold up your hand in acknowledgement, tapping your bus pass quickly and nearly tripping over the bus step.
âOh, yeah, of course. Um, have fun.â Daeronâs voice sobers at the sound of you leaving â or maybe it;s just your imagination.
âThanks-â
He hangs up.
As you step off the bus and look up at Snow Cafe, your heart thuds in your chest. The frostbitten windows and wooden skirting on the outside, with a traditional hanging sign over your head, seem all too unfamiliar. This isnât your typical side of the city â thereâs people dressed in fancy clothes and stern expressions walking past; even those walking their dogs look strict.
Youâre building up the courage to walk inside when a soft voice cuts through the cold, calling your name.
You turn.
Valarr is dressed in a long winter coat, a collared shirt, and matching dark slacks, and heâs walking right toward you with an almost panicked expression painted across his face â eyebrows knitted together, lips firm, mismatched eyes staring through you.Â
Heâs walking with determination, eyes set above your shoulder, past you, as he stops in front of you and grips your upper arms.
You blink with surprise.
âHey, Valarr- what-?â
Piercing purple and brown eyes see right into your soul as he holds onto you, personal space completely abolished. Thereâs simmering panic and frustration and fear leaking into his gaze, which makes you pause, stifling the flare of abrupt anger and embarrassment overcoming you.
Concern blooms in your stomach. You lean in slightly, placing a hand gently on his arm, pushing it off your body. âValarr, are you okay?â
He looks up behind you quickly, another bright surge of dread swallowing his typically stoic face, before looking down at you. He gulps.
âYou have to promise not to be mad at what Iâm about to do.â
Confusion clouds your mind (what heâs about to do? what?), and you turn your head to catch a glimpse of curly pink hair and almond skin when Valarrâs fingers jut your chin back to face him.
The pink-haired girl calls Valarrâs name, and he shoots you an apologetic frown.
And then his freckles are too close and his scent is crowding you, smoky and deep, and realisation curdles in your stomach and out of the corner of your eye you can see a flash of platinum blond and tattoos, but you canât think because Valarrâs lips are on yours, smooth and wet and undeniably firm.
Your brain short circuits.
He pulls away, apologetic, before tossing an arm around your shoulders and spinning you to face the girl.
âKiera, hey, crazy seeing you here,â Valarr nudges you, and you blink once and then twice. âSweetheart, introduce yourself.âÂ
You stay silent as Valarr introduces you to Kiera, because of course this is Kiera, but there are more pressing matters you have to deal with at this moment.
Because all you can see is Aerion a few paces away, two coffee cups in hand, staring at you and at Valarr with his arm so casually and confidently slung around where his own typically resides, and he looks absolutely, unbelievably, irrevocably shattered.
okay. i know. i abandoned you all. if im being honest, i literally lost all motivation for like ages, and then everything kind of went to shit at home and in uni and just in general, but we perservere and we rekindle our love for writing!! i watched project hail mary and that genuinely refreshed my soul (hence why you might have seen that ryland grace fic a little while ago). the outline for this fic is completed and i only have like five chapters left which is HEARTBREAKING!! thank you all for sticking with me and this fic, i genuinely have loved this experience and i PROMISE more updates are coming regularly now exams season is upon us. thank you all again, i really hope this update does the waiting time justice.
DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS. BELONGS TO @milkandmoss.
taglist: @holypartyfantoad @kittyblahhh3000 @omgwhataloser @godhatesmonty @diannnnsss @qardasngan @goldenhoneyedwine @gcelee @ximetrevino2021 @jinhopesstuff @hmb-dom-4real @njutul @melanyra @oh-miniso @charlotteâ2708 @sahvlren @luna-is-hungry @ashley22zak @latebean @theprophaecy @comzetogether @piercedathena @aurora0-0-0 @jinmjy @saturnssrings @user456754
as always, comment to be added to the taglist!!! <3
thank you all so much for sticking w me, my baby sister has been sick recently n in hospital, i love yall so much, i promise im working on sparklwmuffin andi love yall, there will be an update in the next week xoxoxo
I am so incredibly sorry for the lack of updates â uni has genuinely been killing me and I promise I will have more updates coming soon I just need a little more time. Thank you all for your patience!! Hopefully by next week once assignments have been finished.
or, where you're the hail mary pilot who sings oasis and ryland grace watches. love confessions ensue.
crossposted onto ao3 under @ girl_in_converse
The sway of the ship doesnât bother you as you toss an arm around Yao, singing loudly into the microphone clutched in his hand.
