#pizza alaska | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wosowrites · 1 year

Text

Us Always ( Guro Reiten x Reader )

warnings: none

a/n: i know this isn’t the most family oriented but i really tried 😭 hopefully it’s okay. based off this request:

prompt: cute family moments w guro

April 17 2021

By this time, you had known Guro for seven years, and you were madly in love with the norwegian, and she, with you. You were both 25, having been born only a day apart. Today was your four year anniversary. It had taken you guys a very long amount of time to start dating. You had known each other by playing for Norway, but you were in denial about your sexuality for a while, and so was Guro. You had told people you were best friends, but best friends hearts don’t start beating like crazy when they lie their head down on their 'friends' lap.

You had planned a whole thing for your anniversary. You had asked Sam Kerr, Erin Cuthbert and Millie Bright to distract your girlfriend for a few hours, from 4:00 pm to 6:00 pm, so that you could set up your appartement. Now you really weren’t into the lovey dovey things. You would get her flowers and chocolates and jewelry to express your love for her, you wouldn’t use words. Acts of service were your love language. And so, when Guro left, you told her you would be out till 6:30 because you had a meeting with Nike, your sponsor.

Guro didn’t think you were neglecting your anniversary, she had made you a nice breakfast in the morning and you guys had cuddled in bed for an hour, just being happy you were with each other. So, she didn’t argue when the girls asked her to hang out, although she did wish you were there.

Your plan for their night together was a really big throwback. You would be building a blanket fort, and ordering her her favorite food. Why? The night you and Guro had first kissed, you were babysitting Guro’s niece, who had insisted on building a blanket fort. Except turns out that she got tired halfway through and fell asleep. So you and Guro had brought her to bed, and then you decided to keep on building the fort. You had drifted to sleep together under a ceiling of blankets, and when you woke up at 2:00 in the morning, Guro was awake and looking at you. And you kissed her. The rest- as corny as it is- was history.

You got to work quickly, starting by cleaning the living room. You then built the fort. You were pretty handy, and very skilled in the art of entertaining children because both your older siblings were married and had children. And your go too was always forts. You used blankets, pillows, and put fairy lights in it.

After that was set up, you took a quick picture of it and then went on your phone. You had ordered food to come at 6:15, and it was all your favorite things. There was saag paneer with rice, onion bajii, pizza and sushi. It was going to be a feast. All you had to do is make a baked Alaska. Her favorite desert. It was simple, just ice cream coated with graham crackers and whipped cream. So you would put it in the oven 20 minutes before it was time to eat the desert. It was now 5:30, the fort had taken a while, so you turned on the TV and went on netflix, selecting a horror movie you both knew you would barely be watching. Then, you went to your shared bedroom and put on her favorite outfit of yours. Which consisted of nike pros and a baggy but not long grey hoodie of hers, she loved seeing you in her clothes, and she was an ass girl, and the nike pro’s did you justice. You slipped your glasses on and then heard the door open. You walked out into the main area, seeing Guro starting at the fort. She turned to look at you, a wide smile on her face. "Baby… what did you do?" Guro said, laughing and putting down her bag to come jump in your arms.

You both made a point of speaking english when you could because your english wasn’t great.

You caught her in your arms and spun her around. "I recreated the scenes of our first kiss. I love you. So much. And i’m so lucky to be with you." You told her, all while her legs were around your waist. She kissed you again on the lips before peppering your face with them. She then jumped down and took off her shoes. "I’m gonna go change, and then we eat?" She said. "Food should be here in 5." You smiled at her. While she changed, you leaned on the counter and decided to post something on instagram.

@y/n.y/l/n

All these years with you and I will never get used to your risky hikes. But I’ll keep on loving you, always. Four years down, forever to go.

Alle disse årene med deg og jeg vil aldri venne meg til dine risikable fotturer. Men jeg vil fortsette å elske deg, alltid. Fire år ned, for alltid igjen.

You put your phone down as Guro walked out the bedroom, wearing a similar outfit as you. Just then, the doorbell rang. "Go sit down. I have a movie ready."

