just a bunch of fairly sfw thoughts i have of mr. Abner. i hope you enjoy! (i say shakily for i feel very self conscious about my ways of interpreting characters as well as my writing)
▪︎ Will leave marks on your body. Unexplainable bruises at first - when you are not yet quite aware of him. But once you notice his presence and acknowledge it, those marks become something more.
Bruises, bitemarks, very visible hickeys in your neck, just to make a point out of the fact that he claimed you. That you are his. Wheneither that is within your own knowledge or not...
▪︎ Likes to take in your scent. Bring your hair to his nose. Getting awefully close to you to breathe in your lovely aura.
▪︎ Makes use of pet names, although they're rather basic ones; good girl, lovely woman, sweet thing. Of that sort, he'll equally use degrading names depending on his mood. Sometimes, it's hard to distinguish if he's praising or insulting you.
▪︎ Speaking of mood, his wife's affair sure did leave a scar, so much so that Lorraine called him insane. As such, his mood easily switches without a visible indication. He can be rather unpredictable, which makes him dangerous.
▪︎ Being a ghost, his touch naturally is cold. His aura, however, is notably warm. Whenever you feel his presence your body seems to heat up without any explanation. Even if you can't see him, that warmth might be a sign he's stalking you.
▪︎ Will absolutely perk his ears and grow even more possessive over you once learning that you've never had a (living) partner in your life. So pure and untouched... You were meant to be his. Someone like you would never betray him and he is never going to leave you.
▪︎ Very posessive and dominant. Very.
▪︎ He likes to corner you, tower above you, make you feel like his prey. That fearful look painted on your face activates something primal inside him, makes the illusion of his dead heart racing a little faster. The chase is exciting, wheneither he actually commits on attempting to harm you or wheneither it's just play.
▪︎ He's a big tease. He likes fucking around with people's minds, but he also likes to harmlessly tease and toy around.
▪︎ Perhaps it comes as a surprise, but he's quite gentle with animals. Abner never harmed the Smurl's pet dog, despite it continuously barking at him to warn its family members. Maybe, in a time long gone, he used to own a herding dog to help around on the farm.
Now, however, if you've been good to him, he might even consider occasionally giving you a moment with the spirit of your dear pet. (I'm sure spirits can invite other spirits, right?) Just you, him, and the memory of your beloved passed animal companion. A ghastly little family.
@starly-amazing, me, and a few others in the artbang server were discussing a post-canon sickfic where after Bigfrin, Siffrin collapses on the roof from a myriad of issues- their combined effects severe enough to leave them at deaths door for a long while.
Clearly, this lead to Bonnie angst. This was simply made to get the brainworms out, so might not be the most high quality/in-character.
Word count: 577
------
You sigh heavily into your crossed arms which sit pressed against Frin’s side. Even with the blanket, they’re freezing. Belle said you shouldn’t cuddle Siffrin to make them warm up, coz’ it’ll hurt them. Which is stupid, but you don’t want to hurt him more. So you listen. Even if it hurts.
You wish he would wake up already. Coz’- everyone’s acting weird the longer he sleeps. Acting like- like Frin is dying. So he’s gotta wake up, so he’ll feel better, and everyone will realize it’s okay, and things can all go back to normal.
Za will stop being mopey, hiding behind that stupid grin of his. Belle won’t end up passing out again and scaring you all. And Dile seems alright, but… you’re just a stupid kid who clearly misses the important details.
And Siffrin themself…
Your fist clenches tighter. Huffing, you nuzzle deeper into your arms. It’s whatever. You’re a big kid, you’ll deal with it and make Nille proud.
…Nille…
Shifting movement against your arms pulls your head right back up.
“Frin???” You gasp, sitting up fully. Is he awake??? What’s it Za says? Speak of the crustacean, and it appears?
Frin’s eyelid twitches rapidly, their hands scrunching the blanket slightly. Your heart picks up to the pace of a wolf on the hunt. They’re waking up…!
And slowly, time moving as slow as sadness goop, their eye peels open at long last.
“Frin!!!” You shove your hands onto the bed and lean forward, smiling harder as his half-lidded eye meets yours. “Y-You’re awake…” warmth builds up behind your own eyes. Frin smiles weakly back.
“How- do you feel okay? Are you hungry? T-There’s a lotta soup in the kitchen I made! For you!!! It’s, um, carrot and coriander soup. It’s really, really good and even better for you!!! All the veggies are extra soft too, so you don't gotta chew anything either.”
Frin just stares at you, not even drooling at the prospect of food. But he hasn’t eaten for days, shouldn’t he be super duper starving??? Or is his tummy also…?
You shrink into yourself, brow furrowed. “Would… would you want some….?”
Frin doesn’t answer. Instead, his arm shifts around really slow. Curious, you watch as his hand makes the shaky journey to your own and…
Holds it.
Squeezes it, although with… a scary amount of weakness. The lump in your throat triples in size. Teeth gritting, you use your free hand to wipe the stupid tears building up away. You’re a big kid! You don’t gotta be a big baby, crying over nothing. You can… you’re just holding hands. What’s there to even crabbing cry over? Quit being stupid, dummy!!!
Lost, you return the squeeze- stronger than theirs- and look back up to their face. Frin smiles wider, cheeks squishing up. And with a biiiiiiiiig sigh, their eye flutters closed once again.
What? Already…..?
No, no. It’s not fair. You just got them back, they should've got all the rest they needed by now! Why do they still need more?
You squeeze their hand tighter, desperately hoping it’ll bring them back to you. “No! Frin, don’t-“
Their weak grip on you relaxes. Not to a full extent, but enough to tell.
…
Warmth on your cheeks drips down, down, down. Rubbing them away is useless at this point- more just keep coming.
You hate this.
Why… why couldn’t everything just go back to normal, already…?
and of course, absolutely everyone wants to know how macklin celebrini feels about being officially announced to be on the olympic roster. mack gets it really, the scramble for a sound bite, a smug smile on his face, something to match the headlines.
it’s 9 in the morning, and his phone vibrates and vibrates like one of those annoying singing-flower-birthday-candle things that never stops even if you smash it up, burn it, or try to drown it. (mack knows, he and will tried to microwave it when will got him one for his birthday this year. don’t ask.)
he obviously won’t—shouldn’t probably—yeah, won’t put his phone in the microwave, but it does tempt him.
“um, mack?” it’s only then that mack realizes that he’d stilled on the sofa, one end of a resistance band hanging in his hand, entirely useless as the other end is in will’s hand.
“right, yeah, sorry—let’s do the band pulls again?” mack liked this a lot, that beyond the media noise, beyond being newest, youngest-ever member of the team canada roster, his purpose could entirely transform to just being able to help will heal.
the buzzing persists amidst their companionable silence. “who’s even try’na reach you at this hour?” will grumbles mindlessly.
“they probably announced the team canada thing,” mack answers, vaguely aware that he sounds like he’s brushing it off.
at that, will stops his movements. his pupils wide and dark, taking up far too much space against the blue of will’s eyes as he gazes open-mouthed at mack.
“you didn’t tell me they—i,” a sharp breath. “mack i’m proud of you,” will lets go of the band and draps his arms over mack’s shoulder. mack’s hyper aware of will’s face and hair buried in his neck.
will relaxes and mack finds that he does too. he knows all of it probably happens at the most normal pace ever, but he brings his up and arms around will, melting away as tears prick at his eyelashes. no, he tells himself, don’t you dare.
mack realizes that he doesn’t need any more pats on the back from people who see him and his stats as something interchangeable and inseparable. all he needs is this, and he’d only ever want to hear it from the boy he’s holding on to. he only ever needs to hold onto will to float up to the surface and breathe again.
“okay enough, we gotta get these done, i’m already late.” if mack’s voice wobbles as they part, he’s sure will won’t bother him about it. “need to hold down the fort when i’m gone, you know?”
as he speaks, mack turns his phone off and flings it across the room. careless? sure, but no kitchen appliances involved.
will laughs, grabbing the band again.
“actually, i’ll totally use this as an excuse to go with you to milan. what’s one more ticket for family, huh?” will teases, but mack’s heart doubles in size. images of will in mack’s jersey with his name on the back of it flood his mind and it overwhelms him so much he kicks will’s foot way too hard.
“you’re just proving my point if you’ll injure me more—” “oh shut up.”
elide x lorcan, modern au/nsfw, exes, word count: 6926
She’s standing near the reception desk and realising that she doesn’t remember, really, why they broke up.
It could have been about what percentage milk fat he decided to buy, how much she tipped the bartender, whether they should just buy another duvet to avoid hogging issues, whose turn it was to clean the bathroom, which place they should get breakfast at—the café with the airy croissants up the block or the diner with the fluffy scrambled eggs twenty minutes away.
If she thinks about it (and she has), then it was probably the publishing job she applied for in Varese, the one she didn’t tell him about until she was hired, and even then he didn’t yell or shout. He just did that thing with his jaw and went quiet for a few days. And anyways, the break up didn’t happen until a month later when she left, in a haze of red and yelling, shoving unfolded clothes and too few shoes and her favourite mug into his biggest suitcase. She refused to look back at where he stood in the doorway, because she knew his eyes would be watery and that would break her heart even more.
She went from their one-bedroom apartment to the airport and spent the cross-ocean flight with an iced gin in hand and his ratty Dead Boys shirt on beneath her wool sweater.
Eight months have passed since they saw each other or spoke. Any amount of time could pass, and Elide could recognise the back of his head and broad cut of his shoulders.
There’s still some kind of programming entrenched in her that tells her to weave across the hotel lobby, duck under his arm and press into his side. She’s always led with her head, which is a good thing because if she went with her gut, he’d shrug her off and stalk away.
“Ma’am,” the receptionist calls her forward.
Elide forces herself to smile and steps up, tears her eyes away from Lorcan. “Hi. I’m checking in, last name Lochan?”
The employee nods while she taps the name onto the keyboard. “And that’s L-o-c-h-a-n, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Here for the Ashryver Galathynius-Whitethorn wedding?” And when Elide nods, “Three nights?”