Familiar chords bash out from the speaker â Oasis, again, because of course itâs the crewâs chosen playlist.
âHold up, hold on, donât be scaredâŠâ Yao slurs into the mic, and you hiccup and laugh, swaying.
As Yao continues to sing, your gaze scans the room. Faces youâve come to know flicker at you from the audience â you spot Ilyukhina cradling a glass of vodka like itâs her own child, a sleepy grin plastered on her lips. Next to her, Stratt, thin-lipped but a slight crinkle to her eyes. A look of sadness, youâve come to recognise.
Many others: scientists who spent days cooped up investigating the astrophage; engineers working on making the Hail Mary a flyable ship for you to pilot; country representatives and security guards and a bartender who has most definitely signed multiple NDAs.
And then thereâs Grace.
Heâs slouched at the bar, looking for all the world as though he wants to disappear⊠and perhaps he does, as the worldâs leading astrophage expert, as the one person who this entire mission has thanks to.
Some unknown bottle of beer is held tightly in his hands, and through the blur of alcohol, you recognise the white-knuckled grip of his fingers around the cool glass of the bottle.
Youâve stopped swaying, blatantly staring at the man who, adorned in his fox cardigan, has no idea of the piercing gaze set on him.
You have a staring problem.
The microphone is shoved into your hands as Yao lurches off stage (presumably to throw up â Ilyukhina fondly refers to him as the âlightest of lightweightsâ), and you blink as the chords donât stop at a little switch of the singer.
With the amount of warm bourbon and dry mixed in your stomach, warming you from the inside out, you shift the handle in your fingers. Your gaze doesnât stray from Grace as you begin to sing.
âCause all of the stars are fading awayâŠâ You hiccup and laugh at yourself slightly as Ilyukhina whoops. Your gaze shifts to her, and the massive smile splayed across her cheeks which matches your own.
âJust try not to worry, youâll see them someday.â Itâs been a few years since youâve been on a stage, singing to so many people. You can spot a few people crying in the back, talking and exchanging hugs and kisses and sentimental stories.
A small bubble of bittersweet nostalgia fills your chest as you see this family. Sure, youâll die in a few years, but youâve done something.
Yao and Ilyukhina have families, partners, children. All that belongs to you is a shitty apartment and your defense force experience.
The one person you will miss is Ryland Grace. Sometimes, when itâs late at night and youâre lying in bed with your own thoughts, you wonder if he will miss you too. If he will mourn you. If heâll live to ninety down here on Earth and think about how heâs lived double or triple your current age.
The brief but intense connection you have had with Grace was entirely on accident â a pilot and a scientist donât typically mix. So when Stratt took you and the crew to first experience the incredible astrophage-metal-melting, you were taken by him from the start.
He was awkward and stilted and slightly too tall, like a baby giraffe stumbling over its legs. Drowning in that familiar wool cardigan, with glasses that just donât know how to rest on his face, your gaze caught on him and couldnât unhook.
And as he explained the astrophage, and the melting, and how just one gram of that shit did that to a metric ton of metal, you immediately knew you needed to know more.
If you were to fly a spacecraft powered by astrophage (aka stareater, which Grace told you over one of many conversations the two of you had regarding the possibility of the astrophage burning up on takeoff and taking out the entire Project Hail Mary association with it), then you needed to know everything and more about it.
And that led to sleepless nights asking endless questions about possibilities of any and every scenario with the material, with Grace. Which led to helping Grace with his research, leading to coffee breaks and impromptu lab-naps, and the development of a friendship that became almost as important as the mission, you would say under the influence of many glasses of wine.
Yes. You would consider Ryland Grace your friend.
You blink rapidly as your voice trails off, only for Yao to stumble back on stage, and you offer him the mic but he pushes it away.
âIâm- hic- glad youâre piloting -hic- think youâll be goodââ He pats your shoulder firmly and nods sharply, and you return it with a sharp nod.