The rest of the night was perfect, it was everything, and it was all you needed, her.

March 30 2023

You all knew you could not let Lyon score. That ball could not go in the back of Ann Kat’s net. If only knowing it couldn’t end up back there was enough. It wasn’t.

When Lyon scored, you knew it wasn’t over. As the attacking midfielder, you knew you had to create an opportunity for the team. But then it went into extra time, and Lyon scored again. You thought you were going to die.

Your girlfriend got subbed off, you couldn’t even recall for who, but she was on the bench, and she was mad.

And then, things seemed to turn around. You ran into the box and passed the ball to Lauren who received it perfectly, until you saw a foot stick in front of Lauren’s, sending her tumbling to the ground. You threw your hands up in the air as Lyon cleared it, all of Chelsea was going insane, the Lyon players were trying to defend their team, both benches were on their feet and the Chelsea fans at Stamford Bridge were screaming in rage. Time moved in slow motion, you looked over to Jessie Fleming with a mix of fear and hope in your heart. She looked at you the same way. And then, it seemed as though everything fast forwarded and the ref was pointing at the penalty spot, and Sophie Ingle was handing you the ball. "Can you do this?" She said to you. "Yes. Yeah I can do this." You answered, grabbing it and placing it on the spot. You didn’t want to look back at the bench, if you saw your Guro, you would be too concentrated on not letting her down to score the perfect penalty. You fiddled with the ball a bit before finding the perfect position for it to rest in. You backed up and breathed heavily. You knew how to do this. You had this.

And then the whistle blew, and your foot hit the ball, and the keeper went right and the ball went top left and you were screaming and running to the bench where Emma Hayes had just turned around and was screaming and jumping with Erin Cuthbert. You jumped into Guro’s arms, shaking so hard and screaming out of joy. You were level, and this quarter final was going to penalties.

Your brother and your sister were in the stand with their kids, all of them wearing your name on their back, except for one of the kids, who loved Guro more than she loved you, you couldn’t even bring yourself to mind because the sight of your girlfriends name on your niece’s back was the most wonderful thing ever.

Jess Carter took the first penalty. Score.

Lyon. Score.

Sam Kerr. Score.

Lyon. Score.

Jessie Fleming. Score.

Lyon. Miss.

Lauren James. Miss.

Lyon. Score.

It was your turn. You couldn’t miss. And you didn’t. You sunk it in with ease and pumped your fist in the air, running to Jessie and Niahm, hugging Magda and Joanna.

And then Ann Kat worked magic, and Chelsea was through.

The whole team ran to Ann Kat and dog piled on top of her, but you made sure to run to Guro who was running off the bench and onto the pitch. You jumped into her arms, hugging her head to your chest and holding her tightly. "MY GIRL! MY GIRL!" Guro yelled, smiling up at you and then hugging your upper body again as you rested your cheek on her head. Guro put you down and then you both ran to the rest of the group, hand in hand. You and Ann Kat hugged, the team spraying water on the both of you. "Ice cold!" She said to you, smiling. "Right back at you Keep!" You smiled.

The celebrations were amazing, but you were quick to find your siblings. You hugged your sister tightly and then your brother. They all praised you, making you blush from the attention. You focused on the five kids there, hugging the and smiling. You picked up the youngest, a seven month old girl and walked on the pitch with her, taking her to your teammates.

"Gee!" Guro said, happy to see the baby. Georgia reached out for Guro who took her gladly, smiling at her mini Chelsea jersey. You took the opportunity to go sign a few things as Guro held your niece, she was getting much attention from Niahm and Jessie. When you got back, you took her back to her mother and swapped her for your five year nephew, JJ, who was incredibly social and wanted to say hi to everyone. You soon got called over for a quick post match interview. "You want to come, JJ? You wanna be on TV with auntie?" You asked him. "Yeah!" He said happily. You quickly asked your sister, who’s son it was and she agreed to it. Then, you picked him up and brought him to the cameras.