“That’s right.” She can make it three nights in the same location as Lorcan, laying awake rooms away from empty arms she fits so well in.
“The bride and groom have requested that everyone in the wedding party stays in the same block of rooms, overlooking the ocean. Is that alright with you?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
She thought it would be easier, really. All she’s done is see the back of his head, hasn’t seen his eyes yet or his smile, hasn’t heard his voice or the way it rasps after a drunk smoke and makes her stomach clench.
She’s only seen the back of his head, after eight months of hiding all the photos of him on her phone, and already the stapled pieces of her mangled heart want to crawl back to him.
The receptionist finishes the check-in and hands her a small envelope with key cards. With a wide smile, she says, “You’ll be in room 110. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome to Banjali, Miss Lochan.”
She looks back at him as she crosses the lobby. He’s talking to a group of men she doesn’t recognise, who won’t recognise her.
She remembers leaving for a good reason. They were mismatched and no matter how many times they crashed into each other, they could never patch each other up well enough. Or something like that.
✵✵✵✵✵
Around eight in the evening, someone knocks at her door—loudly.
Elide puts her laptop aside and unfolds herself from her cross-legged position on the bed. The remains of her late-lunch room service sit on a tray at the end of her bed. She’s managed to avoid anybody else by staying in her room, not even tempted by the sparkling sapphire sea a few steps beyond the veranda.
The knocking returns at full force. She sighs and says, “I’m coming, I’m coming!” She yanks it open without looking through the peephole.
Manon’s standing in the hall in a sequined silver dress and a pair of stilettos Elide would break her good ankle in, her white hair pulled into a ponytail. Her eyebrows arch into an unimpressed look as she takes in Elide’s loose tank-top and linen shorts.
“Hey, stranger,” Manon says, voice sharp. “Get changed, we’re celebrating Aelin’s last night of freedom.”
Elide huffs. “I am dressed.” She’s unable to help her smile. “And it’s nice to see you too, Manon. I missed you.”
The other woman maintains her steely gaze for another second before a small grin curls her lips. She steps forward to give Elide her classic stiff hug. Elide feels her carefully boarded-up emotions start to rupture and hugs her back. “We missed you, too,” Manon tells her quietly. “All of us.”
Elide chooses to ignore that. “Does this last night of freedom involve alcohol?”
“What do you think?”
She smiles. “Alright, I’ll get changed and meet you at the bar?”
“No, Aelin wants us to hang in her suite—she has a pool attached and stuff.”
Manon warns her that if she isn’t there in twenty minutes, she’s coming back to drag her up no matter what state she’s in.
Fifteen minutes later, Elide walks out of her room in a black mesh low-back dress over her bikini. She steps out and Lorcan freezes in the doorway of room 112.
She feels heart drop into her stomach. She freezes too, shocked still with her fingers fumbling the door handle. It’s ridiculous because it’s Lorcan, the person who knows her best in the world, who hated her the last time he saw her, who looks at her with an open jaw and wide eyes. It’s only for a second before his expression hardens like granite.
He looks good in his baggy shorts and t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s sunkissed, the Eyllwe weather making his brown skin pinkish and freckled, and it’s obvious he’s been in the ocean, his usually straight hair sort of frizzed and wavy from saltwater.
He locks eyes with her, and his look is as intense as it’s always been, even in those last weeks when she never knew whether he would yell or kiss her. He’s shuttered off and doing that thing with his jaw.
Elide chews on her lip and closes the door, the latch loudly falling in the tense silence of the hallway. She swallows and has no idea what she means to say when she starts, “Lorcan—”
“Look,” he interrupts, and now he’s not looking at her at all and she beats back the feeling that hearing his voice is like coming home, “all we need to do is be civil for three days, for Rowan and Ace, and then you can run off back to Varese, or wherever the fuck you’re living now, and we can go back to our lives.”
It’s like a punch to her solar plexus reminding her that there’s nothing amicable between them, and the best they can hope for is to be civil.
“Lorcan,” she tries again, voice softer, “we should talk, at least.”
They were never that good at talking, so she knows it’s a weak plea, but she doesn’t expect it to go so badly that his response is a scoff and nothing until he pulls out his pack of cigarettes to stick one between his lips: “I have nothing to say to you.”
Elide recognises this feeling—the one she took with her to the airport, the stiff, pulled muscle of her heart twisting inside her chest cavity that made her slam their bedroom door in his face, made her take his favourite shirt and storm out to a taxi while he shouted that she was being ridiculous, come back, come back.
He’s walking away from her towards the elevator, presumably because he’s also meeting Rowan, and the bride- and groom-to-be's' rooms are on the same floor. Like hell if he thinks she’s going to wait, so she grabs the long skirt of her dress and hurries after him, slipping inside the car just as the doors slide shut.
Lorcan rolls his eyes slightly and stares at the brushed steel doors.
Elide blows out a puff of air. “You’re going to have to look at me at some point, you know.” He lifts his brows in silent disagreement. She huffs again and crosses her arms, resisting the urge to stamp her foot. “You know you can’t smoke that in here.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters. “‘m not that dumb.”
She never liked that he smoked, except when she fell in love with him, she started to love the smell of it on his clothes and the trace of tobacco on his tongue when he would kiss her, or how when she was drunk, she could find him and sink onto his lap so he would blow some into her mouth.
He’s doing that thing with his jaw, probably grinding the filter to mush, and it would be so inappropriate to do what she used to do, and yet—
“I want my Dead Boys shirt back.”
“What?”
“My shirt? I want it back.”
She clenches her teeth together. “What makes you think I have it? Maybe Vaughan took it, he likes them just as much—”
“No, you have it,” he cuts her off. “I haven’t seen it in eight months, and I might be dumb and without ambition by your standards, but I can track correlations, Lochan.”
“So, now you’re accusing me of stealing? That’s really fucking nice, Salvaterre. I’ll just add that to the charges against His majesty when I’m back in Varese—”
“You go ahead and do that, and then mail me back my shirt.” His voice is hard, but it lacks any loudness, telling her that he’ll fight this to the bitter end.
“I didn’t take your stupid shirt, Lorcan. Why would I take that ratty thing? And besides, it hasn’t fit you in years.”
“It’s still mine, isn’t it?” he snaps.
She presses her tongue against the back of her teeth, fuming. “Anneith below, just buy a new one, if you want it so bad.”
Lorcan turns, his eyes bright and cheeks short of flushed, and Elide knows that if she stepped up to him and pulled him down, his kiss would be all-consuming and he’d have her against the wall--
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Down the hallway, Rowan and his groomsmen wait in a cluster. Their bright, friendly smiles drop when Lorcan strides towards them, revealing Elide.
“I gotta smoke, fuckin’ Elide…” is all she hears before she huffs and sashays past him, throwing a contemptuous look over her shoulder at him.
“Ever consider teaching classes on civility?” she snarks, her fingers curling around the handle of Aelin’s suite. “You’d be good at it.”
He lifts his head, eyes blazing as he opens his mouth, but before he says a word, Elide pushes the door open and leaves him out in the hall, again.
She exhales and drops her purse, plastering on a bright smile as she follows the sounds of her friends out to the terrace.
✵✵✵✵✵
Hours and an uncountable amount of drinks later, Elide trips over her hem while leaving the elevator. Her shoes, long since abandoned and now hanging from hands, go flying down the hall.
She sighs and collects them, muttering nonsense to herself.
At her door, she rummages through her small wristlet for her key card. She raises her head when the elevator dings softly, and the doors open before a drunken Lorcan.
His brows settle into that disappointed frown she’s always hated.
Elide pauses, staring at him as he walks towards her.
He has no intention in talking to her, she can tell, as he pulls his worn leather wallet from his pocket to find his own key. She turns to look at him, her project of entering her room completely abandoned.
“I miss you,” she says, and she thought she had more willpower than this. She thought she had saved herself—them both—from a bad relationship they should’ve ended years ago. And it turns out she’s still that twenty-two-year old girl waking up to her friend’s boyfriend’s friend burning toast and eggs to ask her to be his girlfriend. No matter how much she wants it, she won’t get over him.
Lorcan turns, and the look on his face is like he’s been punched. “Whose fucking fault is that, huh?”
She swallows and looks away at the wall sconce. “We- were a mess, Lor. We were a time-bomb, and it was only a matter of time—”
He laughs harshly, “You keep telling yourself that, Lee.”
Hot with anger, she steps into his space, “You think it was my fault, then, right? We- our relationship was unhealthy, we didn’t want the same things! I didn’t want either of us to be wrecked.”
“Oh, so what, you were saving us?” His voice is rough, and probably everyone in the hall can hear them. “Stop putting us in a gods-damned box, Elide. I never cared about getting wrecked by you—”
“But I couldn’t take it anymore,” she cries, dropping her shoes and her bag to grab her hair. She stands her ground with weak knees and a jelly spine under the concentration of his stare. “Everything was a fight with you—”
“Like you were any better. We fought, but we always worked it out—always. We worked, we were good together, we were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you’re the one who walked out. You left, and—” he sweeps his hands out like he’s clearing something away, “you makes sense of that however you have to, but it’s always going to be you who threw us away like nothing mattered—”
He stops, the muscles of his jaw jumping, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, eyes shut. They’re so close she imagines she can hear his heart pounding and his angry pulse racing.
Her response is quiet. “You were the only thing that ever mattered, Lorcan. I thought I was doing what was best for us.”
He opens his eyes and his forehead smooths out, and he looks at her earnest and yearning. She sucks in a breath when he steps forward into her.
Lorcan’s mouth crashes into hers, and her hands grab him, one twisting his shirt and the other on the back of his neck, freshly done nails digging into his skin. She stumbles back, and he goes with her, his big arms stopping her from outright slamming into the wall.