Sadness swells in your chest. You havenât felt this upset in a little while, and you continue with the song with newfound passion, the lyrics hitting just slightly too hard to act normal about it.
People have quietened as your voice cuts through, the staticky microphone barely inhibiting the amount of soul expressed from your chest.
You hiccup, but it barely shifts your mostly-alcohol-driven confidence as you walk across the makeshift stage to Ilyukhina â she grasps your hand, and you sing with her as tears spring to your eyes.
At least youâre going to die with your friends.
âWeâre all of the stars, weâre fading awayâŠâ You stand and lock eyes with Grace and immediately look away.
âJust try not to worry, youâll see us someday. Just take what you need, and be on your way, and stop crying your heart out.â
Others have joined in the last verse, and you finish your drink which was in your other hand, holding onto the microphone with two hands now, as you all repeat the last phrase.
âStop crying your heart out.â
You stare unabashedly at the man who has become a close companion in the dark days of this project. He meets your gaze directly, something akin to a fond smile tilting his mouth into a crooked line. He watches you now, so indefinitely him through and through.
âStop crying your heart out.â
The mix of all these familiar voices makes your voice tremble as you break the stare that he meets with such open eagerness. You stand, holding the microphone with two hands, white-knuckling the handle as you suppress the urge to cry. You watch some familiar scientists raise their glasses and sing, and then some security guards. The representatives. The crewmates.
Your gaze flicks back to Grace as the room sings the final line, and you watch as he lifts his beer, tilting the neck toward you and ducking his head slightly in acknowledgement, as the words leave your mouth almost as a choked sob.
âAnd stop crying your heart out.â
Applause, scattered amongst cheers and whoops and whistles, surrounds you. You walk off stage, but then remember youâre still holding the mic and quickly dash back up to pop it on the stand.
Someone else takes up the song, singing through a slurred and drunken haze the familiar bars of ABC by the Jackson Five with many others laughing and jeering along.
You make your way to the bar, sitting â or rather, slumping â next to Grace with all the grace of a donkey. Barely realising youâre out of breath, you grab another bourbon and dry, and take a deliberate sip as the bright blue eyes of your companion pierce right into you.
âYou can sing.â
Itâs not a question, but rather a statement of surprise (and something else, underneath, but you canât really think about it with the current tipsy state you are in).
You smile, bashful, turning to look at him.
âKinda.â
He looks at you owlishly, blinking twice. His cheeks are flushed slightly, glasses dropping too low on his nose. You push them back up to the bridge of his nose slightly. He huffs a small laugh.
âKinda⊠youâre a pilot. It just â It surprised me, I guess.â He mumbles softly.
You shrug. âMmm.â And then you fully turn your body to face him, blinking determinedly through furrowed brows.
âWill you miss me?â
He blinks, taken aback. Your gaze flits over his face, catching on the slight wince of his eyes; the tightness in his jaw and the muscle that flickers in his temple. His free hand tightens into a fist on his lap.
You backtrack.
âLike, when Iâm gone. âCoz, yâknow, weâre not coming back,â Your voice is soft, raw, slightly cracked at the edges, âand Iâm gonna die up there in space.â
Grace swallows tightly, blinking.
âCome on.â
He takes your hand and guides you out the door. You stumble slightly as he leads you around a corner, and his arm reaches out to steady you, those bright eyes looking at you with such care that you forget to breathe slightly.
But this is Grace. You arenât leaving tomorrow, so you canât fuck it up by letting your emotoins cloud your already-murky judgement.
He stops suddenly, and you almost run into him as he turns quickly, placing his bottle on the outside table, and taking your own glass and doing the same. Arms reaching for your own, he looks at you with an intensity youâve never seen anyone possess before.
âLook up.â
You obey, and are met with the bright streak of the Milky Way, an abundance of stars reaching back to you with light you know is hundreds of thousands of light years away. You blink back the emotion currently caught in your eyes, your teeth, your throat.
âThere wonât be a day that goes by that I wonât miss you.â
His voice is low, mixed with a whole lot of emotions youâre in too much of a hazy fog to recognise. But there is something that shines out to you, from all of this.
Regret.
Your eyes lock with his, and youâre surprised to see glittery tears held right in the base of his lashes.
