šø You can call me Cait but TheWritingHub is also fine
šø she/her
šø 19
šø I write mlw and wlw
šø Please be kind, this is a judgement free zone. Do not leave hate comments because you do not like the characters I write for.
šø I am on ao3 with the exact same name, you'll find my longer stories on there.
šø On Tumblr, I'll be posting either oneshots or shorter length works which will probably be cross-published on ao3
šø Who do I write for? Good question, any character I find remotely attractive. I'll post a proper list eventually. Just ask and if I can get a feel for the character I'll try my best
šø I will not write non-con, I am not cool with it whatsoever and my opinion on it will never change. You will never see such a thing on this account ever.
šø Funny story, I just discovered I am no longer shadowbanned after like a year of being on here... so now I can finally post
Chapter Three
Summary: You don't understand what his deal is. Valarr Targaryen should be around his rich, country-club going friends but instead, he seemed determined to force himself around you. You did not want him to force himself to become your friend out of guilt for what happened at his family's charity event but he assures you he is not doing this for that reason. But you struggle to find another reason why he seems so hellbent on spending every waking moment with you.
wc: 6.2k
Content/Warnings: Class differences, subtle/slight possessive behaviour.
Modern au! Valarr Targaryen x reader
Masterlist
It was Monday. You wish you could say it was bright and early but only one of those two things were true. It was early but it certainly wasn't bright. The sky was a murky grey, rainfall discouraging you from leaving your uni flat. Was a lecture really worth it? It was recorded after all. But so was attendance and unfortunately for you, that did impact your final grade. Only 10% but sometimes 10% can make all the difference. So you dragged yourself out of bed and into the shower, it was 8am in the morning, and your lecture started at 9am. It didn't leave you much time but you never put too much effort into your appearance for morning lectures. Nobody really did, you had seen people turn up in their pyjamas.
You threw on the first thing you saw and left, your Chromebook was almost dead too. You'd charge it later, hopefully the charger was in your bag but you honestly didn't know. You didn't have any time to check but if it died mid-lecture, you would just have to switch to pen and paper. The fountain pen which Valarr had given you was still in your bag, you hadn't taken it out since you had dropped it in their last week.
You sat down in the same area as you did last time and resisted the urge to rest your head against the wooden desk. If you did, you'd fall asleep and wouldn't wake up until the class was over. You had come all this way, you were not going to sleep through the lecture. Even if that meant forcing your head up and prying your eyes open with the will that your body did not possess at 9 in the morning.
You could hear someone shuffling along the seating row so you turned your head. Lo and behold, Valarr Targaryen has appeared. It annoyed you how perfect he looked so early in the morning. No dark under-eye-bags, no messy hair, no lazy outfit. He looked prim and proper, hair styled and outfit chosen sensibly for the day. But his hair was styled more loosely, creating a softer appearance. Wearing a dark green threadbare jumper with a white T-shirt underneath, it wasn't anything too flashy but it was warm enough for the autumn temperature without it making him sweat. In one of his hands, he held a cardboard coffee holder which contained two to-go coffee cups, one had a white lid and the other was black. Maybe he was tired because who brings two coffees to class? Did he really need two in order to survive the early morning?
"Good morning" He greeted, a smile blooming across his face. You know he may have felt some guilt for what happened on Friday night but he did not need to force himself to be friends with you because of it. You weren't a charity case.
You nodded at him timidly, the movement coming off as stiff. "Morning" You replied, you would not class today as a good morning. The sky was grey and the rain clouds were only getting darker with each passing moment, the rain would get harder and more violent, you could feel it.
He sat down in the seat one away from you like that last time. It created a comfortable space, he was close but not too close. Enough to talk before a lecture but not close enough to whisper jokes and small comments while the professor was talking.
You stared at the coffee cups for a moment, thinking for a moment before saying anything. "What kind of all-nighter did you pull to need two cups of coffee at 9am?" You asked.
He smiled at you, picking the cup with the white plastic lid and pushing it over to you, "I got it for you actually. I played it safe and got a latte" He shrugged, his hand leaving the cup and instead reaching for the one with the black lid, his coffee, lifting it up to his lips and taking a sip of the hot liquid.
You stared at him and then down at the latte. The latte that shouldn't be there because he should not have bought an extra coffee for you. He was under no obligation to buy you things, "If this is your way of apologising, you don't have to" You didn't want to accept pity coffee.
He left out a soft sigh, as if he was expecting this reaction. "This isn't me apologising for what happened, this is me buying you a coffee on a bleak day as liquid encouragement" He assured you, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. He looked at you with those mismatched eyes, his eyes practically trying to urge you into taking the coffee.
You looked at him suspiciously, as if your eyes could detect lies. He did not seem as if he was being deceitful but you felt weird accepting something from him. You knew he was rich but that made it all the worse, it made you feel like he was donating to charity, like you were his 'good deed' for the day. "What if I didn't show up?" You asked, you were close to not showing up, to staying in your bed where it was warm, a safe and cozy haven which protected you from the harsh environment of the outside world.
"Then I'd drink both and probably regret doing so" He shrugged. You watched as he turned his head forward, opening the lid of his House Targaryen laptop, being a walking endorsement for his family's company. Just making sure that the company is still on top by the time he inherits it, can't be the heir to a company and not use their products.
That's when you relented, you'd accept the drink because he had convinced you that it wasn't an apology for something he had nothing to do with. Plus, it was easier to accept when he wasn't looking at you, the pressure was lessened by a certain degree. "Wellā¦ thank you, but you didn't need to" You allowed a small smile to appear on your face as you lifted the to-go cup. It was sweet of him, but you did not know what this meant. If it was not an apology then what was it? You don't just buy a random girl in your class coffee after speaking two times. Or maybe he was just genuinely that nice, perhaps you had misjudged him.
Soon the lecture started, there was no obligation to speak with him anymore which made you feel less guilty about not starting a proper conversation. You should try to be friendlier towards him, he hadn't truly done anything to you. It was somewhat wrong of you to judge him based on his family, based on the way his cousins and elders comport themselves. He had no control over that.
You couldn't help but look over at him several times throughout the lecture, he was one of those people who were just mesmerising to look at. He looked good in more simple clothing but you'd never forget how handsome he looked at the gala, in a designer suit which was tailored perfectly to his body. In another universe, you are sure he's a prince. But today he had a different energy about him, usually he felt untouchable even with his warm smile and good-natured approach. But today, he felt softer, warmer than usual. It wasn't that he was less perfect than usual or less curated. You couldn't tell what was different but something had changed, whether he had allowed it to change or not. You liked it though, he looked and felt more like a person and less like an extension of his family's influence.
When the lecture concluded, you stretched your arms like always, your body feeling stiff after sitting still for an entire hour. The only moments of movement being your fingers moving across a keyboard or when you reached for your latte for a quick sip before going back to note-taking. You were now extremely grateful for the coffee he had bought you, you don't know if you would have survived the excruciatingly boring lecture without it. He had helped you once again and you couldn't ignore that fact as much as you wished you could.
"You have 'Introduction to Comparative Law' in two hours, right?" You asked him, this was going to be your attempt to be more friendly towards him. Just something easy, no pressure and simple.
He nodded, "It is compulsory so yes" his voice was little despite his words being slightly condescending. You don't believe he meant it in a patronising way therefore you'd let it slide. You think he was just attempting to be funny, it landed badly but that happens to everyone sometimes.
"I was going to go to the library and studyā¦ you can come with me if you want?" It was meant to be a statement, an open invitation but with your unsure voice, it became more of a question. You wanted to curse yourself, hating the fact that your voice came off so awkward and unnatural. Studying with another person is completely normal, you study with Dunk all the time. You don't study with Lyonel though since he spends most of his time in the Post-Graduate suits since they have better supplies and your ID card won't let you in. Besides, he rarely studies.
You watched as his eyes widened slightly, looking at you like you had grown three heads before quickly gaining composure. "I'd be glad to. It beats spending the next two hours alone" He smiled, sliding his laptop into his designer bag before slinging it over his shoulder. You packed your stuff up quickly, not bothering to turn your Chromebook off as you would be using it again in five minutes once you find a free seat in the library.
You walked alongside him to the library, you were glad to see that the rain had stopped for the time being, perhaps you were wrong in your previous judgement about it. You reached into your bag to grab your ID card, moving your hand around the bag to find the smooth material of the lanyard your ID was connected to. Valarr clearly thought ahead, you could see the black lanyard sticking out of his trouser pocket. He must have slipped it in there while you were still packing your uni supplies away.
"So why did you choose law? Why not business or politics?" You asked him, finally finding your lanyard in your bag. You really need to get bag dividers or something, everything is just kind of thrown in there, a disordered mixture of objects which were important enough to be tossed into the bag. But not important enough to be remembered apparently, you honestly can't recall what things are in your bag, you just have to hope and pray you have everything you need for the day.
You both walked into the library lobby area, the scanners coming into view. Four of them lined up in a row, mapped out designated areas for students to scan their ID cards for access to private library materials. "I want to be a lawyer but I know what is expected of me soā¦ I'm going to be a lawyer until my father retires which won't be for many years" He replied, you nodded at his words. "What about you?"
You were surprised he enquired about your future plans, although that usually was the way polite conversation went. One asked a questioned, the other answered and then mirrored the question back to the first person. You really shouldn't be surprised, this is the same man who bought you coffee unprompted, he was just nice. Nice was weird."I just want to help people. it sounds stupid and corny but that's why I study law" You answered.
He shook his head at your words, pressing his ID card down onto the scanner, patiently waiting for the small security doors to open and give access to the new space. "It's not stupid, it's noble and I'm sure you will do a fantastic job" He assured you, smiling softly in your direction, "So I'm guessing public defender?" He was correct in his guess, you expected to see a glance of condescension, a snooty look which would reveal his true nature and opinions that he refused to voice. But you didn't, you saw admiration. Like he genuinely respected your reasoning behind your career choice.
"Yeah, not very glamorous but I'll be able to do the most good there" You replied. You didn't care for wealth, or at least not in the same sense you did when you were younger. You wanted to be comfortable, to be able to afford a house and certain luxuries that you weren't given access to when you were a child. That would be enough for you, you did not need to live in a mansion, enshrouded by designer brands and priceless objects that had no use other than to elevate your status to other insanely wealthy creatures.
He didn't wait a second before responding, "I'm sure you'll do great" He affirmed, you appreciated his words, his encouragement which he did not need to give but gave away.
"Do you want to grab something from the cafe or just straight to studying?" You weren't planning on grabbing any food but you wanted to ask him in case he was hungry or needed a drink. It was polite to ask instead of just marching on ahead.
"I've already had breakfast" He dismissed, waving his hand slightly.
You nodded, "You don't live on campus, right? You must have to get up really early" You continued the conversation as you walked up the stairs, you already knew the social area would be busy on the first floor even at 10am. The trick was to go to the second floor, it was always less busy due to the fact people didn't want to walk up four flights of stairs to get there, especially not at 10am. You, however, liked it up there.
Valarr seemingly had no complaints, he followed you without whines or protest. He just kept answering your questions, seemingly pleased that you wanted to get to know him. You don't understand why he looked so happy about it. "I live at home, commuting isn't too hard if you have a car" The concept of being able to afford a car while being a uni student was beyond you, but he didn't have a flat or student accommodation to pay for. He didn't even need to take out a loan to pay for university tuition, lucky bastard.
Home. The home he talks about is basically a castle. You had never seen it before working at the gala that was hosted there, but now you can say it was magnificent. You only had access to 5 rooms when you were working the gala, the rest had been cut off from the staff and guests, yet those four rooms felt as big as a regular house on their own. Of course, you did enter a 6th room but you can't really be sure if a storage room counts, other than the fact it was almost the size of your bedroom.
The outside alone resembled a castle, with large towers topped with circular pointed roofs on either side of the entrance. The inside was more modern but yet had this distinctively older feeling to it, not the decor but just the atmosphere. It was heavier, firmer, you couldn't truly describe it. But the biggest feeling you got from walking the halls and reception area was a sense of alienation, you knew you didn't belong there. The classy decor, the grand staircase that split into two which led up to the first floor, things like that which were just simply existing was enough to remind you of the distance between your world and Valarr's which co-existed.
"We both know it takes like 5 minutes in a car to even get out of the front gates" The land they owned was vast. Before you could even enter their lovely home, you had to gain access through the large metal gate, painted black with sharp pointed tips at the top in case someone tried to climb it. You wouldn't be surprised if the tips were poisoned, it seemed like something Targaryens would do, some medieval shit. Once you have given access through the front gates which opened like a gateway to hell, you had to drive down a road which led to the manor .
The corners of his lips twitched upwards, you could see them out of the corner of your eye. He was amused by your words, you were beginning to think he was easily amused. He seemed to smile at everything you said and did, either you were a descendant of a court jester or he was far too easily entertained. "That is somewhat true but I like to be up early anyway, I like a morning ride" He told you, his steps moving slightly faster for a moment before reaching for the door, opening it for you like a true gentleman.