He makes a soft sound against her, his teeth catching her lower lip, and Elide lets her mouth fall open under his, lets herself moan when he tongues the same place his teeth were. This is familiar, it’s safe and at the same time, she’s standing at the edge of a cliff about to fall or fly. It’s the feeling of the only man she ever loved, the only person, probably, the same guy she met the night she graduated university four years and eight months ago in Orynth—this is everything Elide gave up, and she’s never felt like a bigger fool.
His hands slide across the open back of her dress, his calloused fingers warm and steady, up to tangle in her hair, tugging at it to tilt her head back, his other hand grabbing her ass. She’s on her toes, and she knows that in any second, he’s going to hoist her up to his hips.
Their bodies are flush against one another, and she can feel him under her fingertips, feeling the muscles of his back beneath his t-shirt, the sharp cut of his jaw, the straight proud bridge of his nose against her cheek. She can feel how whole he is, how steady and solid and real and the same Lorcan she’s always loved, the same Lorcan she missed, and yet.
She left for a reason.
Elide draws back from his mouth, his arms keeping her pressed close. He follows her to rest his brow against her own, a gentle smile pulling on the corners of his mouth, his hard body pliant and gentle.
She shuts her eyes when she feels the burn of tears. That feeling is familiar, too. She unsticks her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “We shouldn’t,” she whispers.
“Lee, don’t,” he breathes, unable to stop it.
“This is a bad idea.”
He stiffens against her, and Elide forces herself to let him go.
When he steps back, the air between them goes cold. A hollow feeling settles into her gut as she opens her eyes.
His lips are sort of swollen and pinker, a battle wound.
"I'm sorry."
She can see the hurt on his face for just a second before he shuts himself back off, a blank glare stubbornly placed on the space above her head. “You’re right,” he tells her, carefully. “I—”
He cuts himself off again, doesn’t finish, and just turns towards his room to let himself in, leaving her in the hallway with her hair mussed and skin flushed like her whole fabricated world hasn’t been ripped apart at the seams.
✵✵✵✵✵
The day after, Elide has no time to wallow in her heartbreak. It’s the wedding, and she spends all morning in Aelin’s room, smiling and laughing with her friends while a hairstylist and make-up artist whirl around them.
It’s going to be an intimate affair, but Aelin is the bride after all, and ‘intimate’ never meant no glam to her.
Aelin and Rowan’s wedding ceremony makes everything in her life feel trivial.
At a secluded end of the resort beach, palm trees swaying gently in the ocean breeze, the altar is decorated with white flowers and greenery. The priest wears a white linen shirt and pants, standing by a waiting Rowan and his groomsmen.
Elide can’t bring herself to look at Lorcan. She knows he’s standing right behind Rowan, probably leaning over his shoulder to pass on advice.
She walks down the aisle behind Lysandra, Aelin’s maid of honour, her light purple dress flowing. The sand shifts beneath her feet, and Elide must be dreaming that when her bad ankle folds, Lorcan starts forward as if he’d catch her when she fell. She recovers with an embarrassed, slightly pained smile, and turns at the altar just in time to see Aelin appear.
Manon nudges her pointedly and nods towards Rowan.
He looks like he’s seen an angel, like he’s been in the desert for forty days and nights and someone has thrown a bucket of water over him, like he would be fine never breathing again if he could just touch her.
Soft music plays as Aedion steps out into the aisle to walk Aelin towards her future.
Her dress is beautiful, now that Elide is far enough removed from the pain of getting the thing on her.
Elide leans her weight on her left foot, teeth digging into her cheek as she tries not to think about how she’s known what dress she would wear to marry Lorcan, that she knew within the first month when she was leafing through a catalogue and he stopped her to point at a dress.
Aelin and Rowan face each other in front of the priest, exchanging smiling ‘hi’s.’ As the priest begins, Elide looks towards Lorcan to find him already watching her across the altar. Her throat tightens.
Lorcan is the only person she really felt tied to. Their relationship was a comforting anchor, solid like his waist between her thighs when he pinned her to their bed. And even though she broke every oath they made, she still felt in her bones that if she ever needed him, he’d haul ass to get to her.
When the couple reads their vows, her gaze becomes misty. Her tears come quickly and spill down her cheeks, and everyone else might think they’re for her friends, still she knows he knows they’re for him.
After they exchange rings and finish the handfasting, Aelin and Rowan are declared husband and wife. She tosses her bouquet aside to grab him by the lapels and kiss him something fierce, Rowan lifting her like she weighs nothing.
Elide feels a crushing whirlpool of joy and loss, gaze locked in Lorcan’s as everyone around them cheers for the couple.
Later, she claps as Lysandra finishes her speech and hands the microphone to Lorcan. He cracks a small smile, kissing her cheek in a friendly manner. Elide’s gut twists at the scene anyway.
He waits as the room quietens. The delicate glass of champagne looks ridiculous in his hand, and Elide knows he would prefer a beer or glass of liquor, something he could really sink his fingers into.
“Uh, hi, everyone. I’m Lorcan, Rowan’s best man. If you’ve ever met me, you’d probably agree that I’m no one’s first choice for a speech, but you can’t really say no to the guy getting married. Or to Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”
The room laughs gently.
Lorcan clears his throat. “But, uh, seriously. I don’t know why they wanted me to give this toast. I don’t really have the greatest track record with love,” he continues. “I’ve only ever loved one girl and our relationship was the only serious one I’ve ever had, that I ever really had any interest in being in.”
His eyes flit over the room, and she can pretend he’s looking for her even when he doesn’t find her. “I suppose that gives me a unique perspective on the whole love thing. Because I can tell you that once you’ve found that person, that relationship, all that’s left is to do everything to make it last. For the rest of your life, just—make it last.
“Rowan’s always been the smarter one, about everything and certainly about this. I’m glad he is, because I get to see him be happy. I think we can safely say that it’s a lock at this point.” He ducks his face and wipes his eyes. He looks up and raises his glass, prompting the guests to follow suit.
He’s slipped back into the crowd when she puts her glass down, and Rowan leads Aelin to the dance floor for the first dance. Elide watches with a saddened impression because all the drinks she’s had have made her sullen instead of raising her mood.
The music switches to something upbeat and dancey, and though Rowan is not one to dance, he stays there with Aelin as other couples join them. Even as Manon and Lysandra begin a slinky dance, Fenrys and Connall flailing about excitedly, Rowan holds his wife by her waist, swaying and speaking softly in her ear.
Well on her way to becoming a not-so-functioning alcoholic, Elide downs half her wine in one sip. As Vaughan slides onto the bar stool beside her, she can’t begin to care.
He clears his voice softly and orders a drink. When the bartender sets it down in front of him, he takes it but doesn’t drink. “Elide,” he begins, “you know I’m no good at this. But I’m also the only person here who will choose him over you, every time. And you have to know that for Lorcan, it’s not over. It’ll never be over, unless you tell him straight up. So, if you choose him again, you have to choose him.”
Elide turns to look at Vaughan. “Ok.” He nods, then leaves her. She finishes her drink, then sets it down on the bar. All she wants to do is hole up in her room, and bundled up in the Dead Boys rag until she falls asleep. But that would only be a substitution for the real thing.
✵✵✵✵✵
She finds him on his veranda, sitting on the chaise lounge with a lit cigarette. He’s abandoned his jacket and tie, his shirt unbuttoned.
Lorcan exhales and asks, “What do you want, Elide?”
He looks warm in the darkness, and Elide shivers, rubbing her arm. The sand is cold under her feet. Her short walk in the brisk ocean air has sobered her up and ruffles her dress around her legs.
“We were the best thing that ever happened to me, too.”
He looks up sharply, brows lowered. “That’s not fair. You said we were a mess, you were right. You wanted to leave, and you made sure that we were over—”
“It’s never over, Lor,” she says. “Not with us. I love you, and I’m always going to love you, no matter how mad I am with you, or how far I go, or whoever else I meet. It’s always going to be you.”
In the orange light from the torch, his expression is wide open and awed. He looks at her like he did during her first attempt at seduction, on his birthday—the first they spent together—wearing a dark red set.
Cautiously, she kneels on the lounge between his bent legs. He abandons his smoke, his hands settling on her hips. His face is level with her stomach. He swallows hard, shutting his eyes, and rests his forehead against her. “You met someone else?” he asks, and it is so like him to fixate on that.
“No,” she tells him. “It was a hypothetical. There’s never going to be anyone else. You’re it for me.”
He curls his hands into fists, bunching the delicate fabric of her dress. Next thing she knows, she’s being tugged onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips, his hand running up to her nape.
She runs her palm down the side of his face. His breath warms her lips, his arms steady around her when she sways into him, and he murmurs, “You’re it for me, too.”
Lorcan kisses her slow, but the embrace has an edge of desperation that has Elide rocking in his lap, one hand in his hair. A soft sound grows in the back of her throat as his calloused palm presses into her bare spine. When she licks into his mouth, his groan is like the roaring of a jet engine taking off, like a wave surging up to swallow the world whole.
She starts to unbutton his shirt, her movements sure and familiar even after their time apart. The urge to feel his skin overwhelms her, like the taste of cigarettes on his tongue.
Elide crushes her hand over his heart, smiling breathlessly when she feels the thunder of its beat. His face takes up her whole view, his smile curled and soft and encouraging; it feels so much like a breath of air after being underwater that she could sob.
Instead, she kisses him with less of an urgent undertone than before, her hand curling around his jaw. She can feel his smile, taste the subtle, acrid tang of champagne on his tongue, the immense familiarity of his mouth that she spent four years learning. She gets the rest of his buttons undone to touch his stomach, feels his abs contract from the contact.
He leaves her mouth to nip her jaw, following a path to the spot that only he’s ever found, the spot that liquifies her. Elide gasps, her chest heaving against her dress, and his hand on her waist pushes her down against the stiffness in his pants. It sends a rod of pleasure through her centre.
His nose skims hers as he lifts her hair off her neck, heavy gaze point-blank on hers. It feels like she’s in a trance. He whispers against her skin, “I woke up every morning missin’ you, baby.” She can’t not kiss him then.