He laughs to himself, slightly, hands coming to your collarbones, to that space between your neck and your shoulders where he can rest his thumbs on either side of your neck.
Close enough to be intimate, but far enough to pass as friendship.
âSelfishly, I want to tell you to not go. I want to tell them to go find a different pilot. Not mine.â
He blinks again, and the sparkly dewdrops in his eyes fall down his cheeks. Youâre too shellshocked to do anything but blink at him, as he swipes the tears away with an ease before his hands find their way back to that delicate space on your shoulders.
âYours?â You manage to ask, because itâs all you can croak when heâs got you like this â speechless, heart thudding against your chest, hands itching to come to his cheeks.
He shuffles closer, a blush etched deep into his cheeks, swallowing the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. The round glasses youâve come to adore have slid down slightly again, and so you reach to push them back up his nose.
He meets you halfway, cupping the back of your hand with his palm, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His eyes shut briefly, a look of pain flitting across his features.
This is all ridiculously intimate â and of course, you know the both of you have had more than a few drinks, but thereâs something buzzing against your stomach that is screaming about how there has to be some kind of truth to his words.
âI donât know if Iâve made it clear, butâŠâ He ducks his head, as if ashamed, or embarrassed. You tilt his head up with your hand, from its point pressed to his cheek, and he looks at you with that gaze you had just seen from across the room as you sang.
âBut?â You whisper, scared if you speak too loud youâll shatter the moment.
He takes a deep, bracing breath, puffing it out in that endearing way you recognise as his âpeople-talkingâ ritual.
âYouâre everything to me.â
Itâs like someone has shot you with that astrophage-death-laser-ray as all the air in your lungs leaves your body. Ry must take your reaction the wrong way as you stare at him with saucepan-wide eyes, not blinking, and lips parted, jaw dropped.
âI canât stop orbiting you. Youâre my sun. Youâre everything. And I hateââ He cuts himself off, scrunching his face to presumably blink back tears or some kind of regret.
âI hate that youâre leaving and that I never got a chance to properlyâŠâ
âProperly what?â You breathe.
He looks at you, all defenses down now. Itâs in this moment he looks the most like himself â unguarded, blue eyes half-lidded and his facial hair scruffy, lips pouty and face flushed with alcohol and the utter nervousness of a confession that heâs not sure he should be making.
âProperly do the whole thing. Go out for dinner, or a movie, or for a walk in the park. Bring you flowers, ask you to be more than friends, do the things I- I wanted to do with you. Because I love you. I think I have from the moment you asked me about what I would do if the ship exploded, and you with it, and how we could stop it. Since you spent your free days cooped up in the lab, falling asleep on my desk, bringing me the pastries they have lying at every water-point on the station. Since I saw you in that pilot jumpsuit, helmet-hair and all, and I just felt my heart drop to my stomach, and I knew-â
You press your lips to his.
The shock startles him, and he pulls away. You immediately slap a hand to your mouth, apologies already spewing out of you.
âOh my god Iâm so sorâmphââ
Ryland Grace is kissing you.
The world melts away as he cups your cheeks, and your hands come to rest on his chest as he pulls you closer, pressing his body against yours. The wool cardigan scratches against your exposed wrists and a shudder circles through you, and you have never felt more happy in the world. All the worries leave your shoulders as you revel in the softness of his lips sliding against your own, the slight scratch of his stubble against your chin, the gentle touch he uses to hold your face as though youâre made of the finest china and one wrong move will result in you shattering.
Your lips glide across each other, and itâs only when you come up for air that you truly recognise what just happened.
Both of your faces are flushed a deep red, lips glistening with saliva and puffy from the kiss â breath stolen from the both of you, panting as your chests heave.
He looks at you, brows tightly furrowed, gauging your reaction.
You stare up at him.
A giggle escapes you â and his lips quirk, before youâre once again pulling him back in. He does so with ease, one hand drawing around your waist and the other curling into the roots of your hair as you hold his jaw.
The smile he is sporting makes his teeth clash against your own, and his glasses fog slightly as the two of you let the rest of the universe melt away for just this moment.