You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his antics, it was slightly silly but cute regardless. He seemed ever so determined to prove his kindness to you, to prove that he was different from the way his family was perceived. Maybe he had heard you speak ill of his cousin, Aerion. You bowed your head at him slightly in thanks while you moved through the door to the social area. "A morning ride?" You asked. You didn't exactly know what he meant and honestly, it made you feel a little stupid. Does he mean he likes driving early in the morning? That was possible but it didn't feel like that was what he meant.
He looked at you with a questioning gaze before clearly realising something. "I like horse riding in the morning" He explained a little further for your low-class self but he still kept this casual tone, like he was telling you he had a pet dog and not a horse.
"You have a horse?" You looked up at him with a face full of confusion. Who the actual fuck just casually owns a horse? He spoke of it as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if everyone has one. Perhaps in his world, they do. His younger brother probably had one, his cousins too.
You watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled up as he laughed at you, at your silly and bewildered face. You should not have been surprised, of course a rich boy has a horse, it's not totally uncommon but it just felt bizarre. You did not appreciate being laughed at for an obvious class difference between the two of you, but you couldn't help but think about how adorable his laugh was. It was light, almost like a cloud in the sense of his voice being fluffy, not to mention it was a soothing sound.
You shook your head, taking a seat at the table closest to the window. You often find yourself gravitating towards this area whenever it's empty. It wasn't good for your studying though, you would end up just staring out the window sometimes. "I hate rich people, oh I like a morning ride on my horse, which I have at the stables. Yeah, the stables that are actually in my garden because I live in a manor. Oh yeah, did I mention I have a pool too and a hot tub? And I actually have a dragon as a pet, yeah the mythical creature" You mocked him slightly, not in an entirely rude way. Just slightly copying his posh accent but notching it up ever so slight to be annoying. Valarr's voice wasn't annoying enough to copy perfectly, it was too soft, too smooth, scratched your brain in a way that was pleasant and not nails on a chalkboard like Tybolt Lannister.
He sat down on the seat across from you, placing his bag on the table as he looked down for a moment to gain his composure. His lips were pressed together in a smile, as if he was deciding whether or not to speak or trying to suppress another laugh. "If it makes you feel better, I can't ride a bike" He stated, his voice was light and joking-like but you could tell he was serious. He was joking with you, playing along.
You couldn't help but rub your face with your hands, "No, Valarr, that doesn't make me feel better. Actually it makes me feel worse" You replied. It made you feel worse because you knew it wasn't a balancing issue, he just never had a reason to learn. Why learn how to ride a bike when you can learn horse riding instead? Why ride a bike when you can have people drive you around? He probably had a chauffeur.
"I actually do have a pool."
"Stop talking."
"My brother does have a bearded dragon as a pet, not as mythical as you'd like but close enough, right?"
"Read your textbook, write your notes."
You could see that smile on his face, different than the usual one, this one was cheeky. Not an expression you had seen on him before, he always looked so elegant whenever you gazed over to him but here, he looked slightly devious. Not in a bad way, in a cute kind of way. Like he was enjoying using his status to annoy you, he had discovered a way to get the reactions he wanted from you. Why did he want these reactions? Only he could say, perhaps because nobody else would tell Valarr Targaryen to shut up in a more polite sense.
It was strange, to look across from you and see Valarr Targaryen. It felt almost surreal, how had you ended up willingly spending with him. It felt stalker-ish to say you were watching him but it was hard not to, he was tucked into a law textbook, his laptop screen open beside him. He had copied your study set up, mirrored it to perfection. You tried your best to focus on your notes, on the PowerPoint slides which were visible on your Chromebook screen, on the textbook which was to your side, on your notebook which was in front of you. But your brain saw Valarr as more interesting than those notes, your gaze always trailing back to his form, it annoyed you to no end. How easily distracted you were by his presence, you shook your head in order to clear your mind, to shake away the curiosity which Valarr incited within you.
Curiosity, not interest. The distinction was clear in your mind. It was curiosity because your brain was not used to seeing him, not used to his presence, once you become more used to his company, this would stop. Your eyes would stop seeking him out every few moments. But that's only if you kept spending time with him, perhaps an incentive to become friends with him other than his seemingly kind disposition.
"So, what's your horse's name then?"
He seemed to perk up at the question, his eyes meeting yours almost as soon as you had begun speaking. "Her name is Meleys" He replied, a gentle smile tugging at his lips at the thought of his horse.
You nodded at his answer, "Meleys? That's a pretty name" You hummed, it sounded elegant and graceful. You always wanted a horse when you were younger, most children did, it was still strange for you to be speaking to someone who actually had one.
"Thank you" His voice was sincere. You couldn't see his face as he was looking downwards to where his notes were, tapping the end of his pen on the pages of his leather-bound notebook. You assumed he was deep in thought so you went back to studying. But as soon as you began to start reading, you could feel eyes on you, just for a moment before the feeling went away.
That's how the gap in your uni timetable was spent, small conversations here and there with a major focus on studying. It was nice, even if you did sometimes seek him out with your eyes before snapping back into reality. His company was pleasant, nice in a way that you couldn't describe. You wouldn't mind spending more time with him in the future, maybe you'd suggest lunch next time if the timing was appropriate.
Before you knew it, the time had passed quickly. It was almost a shame that the calming place that had been created in this library had to end. You enjoyed your time with him, you had learnt that his brother's bearded dragon was called Arrax and his horse was called Vermax. You had found out that his father, Baelor Targaryen was in the army at one point and gained the nickname 'Breakspear', you weren't sure how he gained the name. He was very willing to share facts about his family, you could tell he did have pride when it came to them. What you once considered to be superiority due to coming from a powerful family was now accompanied by something else. Love. He had a love for his family that you hadn't ever seen before, it was another likeable quality that you must have chosen to ignore before now.
You looked over at him, seeing if he was ready to leave the library with you. He had already packed all his stuff, the textbook was still sat on the desk in front of him. "Do you need to sign the book out or?" You asked, you had to check your library book out quickly anyway but you had to do it on one of the self-service machines downstairs. There probably was one up here but you didn't know where it was nor could you be bothered to look for it.
He shook his head, his soft brown hair bouncing slightly with the motion. "No, I have a copy at home" He responded, looking at his phone with mild interest for a brief moment before sliding it back into his pocket.
"Of course you do" You rolled your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Of course he would have expensive textbooks at his disposal, he probably didn't even have to buy them second-hand like everyone else did. Another benefit to being wealthy, all the textbooks you had were second-hand or borrowed from the library. You weren't spending Ā£150 on a textbook that you needed for a singular module.
"What's that supposed to mean, huh?" He asked, crossing his arms across his chest with an entertained expression evident on his face.
"You know what, rich boy" You replied playfully, cocking your head to the side, making eye contact with him for a moment before walking past him. He quickly picked the book up and followed you. While you signed out your book, he had to go find the exact shelf he took it from and put it back. You hoped it wouldn't take him too long, you hated being late to lectures. It always felt so awkward walking in late, even just five minutes late felt embarrassing.
Luckily, he was swift in his return. You both made your way back to the law building, you feel it's important to note that he opened another door for you. This time however, you finally said something in return for his action, "Thank you, I suppose chivalry isn't dead after all."
He huffed a laugh, the sound light and airy, "I do try."
You walked up the lecture theatre stairs to the seats further away, randomly choosing a row and shuffling to a seat near the end of the row. Valarr kept that one seat between the two of you again, you are sure he was doing it for your comfort now. It was appreciated, it was sweet of him to think about that. You honestly wouldn't mind if he sat right next to you but that one seat just felt safe. Close but not too close.
The lecture was well and truly boring but that goes without saying, this module was usually the most boring. You dreaded when you saw it come up on your timetable every week, it never changed, it was the same every week. And yet, every week you would groan with the same frustration as the week before. Valarr clearly found the lecture boring too, he had been taking notes at the beginning but about halfway through he switched to texting someone on his phone. You didn't know who nor did you ask. But by the look on his face, it wasn't a fun and relaxing conversation. His jaw was tight and his eyes were narrowed looking down at the phone as if it had personally offended him.
But by the time the lecture had ended, his face was back to normal. Well, can it really be classed as normal if you had only really seen him 3 times? Surely it could since you have technically spent four hours with him today. Four hours? It was scary to think you had actually spent between the hours of 9am and 1pm with him. It didn't even feel that long to you.
Valarr let out a low sigh of tiredness and slight undertone of frustration, "I'd offer to get you lunch but I have to go home" He offered no further details than that. You didn't feel the need to push him for any more so you just nodded, that was probably what the rapid texting was about. You could tell he wasn't pleased with whatever he had been told over the phone, you didn't want to add to that by pressing him.
"It's fine" You smiled, hoping to make him feel a little better. You assumed that it worked, his expression quickly changing to match yours.
You left the lecture theatre with Valarr close behind you, it was your last lecture for the day but that didn't mean you could go home and sleep. No, unfortunately, you had a shift at the cafe. But that was the last thing on your mind when you spotted someone familiar in the distance, and by distance, you meant across the road. He was easy to spot, he was a giant after all. Wearing a dark blue tracksuit, the jacket slightly unzipped to reveal the white vest which was underneath. His sandy blonde hair caught the sun which had only begun to shine through the clouds, making it look lighter than it was usually.
"DUNK!" You yelled, it was louder than you meant to but with the stories about Duncan's caregiver, Arlan, clouting him in the ear several times when he was a child, perhaps it was necessary to be that loud. You saw him look around confused for a second before spotting you, his straight face morphing into a dopey expression.
He rushed over quickly, his gym bag slightly hitting against his side rhythmically due to the large strides his legs were taking to get over to where you and Valarr stood. You know it might be slightly weird for Dunk to see you hanging out with the man who barely even a week ago you said was 'too perfect'. You still stood by that statement though, he was too perfect, too handsome, too polite. It was annoying but you could look past that, he has a good heart. At least you hope he does.
You could feel a shift in the atmosphere, it had become uneasy and thick, so thick that you could choke on it. You didn't know what had changed or who it was coming from, it had changed so abruptly. It couldn't have been Dunk, his large smile and gentle giant spirit was not capable of this. If it were him, the uneasy would be from anxiety but this wasn't anxious.
You decided to ignore it, perhaps it would just go away. It couldn't be Dunk, it wasn't you and Valarr's energy had been warm all day, only changing to a more playful energy when you were joking around. "Dunk, this is Valarr. Valarr, this is Duncan. He's my friend" You explained. If Valarr was going to be your friend and not just a guy who studied law alongside you, he would have to be able to tolerate your friends. You somewhat worried about that so it's best you start with Dunk. Perhaps Lyonel should be last, you know they were the most similar in status but personality wise, they could not be further from each other.
"I know him."
The reply was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. You looked towards Dunk with a confused expression just to see the same on his face, your expression mirrored back at you. You had wondered for a moment if they had met but Dunk's face was clearly showing they hadn't.
Valarr seemingly realised his tone of voice was off, clearing his throat and placing his hand there like he was as confused as the both of you, "What I mean is I've seen him around. Like the pub, last Tuesday, around midnight. Sorry, that was a major tone delivery issue. I've never had that before, quite bizarre" He remarked, his hand rubbing the base of his throat like something had been caught there and he was trying to dislodge it.
Dunk seemed to move on quickly, not at all phased by the jagged voice which was icier than a winter's day in The North. You however, were still somewhat stuck on it. "You were there?" Valarr nodded at Dunk's words, the action being stiff as if it were unnatural and involuntary. "Feel free to say hi next time, any friend of hers is a friend of mine" Dunk's smile was bright and true like his personality. There wasn't a single evil or dishonourable bone in this boy's body. But you turned to Valarr and saw a smile. A smile which did not meet his eyes, a smile which was faker than plastic.
There was something weird going on. The soft and warm aura which Valarr had been carrying all day and just died all at once. It had been replaced with a chilling air which could nip at your fingertips like frostbite, the air around him felt glacial. "Are you okay?" You asked, genuine concern flooding your voice and eyes as you spoke to him. You reached out your hand and gently touched Valarr's arm, you didn't grab it or anything, just briefly touched his green jumper with your fingertips but that's all you had to do for his eyes to flicker down to you.
He looked at your fingers which gently brushed against his arm and then back up at your face like he was cataloguing something, like he was committing your touch to memory which was even ridiculous to think. But it was the only way you could think to describe the way he looked at you for a split second before his eyes softened, going back to the way they normally do. "ā¦Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just, just tired. It's been a long day, coffee can only keep us energised for so long" He excused, running his hand through his hair, messing it up slightly. His hand dragged down to cover his face, as if he was trying to wake himself up. Once the hand was removed, a relaxed smile was on his face. "Next time I see you out, I'll come over and get you a drink" He replied to Dunk's earlier comment, clicking his fingers playfully.
He followed up his words with goodbyes, saying he needed to go home and rest. You nodded along with his words, he did say he was tired. You had no reason not to trust his words, you wanted to believe him because you had finally seen something good today, you had seen a friendship with him. A friendship with a Targaryen had seemed absurd last week but now seemed totally realistic and in reach.