Kissing him has always been easy, whether it’s in a dark bar or crammed in the back of his old Jeep Cherokee, or laying on the too-soft couch at his mother’s house. It’s just as easy now, a hundred or so metres away from their best friends’ wedding reception, music playing intermittently across the distance.
She kisses down his throat, the shaved skin under his jaw hot against her tongue and driving her crazy. Lorcan’s hands push up her thighs, his thumb hooking under the string of her panties to snap it, tossing the flimsy lacy thing aside to spread his big hands over her soft bare skin.
Elide puts just enough distance between them to fumble with the clasp of his pants, all fine motor functions having disappeared due to the pit of fire in her belly, and he moves his hands to bury in her hair, pressing kisses to her cheeks, the freckled bridge of her nose, dusted over her eyelids, and she can’t breathe.
“It’s always been you,” she feels the rumble of his voice. “I could never stop loving you.”
They decided after two years that the benefits of getting rid of condoms far outweighed the risks, that feeling him deep inside her skin-to-skin every night made the occasional pregnancy scare worth it. But it wasn’t like Elide failed to notice how adorably absorbed Lorcan got when his old coworker at the bar came to visit with her daughter.
So when she finally wrests his belt from its loops and his fly open, there’s but a second’s delay as he hitches her hips up before she takes him deep, until she feels the burn in her thighs as his size forces them to part.
Elide pauses, Lorcan breathing heavy against her shoulder, surrounded by him, his warmth, his scent, stretched full as he struggles not to buck up into her and slam her down into the cradle of his hips. She decides, mumbling into his hair, “I don’t want this anymore.” She runs her fingers through his hair, pushing the silky lengths away from his face so she can see him. She never wants to go back to a place where she doesn’t have this, where she doesn’t have him. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.”
He pulls her down into an open-mouthed kiss, rasps against her lips, “You were the only thing worth fighting for.”
And then he’s moving, she’s moving with him, and she can’t speak anymore. The only sounds between them are quick breaths, shared gasps while waves crash behind them.
Later, she’s curled against his chest, tracing absent swirls into his ribcage. For eight months, she carried around a tightness in her chest, but with him, she can’t feel it anymore and she’s never felt so free as she feels now.
“I love you,” she whispers as she starts to drift off. “I’m sorry.” For everything - for leaving him, for hurting them both, for not coming back when he asked her to, for taking his Dead Boys shirt.
His fingers still where they’ve been skimming over her side, and then he presses a dry, chaste kiss to her hairline.
She falls asleep easily. She doesn’t even have to stare at her laptop until her eyes dry out. Lorcan lays back against the chaise lounge.
When she wakes up, it’s a cloudy morning, the absent sun leaving her raw and hollow. She’s shivering in her dress. A kind hotel housekeeper is reminding her that check-out for this room is in half an hour, and Lorcan is gone.
✵✵✵✵✵
Elide maintains her deadened, straight-ahead stare as Vaughan sits next to her with a sigh.
“What’re you doing here, Elide?”
“Going back to Varese,” she answers mechanically. She takes a sip of her coffee, which has a generous splash of whiskey in it.
“What about last night? What happened?”
She finally looks at him, lets him see her pale face, mascara smudged beneath her tired and raw eyes. “You really wanna know?” Vaughan nods, and it’s almost hard not to look away because he reminds her too much of Lorcan. “I fucked Lorcan.”
He makes a face, “I don’t need to hear that. I mean—you’re running away again?”
Elide almost wants to say yeah, because if Vaughan hates her for breaking Lorcan’s heart again, then it might make it easier. But there are shards of anger sticking into her ribs when she breathes, and she flushes red, declaring, “Actually, he left me sleeping alone in his room. So, maybe I am running away, but it’s on him this time.” She sits back with a huff only to sit back up again, her pointed finger stabbing Vaughan’s shoulder. “And you know what, you just go on thinking I’m a heartless bitch for what I did, that’s fine by me—but Lorcan isn’t some precious little boy you need to coddle.”
Her exhale is shaky with tears, and Elide wipes her lips, feeling Vaughan watch her. And she feels so stupid for getting herself back in this mess.
“You’re both dumbasses. Did you talk at all?”
“We– talked some,” Elide says. “It felt like everything was ok.”
Vaughan clears his throat. “Um, I don’t mean to overstep, but talking while you’re having sex doesn’t count. His brain turns off when you’re naked. If you want to talk to him, you have to do it sober, with clothes on, and make up.”
She shrinks a bit, crossing her arms. “I was wearing clothes…”
He presses his lips together like he used to when he lived with Lorcan and would come home to them having sex in their apartment’s common spaces. “You have a connection in Orynth. Get a cab from the airport to your apartment, and you’re going to talk to my dumbass of a cousin.”
Elide picks at a loose thread on her sweatpants. In another life, she could be turning over Lorcan’s hand, tracing the life lines on his palms and bullshitting what they all meant to his amused ‘oh, yeah?’ They would have travelled together, stayed in the same room and danced close at the wedding and had breakfast the next day on the beach.
“Yeah,” she says. “I am. I’m going to do that.”
Vaughan smiles and squeezes her knee. “Good. I’ll be expecting a text from Lorcan saying everything’s worked out.” He stands up, hitching his bag over his shoulder. “And by the way, you should stop telling him that I have his Dead Boys shirt because he already ripped apart my dresser and closet looking for it.”
She laughs, smiling shamelessly. “Fine. I’ll come clean.”
✵✵✵✵✵
Elide lets herself into their apartment with the key she’s kept on her keyring.
Lorcan isn’t home yet, and he probably won’t be for a couple hours. Most guests weren’t scheduled to leave until the evening or even the next day, but she couldn’t stomach the idea of facing anyone. So, she got on the earliest flight out instead.
The apartment is silent, except for the sounds of Orynth city life far below and outside. He left the cream coloured curtains drawn, the ones he thought she was ridiculous for spending as much as she did on them. She still can’t make out much with the overcast, dim light from outside.
She gives herself a moment to stand in the dark entryway, breathing in the slightly stuffy but familiar air. Elide slips off her shoes and pushes her bag towards the coat rack.
When she starts to feel pathetic and slightly creepy, she flicks the lightswitch.
And—everything is the same. It’s not exactly alike, because things tend to move around over seven months, but her books are still crammed next to his on the bookshelf, her favourite mug sits next to his fancy espresso machine, and a drawing from his old coworker’s kid is stuck to the fridge next to Aelin and Rowan’s wedding invitation and her acceptance letter from grad school.
Elide moves around the apartment without touching anything, like if she does, it’ll disappear like a mirage. Her old notebook lays on the coffee table, the CD player he insisted on buying open to show the Bad Brains’ self-titled album waiting to be played, and Lorcan’s battered workwear jacket is hung over the back of a kitchen chair.
Their bed is unmade, as it always was. He’s moved their pillows into a pile smack-dab in the middle, but her dinky reading glasses—the ones she had to replace-rest in an empty glass on her nightstand. Lorcan’s brass cigarette case and the customised Zippo lighter she got him years ago are on his side, next to—
A small red box.
Entranced, she sits on the edge of the mattress and picks it up, pushing back the part of her that feels like an intruder, because this is their apartment, and she hasn’t done anything about her half of the rent that leaves her account monthly. She carefully lifts the lid, and she doesn’t know what she was expecting, but it’s a ring. A silver band, not too delicate or thick, holds an emerald cut ruby, flanked by a trio of sparkly diamonds on each side. And he’s been sleeping with it next to his bed.
For a long time, the image of his devastation when she shut the cab door plays over and over in her mind.
Three hours later, she hears keys in the door.
By that time, she’s had a shower and changed into clean-ish clothes—a pair of baggy jeans she’s missed and his stolen shirt. She’s been sitting on their couch, having put back the ring box like she never saw it.
Lorcan has hardly ever looked worse. His eyes are red-rimmed, long hair twisted into a deflated bun, expression reproachful, and he sets his jaw stubbornly as he sets his bag next to hers and steps out of his shoes. He stays silent, staring at her like he’s the one owed an apology.
Elide rubs the hem of his shirt between her thumb and forefinger. “Hey,” she starts. “You left me sleeping outside.” She licks her lip. “Low blow, Salvaterre.”
He scowls at her, looking like the curmudgeon everyone says he is. “You told me you didn’t want this anymore,” he snaps. “Basically came back just to tell me we were done while I was balls-deep inside you, Lee.” She always loved his vulgarity. “That’s a low fuckin’ blow.”
Her jaw unhinges. “You idiot, you thought—”
“You know, you coulda mailed me your key. Just take your stuff, go back to Wendlyn. Or maybe you wanna wait till I’m asleep, leave in the middle of the night this time—”
She storms towards him, one hand cutting sharply in front of her. “You’re a hypocrite. I came back, I told you I couldn’t do this anymore, that I need you back and,” she’s probably crying, and it certainly feels that way, “you tell me it’s always been me only to leave before I wake up.”
Elide stops, air sawing through her raw lungs. Lorcan’s staring at her like she’s both a terrifying enigma and the only thing in the world he knows for certain. “I thought,” he starts, then stops. “You said you didn’t want this. I thought you were saying good-bye, for good.”
Relief and understanding and hysteria surge through her, and she laughs breathlessly. “No, I meant- I don’t want us apart, us fighting. I want us back. I need you back.”
Lorcan shuts his mouth. After a long moment, he tells her, “I woulda gone with you. If you told me about Varese. I woulda gotten some job, or I could’ve visited you. I woulda made it work.”
Suddenly she doesn’t know why she isn’t kissing him.
He smiles against her mouth, and she smiles back, arms hooking around his neck, and after a second her feet leave the floor, he’s got her legs around his hips. She feels laughter rolling in his chest and pulls back just to kiss him again, and again, and again. He tips them over, and she bounces on top of him on top of their couch, the air leaving his lungs in a puff.
After she’s regained her balance, she sits up on his stomach, running her hands over his torso and chest. He looks up at her with soft eyes and a slight smile, his own hands loose around her wrists.