You decide that you consider Ryland Grace your best friend in the entire world.
thank you so much for reading!!! i got a bit carried away with this one, trying to get back into the swing of writing to finish my other fic xx
DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS. BELONGS TO @milkandmoss.
my loves... i have yet abandoned you all. but there WILL be a new chapter up in the next week (i have a lab report, due thurs, and an overdue one) but ill definitely chip into a start tonight!!!
i am so sorry for lack of recent updates, i am so happy you are all enjoying :,)
slight contnet warning for strong language and a few more sexual innuendos than we usually have x
series masterlist | prev part | next part
Daeron Targaryen wakes to the intoxicating scent of eggs and bacon. It drifts over him, wraps across his body like welcoming arms and triggers his very senses to perk up. The unease that settles in his ribcage after a fitful nights sleep addled with alcohol and confusing drunken dreams dissipates.Â
Blearily, he drags an arm across his eyes and blinks. Then he pushes back onto his arms and takes in his surroundings.
Itâs a nice apartment â relatively small, with the kitchen and lounge-slash-living area combined. Thereâs a flat-screen television mounted on the wall opposite the couch, and a wall covered in a a large bookcase, stuffed with book series of all sorts. A candle is burning next to the bookcase, as well as a plant. The plant looks like itâs half-dying, but it perseveres with the light it manages to grab from the window above it.
And thereâs a cat. A really fucking beautiful cat.
Itâs a ginger and orange and sunset tabby â and itâs sitting right on his stomach, staring at him with intelligent blue eyes.
Itâs definitely judging him.
âShe likes you.â
From his position on the couch-bed (he takes note of the fluffy blanket draped over him), he can see you in the kitchen, dragging plates and cooking with ease. You flick on the switch to the kettle, and you turn to check on the cooking eggs when you see heâs awake, a beam curving your mouth into a semi-circle, looking at the cat (definitely not him) with an overwhelmingly attractive expression of fondness that he would not admit to himself.
Daeronâs chest clenches, and a wave of self-consciousness and another wave of embarrassment collapse over him.Â
His previously-fresh pressed white t-shirt was now crumpled with sleep, his flannel slung carelessly over the back of the couch. Heâs still wearing his shoes, he notices. The uncomfortable stickiness of cold sweat covers his body, and the idea of a shower flits across his mind. Gods, he would do anything (or anyone, for that matter) for a steamy hot soapy shower right now.
But you â youâre so bright for so early in the morning. Like the sun itself, waking with the sky and spreading warmth onto the world in the form of couch-sharing and scrambled eggs.
He watches as you plate the food, humming softly to a tune echoing from a bluetooth speaker nestled somewhere in the apartment. The cat continues to stare at him, and he hesitantly reaches a few fingers to scratch under her chin.
She likes that, purring and settling into the typical loaf-cat position, and a small smile inadvertently creeps onto Daeronâs lips.
Dressed in clothes from yesterday, probably reeking of liquor and sweat, and a sour taste in the back of his throat with the familiar fluffy feeling of having too much alcohol and not enough water, Daeron feels awful. Heâs sure that feeling has extended to his physical appearance, too.Â
As you sit next to him and the cat, handing him a plate of eggs and bacon and a buttered english muffin, and ask âRough night?â as though he usually wakes in your apartment on the couch, Daeron shifts and sits up. He groans as the cat clenches her claws into his chest, and brings his arm around to cradle her. His other hand is busy holding the plate of eggs and bacon.
The cat doesnât seem to mind him.
Daeron nods wordlessly at your question, before scooping some eggs into his mouth. He gently lifts the cat onto the floor, but she hops right back up and curls into his side, purring loudly. Daeron looks up at you, and you laugh, but betrayal shines in your eyes.
âGods, Syrax. You gold-digger.â Your voice is laced with sleep, yet bright and bubbly and mixed with humor.
It twists something in Daeronâs stomach, but not in a bad way. More of a Iâm in this girlâs apartment on her couch hungover as fuck with her cat obsessing over me, and sheâs just cooked me breakfast, and sheâs smiling at me and she looks beautiful and I feel disgusting way. More of a I dreamed about her, about how she was hurt, and I knew it would happen but didnât warn her way.
His thoughts run rampant through his head, and paired with the hangover all he can really do is eat.