You were both silent for a moment, just watching the rich boy depart from the area. "He seems like a nice guy" Dunk smiled. Perhaps you had read too much into it, Dunk seemed undeterred, like nothing had just happened. Like Valarr's voice hadn't been jagged, like the air hadn't turned bitingly cold. Maybe it was you that was the problem.
"ā¦Yeah, I hope so" You commented, watching as Valarr's figure disappeared further into the distance. You hoped that was just due to tiredness, that his energy had just crashed all of a sudden. Because the other option was one you did not want to acknowledge because it means you would have been right from the start and for once, you didn't want to be right. But perhaps you had just seen what happens when the curated personality slips.
Content/Warnings: Eventual smut. Classism. Sexual Harrassment (Not Valarr). Slight possessive tendencies. Slight stalker-ish tendencies. Class differences and power imbalances.
Warnings will be updated as the story continues.
Valarr Targaryen, a perfect and flawless man, from a family of the highest nobility. He was the prime example of what a man of his status should be, polished and civil. He was by definition perfect, that was fact. Then there was you, a law student who struggled her way from the bottom in hopes to make it to the top, intelligent in every way other than feeling. These were two lives that should have never crossed, should have never become entangled and yet, they did. A boy and a girl, one intent on feeling and the other devote to the safety of fact.
Chapter Two
Summary: You decided to work as a waiter against your better judgement but you were confident that the chances of running into him were low, and the chances of him remembering your face were even lower. You had never worked a gala before therefore, you had a lot to learn but you were nothing if not determined. Unfortunately for you though, there is a man who has his eyes on you all night, staring at you from across the room like you were the final piece in a jigsaw puzzle.
wc: 5.2k
warning/content: sexual harrasment (Not Valarr!). Classism.
Modern au! Valarr Targaryen x reader
Masterlist
The uniform could've been worse. Instead of the typical white and black coloured uniforms, it was red and black. Targaryen colouring. You suspect it was so that the help did not stand out too much, white against black and red background would be far too contrasting. It would look better for a guest to wear white or lighter colours than for the waiters, waiters were supposed to blend in.
The other waiters were around your age or older, none being under the age of 20 as if it were some golden rule. You engaged in civil small talk with a few of them before the head waiter came in, instructed everyone on how they should do things and how it is different from serving in a restaurant or cafe. You already knew it would be different, there was far more pressure to be perfect here. One slip up and you'll be publicly humiliated in front of the entirety of the high-class society in Westeroes.
"Watch out for the Lannisters" A man whispered to you, "You're young, clearly not used to this setting, they'll try to get a rise out of you. Perhaps, make you accidentally spill something. Just make yourself scarce." You valued his words. You looked up at him, he was a decent height, his posture was stiff, back as straight as a ruler. His hair was a reddish brown colour. He was older than you by more than a few years, his stance told you that he was familiar with this scene.
You nodded your head slowly at his warning but you weren't overly concerned about the Lannisters, "I have a steady hand, thanks though, I appreciate the warning" You replied in a hushed tone.
"No worries, they are the worst you'll meet" He sounded sure of that, as if he was certain that they were to be the worst in the room.
You find that hard to believe, you were working at a Targaryen event. You'd never say that though, especially not here. You mental rolled your eyes, you did not do it literally in case someone sees you. You would not snub them while working for them at their event. You were all still being debrief when a man walked in, looking tall and sharp in his expensive looking suit. You had only ever seen such a suit on a runway before. Instead of a basic white coloured shirt underneath, he wore a black turtleneck which could be seen peaking out from the black suit jacket. But the most interesting part was the red velvet material which was draped across his front, starting from underneath the left side of his jacket, wrapping along the front and back before it was secured at the bottom of the jacket at the left side once again. The rest of the soft velvet fabric was left hanging there as a statement piece.
The man's salt and pepper hair was cut short, facial hair trimmed into a neat finish. His eyes. One a soft brown and the other a pale purple, this was Valarr's father. It had to be, the resemblance is uncanny. You were not a fool, you knew who this was. Baelor Targaryen, the current CEO of House Targaryen.
"Don't mind me, please" He said casually as if he wasn't the person signing everyone's pay checks. You gulped when you watched his eyes tracing over every person in the room, you did not know what he was or who he was seeking out, you weren't sure if you wanted to know. You tried to act like you were still paying attention to the head waiter but that ceased when you saw Baelor's eyes falter when they looked over you, stopping there for a moment as if he was trying to recollect something from memory.
You thought rationally, you had never met this man nor would you ever be in a place where he would be. He's merely just thinking about something. But you couldn't help but grow small under his gaze which was on you, studying you like one studies a potential threat. But then his gaze softened before moving on and you could finally breathe again, the palms of your hands had collected slight sweat. His eyes reminded you so much of Valarr, it was mesmerising.
He exchanged a few hushed words with the head waiter, clearly something that the rest of you did not need to know. The head waiter nodded curtly.
"I wish you all luck" Mr Targaryen announced before leaving, his strides long and confident, carrying himself with an air of calmness yet somehow he did not give you that. On his way out, he looked at you once again but the hard, suspicious look was gone, instead he gave you a smile, not one out of kindness or encouragement, it was cheeky, as if he knew something that you did not. But then you realised, you were stood in a crowd of people, that could've easily been for the man next to you, the man who had worked these events before. That would make more sense.
You heard some from behind you make a choking sound, confused you slightly turned your head to see if they were okay to be met with immediate questioning. "What in the seven hells was that?"
"What?"
"Did you not see the way he was staring into your soul? You sure this is your first time working here?"
"Probably just confused me with someone else, I have one of those faces, you know?" You came up with an excuse quickly, you did not have one of those faces. "It was probably towards him, he's worked with them before" You suggested, nodding your head towards the older man who did not say anything, you don't even know if he had heard you. They seemed to trust your words, somewhat believing them enough to not question you anymore. You had no answers to give them, you don't believe it was directed towards you.
Soon enough it was time for the work to start, all of you being sent out with a tray in hand. You envied those that got to carry the food platters, they did not have to walk as carefully. You had been tasked with a circular tray of champagne flutes, it was slightly intimidating. Having to carry twelve glasses on one tray without spilling a single drop, all while only using one hand. You had hoped it would've been one of those trays which held the glasses in place but it was not.
The gala itself was full, high society from the entirety of Westeroes was in one building for tonight. All dressed as if they were at a fashion show, as if they had to make a statement piece to be noticed. It was not your scene, too elitist for your tastes. You didn't belong in such places in a position other than the one you were playing currently. The waiter, the server, the lesser.
You walk through the crowds, careful not to step on any fabric trains attached to the most lavish of gowns to ever exist. Hands came at you quickly, almost like an attack. Snatching up glasses like they would die if they did not get one of the twelve, as if there weren't other waiters carrying the same drink. You had one drink left, it did not take long therefore once this one was taken, you'd have to go back to the kitchen and grab another tray full of drinks. You watched as a hand reached forward and grabbed the last glass, it wasn't a quick fleeting motion which left you startled by the speed or harshness. It was calm and sure, picking up the glass delicately.
Your eyes fluttered up to see Valarr, the worst person you could ever see at this event. Stood there like looking more confident than he usually seemed, head held high and posture picture perfect. Hair styled even more perfectly than usual, the dark scenery of the gala and his dark coloured suit really put an emphasis on the silver-gold streak in his hair. His suit was almost the same as his father's, you were guessing they had chosen to match. But instead of the red sash being velvet, it was silk. The shiny fabric catching the light, making him stand out like painite amongst diamonds. It was a good change, it fit him. You don't even think handsome is a good enough description for how he looked, he was beyond handsome. He looked like the Prince which young girls wish for in childhood, he looked like a dream.
He hadn't noticed it was you, or at least you don't think so. His eyes hadn't widened upon seeing you, confusion hadn't spread across his features nor an expression of knowing so you believe you are in the clear. So you quickly excused yourself, moving fast and weaving through people carefully. You needed to go and get more champagne flutes anyway, but your heart was pounding in your chest, you think it's because of your fear of being recognised by him. But it felt weirdā¦weirder than anxiety and slightly more unpleasant if possible. You shook it off as nothing. You couldn't put a name to it therefore it was nothing.
So you continued with your work. You had to admit, the gossip which circulated this event was interesting, almost made working this ostentatious event worth it. It was a charity event, it was for a good cause. But it was preformative, to show that the Targaryens care about the lower people, the ones they look down upon from their elevated position in the world.
"Did you hear about Manfred Dondarrion?"
"No?"
"I heard he got another woman pregnant."
"Hm, they do say old habits die hard, don't they?"
"That they do, seems that suchā¦behaviours are common in the Stormlands, all that energy has to go somewhere. I'm sure his wife tells herself that."
You did not know who Manfred Dondarrion was but you were very interested to find out who he got pregnant. You doubt they would be here, out of shame you assume. Also their tone when talking of the other woman, it told you that she wasn't of the same status as them.
"Shouldn't you beā¦serving?"
Your head snapped around, your heart stopping the rhythmic beating in your chest for a fleeting moment before you realise it is just Lyonel. Dressed differently than usual, he was always rather showy with his clothing but this was a whole other level. His suit was sparkling gold, with a black button-up shirt underneath the closed gold suit jacket, a few of the buttons were undone to reveal the skin and slight hair growing on his chest. If the gold suit wasn't overkill already, the real kicker was the golden fur jacket which he wore, it was so long that it almost touched the ground. Fingers decked out in gold rings and a gold chain hung from his neck, shining when the light caught it.
"What in the gods names are you wearing?" You asked, looking him up and down, cataloguing every gaudy accessory he had on, he was always liked to show off his wealth but never like this. You did not know he could become even more extravagant but he had clearly outdone himself.
A cocky smile appeared on his face, showing you how proud he felt in his stance. "Dolce and Gabbana, heard of them? I think not" He sassed, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his champagne glass, "I'm actually not a big fan of champagneā¦ are there any other drinks?" He asked, looking at the flute in his hand with a look of disdain but that did not stop him from taking another sip.
You rolled your eyes, for a man who spent so much time with peasants, he was so classist it was honestly shocking. "Red wine but that doesn't matter, who is Manfred Dondarrion?" You brushed off his question, giving him a quick answer. If anyone was to know this man, it would be Lyonel Baratheon. Plus, they said he was from the Stormlands and so was Lyonel, he had offered to take you, Dunk and Raymun there during spring break but you don't know how nice that would be. You can't imagine the weather being great in the Stormlands.
He squinted his eyes at you, analysing you and trying to discover your intent with asking such a question with no words exchanged. Just his eyes, looking into yours intensely. "Why do you care about that twat? You should do yourself a favour and avoid that ginger cunt. He gets handsy" Lyonel whispered, his hand covering his mouth as he leaned down slightly to tell you.
"Oh" You grimaced, you'd be sure to steer clear of him. You don't know what you expected to be completely honest.
Lyonel huffed a laugh before you watched his facial expression change into something far more earnest, "If you want anymore advice, I'd say if you are out on the floor, you should move. There are eyes on you" Lyonel warned, his voice ominous and more serious than you have ever heard from him. It alarmed you, your heart rate picking up as your eyes widened. "I should move too, many people wish to speak with me and I intend to avoid all of them" And with that he was off, avoiding conversation by moving every few moments so people could see him but not move quick enough to speak with him. He only wanted to talk of the pleasures of life, he had no interest in his family's business, at least not yet.
But you were still stuck in his first sentence, that eyes were on you. The look in his eyes being so serious, his voice hard and stern, not the usual playful tone which you were convinced his voice just naturally had. It had put you on edge, looking over your shoulder but you couldn't see anyone looking at you. For a moment, you thought he might have just been trying to frighten you but that was not likely, he was far too serious looking for that. If he could fake that, he should be studying drama or go into acting.
So you played your role to the best of your abilities, not trying to draw attention to yourself. In fact, you did your best to become a part of the decor, to became less of a person and more of something that just exists. That's all you were to these people anyway. Soon enough, it had become time for the dinner party section of the night. Where they all went into the next room, a grand hall with long tables covered in black cloth, cushioned black leather seats to match. The cloth napkins were a deep red to match the aesthetic of the room. The Targaryens table was right at the end of the room, near the window wall. Their table stood different, instead of being a column, it was a row so they could look over every other table. It reminded the others of the power imbalance, no matter how rich or powerful they got, House Targaryen will always be on top. They will always be above the rest of us.
You could see all the Targaryen family members, looking as dashing as the stories told them to be. You had never seen Baelor's wife, Jena Targaryen up close before, you had never seen any of them up close besides Valarr to be completely honest with yourself. But gods, she was beautiful. Long, curly ginger hair styled into intricate braids which you were certain took several stylists to do. Unlike most of her family which wore red and black, she wore purple. It was said the colour purple was the colour of royalty and you had to agree, she looked like a queen. It was an off the shoulder dress, matte purple in colour with the bottom of the dress being a mesh black which had patterns of three-headed-dragons crafted into the fabric to remind everyone of the family she had married into. She may not be wearing red, but she was wearing dragons. There was also this black mesh fabric that was connected to the back of her dress, just below her shoulders which connected to her pinky fingers with a small ties to make the train behind her look almost like wings if she lifted her arms. You could see some of her features in Valarr but he definitely took after his father more.