He takes her in slowly, his gaze roving over her until it drops to her top. Lorcan arches his brows and huffs out a laugh. His fingertips skim the outside of her thighs before fisting the worn cotton by her hips. “You lyin’ little thief.” He sharply pulls on the shirt, pulls her down into him as she laughs, cheeks red. “I knew you had it.”
Elide twists an errant strang of his hair around her finger, happy to lie on top of him. “It was the biggest piece of you I could take with me.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“...and maybe also I knew it would really piss you off.”
“There it is.” He kisses her head, his hand cradling the other side of it—it’s a familiar move of his that Elide once dubbed his ‘you’re-ridiculous-and-I-love-you-anyways-head-kiss.’ She presses her lips to his before she can tell him she missed that too. “Looks better on you anyway,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t that mad about it.”
“You didn’t want it back?”
“Nah, I wanted it back.” He draws away to push hair back. “Just wanted the girl wearing it back too.”
She whispers that she and the t-shirt are back for good and seals that oath with a kiss.
✵✵✵✵✵
an: soo i might be back. or i might slink back to my little cave of uni and work and student clubs and exam season. but anyway this is the first and only thing ive finished writing in months and months, so pls pls enjoy! the title is from Dead Boys' "High Tension Wire" bc im in a personal punk resurgence....
tag list: @sassyhobbits @empress-ofbloodshed @screamingwines @the-regal-warrior @shyvioletcat @icecream52 @elentiyawhitethorn @goddess-aelin @julemmaes @sunshinebingo (lmk if u want to b added/removed)
Summary: These events were all the same, the same names, the same faces, at least that's what Aemond had always thought.
A/N: this is more of a crack fic but not really? Basically everyone is friends and happy haha but not really. Aemond still has the scar but it happened during some summer vacation and it was a complete accident + Aemond getting his walls knocked down by reader and being absolutely whipped for her
Btw this is probably the most ambitious fanfic I ever attempted to write when it comes to the word count, so I am sort of proud of myself
Fanarts for this fanfic: The snap screenshot, some sketches of outfits, kiss
Masterlist
Words: 8,7K
Warnings: english is not my first language, drinking, mention of dr*gs, alcohol consumption, minimum use of Y/N, male oc present at the table, swearing, +18 themes but not smut
Dividers by: @cafekitsune
Red and white
Aemond did not appreciate his mother pushing him into attending these kinds of events. Opulent and full of rich fellow friends of his sickly father. This was nothing more than a powertrip for their egos. Socialize, make connections and exploit them in the foreseeable future.
And this event was a definition of what he hated. Noone was there to actually enjoy themself, it was all an illusion. This was a competition: who can get more information while sipping on their drinks, who could manipulate another investor after doing lines in the dim bathrooms, who could win another connection to centuries old wealth. Aemond felt sick to his stomach over these thoughts even though he was born into this world. However, the worst part of this whole farce was that he needed none of that, except his grandfather did. His scheming got even more out of control since Aegon moved into Aemond's apartment, destroying his plans of him being the heir to their father’s company by being a reckless drunk out in the open.
And now he was standing next to him in a freshly pressed suit, dark green fabric turning black in the evening darkness. He once found suits and formal clothing as a second skin, armor he could hide underneath but they were now constricting him. Aemond’s younger self was always obsessed with this image of the perfect son. Well educated, polite, manners of the perfect gentlemen, perfect son, perfect in everything. PERFECT. The older he grew the more he started to resent the word, the more he started to fear it in some way. No matter how much he tried, it was never enough. While his brother was failing in everything he touched, Aemond was succeeding and it was all for nothing.
His mother was giddy to introduce him to people, ready to make a match of him and some rich lady, probably at the instigation of his grandfather. Another face, another introduction. Aemond did not remember the new rich people introduced to him by his mother. And why should he, he did not expect to see them again.
He already knew the proper aces in the field since he was 9 years old, he remembered well Lannisters who did business with his father through their banks or the Royce family, giants in the food industry and of course Hightowers, his grandfather’s and his mother’s name, his uncle Gwayne being one of the best lawyers. Aemond was meant to soon join him, after he finishes his studies.
When I finish college.
There were many more of these names, sewed into his brain since a young age but these names did not change, they were all playing the same game with the same moves with the same chess pieces since he was born. Generational wealth hiding from the new kind, gatekeeping their society from the rest, while they enjoyed parties with the best of the best.
“Oh, Aemond, do you remember Margaret Baeltigar?” Soft touch of his mother’s hand, almost as if burning him, woke him up from his thoughts. He had no recollection of such a lady, maybe she was one of Alicent’s so-called friends or maybe some wife of an investor in the family’s company.
The lady was slightly older than his mother, clad in a light blue gown, her boney hand clutching her glass of champagne. She was the kind of skinny only obtainable by starvation, unhealthy diet. The smile she gave him was forced, too much white pearly teeth showing for his liking and for it to be sincere. Her posture was rigid as if she was posing and maybe she was, to him, to his mother, to everyone.
“Of course.” The polite small smile fell unappreciated since her gaze had already turned away, wide eyes searching for something specific, someone specific in the crowd of empty faces.
“Here she is…” Those words seemed forced, like an unwanted gift you still have anticipated, so you keep smiling to please the donor. “Finally.” Her mouth was once again outstretched in that horrendous toothy smile, lips almost cracking under the strain of holding it all together. Boney arms holding out for a hug.
“Hello.” There was a polite voice behind him but he did not turn. Aemond already knew what this was about, this was not the first time he would get ambushed by his mother’s scheming mind into the web of being introduced to some bratty heiress. He did not even notice when his brother ran off, probably searching for another drink or a white powder to misuse, leaving Aemond to fend for himself.
The young lady moved in a nonchalant manner, her attention solely on her mother and her outstretched arms. The hug was awkward, he could feel the deja vu pulsing through him. Image of Aemond and his mother enveloped in such a hug. A constant reminder of the chasm between them over unsaid things.
The stark contrast between the mother and her daughter was apparent. Boney corpse parading around the mirage of a living body dressed in light blue dress and young lady in red, bow tying it all around her neck, accompanying her.
“This is my daughter.”
“It’s so lovely to meet you, dear.” The smile on his mother’s face was sincere, in some manner she was always excited to meet new young ladies, if it was ‘cause of her single sons or lonely daughter he did not know.
“Oh, thank you.” There was untypical shiness to her, voice not trembling but slightly fighting to be heard in the overabundance of loud talking. She seemed confident enough next to her own mother just like he was next to his. Her bright eyes had moved from Alicent to him and Aemond recognized the uneasiness in them. Used to the parties but not used to the contact with people at them.
“I am Y/N-” Her words just like her unstretched hand toward him were interrupted by her mother abruptly moving to the side. Attention of everyone in the conversation then shifted to the new face entering in. Another young woman, this time more similar to the mother in her face, same structure but much younger was now staring at him, grinning widely. The white dress shining in the light.
“Oh, you have to meet my oldest! She is such a delight!” This time Mrs. Baeltigar’s voice was high pitched, excitement radiating from the statement. This was the second time Aemond felt deja vu struck him on this particular night. Oldest and delight, that’s how his mother used to talk about Aegon in front of everyone. Her most prized son, a son who did not care for his education and ended up on his younger brother’s coach, hiding from the rest of the family.
The Baeltigar’s oldest daughter was marching right to them the moment she realized her mothers presence. Almost bumping into one of the waitresses' sides, overjoyed by the possible introduction, she clung to her mother’s thin left arm.
“Margo Baeltigar, pleasure to meet you,” Margo’s voice was similar to her mother’s high pitch and sugary, leaving a sour taste in Aemond. The oldest was almost hyper focused on him and before he could even react to her introduction, she opened her mouth again but no words got to him. Because while this conversation took place the other sister carefully navigated her way around her sister’s body, moving into the background. Her figure slowly and unnoticed disappearing behind the two M named ladies, fighting for his and Alicent's attention.
There was a heavy stone set in his throat, his stomach fluttering at the same time and Aemond did not know what it meant, not yet.
Aemond was thankful for not being seated at the same table as his mother or anyone from his family and while the company next to him was quite boring he knew it could have always been worse. Five seats out of six already occupied, he was not expecting any miracles from the last person yet to arrive.
On his right was one of his father’s long term investors with his wife, a quiet old man with an already full belly even before the food had yet to arrive, his wife still yapping in her husband’s ear since they were seated, while on his left were two other men, one of them younger than the other. The younger one seemed like a total newcomer to this kind of event, to this kind of society too, his eyes constantly darted from one table to another, trying to identify everyone present. However, the man next to him was the opposite, comfortably sprawled in his seat, his hand leaning on the young man’s chair, black eyes observing his behavior, finding amusement in it. His smooth hair was graying just like his beard but there was pleasant handsomeness in his face.
“I was almost afraid you would run off,” The silver fox at their table spoke up, gaze heading to someone behind his shoulder, the last person finally arrived at their table. Aemond was only slightly interested in the person, another short distraction in a long night, he knew them all and quite frankly, they were all boring.
The figure moved, he could feel the movement behind him, wind picking up, fabric rustling, heels clicking. A woman. Or a very short man, he had noticed several guys trying to hide their shortage, pun intended, by clapping heels hidden beneath longer suit pants.
His hand gripped the champagne flute, glass slick with condensation, almost causing shivers down his spine. The liquid was bitter, bubbles fizzing on his tongue, and for a second it was an uncomfortable feeling before the drink slid down. In moments like these Aemond understood why his brother was always drinking, in the end there was nothing else to do.
The new addiction to the table was finally at her seat, still chatting with the man. And just like the bubbles his boredom fizzled off. The bow was gone and she was no longer wearing the pretty red dress. Her current dress was snow white, like fresh cotton sheets, and on one shoulder. The fabric was dangling off her in an awkward manner, almost as if it was not meant for her. Her shoulders were hidden by black suit jacket, a decent and modest combo, however, it was apparent the outfit was not meant to be this way.
But white suits her.