So you both eat in silence for about five minutes, a playlist of indie-pop songs playing in the background. A few of them are familiar to Daeron â sometimes Rhae and Daella will have friends coming over to get ready before they go to a party, and the songs they play can be heard all the way down in the kitchen. He doesnât mind them â in fact, he rather likes them.
Daeron clears his throat nervously, picking up the muffin and chomping down on it.
âTheyâre good.â He says. Youâre scrolling on your phone, so his voice startles you out of a trance. Your eyes flick up to meet his.Â
He swallows.
âThe eggs, I mean.â
Your mouth twitches with a small smile, gracious. You duck your head in thanks, then watch as Syrax nestles further into Daeronâs side.
âWhatâs her name again?â Daeron asks, following your gaze to the fluffy ball of orange fur purring against him, content and sleepy.
âSyrax. Sheâs two, now.â A fond smile caresses your lips.
As you both finish breakfast and you take the plate from Daeron, he stands hesitantly.Â
Youâre rinsing the plates in the sink, when his voice snaps you out of the trance.
âHey, um⊠I donât really remember last night. Or how I got here.â The embarrassment is almost opaque, drifting towards you. Daeron longs for a toothbrush.
Really sexy, everything about this situation, Daeron. Good going, dude.
You still, slightly, placing the plates in the dishwasher.
âWell, I was at work.â You wipe your hands on the teatowel hanging over your oven door, then turn to face him. Syrax is nestled in his arms, and you can see his thumb tracing idly back and forth under her chin. You can hear the purring from across the room.
Daeronâs itching to grab his phone and text Aerion and Valarr. What he would say, he doesnât know, but to just TALK about this incredibly odd, slightly overwhelming experience he is currently living.
âYou came in and you were talking of your nightmares, I think. And then you kinda freaked me out with the whole âI dreamed of what happened to youâ thing, that was a bit of a shocker. ANd then you threw up behind the bins, and I decided it would be a whole lot easier if you just came back with me instead of me ordering an Uber or callingâŠâ You drift off.
Aerion.
Daeronâs eye twitches. Of course.
Aerion. His little brother.Â
âAh.â Is all Daeron can manage to say, because wow. Heâs really fucking fucked up any chance at all of making any good impression on you.
He supposes he is a drunk, an alcoholic, and probably should be medicated for his vivid dreams. But. Then again.
âSorry, do you have a spare toothbrush or something?â He says. At this point thereâs no deeper he can dig himself into the hole he will crawl up in and die when he gets home.
Your face immediately brightens, and he catches a glimpse of you wincing slightly â youâre wearing makeup, even though youâre still in pyjamas. The bruise is hardly noticeable, coveredwith products.
But Daeron knows itâs there â he saw it happen.
âOh gods, of course! Um, I also have a towel and stuff for you⊠let me just grab itâŠâ You disappear into a room and come out brandishing hygiene products.
Daeron thinks he could actually marry you on the spot.
âOh my god thank you so much.â Daeron takes the items graciously. You direct him to the bathroom and he does exactly that.
You and Daeron fold up the pull-out couch. Despite being a tall, large man in your home, you notice he doesnât seem to take up much space at all â heâs politely standing back, only moving when he thinks itâs required to.Â
But he looks like he belongs here. Syrax certainly thinks so, you think with disdain, as you watch the orange cat curl up in his arms, cradled like a baby. She looks over at you lazily, as if to say âyeah, bitch, youâre losingâ.Â
âSheâs a very friendly cat.â Daeron says. His voice is quiet and melodic and gentle, and you make eye contact with the deep purple eyes and press back a very sudden urge to be closer to him.
You laugh. âNo, sheâs really not. Usually she hates strangers â I mean, Dunk and Tansy and I, she loves. But anyone sheâs never met before, she despises.âÂ
His face shifts slightly, and he looks down at the feline, who blinks slowly at him, before looking back up at you with big round eyes.
âI wonder why she likes you so much.â You muse softly.
Syrax loves this man. And that bitch hates everyone and their mother.
Daeron laughs, and you both devolve into small talk.
Itâs when you catch a glimpse of the time that you realise you really should be doing some grocery shopping. As you shuffle in your seat, Daeron looks as though he has just realised he has most definitely overstayed his welcome.