You noticed a younger ginger boy, dressed the same as Valarr but instead of the sash being red, it was a deep purple. It was his younger brother, Matarys. He most likely wasn't over the age of fifteen, he looked so young and he took after his mother in looks. Inheriting her ginger hair and sparkling light blue eyes. He seemed well mannered, moreso than any teenager you had ever seen. Sitting next to his brother, mimicking the same mannerisms. At that moment, you could not help but consider something you had never thought about before, how high society strips childhood away. Of course, you did not dwell on it too long, you did not have time to. You would push it down and maybe think on it later.
Aerion Targaryen looked as radiant as many had described him. Sharp and angular features which made him look like the dragon he claimed to be, his choppy, pale silver-gold hair resembling the spikes and scales. He wore a red velvet suit which had a design that looked like orange flames licked up the sides of his suit jacket, the loose material flowed behind him like a trail of flames wherever he went. It made quite the dramatic entrance but you suppose that was the point, he wanted the attention, he wanted people to see him.
Daeron was more simple looking, it was rather refreshing especially compared to his younger brother. He wore a simple red suit with a black button-up shirt underneath, but paired with his suit jacket was a long, black leather jacket placed on top making his outfit look more expensive. Layering often had that effect. He did not seem like he wanted to be here, his face gloomy and energy non-existent. Last you heard, he was sent to rehab. It was very hush-hush but there were lots of rumours that he had to be sent away, by the looks of it though, it did not seem to help.
Maekar Targaryen's four youngest children were not present. Whether it is because he cannot make them behave for several hours on end or they threw a fit, you do not know. You could not help but be envious of them, you'd rather be anywhere else. Apparently, Aemon Targaryen had stepped back from having anything to do with the Targaryen family business, wishing to pursue his own path. You don't know how true that is but it explained why he was not here.
Maekar himself was dressed well, similar to Baelor with a few differences, the colours were opposite. The main colour Maekar wore was red with black highlights. Red suit with a black velvet sash. He was sat next to his older brother, also seemingly done with this event. You could bet that he was eagerly counting down the minutes until he could leave with or without his children.
The night had gone smoothly, therefore you did not think anything would go wrong. Considering it was almost over, you thought that everything had gone pretty great. And things were until you felt eyes looking at you. You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, looking up and seeing Baelor Targaryen staring at you once again, curiosity filling his eyes as he looked at you across the room. You don't know if he hasn't realised you can see him or if he simply does not care. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, startled and confused. You do not know what you had done to bring yourself to the attention of a man so high up in the world and it made you unbelievably uncomfortable.
It made you so uncomfortable in fact that you forgot what you were doing. Causing your hands to falter slightly, losing momentary control over the wine bottle which you had been pouring, a few droplets spilling onto the gold and brown patterned suit jacket. Your eyes widened as you stared at the red wine stain which was forming, blooming into splotches and overtaking the gold colouring quickly.
"I am so sorry" You immediately apologised, you hadn't even looked to see who you had spilled it on, after a while, rich people started to become undistinguishable even in their intricate garbs. Everyone was still chatting loudly, your transgression had seemingly gone unnoticed.
Or you thought it did until a hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back towards the table and you struggled to keep the bottle of wine from spilling again, "This suit is Dior, you know that?" His voice was calm, not angry, not even a little frustrated. It was completely still, almost playful which made you more nervous. It was like he was waiting for someone to slip up, for the tiniest of mistakes the occur.
"I'm very sorry, sir."
"Oh I have no doubt about that" He smiled, his breath smelt like a concoction of several different alcohols, you would not be surprised if he was already drunk by the time he had showed up. You could smell the richness of Redwyne Wine but also the cheapness of low quality ale. "I'm asking, what are you going to do about it?"
You just looked at him, words escaping you completely as you just froze. His hand held your wrist tightly, keeping you close and it was as if the rest of the people at that table didn't even know you existed. They could see him, they could hear him, they could see the look of panic in your face, the uncomfortableness which escaped your body in waves, changing the atmosphere which surrounded the table. And they ignored it, they ignored you. You have never felt like a ghost more in your life. You looked past you, through you. They continued laughing and joking, talking about business and investments.
"I have a few suggestions if you struggle to think of a way to reimburse me, you aren't too hard to look at-"
There was a loud screech of a chair moving back, it dragged across the marbled flooring, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Including the man who was holding you close. You took that opportunity to pull your hand out of his grasp, slipping it out quickly and immediately backing away out of his grasp.
You looked up and saw Valarr, standing tall and looking as domineering as a Targaryen should. "Perhaps Manfred has had too much to drink, you may benefit from stepping outside, getting some air" You believe he should have added a joking tone to his voice, to try and make it softer but he did not. His voice was stern, as rigid as could be. He seemed very bit like the heir he was. His jaw was tight, his words coming out through gritted teeth. You could see his mother, Jena, looking up at her son with a proud expression, as if she was truly happy he was doing something. Proud of the son she raised.
But you did not stay long to admire that reaction from her, you were quick to escape the scene. Embarrassment, shame, mortified, you could not find words that would adequately describe the way you felt. You knew this job was going to be a bad idea but you allowed yourself to listen to others, to allow their opinions to get to you, you allowed them to change your mind.
You heard your own footsteps, quick and erratic, moving fast to escape the scene. But you also heard another pair of footsteps, clicking against the fine marble flooring. The footsteps were measured, not chasing you but they were following quickly. You slipped into a side room, a room filled with napkins and table cloths of all different sizes and colourings.
You heard the door open a few seconds after you had shut it and then swiftly shut once again, you did not need to wait long before discovering who had followed you. "Are you okay?" Valarr asked, cautiously standing near the door. Not getting too close, still keep a good distance between you two. You don't know why he had followed you, perhaps a sense of responsibility as he somewhat knows you, he has to acknowledge you as a person and not as a being who works for his family.
You nodded your head. You were okay, it wasn't that big of a deal. It became a far bigger spectacle than it was, it wasn't like it was the first time someone had grabbed you in such a manner. Perhaps, it was just more unfamiliar to him, he's never worked at a bar at 1 am. "I'm fine, just a little stunned. I've had worse, I used to work in a bar. Besides it was my fault, I was distracted and spilled wine on him" You attempted to ignore the advancements he made, it was nothing unfamiliar and you did not see a reason to mention it to him. Nobody at that table seemed to care, why should he?
But his reaction shocked you. "That does not matter! He should never have grabbed you like thatā¦ It pains me to know I am somewhat related to that man. Distant relative but not distant enough" Valarr grimaced, you could hear it in his voice. You did not understand why he was so distraught over what happened, it happens all the time. Perhaps shame, that could possibly be why. Knowing that it was partially his blood that had acted out.
"Oh yeah?"
"He's my mother's cousin, we do not claim him nor do we accept the way he chooses to conduct himself. He's vile" Valarr said, his voice strong and full of conviction. He did not need to convince you that he truly felt that way. It felt almost nice, to have him be on your side. To have something akin to support from him.
You huffed a laugh, rubbing your sore wrist as you lifted your head to look at him. "So when did you realise it was me?" You asked, you felt slightly embarrassed. Not only had he recognised you, he saw you basically getting manhandled by some rich asshole who liked to sleep around and neglect his wife.
"At the beginning" He answered truthfully, "I did not say anything because you seemed rather uncomfortable already. If the circumstances were different and you had looked at ease, I would've said hello. It felt rude to ignore your existence but I understand this atmosphere is quite intimidating. I did not want to add to your uneaseā¦ why do you ask?" He had turned the question on you.
You shrugged, you did not have a reason for asking, you just wanted to know when he knew it was you. Was it when he took the drink from your tray or when he saw you being harassed? "I'm just surprised that you were able to."
He didn't say anything, no response to your words. Instead there was this look in his eyes, it told you that he wanted to say something, something his mind was so clearly stuck on but he just chose not to. Looking off to the side with his gorgeous mismatched eyes. "Is your wrist all right?"
"Yeahā¦ it's uh, it's just a little sore" You assured him, smiling at him weakly as you let your hand fall to your side. It was fine, you'd wake up in the morning and be fine. It wouldn't impair you in any way and therefore, you were as right as rain.
He nodded, unsure of what to say. It was nice, to see him fumble for things to say. The perfect princess did not seem so perfect in this moment, too far out of his depth.
You felt the need to express your gratitude, he could've let it continue, pretending he did not see it like the rest of them but he did not. "Thank you for helping me, you could've ignored what was happening but you didn't" It felt weird, thanking him. You had talked shit about him not even too long ago, the conversation was basically still fresh in your memory. Now, you were thanking him for helping you, thanking him for standing up for you in a room of people who did not care for your whole existence.
"Please don't thank me, please" He replied quickly, "Being thanked for doing something everyone should doā¦ it feels wrong. If I allowed him to continue, how would I be able to look you in the face on Monday? Not to mention, it would simply be wrong for me not to use my position against someone harming another person." His response was noble, you could see that he truly meant it as well which gave you some comfort. Perhaps not all of them were inherently evil, but you could not fully cancel out the potential of him hiding the crazy side of himself.
You sighed, "Well, I appreciate you doing something. Iā¦ I didn't know what to do" You admitted. It was hard to admit, hard to say that you were in that moment scared. Not scared of Manfred, no, scared of not knowing what to do. You froze up, you just stared at him. You watched as people ignored your existence and you knew that they wouldn't have cared what happened to you.
You watched as he stretched his hand out, unsure and hesitant before pulling back. He looked as though he wanted to comfort you, to reach out and give you something, someone, to grab onto. But he backed out, stayed where it was safe for both you and him.
"I'll see you on Monday" He gulped, you watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, your eyes honing in on it an absurd amount. "If you don't want to finish your shift, no one would blame you. Please, just go home. Go rest and enjoy your weekend. I'll make sure my father does not dock your pay but I do not believe he would." You had heard about the kindness of Baelor Targaryen, the hope for the future of Targaryens. His father, Daeron, was good but you had heard that Baelor was better.
You couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, you felt like you were finally seeing him for a moment. But then immediately he fell back into the perfect heir role again, not Valarr who was out of his depth, not Valarr whose emotions became so clear on his face and in his eyes. No, he fell back into his curated trained personality which relied on business speech. But you had to remember, you did not know him. You could not make too many judgements about how he should be.
Chapter One
Summary: Valarr Targaryen, a perfect and flawless man, from a family of the highest nobility. He was the prime example of what a man of his status should be, polished and civil. He was by definition perfect, that was fact. Then there was you, a law student who struggled her way from the bottom in hopes to make it to the top, intelligent in every way other than feeling. These were two lives that should have never crossed, should have never become entangled and yet, they did. A boy and a girl, one intent on feeling and the other devout to the safety of fact.
wc: 3.6k
Content/Warning: No warnings for this chapter. Slight talk of poverty/class differences. Feelings of envy.
Modern au! Valarr Targaryen x reader
Masterlist
Self-indulgent university romance fic because I was not given that uni romance I was promised by every form of media.
The library cafe was bustling, students moving in and out quickly, buying their lunch or getting a coffee. You were sat at a table of four, placed next to the window wall where you could watch students walking across campus like zombies in an apocalypse, soulless and dead inside. Already, the hype for the new semester has died down, only two weeks in and everyone is already fed up.
"The gig is good, all you have to do is walk around, holding a tray in a massive hall filled with rich people. Barely any social interaction is necessary. You'll pour wine or champagne into a few rich folks cups butā¦" Raymun tried to sound somewhat convincing but it was for naught. You had already made up your mind, you were not working that gala. No matter how much he or anyone else tried to convince you that it was a good opportunity for you, regardless of who it was for.
"No social interaction is necessary, unless they wish to scorn you in front of their friendsā¦ which probability is high there so be that as it may" Lyonel interjected, he would know wealthy people far more than you and Dunk, who had not yet placed his thoughts into the mix, Lyonel was one of them. You really don't understand why he flocked over to Dunk on the first day of the semester a year ago but you had all been stuck with him since. Stuck with his absurd attitude and obnoxiously loud laugh which was too infectious, almost like a disease.
Dunk thought for a moment, you were hoping he would be on your side. He was the most familiar with your situation after all, both being from the bottom. But alas, you were disappointed. "I think you should do it, working at that cafe can only pay so much and you can barely afford the sandwich you are eatingā¦" His voice was stiff as he shared his opinion on the matter, clearly not wanting to weigh in on your decision but still offered his advice as you had made the mistake of asking for it.
You groaned loudly, sinking into the flat cushioned chairs which were a staple in the library cafe. "Do none of you understand, it's a gala hosted by the Targaryens. The Targaryens people!" You exclaimed with frustration, the way you said the very name 'Targaryen' was filled with contempt, spitting it out as if it were an insult. You had not realised it was for them when you had applied, they had outsourced another company to find them servers for their gala and you just happened to stumble across it.