"Hi!" The reporter said, passing you a headset. "Hi, nice to see you again." You answered, recognizing her from other games. "Same to you, same to you. Who’s this?" She asked, looking at the boy in your arms. "I’m JJ." He said, the camera now rolling. "Well hello, JJ. The woman said. She then turned to you. "Well, I’m sure you guys are ecstatic to have made it through. How do you feel about your performance as a team?" She asked. "Um, not good enough. We were extremely lucky to have had that clip in the box. I know a lot of people will say the game was stolen from Lyon, they were the better side but we kept our calm and I think that showed. I’m very proud of this team and I’m just happy not to have missed." You said, smiling. "Yeah, a very special penalty that was. So now there are two english teams in the semi finals. How do you feel about maybe having to play Arsenal again?" The woman asked you.

You knew what was coming the second she said that. The thing is, Guro had had a lot of fun teaching three year old JJ to say "London is blue!" every time the word Arsenal was brought up. She thought it was hilarious. So that’s what happened.

"LONDON IS BLUE!" He yelled, his squeaky little voice making you jump. The reporters and you were quiet for a second before you all burst out laughing. "I’m so sorry, my girlfriend taught him that I promise. Anyways uh, yeah no we’re just going to concentrate on the Barca game, Arsenal is not our issue right now." You told her.

You talked for a couple more minutes and then you wrapped it up. You handed JJ back to his parents and rushed into the tunnel where Guro was waiting for you away from the cameras. "Can I kiss you now?" She asked. "Please. And don’t stop."

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #chelsea fcw #arsenal fcw #jessie fleming #guro reiten #ann katrin berger

304 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 12: Iris]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, sexual content, violence, discussions of suicide, Taco Bell.

Word count: 7.1k.

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

Taglist: @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @bearwithegg @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @elsolario @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @tillyt04 @cicaspair418 @fan-goddess

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

“It was New Year’s Eve,” you say, you know.

“New Year’s Eve, 1993.” Aegon checks the crimson-stained fistful of paper napkins he’s had jammed against his nose. His face is bloody and swollen and bruising; splotches darken from ash towards indigo as seconds tick by on the wall clock. Aegon winces under the stark florescent lights, stripped of all his shadows and secrets like a suspect being interrogated. A few tables away—far enough to give you the illusion of privacy, close enough to overhear any plots of escape—Aemond is clicking away on his BlackBerry, something you’ve never seen in person before. He is also dissecting, with great skepticism and plastic utensils, a Mexican pizza and Nachos Supreme. You aren’t sure what he had in mind when he asked for a restaurant within walking distance, but it certainly wasn’t Taco Bell.

“What happened?” you ask Aegon gently. It’s bad. It has to be bad.

He tops off his Mountain Dew with the bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum that he added to his tab when the three of you returned to Ursa Minor for Aemond’s luggage: a single green Louis Vuitton suitcase that he had asked Dale to stow behind the bar. You have an order of Cinnamon Twists on your tray, but no appetite; you only sip tentatively at your own Mountain Dew, the ice cubes clinking in the paper cup. The Taco Bell employees watch reticently from their refuge on the other side of the cash register, like skittish animals in a zoo enclosure. The table that Trent mutilated is still wrapped with duct tape.

“Aegon?” you prompt.

“I went to a party.” He drags his fingers through his white-blond, blood-stained hair. It is wet from the snow, chaotic, untamed. His perpetually errant lock rests on his bruised cheekbone. “I was fucked up. I mean, everyone there was fucked up, but I was…combative, I guess. Do you know what a speedball is?”

“No,” you answer honestly. They don’t exactly run segments about things like that on 60 Minutes.

“It’s cocaine and heroin mixed together, and I’d never tried it before. I broke a window, I was shouting, I think I punched somebody. The people hosting knew my dad, so as a courtesy to him instead of calling the cops they called the house. My parents weren’t there. They were on a yacht out in Biscayne Bay, waiting for the fireworks to go off at midnight. Helaena was away at a boarding school in London.” He looks at you, his watery blue eyes slick and fearful.

“Aemond was the one who picked up the phone,” you realize.