“Don’t worry, I just went to save my sister.” The almost silver haired man moved the empty chair for her to sit in more comfortably, too eager for a new distraction at the table just like Aemond was. And once again Aemond felt something within him move, how did they know each other, were they close, he might be years older than her but even his mother was significantly younger than his father.
“Oh, what has she done this time?” Laughter erupted from the man, cheeks blooming red. For a moment, Aemond thought she would take offense to such a statement, he probably would but only in the sense of feeling embarrassment for himself stemming from his brother’s failures. In some sense he loved his brother but on most days he was exploding in anger over Aegon’s public mistakes.
However, she only sheepishly grinned before motioning to her side. “Spilled some wine on herself.” And truly there it was, ugly red stain on her hip, the jacket covering it just enough to not be prominent in the evening dim lighting, saving her from judging glares.
“Of course you did.” This time the man was the one with a sheepish smile hiding behind his glass, twinkle in his eyes indicating some kind of hidden joke.
The Targaryen felt like he was the only one witnessing the conversation even though the full table’s attention was turned to two. His eyes were scanning her face, then the dress and then her face again. She acted as if she was so used to it and there was silent understanding on his part for such action. It wasn’t long before the two noticed his unmoving gaze, while the other occupants of the table turned to their own matters.
“I suppose our introduction was cut short. I am Y/-,” He did like her smile, it was soft, not quite reaching her eyes, not in a malicious kind of way. To an untrained eye it would only seem like a sincere reaction, to Aemond’s it was apparent her smile was the result of years of practice.
“I know.” His voice cut through her sentence like a hot knife, stopping her completely. Aemond knew of his talent to be awfully cold to people but this time he had truly overdone himself. The smile he rewarded her with, trying to improve his reputation, only received by a puzzled look from her and her companion.
This night can’t get worse.
Rough grimace struck his face, muscles twitching under the pressure of his failing. He was good at this, he was good at these events. So why was he fucking it all up today? Bitter feeling bit his throat and he wished he could swallow all the shame in the world, devour every mistake he ever made so no one could gaze upon them and he would be perfect again. Was it because she felt familiar to him? Because she had the same watchful eyes behind her every step, watching her to complain about her wrong doings? Or maybe he was completely wrong and playing himself entirely.
After the food arrived, most of the over the table conversation had died down, except for a few whispers here and there between some of them. He did not register any kind of taste, all was now in a fog to him, the illusion of a perfect man shattering with each glance turned to her. Only consolation prize to him were the few and far inbetween looks she rewarded him with. The plates with food were gone just as fast as they appeared, all in a flash moving forward. It was time to go out, social torture once again in progress.
And at the end of the night, when most of the guests had already left and the rest were getting ready to leave, he saw a glimpse of her saying goodbye to the older man from their table. Aemond realized he never got to know his name but he knew he could turn the tables, he could make this right again.
There was not much left of the courage in him on this grim night, but what was left had to be sufficient for now. His movement was rigid, he weaved between the people, tables and chairs, mind almost blank except for the command to move forward, to go to her.
“Hi.” Was his voice always so rough? He tried to swallow with no success, the lump in his throat winning.
“Hi.” Her eyes were wide, caught by surprise, she moved to fully face him. The light softly illuminated her face, giving her a certain glow he knew he would never forget. There just was something so familiar about her. Like a picture he has seen before but now had no recollection of. Have they already met? He couldn’t remember even though he really wanted to.
“Sorry about the…” His head moved to their table, indicating what he meant without having to say that. Aemond was sure he would spontaneously combust if he had to talk about his own rudeness caused by the unfamiliar uneasiness in his stomach more than this.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Her answer was so casual, as if his rude behavior was long gone from her mind, while he wanted the opposite even if it were her remembering only the worst stuff about him. He needed her to remember him.
He could hear someone call her name, the shadow of her mother frantically waving her hand at them, signaling something to her. There was a drunk mess of a person even further behind her mother, hair everywhere, red dress tripping her on uneasy legs.
It was an image he was so used to by now, but this time, it was not his responsibility. It was someone else’s. And somehow it changed nothing, there was a bile rising up inside him, hands sweaty and heart beating too fast, such a familiar situation he saw her in. It was like looking in the mirror.
She was biting her lip anxiously, some part of her evidently annoyed at her sister and he wanted to tell her to never ever do that again. He wanted to take all her worries away, he wanted to do that for her.
“Sorry…” Her shoulders visibly slumped, one of her shoulders escaping from under the black jacket. “Have to go.” Her manicured thumb pointing behind her, at the mess she was meant to deal with. Her older sister was drunk off her mind, stumbling in the crowd, the man with her unable to hold her straight up, part of him found relief in the fact Aegon was not with her. One of her heels dangled off the man’s hand while the other wrestled to keep her on her feet.
“Have a great night!” Aemond thought these words might haunt him for the rest of his life, the rest of the night squished into few fragments of him saying bye to people and getting back to his apartment, while some part of him was still stuck in the moment with her.
Teal blue
This time she was wearing teal blue gown, satin complementing her skin like nothing he has ever seen. Her smile was wide and even though Aemond saw her only in passing, a warm feeling spread through his insides. Since their first encounter he had chastised himself for his behavior, praying for a chance to redeem himself to her.
However, they were not seated at the same table and for once he found himself disappointed for the lack of his mother's interference. And so after losing Aegon, in the crowd, even though he was meant to babysit him after his last drunk tirade at some club went public, he began mapping the whole place in hope to find the teal gown in the crowd.
It was after the obnoxious dinner that he found her standing next to the bar, the silverfox by her side once again. Aemond could not hear them but it seemed as an interesting conversation by the way her arms flailed while explaining something. Wide grins spreaded over both of their faces before a round of giggles overcame them. Faced near each other in secretive closeness, they held on the other’s arms strongly while their bodies shook in held down laughter.
He wanted to know what they were to each other, how back they went and why they held each other so familiarly and he wanted to do the same with her. It was like a new emotion, jealousy he had never experienced.
His pleading stares must have awoken some mercy in her. The young lady bid goodbye to her friend and gracefully walked over to him, still holding his gaze. And even though Aemond’s attention the whole night was fixated on the image of her, now that she was there, he was lost for words.
“Evening.” The cheeky smile was back and if it was to disarm him it worked perfectly. Lost in his nervous thoughts, he chewed on his cheek, an anxiety filled bad habit he picked up as a kid. It took him a moment to realize she was patiently waiting for his reply. He completely forgot he was meant to give her his greeting too.
“Evening.” He could only mutter his reply. Needles of uneasiness prickling along his spine, giddy feeling spread through him now that he was once again near her. He needed to set it right, courage boiling his throat but no words came out, he was overwhelmed by all of it. His solace was found in a similar scene in front of him.
She, like himself, was in a frozen state, mouth open, ready to speak and eyes moving all around the room, searching for something to say. Both of them desperately need to say something to the other, not only to fill the silence but for the simple reason to converse with the other one.
The voices and music completely overwhelmed them and while they hoped it would soothe some of the anxiety over their failed meetings it only fueled their nerves more. Their eyes met again, corners of their mouths simultaneously lifted, smiling like idiots. And there was a silent understanding between them. The ballroom is too loud, let’s move it to the balcony.
The balcony itself was absolutely quiet, there was no one who would disturb them. Night cold breeze was slowly picking up but the heat from the inside was enough to keep them satisfied. He could not see the outside properly, lights blinding his vision of their surroundings and he liked it this way.
Maybe this time he would not come off as a rude idiot to her, maybe this time it could all end well. Both of them stood with their backs to the lights of the ballroom, only darkness before them and cold railing underneath their hands. The silence between them was comfortable, for now at least.
Aemond was aware of the intense stare she was giving him, precisely his fake eye and the scar dividing the bad eye socket into two. It had been years since he gained the injury, the scar no longer dark reddish color but more of a white pink, it faded slowly, plus his mother begged his father to pay for laser treatment to help it fade out quicker. He also got gifted the new fake eye, his mother was absolutely ecstatic over it, her sweet son’s face finally appeared more normal.
He knew she did not mean it that way but it still hurt, and the eye itself hurt or maybe it was the injury itself. If only he could wear his eyepatch to these kinds of events but according to his mother it was too eye-catching (pun not intended) compared to the fake eye even though if someone looked at him for too long they would probably notice not only the scar but the fact he could not fully open the eye or the lack of movement in it. And so fake eye it was.
“How did it happen?” Her eyes softly cascaded over his face before settling on his bad eye again.
“It was…,” Aemond felt like he couldn’t breathe, not this conversation again ,” an unfortunate accident.” Over the years he had dozens upon dozens of people asking him the same question and not stopping snooping even with his short answers cutting them off.
“Oh, sorry to hear that.” Her attention turned to the crowd behind them, they might have moved to one of the balconies but the noise of people was still present.
“It’s okay.” He hummed, never knowing what to say to those who pitied him over the injury. “It happened years ago.” Aemond hardly ever thought about it now, it worked as a bitter reminder of his own carelessness in the end. And while some responsibility laid with his cousins and brother he knew it was his decision, he couldn’t blame them for it even if he did at the start.
“It’s more purple.” Her attention was back on him, staring right at the fake eye once again.
“What?”
“The other eye.” Her delicate hand pointed to his left side of face. “It’s more purple.” Aemond knew the prosthetic he got was not identical in the color to his other eye and while others claimed he was only imagining it, he knew. He knew it was not the exact shade of purple like his other eye.
People always saw the younger son of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, second born son, the Targaryen boy, not Aemond. Not the young Baeltigar, she looked at him, not through him, not at his family, not at his very possibly, almost surely, shiny future thanks to his name.
He had never felt so seen in his life and being known by her became a carnal need to him.
This time it was his mother who called for a saving of an older sibling, in the middle of the night Aegon had sneaked away from Cole’s watchful eyes and ended up drunk as the dirty pig he was. They must have found him half asleep on some naked lady’s back in one of the private rooms of the manor the event was at, his hair was a complete mess, his earring already gone and tie let loose. Aemond expected him in a worse state than this, most of the time he was called to him half dead, this was nothing compared to those times. But his mother was red faced, completely embarrassed by his brother’s antics.