You heard one of them laugh like your predicament was funny to him, you already knew who it was well before they spoke. "We are aware, I'll be there so make sure you have a drink waiting for me, server girl" Lyonel teased, a large smirk spreading across his face, his eyes lighting up with mischief. You did not even want to know what he was thinking, what he could possibly be planning. For it did not matter, you were not doing it. You may just have to choose between meals and rent, how delightful.
"Of course you'll be there, Baratheon" You grumbled, "Don't you have another exam to fail or something?" There was no true ire within your words but he had slightly annoyed you.
"Ouch, that hurt" He feigned pain, holding a hand over his heart as if you had shot an arrow into it. Before he stuck his tongue out at you, dropping the hand from his chest and instead reaching into his brown leather bag, pulling out a sleek gold flask and twisting the top off with a flick of the wrist.
Dunk's thick, blonde eyebrows furrowed slightly with confusion at the discussion at hand, "Targaryens cannot truly be that bad. I coach one of them, the young bald one." You forget that Dunk does not pay attention enough to understand who the Targaryens are, oh how you wished you could be as blissfully ignorant as your dear friend. You do not look down on him for it but sometimes you wonder if playing rugby had knocked half of his brain cells out his head.
"Yes, I'm sure the 10 year old is a delight. The madness has not gotten to him yet. Maybe it strikes them at puberty or something" You smirked, finding yourself funny. It was a genuine thought though, when does madness take them? Are they born with it or is it conditioning? You would never discover the answers unfortunately.
Lyonel snickered, throwing his head back like you had said the funniest thing he had ever heard. Either that or the vodka not-so-discreetly hidden within his golden flask had finally gotten to him, "You have yet to meet Aerion, Dunk, he is a little monster" Lyonel confirmed, having met with him personally a fair few times, none of those times being pleasant.
"Surely he can't be that bad" Dunk replied, his voice so sure in defence of strangers that he has never met. Strangers who would not defend him even if begged to. You did admire Dunk's view on the world, believing people to be better than they are, to see the good in people. It was an admirable trait which he possessed. You, however, lacked such a trait.
"Yes, that is true. He is worse than bad. The little figure skater is a complete terror" You confirmed, you had only heard stories. The second you saw that choppy, pale silver hair appear, you ran like your life depended on it. You would say something to offend him, you just know it, he is offended by the air blowing a little too hard in his direction. Insulting a Targaryen was like committing social suicide, you'd be excluded instantly if you said something around the wrong people. Luckily, you knew the right people to be friends with. Although, you weren't sure about Lyonel at first, being cautious to say anything around him for the first few months of knowing him. Dunk and Raymun were a different case. They were just normal, no big family name, no old money.
"My cousin tried to gain his favour once, but it did not end well for him" Raymun shuddered at the memory, "Served him right though, I liked Aerion in that moment." You bet he did, you had the misfortune of meeting Steffon Fossoway. Not a pleasant person to be around, full of himself. Bought you a drink during freshers and immediately assumed that meant you'd go back to his flat with him, he was sorely mistaken. The next morning, you found out he went around calling you a prude and that you 'led him on'. He was a social climber although you don't believe it has proved fruitful as of yet, he knew all the names of those worthy people, yet you are sure that they know him not.
You heard Lyonel's fingers drumming against the polished wooden armrest, "Don't you have class with one of them?" He asked you, looking at you with eyes full of curiosity. He was right, you studied the same degree as one of those significant beings.
You sighed at the thought of him, "I do, Valarr Targaryen. God, he's so perfect that it genuinely irks me. It's like he's- he's not even human! Like everyone has an off day at least one, except him. It makes no sense, plus he's like a complete nepo baby." If you were a better person, you'd probably feel bad or at least a little rotten for speaking ill of someone you do not know. But seeing him walking into class every morning, looking as perfect as the day before, as if he had not seen a bad day, as if the world was especially made for him. It basically was if you thought about it, every door was open for him, money was no issue. You could not help but feel at least somewhat sour when you thought of him.
"Nepo babies make it far in this world" Lyonel stated, he had never spoken such true words before.
"You'd know, wouldn't you?" You huffed a laugh into your coffee cup. You watched as Lyonel's head cocked to the side, giving you a sharp smile which you rolled your eyes at.
"What does the Targaryen company even do?"
You all just turn to Dunk and blink at him, all three of you completely dumbfounded by a single sentence to come out of his mouth. "Are you being serious?" Raymun asked, looking over at you and then Lyonel before looking back at Dunk's clueless expression.
He nodded so earnestly it actually made you feel terrible. He wasn't the brightest but you all loved him for it. His mind confused you quite a lot, he was incredibly wise sometimes and then other times he wouldn't know a foot from a hand.
Lyonel threw his hands up in amusement, "They basically own everything, what they don't do is more of the question" Lyonel explained, "Food and technology are their main thing but if they can do it and make a profit, they will. Aegon, the founder of the company, was a vicious man according to the history books."
"I heard Maegor was worse" You contend for the sake of it, knowing you were right. "The point is, they are all mad in some way. Every single one of them. Some just hide it better than others" You said plainly, as if there was no room for argument. You were certain of this, it was clear-cut. Sure, some had done good deeds but few compared to the majority of cruel and unethical men who commanded the world like Kings.
You heard Lyonel's maddening little chuckle, "Oh so that's why you dislike poor Valarr? I can say, he is actually a rather polite boy" Lyonel came to his defence. He knew Valarr personally, you always forget that he does actually socialise with the upper-class and doesn't just spend all his time down below with the lesser. Even acknowledging the fact he goes to the galas and parades around in designer clothing, the finest of fabrics and drinking the finest wines the world has seen, you actually struggle to comprehend him speaking with the Targaryens, or anyone of a higher status.
You scoffed, "Oh I have no doubt. But that is precisely my point, he just hides it better. Too perfect, nobody is that perfect unless they are hiding something, compensating for something." There had to be something, something just felt off about him. He was curated. You could see it, not necessarily a bad thing but paired with his family nameā¦
"Lack of silver-gold hair I suppose?"
You shrugged, "Who knows. Anyway, I've got to run" You announced. You began packing your Chromebook and notebook back into your simple tote bag. You lived near the campus so you didn't have to worry about having a proper backpack like the commuters who travelled an hour to sit in a lecture which could have been an email. You slung the bag under your shoulder, feeling the weight of it pull a little bit.
"Go on then, little lawyer. I'll need you on retainer for my company one day so get to studying."
"I'd rather cut off my own foot than work for you, Laughing Storm" You remarked, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile which was quickly mirrored on his face, sending it right back to you.
You left the library and began the walk to the law building which was less than a two minute walk from here. It was a tall large building with a white domed roof, it still felt surreal when you looked at it. The fact that you made it here, you had been told it was unlikely that you'd be accepted by this university and yet here you are. You cannot lie and say it makes up for the struggle of surviving here but it did make it more bearable.
You sat down in a row further in the back, you disliked being too close to the front and the middle attracted too many people. You just wanted to get through this lecture while your mind was currently occupied by thoughts about if you could even afford to have dinner tonight. Someone had sat down next to you, you could feel their presence beside you, making the air shift. You didn't bother to cast a gaze at them, instead you began to take your Chromebook and notebook out. You plunged your hand into your bag, searching for the stray pen you knew you had in there, you had used it at the library so unless you forgot itā¦ Goddammit.
You mentally smacked yourself for being so neglectful but then again, it was just a simple ballpoint pen. The world was not going to end, you had another one sitting on your desk at your flat. The worst part was having to ask someone if they had a spare, it always felt so awkward, especially when they did not. "Hey, I hate to ask" You began, already sounding exasperated, "Do you have a spare pen or-" You turned your head and abruptly stopped. Sat next to you was the man you had spoke of earlier. Valarr Targaryen. Sat there like the perfect prince he was, you knew you were not mistaken as that silver-gold streak of hair was facing in your direction, so clear against the rest of his perfectly styled dark, chocolate brown hair.
He looked back at you with a small soft smile on his immaculate face, "or pencil? I have a spare pen" He replied, leaning down and picking up his black leather messenger bag, opening the flap of it to reach in and find you what you had asked for. You sat staring at the bag, the weaved material pattern could have been mistaken for dragon scales at a glance, perhaps that is why he chose it. Targaryen were blood of the dragon, whatever that even means. Just another reason for them to have a sense of superiority over everyone else, to walk around like Gods amongst men.
You didn't recognise the brand of the bag he used, it had to be designer, you knew that much. Probably some rich-rich brand that someone of your class wouldn't even be able to recognise. You wanted to roll your eyes but you thought better of it, envy was an ugly emotion, you knew that but gods, it was hard not to be when these people existed. He would never know the fear of not knowing when your next meal was.
The pen he had handed to you was nothing short of pretentious. You were grateful, obviously, he had given it to you out of kindness, he did not need to. But who carries fountain pens around casually? That was pompous. It felt smooth in your hand, the main colour of its body being a glossy black but instead of having a silver or gold point, the point was a blood red colour.
You looked at the pen for a moment, just admiring it and trying to forget the status which clung to it in your brain, just trying to see it for what it was. A pen. "Thank you" You said demurely, uncomfortable taking something so expensive. You could practically feel the weight of it in your hand, this pen probably cost what you made in an entire day working at the small cafe in a bookshop.
He nodded lightly, "It's no problem, I'm happy to help" He replied, giving the most ideal answer one could possibly give. You nodded and turned back to looking straight ahead, hoping that the professor would appear quickly. You couldn't help but feel the sharp pin-prick of guilt and shame, you had spoken ill of his man not even ten minutes ago and now you have asked him for a favour.
You subconsciously turned your head towards him, gazing at him while he took his laptop out of his designer bag. It was a matte black with a red three-headed dragon in the centre, the emblem of the Targaryens. The model was slightly bigger than yours but smaller than a proper laptop, made to be portable and lightweight, ideal for university students or those who travelled for work. You watched as his fingers traced along the edges before gently lifting the lid to reveal the screen. It was only when you looked up that you made eye contact with him, he was looking at you. He was looking at you looking at him.
"Sorry, just spacing out" You lied, waving him off and pretending that you weren't studying him like he was a god come to life. Some may say they are Gods. With their striking silver-gold hair and brilliant purple eyes. But it was in that moment you realised another feature that made Valarr different, appearance wise anyway. One of his eyes were brown, a deep, soft brown which gave him a warmer appearance compared to his pale violet eye. He had heterochromia. "You have nice eyes" You said without thinking before looking away, opening your notebook which you had placed at the side of your Chromebook.
You heard him mumble a thank you and you would have thought nothing of it if you didn't realise this was a Targaryen. Targaryens don't mumble when complimented and they certainly don't sit there stunned at a simple word of praise. He was a handsome man, flattery is surely nothing new to him. You decided to let it go, he most likely just wasn't expecting a compliment.
The professor walked in, looking lethargic as usual. You understand that property laws in Westeroes is not the most engaging subject but it was necessary to learn. His face wrinkled and a frown fixed to his face like he could not make a different expression. Wearing his walnut brown suit like a uniform, white undershirt ironed and smooth with discipline. He was a seemingly mirthless man, a harsh marker and merciless critic when it came to feedback. But he was an effective educator, if you were not exceptional then you were nothing.
Valarr did not engage in any whispered chatter and neither did you. You both sat in complete silence, soaking in the information which was being provided. You could hear his pen scratching against the highest quality of paper money could afford, that tingly scraping sound which was pleasant to listen to. You are sure Valarr is paying attention, understanding property laws are essential for businesses.
Once the lecture was over, you closed your Chromebook with a sigh, stretching your arms up and rolling your shoulders, feeling the stiffness of them. You picked up the pen which was resting against your notebook, you held it out to Valarr who was packing away his things. You watched as his eyes flit up to yours and then down at the pen, "Keep it, I have plenty of them" He told you, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He did not wait for a response, not that you had one to give. He gave you a short side-smile before turning his body and sauntering away casually, leaving you there, still holding the pen out.
You looked at the pen again and shrugged, placing it into your bag. It felt weird, keeping something that belonged to Valarr Targaryen, even if it was something as simple as a pen. Maybe he didn't want it back after your low-class hands touched it? You rolled your eyes at your ridiculous thought, no, he wasn't Aerion.
The walk back to your uni accommodation was nice, the sun was shining down on the surface, it wasn't too hot. No, it was the beginning of autumn, the days were beginning to get shorter and the nights longer, the air had chilled too, giving you a taste of what it will be like when winter comes. It was 4pm already, the sun would not be up for much longer, just a few hours left of sunlight. Some may have wanted to make use of that sunlight, to spend time in the daylight.
Not you, no, you went back to your accommodation, placed yourself down on the squeaky, cheap desk chair and pondered. You stared holes into the screen of your Chromebook which had the job offer staring back at you. You had applied, you had got accepted. It was good pay, really good, crazy good even. But for the Targaryens. Working at a charity gala hosted by House Targaryen.
What if Valarr recognised you? That would be humiliating, his classmate working for his family as a server at their gala. You would never be able to look at him again. Working for his family, technically for him since he was expected to be there, that would confirm your place and his. You as the lesser, you did not struggle to get good grades and make it to this university to be lesser than a nepo baby.