“He was home with Daeron. He was sixteen, he didn’t even have a real driver’s license yet. He only had his learner’s permit.” Aegon guzzles down his Mountain Dew, adds more rum, stirs with his straw, takes another few gulps. “Aemond didn’t want me to get in trouble again. My parents were always screaming at me, they were always upset, and obviously Aemond had to live with that. He figured he could pick me up, drive me home, drag me upstairs to bed and my parents would never know the difference.”

You remember the twelve shallow scars blown across his chest like shrapnel. Car accident, he had told you. A long time ago.

“I fought him,” Aegon says. “I fought him all the way to the car, I fought him once I was inside. The security guys working the party handcuffed me to the armrest on the car door, but still, I was fighting. I was trying to get the key from Aemond. I dislocated a wrist and didn’t even realize it until later, my hand was swelling so badly the metal cuff was cutting into my skin. Aemond finally got my seatbelt on. And he was so preoccupied he forgot about his own.”

More rum and Mountain Dew, more self-medication. More cold, iron-heavy dread filling up your chest like seawater hemorrhaging into a sinking ship.

“We got on the MacArthur Causeway. Aemond was yelling at me to shut up so he could focus. He was trying to remember how to get home. It was dark, there were streetlights passing by overhead. There was moonlight on the waves in the channel. I finally broke the armrest off the car door and I…” He shakes his head, like no matter how true it is he still can’t believe it. He looks down at his open palms. “I grabbed the wheel.”

“You what?”

He flinches at the memory. “I grabbed the wheel and yanked it. Aemond was trying to push me away, but it was too late. We swerved into oncoming traffic and hit a minivan. Our car rolled over once, twice, I think four times total. The windshield shattered, glass went everywhere. That’s what happened to Aemond’s eye. He wasn’t even aware of it. I kept wondering why he wasn’t screaming like I was. He got knocked out on impact. He was in a coma for ten days. The doctors said he should have died.”

But he didn’t. And yet the guilt Aegon carries is so goddamn heavy. “What about the van?”

“It went off the road and into the channel. Everyone inside drowned. A mother and two kids.”

“You’re a killer,” you breathe, remembering the tattoo under his left collarbone.

Aegon agrees: “I’m a killer.”

You stare at him, paralyzed by wordless, icy horror.

“Everyone knows,” Aegon says, eyes wet, voice hoarse. “Everyone back in Miami knows. I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t see Aemond’s scar, I couldn’t see the resentment on my parents’ faces every day for the rest of my life. I wasn’t just the fuckup eldest son anymore. There was nothing darkly, chaotically amusing about me. There was just plain darkness.”

“They didn’t…you weren’t…you never got arrested or anything?”

“No.”

“…Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s just the way the world works, gravity or nitrogen. “Aemond never told anyone how it happened. People knew, but he wouldn’t say it. And when the cops opened an investigation my dad made it go away.”

“How could he make something like that just…just…disappear?”

“The Microsoft office in Miami generates hundreds of millions in tax revenue each year. He threatened to get it moved to California or Texas. And maybe he threw in a holiday bonus for the police department, more money for pepper spray and flashbang grenades or whatever. All I know is that the lawyers descended and I never had to answer a single question about that night, and toxicology reports showed up claiming that mother driving the minivan had a blood alcohol concentration of 0.35.” He smiles, weakly and miserably. “People like me don’t face consequences, Appletini. They roll off our backs like rain and flood into the gutters to drown the rats.”

You can’t find your words. There’s nothing to say, or perhaps there’s too much to say; your thoughts are churning sickly like waves in a storm. From several tables away, Aemond glances over at you, his sapphire eye glinting under the unforgiving artificial light.

“And now you’ll hate me,” Aegon says with grave acceptance. He can’t blame you. He won’t even try to talk you out of it. “Just like everybody else.”

He’s been punishing himself for six years. And he’ll never stop. “I don’t hate you.”

His blood-stained brows knit together. “You don’t?”

“No.” I should, that’s true, and I would if it was anyone besides him. But I just don’t. And I have a few secrets of my own these days.