Light pink
It was weird, feeling this nauseating feeling within him. Aemond felt like a little boy again, excited for another gala where he could show how perfect of a son he is. When he was still a child he would parade himself around, maybe because his mother and father did not, while Aegon got all the attention.
However, this time it was different, this time it was only because of one person, one person’s perception of him. He was excited to see her and for her to see him. Their last talk left him hopeful for more.
This time it was her who found him, dressed in light pink fabric that was easily floating around her in the soft breeze, she found him right after dinner. He was just thinking about the appetizer, perfectly composed plate with balanced flavors but he could not figure out what the sauce was made out of. It was a little game he liked to play with himself, so he wouldn’t lose his mind over the boredom.
“Are our meetings destined to be cut short every single time?” With a champagne flute in hand, another occupied by a whole bottle of it, casually staring him down with a light smile gracing her face, she talked comfortably to him.
“Hope not.” He could feel corners of his mouth twitching and soon a similar smile appeared on his face. It warmed his heart that she was the one to find him, that he was not the only one searching for her and she herself was on a mission to find him.
Just like the white dress, or any other actually, the light pink shade suited her. The thin fabric of the short sleeves hid her shoulders away from him but he was still fascinated by the soft skin of the inside of her arm. He could feel the twitch of his fingertips over the thought of touching her there.
Once again soft silence creeped on them while the both of them observed his older brother, balancing one glass of whiskey in his hand while trying to stay upright, his attention far away from the liquor spilling over the brim but on the young lady in front of him. If it was anyone else Aemond might have felt embarrassment bubbling up to the surface but since he had seen her own older sister in similar state, her presence left him unmoved by it.
“I think some part of me hates him.” The words left him before he could fully comprehend what he was saying.
She hummed at that, it was a comforting sound he did not deserve, at least in his head. No proper brother could say something like this about his sibling. Regret was a bitter friend to his heart and to his mind. He should not have said that, not to her, she should not know how angry he was inside.
“He is my brother.” He tried to convince her of his sins against his family, his kin. Part of him did not want to acknowledge fully what he said, he prayed to stay in her good grace, in everyone’s good grace by being the good son, the good Targaryen boy, polite, smart, sophisticated.
.
“I know.” She laughed with ease and Aemond knew the bitter feeling was not going to fade away, as always. He could not escape the regret of speaking out, he did not deserve any pity.
“It’s so hard to explain to anyone.” The words fell off his tongue so freely, Aemond thought someone else was using his mouth to voice out their concern.
“Right?” Another comforting sound came out of her and maybe the bitterness could fade away from him, from both of them. He could feel it radiating from her skin, they were so similar and unaware of it until now. “Everyone always tells me to just let it go-, you don’t own them anything and yadayada-, but I can’t-”
“Because she is your sister.” Before she could finish, he knew what she was going to say, he knew those words too well. Everyone said them to him, let it go, let your brother go, he will fuck up and he will have to solve it. However, he could not because in the end he was the one getting voicemails of his drunk brother’s voice, panicked calls from his mother, there was no escaping it, his blood, his family tree tied him to this whole mess. Just like her.
“Yeah…” she nodded, tired from the whole situation. “Exactly.” He did not like the line between her brows, frown caused by his voice, his words. He wished to never see that expression on her face ever again.
“We can’t save them.” The wind pushed the words away from the pair and neither of them knew who uttered them first or who regretted them before the other one.
Another sip of champagne turned into two and then a long gulp, they shared the alcohol so freely, Aemond felt like he could fly in the sky, happy butterflies flapping their wings on the inside of him. She soon downed her flute and instead of filling it back up her hand set the glass down with a clink.
The light from the ballroom framed her perfectly, creating a vibrant halo around her silhouette. And again Aemond was lost at the vision of her. She was so comfortable in her skin, in her own struggles, in this situation. She felt comfortable even to him and he wanted her to remain comfortable for the rest of her life.
And so he nudged her shoulder with the champagne bottle, creating a moist trace below her armlet. For a moment he was hypnotized by the droplet and its slick path trailing down her arm. He envied it for even a longer moment, to trace her skin to him is to die of the fire inside him.
Her hand gripped the bottle, tilting it slightly, another sip of the still cold liquor ended in her mouth. And with that he realized she drank alcohol like Aegon did, with no struggle, with no twitch in her face over the bitter taste, like she liked the feeling of it hitting her tongue. He missed the weight of the bottle in his hand and the empty feeling started to itch on his skin, before he realized.
It felt almost intimate, his cheeks aflame and the little boy in him was kicking his feet. An indirect kiss. He drank from the bottle himself before her, their lips touched the same surface.
He did not even notice how the evening turned into a night, only darkness now facing them on the balcony high above ground. Voices behind them have yet to tune down but he could feel the event slowly ending.
And the familiar man was back, simply nodding to her not daring to step even a bit to them, only glancing at them from the inside of the big hall. The smile on his face might have been in a friendly manner but his round glasses hide the glint in his black eyes.
“What are you two?” Throughout their conversations Aemond realized he liked how she enjoyed his forwardness, just like he did with her. There was no shame between them.
“Me and…” there was a slight twitch in her face and she tried to contain it, unsuccessfully in the end “Kim?”
Kim.
He did not mind the name, it went over his tongue and he swallowed it slowly. It was not a name he hated, it just felt unfamiliar. However, he was not afraid of it, not with her by his side. The fox be damned.
The laughter was soft, almost scaring him for a moment. Whispered giggles as if she tried to hold it in, turned into a full blown cackling. Her body bending forward with hand set on her stomach, she looked at him, shining once again.
“He is my friend. Like an uncle… some sort of, I guess.” She giggled at these words. Quick glance and he saw Kim looking their way again, smirking in a conspicuous manner.
“Oh.” Embarrassment reddened his cheeks, shattering any kind of thoughts left in his stupid thick skull, except for the two voices.
Of course.
They are just friends.
Calm down.
Thank god.
Tucking on his sleeve, he turned his full attention back to her. His body was so close to hers, he could almost distinguish the shape of the lights reflecting in her eyes. And her wide eyes only stared at him. Aemond could get used to this kind of attention, he loved it too much for his liking. It was intoxicating.
Her arms enveloped him, she folded him into her embrace like it was nothing, it was an instinct to her. Even Aemond could feel she needed him close, a secret message embedded into the touch but the meaning was evading him. Both of them knew though, this meant something to both of them and it calmed them.
She was holding him so close and so gently, he never ever experienced something like this. No one ever treated him this way, he almost thought he did not deserve it. It was foreign but not unpleasant but he still felt undeserving of this. To receive kindness was a different kind of punishment for him. Warm touch burning him to the bones, scarring him, it was an awful feeling like nothing else. However, this felt holy, as if gods decided to bless his horrible mind. His horrible mind that only thought of her, how he could keep himself in her presence. She was warm and kind, dark as a shadow and present in everything. No, there might be a holiness in her touch, that kind he might become slave to, but to her, there was nothing saint. She was rotten, broken and mend on the inside like him and still she decided to look at him as if complete, as if she accepted it. And Aemond knew he could never get enough of it.
At that moment it was apparent to him. Hell existed and for them it was their sacrifices for their families, expected of them and without reward. Hell for them was sewed into their blood and they couldn’t do anything about it just obey the law set upon them by the iron chain in their veins.
Her movement unsettled him, afraid of losing her warmth, calmness now in disarray in his heart. She moved away, just slightly but enough that they could see into each other's eyes and there was uncommon indecision in her stare, and then she moved again.
The first touch of her lips was hesitant, almost shy and maybe it was all the alcohol playing with his brain, Aegon oftentimes blabbered with his drunk mouth about beautiful dreams of even more beautiful ladies before Aemond woke him up to get him home. But if it was a dream, he hoped it would last a lifetime before he himself had to be awoken.
It was soft, almost innocent. Her lips just gently touched his before courage overtook her and something hungry awoke in him. What was once a gentle embrace soon turned into a violent clash, their mouths fighting against each other, devouring more and more of the other person. There was no stopping now, any kind of will of holding themselves back was gone forever. They stepped over the line, now open for crossing.
Her hand gripped his forearm urging him closer, each kiss more hungry, igniting something within him. Soon a soft skin met his neck, gripping the hair at the base and tugging. In that moment his legs almost gave up on him, the overwhelming feeling consuming him completely, his mind, his body and his soul.
That's how life should be, he thought, being drunk and kissing a pretty girl, kissing her.
Her warmth suddenly left him and the young Targaryen had no desire to open his eyes, too afraid of the dream ending. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed he would never wake up, she would never leave and her touch on his skin would be still present.
Another soft kiss tore him up from that fantasy, this time on his cheek and what he saw was a vision he never wished to forget. Her cheeks were red, hair a complete mess, absolutely breathless, trying to calm down but still the most beautiful person he has ever met. Pupils blown wide moving across his face, her smile reached her eyes and her whole face was bright.
“I have to go.” He did not like those words. No, there was no ending to it now, they were meant to kiss forever until both of them suffocated, unable to leave the presence of the other.
“No.” His voice was hoarse but the implication of his words seemed too stern for his fogged brain.
“My taxi is here.” Her hand moved, pointing to the yellow car parked and waiting for the next passenger. The smile she gave him was reassuring, lulling him back to the foggy fantasy of kissing her again.
“Oh.”
He watched her wave goodbye to a few people, leaving in their own cars or by other taxis, he himself should get moving, find his brother and leave too. However, he could not move, his body rigidly straightened, neck craning to catch a few last more glimpses of the car she left in.
And even with her once again gone, Aemond’s mind was dizzy and belly full of butterflies.
“Awww, you smooched the girl.” His brother giggled from the coach, his form morphing into the soft cushions, with one of his sweaty hands grasping for the bottle set on the coffee table. While his brother was occupying the coach, his oldest cousin took the armchair next to it, spreaded out just like Aegon. Luke, the younger cousin of his, was meanwhile seated next to his brother but on the ground with his back to the armchair, with one cushion stuffed under him, functioning like a seat.