But it's not like you truly had a choice. You couldn't get any more hours at the cafe and you only made minimum wage there, you could barely cover your rent and basic necessities. You sighed, running your hands through your hair as you took a breath. What are the chances that he would actually recognise you? He had seen you once. A singular time, for an hour in a lecture where he gave you a pen. That is the briefest of interactions, he didn't even know your name.
Truly, what are the chances that he'd recognise you from one conversation?
Apparently, very high.
If anyone wants to be added to the future taglist, feel free to ask in the comment section :)
I feel like if the Backrooms was based in the UK it would be in John Lewis or Primark.
If youāve never been in a John Lewis store before, it genuinely feels like you have walked into another dimension and you canāt remember where you came in from. You'll walk around for 30 minutes and still not find an exit. God forbid you go in with someone else, you'll stray for 5 seconds to go look at some cute ceramic bowl with strawberries on it and suddenly you're alone. Your friend has vanished into thin air.
And Primark is literally hell. Itās got its own ecosystem in there. You can feel the temperature change when you step through the door and that in itself is concerning. I truly can't comprehend how anyone works there.
Summary: Your boyfriend, Bobby, went missing on what he called a 'research project'. You were losing hope that he would return but after three long months, he came home. Only he was different, he acted strange, he was always watching and studying you. You don't know what happened to him nor where he was and he won't tell you either...
wc: 9k
warnings/content: MDNI! 18+ content! Established relationship. Past relationship issues mentioned. Control issues (?). slight angst. Smut. Morning sex. Fingering. Biting kink. slightly creepy? (it's post-backrooms so he's not doing well). Cliffhanger at the end (kind of).
Post-Backrooms!Bobby Franklin x reader
You didn't think much of it at first. Bobby had disappeared, one minute he was here and the next he was gone. He had left a note, saying something about a research project with Kat and his boss, Clark or whatever. You couldn't help the subtle sting of knowing he was with Kat, the sharp pinprick of a needle telling you that you weren't enough. Kat was probably funnier, probably understood him better. You knew the thoughts were ridiculous, caused by your own insecurity but Bobby didn't exactly help with those thoughts, in fact he aided them.
But you let it go. Like you always did. Always letting it go like the carbon dioxide your body expels.
One week.
Two weeks.
Three weeks.
He still hadn't come back. It had been three weeks and he was still on a 'research project'. Three weeks was a long time, you had heard nothing from him or from Kat, not that you expected to hear from her but the point still stands. That was the first time you went to the police. You reported him missing, along with Kat. You knew enough about her to be able to report her disappearance alongside Bobby's. You had let it go on too long, three weeks was such a long time but Bobby was unpredictable. Sometimes he'd just take off, he always came back though so you never had to worry. Not until now.
You saw the look on the police officer's face when you said how long it had been. The silent judgment, it hit you harder than a punch to the gut. A neglectful girlfriend, that's what you were. He probably thought that you didn't care, that you didn't notice his disappearance but you did. You always did. When Bobby went off on his adventures with his friends, you always felt the empty space which he usually occupied with his body, with his attitude, with his mere presence. When he leaves, it creates a mass so large it feels like a black hole. You just dealt with it until he came back, the pressure would relive and things back normal again.
You answered questions to the best of your ability under the scrutinising eye of a police officer, you are sure that you were a suspect. Crazy girlfriend and all that, you're sure your late report of his disappearance didn't help with their suspicions. But you knew the truth and they did too, or at least you hoped they did eventually.
A month had passed. Missing posters had been put up around the entirety of Santa Clara, their faces plastered onto paper, stamped onto wooden posts and trees. The only physical proof of their existence currently, the only proof that they were here. You can't tell if it made things better or worse. When you finally manage to wrangle yourself out of bed to get shopping (long overdue), you are greeted with so many pictures of Bobby's face. The same picture, that picture with his head tilted, a slight side smile like he was incapable of giving a full one, as if it would make him too vulnerable.
One month became two and then two became three.
There was no hope anymore, you knew that, you understood that. But it didn't stop you from staring at the landline for something, for anything. You can't tell if you were waiting for the police to say they found Bobby or if they found a body. Perhaps both, waiting for something that would give you the semblance of closure.
You wanted closure, you wanted to be able to close the book, to feel the cover of the book getting shut beneath your hands. You couldn't help but think over your last day with Bobby. Of course, at the time you didn't know it would be the last day. If you did, maybe you wouldn't have argued, maybe you wouldn't have spent the day glaring over at him while he toyed with his camera. Arguing over a lack of attention seemed stupid now, you complained about the fact he barely even pays attention to you and now he was gone. The universe had a sick sense of humour.
The smell of him in your shitty apartment is gone now too, the slight stale smell of weed mixed with the soft scent of sandalwood. His cologne sat on your bedside table. You had used it at first, just on the pillow that laid under your head to help you sleep but now you were too afraid to touch it. Scared that one day it would run out, that the smell which was so uniquely his would too be gone from your life, you would only be able to remember it. And overtime, you'd forget the keynotes. It would be a slow process, you wouldn't be able to avoid it.
There were other physical reminders, jorts which had been left in the corner of the room. Jewellery which you could find across your entire apartment, in the cramped living room, on the beside table, in the kitchen, even in the bathroom. There was always something, a ring, a chain, a bracelet. You had taken to wearing some of them, your thumb was embraced by a silver ring he often wore. It grounded you, it kept you sane. The cool metal kept him in your mind, kept him alive. The weight of it refused to let you think of him in a past tense, like he was a part of your past and not your future. A reality that was becoming more and more realistic.
You refused to move any of the clothes he had unceremoniously stripped himself of and left on your floor. They remained there no matter how messy it looked, no matter the fact they had been there for three months, untouched by anyone else. You couldn't bring yourself to pick them up, to wash them or move them in any sense. That would be you removing a trace of him, evidence that he existed in this space, a shared space between you. If you picked them up, that was acknowledgement that he wasn't coming back.
Then it happened. You finally had started sleeping throughout the night without the aid of his cologne or sleeping pills. Although, you could not tell if getting sleep was worse than not sleeping at all. Your dreams, or lack there of, would either be pitch black or torturous ideas of what could be happening to Bobby while you lie in this bed, comfortable and alone. Nightmares which you have you shooting upright from your bed, legs kicking to escape the tight restraints known as bedsheets which had tangled around your legs through a night of tossing and turning.
You woke up to the landline, the loud ringing which broke through your empty sleep. You reached your hand out, it searching the wooden bedside table for the docked phone, hitting against wood until it found what it was looking for, that distinctive glossy plastic feel, to stop the ringing which echoed throughout the empty apartment and made your newly awoken brain hurt from the mere sound.
Pushing your body up with one hand while you accepted the call with the other, pressing the phone against your ear. Your brain couldn't process what was happening, not until they said the words that made your heart stop.
"We found him."
You could feel everything stop in that moment, your breathing, your heart, the police officer's voice becoming inaudible. Instead of his voice and words, you heard static, starting quiet but increasingly getting louder. You dropped the phone, ripping the bedsheets off of you like they were personally trying to hold you back, to keep you away from Bobby longer. You hadn't even turned the light on, you didn't need it. You didn't even get changed properly, the last thing you cared about was your appearance, you reached for a shirt and grabbed whatever brushed against your fingertips first.
You grabbed your car keys and ran out the door, you don't even remember if you locked it but that's besides the point. You doubt someone would be dumb enough to try and rob a broke uni student whose apartment was essentially falling apart. The drive to the police station was quiet, the type of quiet where the tension in the air is palpable, where you can feel it weighing heavy on your chest and shoulders like an unknown presence pushing down on you. No music, no talking, just pure silence in the dead of night.
It was still dark outside, not pitch black anymore but that sparkly dark blue. Twilight. Where the bright stars shine against a midnight blue backdrop. Where the edges of the sky slowly start becoming a lighter blue, a reminder that a new day is approaching, a new beginning is starting, that the sun will rise again.
When you walked into the small Santa Clara police station, you saw him. You never thought you'd see him again. Not alive anyway, you had starting accepting the idea that the next time you'd see him, he'd be on a cool metal table, a white sheet would be covering his naked body and they'd ask you if it was him, if it was Robert Franklin. But here he was, alive and breathing before your very eyes.
He looked different, that was to be expected obviously. His hair seemed darker than it was, more brown than blonde but that was due to the fact it hadn't been washed in three months. His eyes, once such a bright blue had dimmed into an empty dark shade, accompanied by dark purple eye bags. He looked skinnier, muscle less defined than it was three months ago. Starvation clear in his features. For a man who appeared so confident and full of life three months ago, he seemed so small. Like he had shrunk himself down in order to survive. The jacket he was wearing wasn't his, you knew that because it was stamped with the emblem of Santa Clara Police Department. But the rest of the clothes were his style, simple yet worthy of a statement.
You could see the white shirt peeking out from under the jacket, white but you could see the distinctive stains of old and new blood on it, caked into the fabric to the point it is inseparable. He was covered in bruises, you could see them on his legs and one of his cheekbones had a blooming plum coloured bruise. Alongside the bruises were the cuts and scrapes, both his knees were scraped red raw. His left cheek was covered in what you could only describe as deep scratches, like long talons had dragged across his face.
You must have said his name without realising, perhaps you yelled it or perhaps said it quietly under your breath, you'll never know. But you must have done something for his head to turn towards you, for his eyes to widen at your sheer presence. You could see it in his eyes, wide and watery. There was longing in his eyes, and he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world. He had never looked at you like that before. But there was also something else in those deeply scarred eyes, but you couldn't name it. There was an edge to it, as sharp as a knife and as quick to disappear as a retractable box cutter.
He moved like a blur, like an animal who had spotted vulnerable prey. You didn't even see him properly, but you felt his weight slam against you. His arms wrapped around your waist as he collapsed into you. He didn't hold himself up, you weren't sure he could. Nor did he give you a chance, his body just gave out like it had been begging for rest, begging for the blanket of safety only you could provide. His already sore and raw knees slammed against the floor, you winced at the sound, as if you could feel the pain of his raw knees digging into the smooth resin floor. He, however, didn't react to the pain, he just pressed his face into your stomach as if he was trying to dig his way into your body. His grip was so tight, his fingertips digging into your sides as if he was trying to latch on for dear life, it was like he was afraid someone would come and take him away from you.
You just held him, you were determined to be his anchor in the storm. Strong and steady, that is what you could be for him. One hand running through his greasy hair, you didn't cringe or grimace at the texture. No, you were amazed. Amazed that he had made it back to you, survived through whatever happened to him, he had come back. He had come back home. It was a surreal moment, how many people can say that their boyfriend was missing for three months and came home alive.
It was then that you looked around for Kat but she wasn't there. She was not sitting on the metal bench that Bobby had been on, nor anywhere else. Maybe someone had already come to pick her up, you hoped as much. You may have had soul crushing jealousy issues towards her but you had no ill-will towards her either, she seemed like a nice girl who you may have been friends with in another life.
But you couldn't concentrate on that for long, not when a police officer walked up to you. You got the 'OK' to take him home, that they were done with questioning for now. You nodded at the man's words but Bobby didn't react, didn't even acknowledge the older man's existence. Just nuzzled into your stomach more like a cat.
You eventually managed to convince him to let you go, holding his hand and leading him to the car. Everything was going to be okay, everything was fine because Bobby was alive. He just needed a lot of rest and help, an extreme amount of help but he was alive. That was all you could truly ask for in situations like these, you already knew how insanely lucky you were.
You were prepared for the first few days to be the hardest, for him to panic, for him to be angry, for him to be anything. But there was none of that. He was eerily quiet, watching you from across the room, cataloguing your movements in his mind. You felt like prey being stalked by a predator, naive and unaware. You kept telling yourself that you were paranoid, that you had spent so much time alone that you had forgotten what another presence felt like. But you knew that was not the truth.
"Bobby?"
"Yeah, babe?" He'd reply instantly, the way he used to before. Calling you 'babe', his voice chilled and laid back as if he hadn't just crawled his way out of the depths of hell. Survived what most don't.
You shook your head, it was your imagination. "Nothing, just making sure you are still hereā¦" You regretted the words instantly, your back going rigid. The concept of you even saying those words to someone who had just escaped hell was ludicrous, you weren't even sure why you said it.
"I'm hereā¦trust me, babe, I'm not leaving ever again" You thought you'd feel reassured by him saying something like that, a declaration that he won't disappear again, that this won't ever be repeated. But you feel a bottomless pit in your stomach, uneasy weighing heavy on your chest like a tonne of bricks. There was something in the way he said it, the way his voice had this dark edge to it that almost felt borderline threatening.
You nodded, your fingers digging into the high-pressure laminate of the kitchen counter. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, collecting yourself and your thoughts which were scattered around, a jumbled mess between relief and terror. You needed to be an anchor, you knew this, he needed you to be this.