âDo you think I could grab your phone number before I leave?â He asks in one breath, as you and him walk over to the apartment door. Youâre surprised, sure, but other than that you are almost eager to give him your number. You exchange contact information, and as Daeron looks up from his phone to shoot a dazzling smile at you, itâs like your chest explodes.
Gods, you really need to get a grip.
âGet home safe, okay?â You say, brows furrowed with worry.
He smirks to himself slightly. âYeah, okay. Hey, thank you again for last night and this morning. Youâre an angel.â
You flush, ducking your head.
âLeave, before my cat decides she doesnât want to live with me anymore!â You say through a laugh, pushing him lightly out the door. A smile is on his face, and he just looses a breathy laugh, before waving goodbye.
You wave after him, and then shut the door.
Syrax looks at you and makes a little mrrp noise, tail flicking slightly. You narrow your eyes at her.
You thought paper bags were meant to make your shopping trip easier. But when the handle of your shopping bag tears as some asshole jogger crashes into you, you mourn the shitty, eco-unfriendly plastic bags that used to exist where you could double bag and not worry about your oranges threatening to spill out of the bag.
You gasp, muttering to the gods, as the joggerâs words fall empty on your ears.Â
âI am so sorry, oh gods.â Then a hand, reaching out to return your dropped bag, and you look up and gasp.
Valarr.
What the fuck is up with these three guys â youâve seen all of them in the span of twenty-four hours now.
âValarr!â By the Mother, what was going on in this town?
Sweat trickles down the side of his neck, and his cheeks are flushed. You have to stop your jaw from dropping as your eyes flick down slightly to see his chest straining against the tshirt he is wearing, and those slightly-too-tight running shorts.
Oh.
And then youâre thinking of Aerion, and your argument, and the fact that over the past few hours you have had his older brother and now his cousin talk to you. The idea of Aerion is ineffable: heâs otherworldly, of course. Heâs trying to do good in a world where heâs outshone by his relatives⊠and you think, regretfully, about how easily you were able to push him away.
It doesnât help that thereâs something in your stomach (and lower, though you refuse to admit) that flutters when you think of him.Â
You decide youâre a bad person, in that moment, with Valarr staring at you seemingly searching for a conversation starter. Guilt trickles down your throat as easily as any alcohol ever has, and the burn it leaves is far stronger.
âOranges, huh.â Valarrâs voice is softer than Daeronâs, quiet and peaceful. Itâs the complete opposite to Aerion, who is all fire and flame and burning. Thereâs a sort of sorrow to it, tragedy-stricken as though heâs running from something. You furrow your brows and follow his gaze to the peeping orange fruit shining from your bag.
âOh- yeah, Vitamin C,â Youâre awkwardly fumbling for some kind of words to make up for the way youâve treated his relatives over the past day. âGotta keep it up, yâknow.âÂ
Valarr swallows tightly. âI am so sorry for knocking you over, truly. I was running, andâŠâÂ
He devolves into silence, eyes growing distant and foggy, and you can spot the tremble of his fingers around his phone.
âItâs okay, donât stress!â You try to comfort him. To be truthful, youâre both strangers whoâve met probably twice, so itâs not like you have to comfort him any more than what you have offered. The silence is overwhelming, so you suck at your teeth before pressing your lips together in a tight smile.
âWell.â
He blinks out of the distant, sorrowful, heart-wrenching gaze to look at you quickly.Â
âSorry, do you need help carrying those?â As if itâs not a bother. As if heâs eager to help you with such a mundane task, with something that probably means so little to him, but so, so mch to you. The blush comes before you can even understand it has; and the overwhelming urge of embarrassment, and more intensely, shame, washes over you.
âItâs okay, I donât want to disrupt your run.â The urge to say YES is screaming at you, but of course you canât. Gods, how many of these boys do you want in your apartment?
âDonât worry, my apartment is around the cornerâŠâ Discomfort blooms in your stomach. The idea of all three boys in this friend group being even within ten kilometres of the vicinity of your apartment sends your mind spiralling.
Are you a whore?
Fuck. Maybe you are.Â
Fuck.