All of them were in some state of disarray, of course his brother the most. Aegon’s tie was missing, just like his suit jacket and one of his shoes. If he knew one of his feet was bare, not counting the dirty sock still stuck on it, he did not let it be known by anyone. The white shirt he wore was sticking to his skin and some of the buttons were undone throughout the night, Aemond could see the tiny stain on his right wrist. White wine or whiskey, he wasn't sure. Compared to him both of Jace’s shoes were present, his hair a complete mess just like Aemond’s, and while he took off his own suit jacket it was apparent that tomorrow won’t be pleasant for his head. The most kept of them was young Luke presumably because Jace did not let him drink more than a flute of champagne through the dinner and a few sips of the wine served at the event.
“You didn’t have to call them here.” Aemond waved his hand to their cousins. His older brother decided to end his night with a big sweet treat as a finale, Aemond’s humiliation. It took him one text, snap exactly, to their cousin Jace and they were all here, in Aemond’s apartment. At least Baela and her sister went out for more drinks and were not present, plus Heleana already left because she felt too tired, bless her heart.
“Oh, come on.” Aegon was enjoying it all, the panicked expression of his brother, the utter confusion of their cousins and most of all, the drink he was finishing. “Take this as a…,” his arms motioned into the open living room, searching for the correct words,“family bonding experience, eh?” His brother’s face was once again graced by a cheeky smirk. Once more Aemond felt like a joke, as a tired, drunk joke but he knew if he decided to go to bed, sleep would not overcome him, only panic would.
“So… How did it happen?” Young Luke piped up, his ears turning a light shade of pink. At least Aemond was not the only one embarrassed by the conversation.
“Well-, I-I kissed her?” Shrugging his shoulders, Aemond tried to act as if talking about it was not bothering him at all, as if it was another normal conversation.
“That sounded more like a question, mate.” This time it was Jace who spoke up, not giving Aemond even a glance, occupied by his phone, possibly texting Baela, while still part of the conversation.
“We… kissed…” He was at a loss of words, how does he describe it…. It wasn’t like this was Aemond’s first kiss, far from that. There were some girls in school when he was younger, few relationships, notably with Alys, that one had a nasty end. “And… so- like…,” The whole conversation was not only irritating his nerves and his brain but his eye, the old scar pulsing under the pressure of the talk and even the fake eye.
Fuck. I need to get it out.
Aemond was still uncomfortable with taking his fake eye out in front of… well basically anyone and while he could go search for the eyepatch he wore instead of the artificially created prosthetic, his nerves did not allow him to move.
His silence was not taken lightly by the men in his living room, each of them racking their brains as to why someone like him was unable to describe what happened.
“But it was like…” Jace nodded his head, trying to indicate the words without saying them,” y’know… consensual?” At this Aemond’s pacing stopped, it all happened too fast. Did HE kiss her first? He definitely didn’t have enough courage to kiss her first, did he? Maybe the alcohol, maybe she…
“I… think so?” Memories in Aemond’s head started to swim, prompted by an anxious feeling setting in his chest, messing up his perception of the events or maybe it was the alcohol…
“Okay…” He did not like this reaction from his brother one bit, nerves one level higher and he might definitely explode. The whole room was slowly but surely getting influenced by his own nerves in the end not helping him ease his mind at all, more like provoking him to descend to madness more and more.
“So that kiss was like… alright, eh?” Aegon’s unsure face was also not helping his nervous mind.
“Eh…” He did not like this sound, he himself did not know where it came from but the tone prompted everyone to silently pounder for a few seconds before they arrived at their separate conclusions.
All eyes turned to his tall frame, mouths slowly opening. “Don’t.” He tried to shut them down promptly, hand raised at them once again, especially if their conclusion was that he was a bad kisser.
“But what if she actually doesn’t like you?” Aegon’s words cause them to think again while Aemond pointed his finger at him, fuming and ready to slap his brother over the head.
“Wait a second…” He tried to gain footing in the conversation but it was a losing battle. “I am just saying that-” This time Aemond was sure to swat his hand toward his brother, meters away, meant to not cause any harm but to at least scare him a bit.
“Hold on,-” Luke was unsuccessfully trying to defuse the situation, getting this conversation might have been going the wrong route.
“He did not mean it like that!” Jace too tried to intercede the whole ordeal but just like his younger brother completely unsuccessful.
“Yeah and how the FUCK did he mean it then!?” Aemond’s nerves finally gave up, letting out his fury.
“Calm DOWN!” The armchair under Jace screeched after he pushed it in an attempt to stand up, ending up back in it after losing his balance.
“He WAS JUST SAYIN-” It was Luke’s turn to get up or it was simply prompted by his brother moving his back support.
“I DON’T CARE!” His throat felt tight, scratched from the volume of his voice. He knew he was losing it but he could not stop.
The words took everyone by surprise. They were used to some mean and angry words from Aemond, he was antisocial on his better days and if pushed far enough he would get cruel in some fucked up way to hide himself from the world. However, to see him bubble over, to let himself scream so unapologetically… this was the first time for any of them to witness, even Aegon got quiet.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” It came out more like a whisper, an involuntary sound escaped him and Aemond was finally ready to collapse, to throw it all out of the window, lose it completely and most embarrassingly ready to cry in front of them.
“I mean, maybe she likes y-” Aegon’s voice piped from his right, still on the coach he was subtly hiding behind his now empty beer bottle.
“YOU said that MAYBE SHE DOESN’T LIKE ME!”
“I am sure she likes you.”
“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT?”
“WELL, I WAS NOT THERE!”
But this time Aegon was down to yelling it out along with his brother, the alcohol or just his rude nature supporting him in the decision. The screaming match went on for quite some time, Luke and Jace slowly joining, the living room becoming louder and louder, Aemond’s downstairs neighbors were sure to call the police any minute now. At the end none of them knew how the screaming match started, who argued with what or what they were arguing about, the alcohol dulling their sense of reason.
“Why are you all yelling?!” Baela’s agitated voice sounded from the front door, she was still in her coat while Rhaena had her shoes already off.
And then inferno began once more, voices shouting over each other in a chaotic symphony.
“RHEANA!”
“BAELA! YOU WON’T BEL-!”
“WHAT IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE M-!”
“YO AEMOND KISSED -!”
For a moment they all quieted down, catching their breath, bodies heaving and faces reddened, fingers still pointed at each other. “What?” Rheana asked, turning her gaze to her sister in a confused manner. Baela instead looked unamused partly because she got used to such banter from the younger two men.
“DRINKS!”
All heads turned to Aegon whose attention was now preoccupied by the plastic bag dangling from Baela’s hand. She lifted her hand, dangling it in front of his face as some sort of bait. And while the girls lured Aegon into the kitchen with the bad set down on the kitchen counter, Aemond felt like crying. Crying like when he was a little kid, unable to escape his doom.
Bottles clicked against each other aggravating Aemond even more. His anxiety was spiking up, dizziness almost overcoming him. This could only result in another screaming match between all of them until he would give up and tell them to fuck out of his apartment, Aegon included, even if he had been sleeping on his coach for the last 2 months.
Speaking of which, his brother was once again attempting to open a new bottle of beer while the girls finally sat on the coach previously occupied solely by him. “Thanks for the keys.” Rheana’s outstretched arm was handing him his keys but Aemond felt drained of all energy. Instead of taking them he motioned for her to throw them, catching them with ease. The iron keys to his apartment comfortably cold from the outside night air, grounding him in his own body. He was fine, in his living room, in his apartment… and he was fine.
“So…,” Rheana could feel his uneasiness prompting her to tune down the volume of her voice to a soft mumble, almost whispering, “what was all of this about?”
“He kissed the girl,” Aegon shared on the behalf of his brother. Aemond was not sure if it was for his own sakes or if he simply wanted to be the one to break the news once again.
“The girl?” Her eyebrows raised, Baela motioned with a light smirk to Jace to continue, to indulge her curiosity. And he would of course indulge her as always. “Yeah.”
“Wait… what girl?” Her sister spoke up, this time louder while another cheeky smile played on Baela’s face, giggling like a schoolgirl ready to receive another juicy rumor.
So Aemond recounted the story one more time, this time properly with some actual details. They talked, shared some personal stuff, and when it came to saying goodbye she kissed him before leaving in a taxi. He made sure to leave out the details of his knees buckling every time she had touched him or the fact he could still smell her shampoo and was still thinking about her eyes, lips, everything.
“Well, she is the girl.” Baela whispered mischievously, her elbow assaulting her sister’s side before the mischief in her face turned into another loud laughter. Rheana giggles had continued to sound throughout the room, waking him up again.
“Yeah?” Confused grimace overtook Luke’s face, his whole face scrunched in confusion. “So?” With a nod Aemond tried to urge the girls to continue, almost not breathing over what might come out of their mouths. There was hope for his doing and where was hope was also disappointment.
“I can guarantee you she knows that she is THE girl” Rhaena laughed even more. “I mean SHE kissed him!” Aegon gave Aemond a pointed look which turned into a cheeky grin before a hysterical laughter overcame him, realizing they truly might have been overthinking the whole situation. The bottle of beer he was holding up to his mouth for a not sip shaking violently, spilling some of its content out on his shirt, adding to the mess of him.
“Honestly, guys… I don’t know what you are all debating over” The sisters bumped their shoulders, giggling like little girls, excited over the information. “She obviously likes him.” And even more loud giggles followed, Aegon gradually joining in with his screeching laugh, not holding back.
“Shit.” Faint murmur left his lips. Realization setting in, he might have kissed her but she was definitely the first one to make a move.
This was one of the worst and best nights in his life.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Phil comes home to the Hardcore World with Rose's help after everything he's been through on Quesadilla Island and tries to cope with the emotional aftermath.
Hi. I'm coping well <- lying
Have some. Uh. Bittersweet sad angsty fluff of q/hc!Phil about it?