You don't know when he moved, when he got up and staggered his way over to you. But suddenly there were arms around your waist, holding tight, too tight. A chin found its place in the crook of your neck, its sharp and angular shape digging into the soft and sensitive skin of your neck. Such a delicate area of anatomy. You could feel his nose pressing against your jugular, breathing you in as if you were a flower which had just bloomed before his very eyes. You couldn't help the reaction your body had, the harsh and sharp flinch which was rooted deep in human behaviours, in your hardware.
He was silent for a moment, contemplating something. You couldn't see his expression, his face hidden from your desperate gaze. But you could feel it, the air seemed to get heavy and the atmosphere damped. "Are you afraid of me?" His voice was soft and quiet, meek is the word to properly describe it. You don't even think that he wants the answer, the possibility of it being 'yes' seemed to be high in his mind.
You hesitated for a moment, you don't even know why. You weren't afraid of Bobby, he had done nothing wrong. "Why would I be afraid of you?" You asked.
He could feel him shrugged his shoulders slightly, keeping his arms around you and his head tucked deep into your neck as if he couldn't bare to have a millimetre of distance between your bodies, as if he needed you to be one with him. "Maybe you think I've changedā¦ that I'm damaged, brokenā¦"
"I don't think that, I would never think that. You're Bobby, you're my Bobby."
He seemed to pause, snuggling into your neck, getting closer to you which you didn't even know was physically possible. His body was pressed against yours with no space between, there wasn't even a concept of personal space, not anymore. "Your Bobbyā¦ I like that" His voice was low, almost a whisper in your ear. If he wasn't so close, you doubt you would've heard it. He seemed to be saying it more to himself than you, you don't even know if he realised those words and slipped out between his lips.
"You've always been my Bobby" You smiled, attempting to lighten the mood, to freshen the air which seemed so tense that it was suffocating. You just wanted to reassure him, to tell him that you were still here, that you were here for him. You weren't going to run away because his healing looks different than the ideal. Because he is processing his trauma differently.
"That means you're mine, right? It's only fair."
"Of course, baby, I've always been yours."
You could feel him smile against your skin, he was happy or at least something close to that. That would be enough, for now at least. He was still able to smile. You wished that you were able to see it in this moment, but you were content regardless. With his arms around you, his face pressed to your neck, his hair tickling your jawline. You were content, things were put back in their rightful place.
You should have been paying more attention to the cracks beneath the surface. The signs that something wasn't right.
You had to admit, you were still adjusting to Bobby even after a few weeks. He was soā¦ clingy isn't the word. He's more than clingy, it isn't that he wants to be close to you No, he wants to be a part of you. It feels as though he wants your body to morph into his, to become a part of him forever. That way you couldn't leave. He always had to be touching you in some way, you couldn't stray too far.
A hand on your arm, your shoulder, your thigh, your knee. An arm wrapped around your shoulders or your waist. A head resting against your shoulder when watching a movie on the shitty TV that you could barely afford. Spooning in bed was a must, but you were used to it being loose. Now it was a tight hold, his arm over your waist and one of his legs over yours. It felt less like a hug and more like he was pinning you down, trapping you on the mattress, trapping you beneath him. If you moved at all, he'd feel it. If you tried to get up, you would wake him in the process.
You couldn't tell why this was happening, you didn't study psychology. You told yourself this was just fear, the absence of control and loss of autonomy being kidnapped creates. He needed to feel in control of something. But instead of taking control of himself, he has decided he wants to control you, monitor you like an animal in captivity.
You know logically what you should do. You should stop him, tell him this wasn't right, that he can't control what you do. You should put boundaries up, boundaries which would protect you and him equally. But staring at him now, lying by your side, face to face, chest to chest. You couldn't.
It was a rare occasion that you were awake before Bobby. Usually by the time you rise, Bobby is awake, staring down at you with his blue eyes which seem like endless pits of darkness. It was unfitting for eyes which were once such a sparkly, bright sapphire blue. He would watch your chest, moving up and down, up and down, a sign of life, that you were living and breathing. That you were real. You had begun to question if he truly even slept but now you have gotten your answer.
In this moment, he looked like Bobby. The old Bobby. He looked so gentle and relaxed, melted into the worn, old mattress which was a little lumpy. The sunlight that was peaking through the curtains shined down across his skin, illuminating the supple pale flesh. The bruises were fading and the cuts have almost completely healed. The physical damaged may be healing but whatever was going on inside his head, it was a mess. A violent storm which he refused to let out, refused to acknowledge. At least to you anyway.
You reached and brushed the hair off of his forehead, soft and sandy blonde. It felt like you were in a dream, the softness of this moment seemed unreal. You had missed this, you had missed him. The gentle, unguarded version of Bobby, it had been so long since you had seen him that you forgot what it was like. You watched as he stirred, one of his eyes cracking open at the sunlight which was caressing his handsome face.
You watched as his eyes fluttered up to yours, less empty and a brighter blue than you were used to seeing. Eyes still half-lidded and sleepy looking from just waking up. "Good morning" Your voice was gentle, almost breathless. You watched as the corners of his lips twitch upwards, you feel yours doing the same in return. The moment was so soft, so gentle, it had no place here, not now after what had happened. Yet, it felt so right.
"Morning, babe" His voice had that slight morning rasp to it, the slight scratchy-ness that hours without water creates.
You watched as his eyes traced down your face, studying your features and putting them to memory. It seemed softer than normal, instead of his eyes stalking you across the apartment, eyes flickering between every feature to make sure it is the same as it was the day before. Today, in this moment, it felt like he was seeing you. You felt so seen, the feeling was warm like a hug, it felt unfamiliar but so welcomed.
You saw how his eyes dipped from staring into your eyes and instead looked down at your lips, questioning silently, if he should? If he shouldn't? But the look in his eyes wasn't unsure, the soft look was now almost entirely gone. Instead, desire swirled in his irises, raw and unfiltered. He was quick to lean in and connect your lips to his, it wasn't gentle, it was needy, desperate. His kisses felt like he was trying to consume you, devour you completely so that you will always be a part of him. It felt almost cannibalistic.
You couldn't say it was bad, it was good. Really good. You could feel his desire for you, it gave you something that had been lacking. His want for you was clear, but how pure was that want? Not at all, it was the furthest thing from pure. It was greedy and frantic. He had a craving for you that came from deep within, from the darkest corners of his body and soul, from the most depraved areas of his mind.
You tried to catch up with him, kissing him back but you couldn't match his hunger for you. Where your kisses were full of care, his were full of possession, of claiming. It was so different from the way he usually did it, but different didn't mean bad. It gave you the attention you didn't know you needed, that you never allowed yourself to crave. He gave it to you without asking, without even knowing.
Your hand pressed against his shoulder, pushing him away slightly. Not shoving him away, not putting a massive amount of distance. There wasn't enough "We shouldn'tā¦ It's early" You tried to make an excuse, a reason why this was a bad idea other than the slight unease which consumed your body.
His forehead went down, resting atop of yours. His eyes were closed, the tip of his nose touching yours in such an intimate way, his lips directly above yours, wet and glossy. "Pleaseā¦ I just want to feel normal" You could hear the gentle crack in his voice, a desperate plea for normality. You stopped pushing back, your hand going from pushing against his shoulder to wrapping around them instead. You felt his head lower into your neck, his lips against the skin of your neck. The feeling sends shivers down your spine, a fluttering in your stomach.
It was soft at first, small delicate kisses. Your head was tilted up and slightly to the side, giving him full and total access to the right side of your neck. But then you felt something new, something different. Teeth. His teeth dragging across the skin of your neck slowly, not biting but pressing down, enough for you to feel his top set of teeth scraping soft skin. You didn't know how to describe the feeling, it wasn't ticklish, no. It was something else, a slight tingling.
His movements stilled, at the crook of your neck where he loved to hide his face, where he loved to lean down and breathe in your scent. You don't feel anything for a second, no lips, no teeth, just his breath. Heavy and warm like a hot summer's day, brushing against your sensitive skin. It was slightly unsettling but that didn't mean it was bad, it created anticipation. Your heart hammered in your chest, breathing heavy and erratic like your heartbeat was.
Then you felt it, his teeth biting down on your neck like he was an animal. It wasn't gentle, not soft or caring. He bit down with force, it felt like he wanted to draw blood, to taste the red, metallic substance which resided under your flesh. Your body tensed up immediately, eyes shooting open and wide in shock. A sharp gasp escaping your lips as your hands gripped his shoulders, fingernails digging into the bare skin of his shoulders. But you didn't push him off. Maybe you should have, put a stop to whatever this was. But you didn't because of something that scared you more than the idea of his teeth drawing blood.
You couldn't say with full certainty that you didn't like it, perhaps that scared you more than anything, the idea that someone sinking their teeth into your neck didn't disturb you. He had never bit you before, wasn't something either of you were into. Or at least you didn't think he was into it. But the indentation of his teeth on the skin of your neck said otherwise. You said his name, your voice breathless and quiet, unable to even think of words to say to him. Your brain had short-circuited, especially when his mouth moved onto your shoulder, kissing the area softly a few times before sinking his teeth into the flesh there too.
At the same time, his hands travelled downwards to the waistband of your pyjama shorts. His fingers brushing against the cotton fabric before hooking his fingers under the band. He didn't pull them down, he just played with the fabric and allowed his touch to send electric shocks throughout your body. Your fingers managed to unclench and let go of his shoulders, you could feel the indents of your fingernails, small crescent moons which were now dug into his skin. Your hands ran over his skin, feeling the muscle which laid beneath layers of skin. You could feel the absence of some muscle mass, but he had begun working out again, trying to build back the muscle which he had lost over the 3 months. You were sure it would not be too long before you could feel the firm, dense wall of muscle once again.
He lifted his head from your shoulder and you took that as an opportunity. Managing to lift your upper body slightly, like going into the position where your core would engage if you were working out, removing your hands from his back and instead reaching down and grabbing onto the hem of your soft, cotton shirt. Pulling it upwards and off of your body, freeing yourself from the fabric. Everything moved quickly from there, every piece of fabric being removed, bodies being freed from the confines of clothing.
You felt him everywhere, his hands attempting to touch every inch of you. Touch every section of skin, untainted and soft. His fingertips graze your skin, leaving tingles in its wake. His hands moved fast, mapping across your skin, feeling every imperfection and treating it like the opposite, treating it like perfection. The way he was touching you, the mix between soft and rough, it was like he couldn't decide between worshipping your body like a Goddess or ripping you apart with his bare hands. The thought should disturb you, the faint red hand prints which were forming on areas of your body should have worried you but it didn't. Perhaps there too was something wrong with you, that was up for debate. But your body reacted in such delight, twitching, mewling, you made sounds that you hadn't before. Like Bobby had cracked the code to your pleasure with flitting between gentleness and violence combined with him sucking and biting on different areas across your body.
He worked his way down your body, not a single bit of skin left untouched. His thumb brushed against your clit, your body jumping to attention at the bundle of nerves sending signals of pleasure through your body. A strangled gasp left your lips, a sign of need, of want. Of desperation for him, for his touch which never seemed to be scarce, almost too much at times but right now, you couldn't get enough. You watched as a smirk appeared on his face, his thumb deliberately pressing down on the bundle, testing different pressures against you. He wanted to watch you squirm under his touch, to feel your body heat up, to see what he could do to you with just a few touches.
"You know, I thought of you every day" He confesses as his finger slowly slid into you, slowly while he stared into your eyes. He was awaiting your reaction to the intrusion and also his admission. "It's not an exaggeration to say that you kept me alive, the thought of coming back to you, it made me keep trying." Your brain couldn't comprehend what he was doing, making your heartache for him while also being distracted by his fingers prodding into you. Exploring within you, in the deepest parts of you.
One finger quickly became two, moving in and out rapidly. Pulling all kinds of sounds out of you which were like music to his ears, how long it had been since he had heard them, since he actually listened and paid attention? He knew not to take this for granted again, he wanted to be able to replay the sounds in his head, to be able to see how your face looks when you come, he wanted it burnt into his memory so that nobody could take it from him. Never. It didn't take long for your release, not when he was unrelenting with his dexterous fingers.
He barely gave you a moment to recover, not even just a few minutes. He moved fast, positioning his body between your already spread legs, he wanted to be on top clearly. It was unusual for him, his preferred position was typically you on top, riding him as he watched you bounce up and down, chasing your pleasure and his to your hearts content. But this time, he wanted to be in control. He wanted to control the pace, the angles at which he would hit, how deep he would go. He wanted to decide how much he wanted to give you.
And oh, he wanted to give you everything. He wanted to watch your body tremble beneath his. He wanted to see the eyes roll into the back of your head, lost in waves of pleasure and pain. He wanted to see every little twitch, every jerky body movement, he wanted to hear every whimper and moan that would leave your lips, the way you would say his name, all breathless and airy. God, that sound always went straight to his cock, he couldn't even help it. He wanted to engrave these moments in his brain, store them there for the rest of his life. He had come so close to losing this, losing you, being trapped there No, he didn't want to think about that, not right now. It had no place here.
He positioned himself at your entrance, you could feel the tip poking against you as he lined it up. The stretch was a familiar and comforting feeling, your body receiving something it has longed for. The physical and emotional connection of two bodies binding themselves to one another, it was beyond your understanding. Ingrained in centuries old coding, practices which have existed since the beginning of time. A sigh came forth from your chest once he had bottomed out, mixing with the sound of his groan which sounded like it came from deep within.