A similar expression spreads over Valarrâs face â and it sends you shifting on your feet anxiously.Â
âOh, no, I wasnât going to⊠I mean, if your car is close I can help carryâŠâ
âI, uh. I donât have a car.â You regret the fact you opened your mouth at all â Valarrâs family was rich and you know it. Even if Daeron showed up in ratty-looking flannels, even if Aerion was nice to you, even is Valarr himself took it out of his way to offer to help you with your own goddamn groceries, you knew.Â
And you were the complete opposite.
His poorly-supressed surprise hits your harder than it should, of course, because you tend to take things too personally, too quickly. But he instantly offers to help you carry them home, and all of a sudden your back in your apartment talking to Aerion about how you need protection and help and you just canât really think at all.
He stumbles over his words as you start to spiral â because of course, this kind of conversation (as awkward and intense as it is) would happen at literally two in the afternoon. You canât really control your facial expressions as he speaks, so you notice as he backtracks, falling over words he (probably) doesnât mean.
âSorry⊠um, I know we donât⊠know each other, but. Just, if you need a hand â or, like, I can just call someone, orâŠâ
âI think I can manage.â You say sharply, the words already jumping out of your mouth.
What is it with this family and the whole idea that you need to be saved?
His response is polite, simple, distant enough to not be considered anything (if you were a normal person).
But of course youâre not a normal person, so youâre convinced he hates you.
âOf oucrse. See you around?â Heâs smiling at you, and you think itâs the first time heâs ever done that in your direction, to you yourself, and you feel something inside you both shatter and soar.
Heâs devastatingly handsome. Whoever these guysâ grandparents were are ridiculous, because how are are three so intensely enticing. The DNA of their great uncle or whatever is strong.
You attempt a small smile in return, ignoring that voice inside your head screaming about how long itâs been since youâve been laid, and that you have the pick of the fucking litter with these three guys, that you might as well have won the fucking lottery.Â
âYeah, see ya, Valarr.â The words force themselves out of your mouthâŠ. Because of course they do. You barely know this man and are already salivating over him. You helped Daeron because he was drunk off his face talking of Old Valyria (which, by the way, most people are convinced is another Atlantis that truly never existed); you pushed Aerion away because you barely know him and already he is so eager to jump to your defense, your protection which seemed a lot to him and probably was.
But you cannot afford this. Sure, Tansy and Dunk would probably disagree. Sure, Syrax liked Daeron, and Dunk told Aerion where you were when you needed someone the most, and Valarr (out of the kindness of his own heart) would just drop everything, including his run, to help you carry your bloody groceries home.
Sure, thatâs normal and casual and nothing worth thinking over.
So, as you walk away from Valarr, and all that emotion, you forget what it is to know to be loved in the small ways.Â
You have yourself. You have Syrax. Thatâs that.
You donât need anything from anyone. And they sure as hell canât take that from you.
now. i amso fucking sryr for ho late htid bupdate it. am i drunk writing this a/n? yes. and am i sad about that? also yes, prbbly. but we preservere. its genuinely beem like over two weeeks since my lasty update and the guilt is eatin g me alive. im surprised i coudl finish this chap honeslty, but i knew i neede to feed yall and im lowkey locked in rn whoah holy fucl. anyways. i love you all so much and thank you for sticking with me rn :,) uni is crazy but i really promise will be more on t ball with updates, i dont want to let you guys down and i know how upsetting it is when authors dont update so i promise i will try. i hope you enjoyed this update, idk how i feel aboutit so like uhst lemk in ths ommnts. ilyyyy
ALSO I OHPE YOU ALL SEE HOQW I REFLECTED VALLAR CHAPTER WEITH THIS ONE BEXCUASE OF THE WAY I CHANGE D THE DIALOGUE LOWKEY WAS RELALLY PROUD OF THE TWO DIFF INTERPRETATIONS OKAY THANK YOU GOODNIGHT ITS 1AM I NEED TO SLEEP AND WKSE UP WITH A KILLER HANGOVER LOVE YALL
also a lil appreciation for the âstrongâ namedrop i feel fucking evil đđ
DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS. BELONGS TO @milkandmoss.
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okay so im lowkrynuignnley buzzed rn but i promised i would have chapter 9 out tonightnd ive betrayed yall so im desperately trying to finish it rn (drunK) (happy) stressned) (ready to cry) (missing the boys akak valarr aerion and daerion) (ignore pany spellng mistkae)
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