“I can’t believe that.”

“Read for yourself.” You offer your palms to him, sliding your hands across the table. At first, Aegon doesn’t understand, he doesn’t remember. And then he smiles, genuinely this time. Aemond is now watching intently and with palpable confusion.

Aegon traces the lines of your left palm with one weightless fingerprint. “It says you’re too good for this place. Maybe you’re too good for anyplace.”

“Do I finally know everything?”

“No,” Aegon says simply. “There’s over a decade of impassioned self-destruction in my rearview mirror. I could never explain all of it, and even if I could I wouldn’t want to. You have to accept that, or you have to move on. But now you know the worst of it. I hope that’s enough.”

You’re still thinking it over when Aemond forces down the last of his uninspiring Taco Bell dinner and approaches, toting his suitcase behind him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“How did you find me?” Aegon asks.

“You gave the hospital a fake phone number and address, and then never paid your bill. They sent it to collections. I got a call asking if I happened to know where you were currently staying in Juneau.”

Aegon sighs deeply and rubs his eyes with both hands. “Goddammit.”

“What about the other cities?” you say. “Aegon mentioned that he saw you in Phoenix and San Francisco.”

Aemond looks at his brother as he answers. “The journals.”

Your stomach drops. Jesse. He’s just like Jesse. “The…?”

“He left all these journals in his room. There were lists of cities in them. Cities crossed off, cities circled. Potential places to hide out, I figured.”

“But…but…” Aegon sputters. “There must have been a hundred different names on those pages—!”

“Yes,” Aemond replies coldly. “One-hundred and twelve, actually. And every weekend, every break from school, every chance I got I picked one city and went there hoping to find you.”

Aegon sinks down into his chair, dismayed and guilty and small like a child. He says in a whisper: “I can’t work for Dad.”

Aemond is disgusted. “I don’t need you to help run the company. I need you to show Mom that you’re okay.”

“Oh, right, because Dad already found a new heir.” He studies Aemond. “MIT?”

“I graduated last year.” And you weren’t there, his tone implies.

“Fantastic. And I bet Dad didn’t even have to buy your way in with a brand new shiny gym, complete with an Olympic-sized pool and a rock wall.”

“He did not, that’s correct.”

“You went to MIT?” you ask Aegon, mystified. You can’t imagine that going well.

Apparently, it didn’t. “Briefly.”

“Three weeks, I think?” Aemond says.

Aegon frowns, slurping his rum and Mountain Dew. “Five.”

“You can have tonight,” Aemond tells him. “We can stay in your apartment. You can say goodbye to your girlfriend, or…whatever she is. And then we’re flying out in the morning.”

Aegon perks up, a lawyer seizing upon an exonerating technicality. “I can’t leave until they’ve captured the Ice Fisher.”

“The who?”

“He’s a serial killer. He’s been murdering people in Juneau for months. Right?” Aegon turns to you for confirmation.

“Right,” you say.

“I can’t leave her alone. It’s not safe. What if she gets killed as soon as I jet off to Miami? That would be a completely avoidable tragedy. I have to make sure she’s okay. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf here.”

Aemond’s remaining eye blinks slowly. “This is a bizarre stalling tactic. Ineffectual, yes, and yet I have to applaud your frenetic ingenuity.”

“Ask them,” Aegon pleads, gesturing to the Taco Bell employees behind the cash register. “The Ice Fisher is real. They’ll tell you.”

Warily, Aemond goes to the counter. He exchanges a few words with the employees—who gape impolitely at his gnarled scar and glittering sapphire eye—and then returns, eyebrows raised. “Well, that was unexpected. How long has this Ice Fisher been terrorizing Juneau?”

“Since October,” you tell him.

“Hm.” Aemond toys with his BlackBerry, gazing out the windows at the dark windswept night. He says to his brother: “How did you manage to end up in the one town in Alaska with an active serial killer?”

“Luck, I guess.”

“Bad luck,” Aemond clarifies.

“No,” Aegon says, looking at you. “Just luck.”