He stayed still for a moment, both of you just living in the moment, fully connected and breathing the same air. The darkness in his eyes had lessened, the tension and rigidness of his shoulders was forgotten. You knew they would come back soon but you would cherish this moment in your memories, the moments where he allowed himself to relax, to not be prepare for something bad. Or at least that's how you saw it, you believed that the darkness was gone because you could no longer see it in his half-lidded eyes. But it was there, under the surface, pumping through his veins like blood.
Your hand pressed against his cheek, holding the left side of his face, looking into his eyes as a moan slipped out your mouth. He was staring directly back at you, his hips rutting into you at an unrelenting pace. He was pent up and ruthless, you could tell, you could feel the brunt of it, in every single thrust. But you could also feel how this was more than sex, this was two bodies becoming one. For the duration you engage in this act, you and him are not separate beings, you are one. One body, your souls and your hearts connected.
You knew what this meant to him, you thought you did at least. This is what he has been wanting this whole time, to connect with you on another level, to be able to feel you, all of you. To feel your breath on his skin, to feel your heart beat alongside his. For your body to be moulded to his. He maintained eye contact with you the entire time, no matter how much you looked away, he was always looking at you. But what you couldn't see was the darkness that you thought was gone was still there, it just had taken a different form. His eyes were dark with hunger, hunger which even during this act could not be quenched. You could not see it, not when your head was foggy and your body was a victim to overwhelming pleasure, overriding your senses and your ability to know when something wasn't right.
He craved you. Not in the normal way, not in the acceptable way. He craved you in a way that was carnal, he wanted you in a way that was deep and all-consuming. But at the same time, it went far beyond just fleshly needs. He couldn't even put it into words, he was never good with words, he was better with actions. They were easier, they said more with less fluff in between. His mind was left violent, fragmented, incomplete. But you made it complete and he wanted more of it. He wanted it around him, in him, he wanted to consume you so that he would never feel incomplete again. He didn't want to feel like the broken shell which had come home to you.
The pace, the pleasure, the eye contact that he was determined to keep, all of it had you overwhelmed. He wanted you overwhelmed, you knew it, he knew it. Every moan, every time you said his name with your whiny voice, drawing out the syllables in his name, it just encouraged him. To move faster, to move deeper, to make sure you felt him in every part of you.
"Fuck- Bobby" Your hand slid from his cheek to his hair, gripping onto the blond strands. The tight grasp you had on the delicate strands earned a needy groan, slight pain mixed with pleasure making it more enjoyable. It was weird, how pain could feel so good when in the right mindset, when you felt safe enough with the other person. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, he was close and so were you. You could recognise the signs, you could feel the pressure building, the feeling becoming so intense like a rubber band that was about to burst.
His shoulder was right there, flesh velvety and unmarred. You don't know what possessed you in the moment, you still don't know. Your mind was lost in the haze of sex, of lust and yearning. But your jaw opened, clamping down on the skin and feeling the tender muscle under your teeth. You heard the groan that escaped him, loud and deep, unsuspecting but not displeased. Quite the opposite in fact from the response his body was giving you now, almost like he was waiting for you to sink your teeth into his flesh, to give him a matching set of teeth marks like the ones he had carved into your skin with his own.
It hit you then, the pressure was too much and the rubber band snapped with the intensity of a car crash. Your teeth clenched down even harder as you moaned into his skin, the sound muffled and wet. Something felt different about this, it was more intense, your body shuddering and squeezing him so tightly that he couldn't hold back, you cunt squeezing him like a vice.
"F-fuck!" You knew he was done before it even happened, before you felt him spill into you.
His body collapsed down besides you, his breathing loud and erratic like yours. You'd have to change the bedsheets later but right now, you didn't have to worry about that. No, right now, all that mattered was him. Lying there in the afterglow of it all, naked bodies covered by thin bedsheets, limbs tangled together. The smell of sex was heavy and comforting, grounding you in the moment. Evidence that the air knew what had taken place, that the environment around you remembered it, kept it in this moment. "Why do you keep staring at me?" You had found the words to ask after the moment of comfort, after the moment where you felt truly connected to him again for the first time since he came home.
"I need to know you're real" He replied, the sentence so simple but it hit you like a punch. "I would see youā¦ sometimes, at first I thought it was you, that you had come for me but itā¦ it was never you" He admitted, his voice quiet as if speaking too loud would make it too real. Bobby hated being vulnerable, always avoided it the best he could. It made being with him hard sometimes, his inability to convey his emotions in a proper way.
You reached out, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer into you. You felt his body go lax in your hold, his arms wrapping around your mid-section while his head rested just above your chest. You noticed he liked lying like this, he could hear your heart beating away and feel your chest moving up and down. There was no question that you were alive, alive and breathing, and with him. That was the main thing, you were with him and you would never not be. Not now. Not ever.
"Where's Kat?" You finally asked the question which had been on your mind since the police station. You had been too afraid to ask on the first few days, too scared of unsettling him, pushing him too far too quickly. But now, you need to know.
You watched as he froze for a second before his head slowly turned towards where you were standing in the room. The way he turned his head was agonisingly slow, eerily turning as his eyes studied you. He was looking at you as if you had said something wrong, like you had broken from the script. "I don't know. I already told the police everything I know" His voice was as stiff as a board, it wasn't his usual tone but nothing he had been doing was the 'usual'. His tone was usually light and carefree but now it was the complete opposite.
You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up, your subconscious was telling you that something wasn't right, that he wasn't saying something. Whether that was on purpose or not, you aren't sure. What are you thinking? Of course Bobby wouldn't be hiding something, he doesn't have anything to hide. "I'm not the police" You tried to keep your voice as steady as possible, as normal as possible. You didn't want him to think you were questioning him or that you thought he wasn't telling the truth.
He stared at you for a moment, blue eyes scanning down your body and back up, reading you like a book. "Yeah, I know that. Why are you talking about Kat anyway? Thought you didn't like her, thought she got too 'close' or whatever" He spat, his voice was defensive like he was preparing for an attack. That wasn't what this was, it wasn't supposed to be an ambush. You were just worried for her, worried for the girl who you were pretty sure wanted to fuck your boyfriend. But you weren't the type to let such a petty thing override concern for a girl who was missing alongside Bobby.
Your mouth was dry, as dry as sandpaper. You didn't know why your body was acting like it was afraid of Bobby, like he was a threat. "I justā¦I wanted to know if she's alright" You mumbled, unsure of what else to say in response. He was agitated, you could see it clearly as day in the way his body had tightened, coiled like a snake about to strike.
"Well I don't know" He snapped, his lip curling up into a snarl. You had watched him go from a casual manner to one that was more akin to a wild animal, eyes sharp and angular as he stared at you like a threat. You weren't a threat, you didn't think you were anyway. But in this moment, you had strayed from the role you were supposed to play. You were the anchor but now you were questioning. To him, it was like you were loosening your grip on him. Like the anchor was dragging along the seabed, like it couldn't find something to latch onto, to dig into.
You could feel the palms of your hand become sweaty, you knew that you were pressing on a sensitive topic but he hadn't exactly been forth coming with any information. It had been over a month and a half since he came home. He barely even answered the questions the police asked him when they came to gather information from him, they were still as clueless as they were before Bobby was found. "I thought she was with you?"
"We got split up! I- I couldn't find my way back to her, it was like a maze in there" In there. That was the first time he had mentioned the location where he was held. You had asked him to describe it once, but it had been too early then, he just shook his head and told you he didn't want to talk about it. You listened.
"Youā¦ you never told me where you were" You started, "You left a note saying you were doing a research project with Kat and your boss. So where the fuck were you?" You couldn't help but feel the long buried anger at his disappearance, his 'research project' which gave no details as to where he ran off to. You didn't want to name the feeling you got when you thought about it, resentment didn't feel right but you struggled to find a better word. He ran off for a 'research project' after you two argued, gave you no information most likely to annoy you, it wouldn't have been the first time. Then ends up kidnapped, actually missing and not just off, smoking pot with his fellow potheads.
There was a flicker of panic in his eyes. A shimmer of light blue against the empty back drop you had become accustom to. "I don't know how to explain it. I don't even know if I can."
"Try. Try to explain it because I'm lost, Bobby, I'm so lost. I'm out of my depth here" You begged, you begged for him to tell you something, anything. Anything that can help you understand where he was, what happened to him, who did this to him. You hadn't even asked about his boss yet, you had only mentioned Kat due to their close relationship (much to your discomfort). You hadn't seen any missing posters of their boss though, at least not that you know of. You only met him once, he seemed a little strange but who isn't in Santa Clara. Maybe that means he's fine.
"I am trying!" He yelled.
He yelled.
Bobby rarely yelled. Not in a serious manner, he'd yell your name to get your attention and to get you moving faster depending on why and where you were going. But in every argument you've ever had, every disagreement no matter how severe, he was always dismissive and avoidant. He'd roll his eyes at your arguments, say 'whatever' and go back to tinkering with his camera or he'd get up and leave, stay the night at a friend's place. Arguments were never explosive between the two of you, no, they were quiet. So quiet that if you listened hard enough, you'd be able to hear the blood boiling in your veins after he tells you how he 'doesn't have time for this' when you are expressing valid concerns.
"I knowā¦ I know, Bobby" You didn't want him to think that you thought he wasn't trying, you knew that he was. Every day was a new challenge for him, you knew that, he had to live with the constant memories, the marks upon his skin which reminded him everyday that what happened was real, that it wasn't a bad trip. You would never understand what that was like for him, but you wanted him to tell you something, anything. You just wanted to help, to be someone he could confide in. You had already mentioned therapy and that got you a sharp steel glare from across the room. If he wasn't going to talk to a therapist, you needed him to talk to you.
He couldn't just allow these memories and feelings to fester, to grow in the dark like black mould, to seep through the cracks every once in a while because his body can no longer contain it, the stress too high, the fear too severe. You could see it in his eyes, in his posture, when the memories got too much, too loud, too all-encompassing. The way he would curl up, hands covering his ears and eyes squeezed shut as if that position could protect him from whatever he was seeing.
He let out a loud groan, a groan which was filled with the notes of exhaustion. His hands ran down his face, an attempt to keep his composure, to keep up the facade that he was fine. That what happened to him hadn't changed something, something so deep in him that it was almost to the molecular level. Something so deep that not even he, himself, could uncover what it was, not without stripping away every layer of protection he had up, every wall which had been built to serve the purpose of protecting his mind, his heart, his soul, his very being. "I'm sorry" He muttered, his voice low, "I just can't, I can't think of that place. I can't go back there, I can't. Please don't make me, I don't want to relive it, I don't want to remember" His voice sounded so broken, so hurt. The crack was there, a crack in the foundation that was always there, it has been there since he got back but he refused to acknowledge it. He pretended it didn't exist, if he ignored it then it would disappear. But the crack only got worse, bigger and more violent, growing beneath the surface and lack of attention.
You nodded at his words, understanding his reservations of talking about what happened. Talking about what happened meant admitting that it was real, that something truly so horrific happened to you. You don't think that Bobby can handle that, not right now, he was still too fragile, still too recently home. He was still processing, or so you think anyway.
You never truly knew what was going on in the head of Robert Franklin, you never had and never will.
It had been a quiet afternoon. Normalcy had slowly started to come back. Not completely, you don't think he will truly ever be the same again, who is after that. But he was staring less and that was a win in your book. It was the beginning of September, the air had begun to cool, the leaves had begun to change colour, and the start of the next uni semester was approaching.
You were lying down on the loveseat in your living room, curtains drawn closed even though it was the middle of the day. Bobby's head was resting against your stomach, his eyes looking up towards the ceiling as he thought about something. You didn't need to ask, you could practically feel his mental processes. You were playing with his hair, running the tips of your nails across his scalp in a comforting manner, making him shiver in delight every few seconds. You could feel the tension leaving his body in waves, becoming more comfortable by the second, sinking his body into yours once again.
"In the fridge."
Your head perks up at his voice, confusion filling your mind as you were both laying in complete silence. "Huh?" You were beyond confused at what he was talking about. If he was talking about your fridge in the kitchen, he would be talking about a lack of food, neither of you had managed to get off the couch to go shopping for sustenance. Both of you too comfortable in each other's embrace.
He was silent for a moment, debating whether or not he should continue what he had started, if he should continue opening the door he has just cracked open with a crowbar. "You wanted to know where Kat was. She was in the fridge."
Your hands stilled.
You feel everything just stop. At that moment, the humming of the fridge, the sound of cars outside, the sound of your neighbours, the sound of breathing, and house settling noises. Everything just fades into nothing. Instead, replacing the natural sounds of your environment was this ringing in your ears, in your head, loud and harsh, demanding your attention so loudly that it hurt.
"What?"
This was actually my first time writing smut so I hope it's okay lol. This ended up being far longer than I was planning for it to be nor did it go in the direction I thought it would but that's the beauty of writing I suppose.