“And once the murderer is arrested, you’ll leave without any complaints?”

Aegon’s face is a mask, consciously expressionless. “Yes.”

“Alright. Then here’s how this will work,” Aemond begins. “You can stay for now. And I’ll stay here with you. You’ll turn over everything to me: id, keys, cash. You won’t go anywhere without me knowing about it. And in return, I’ll make a few calls and see what I can do about this Ice Fisher situation.”

“You don’t need to worry about me disappearing,” Aegon insists. “I told you. I can’t leave until the Ice Fisher is caught. I’m not going anywhere. I’m stuck.”

“Nonetheless.” Aemond’s eye is a primordial, savage blue. “You will do as I say. Or I will drag you home to Miami, serial killer be damned. This isn’t my city. These aren’t my people. Juneau could sink into the Pacific Ocean and my life wouldn’t change one iota.”

They’re that determined? They’re that capable?

One of them, yes.

Aegon is compliant, almost tame. It is a strange skin for him to wear. He shows Aemond his palms in surrender. “I understand completely.”

“Good,” Aemond says, and you bag up your leftover Cinnamon Twists to take home before following him and Aegon to the door.

The three of you walk together back to Ursa Minor. Heather’s Chevy Suburban is still in the parking lot, so you know you can get a ride home with her. This is convenient; your Jeep is at home in your parents’ driveway, and Aegon is drunk. Before you can step inside the bar, Aemond stops you, pulling you aside as Aegon waits several yards away on the snow-covered sidewalk.

He asks, low enough that Aegon can’t hear: “What has he used since he’s been in Juneau?”

“Rum. And whipped-cream flavored vodka.”

Aemond nods. “What else?”

You hesitate.

“I can’t protect him if I don’t know what to look for.”

“Heroin,” you confess. “But only once that I know of.” And in those words is a truth that you hate: you’ll never know for sure what poisons Aegon is dulling the immutable, needlelike pain of his existence with. You will only know what he chooses to show you…and what he is too far-gone to hide.

Aemond closes his eye for a moment. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

Aegon stands in an isle of streetlight luminescence, his hands in the pockets of his parka. He watches you: wanting to speak to you, wanting to do much more. And he doesn’t move until Aemond grabs the back of his coat like the scruff of a kitten and hauls him off towards the apartment building.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you’re done at the vet clinic the next day, you bring Sunfyre to Aegon’s apartment. You figure he could benefit from some cheering up. When you arrive, Aegon is just getting out of the shower and changing into his street clothes, his hair messy and wet, the scars on his pale chest eclipsed by his black and white striped long-sleeve shirt. After much debate—which primarily consisted of Aegon keeping his brother awake with an acapella rendition of Cotton-Eyed Joe until 4 a.m.—Aemond had agreed to allow Aegon to go to work. It wasn’t for the money, Aegon said, which Aemond would confiscate from him anyway. It was so he wouldn’t let his crew down by quitting with no notice. Still, Aemond accompanied him to and from the docks like a parent taking their kindergartener to the bus stop. The golden retriever bounds into Aegon’s outstretched arms, tail wagging manically.

“Hey, buddy!” Aegon gushes, flopping down onto the scuffed hardwood floor to roll around with him. “I missed you so much! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?!”

“What is that?” Aemond asks, glowering as he reaches for the refrigerator handle.

“This is Sunfyre. He’s my dog. And he’s the best boy in the whole wide world, aren’t you, buddy? Aren’t you?! Yes you are!” Sunfyre barks in concurrence.

“You can keep a dog alive?” Aemond opens the refrigerator. “All you have in here are Lunchables and Coca-Cola. And...coffee creamer, for some reason.”

Aegon, still sprawled on the floor and scratching Sunfyre’s ears, shrugs. “Then go to the Foodland. You have credit cards.”

“Foodland…?”

“Ohhhh.” Aegon cranes his neck to grin up at you. “He’s never been to a grocery store.”

“Really?” you ask Aemond, who is grimacing, annoyed but also…uneasy. Embarrassed, even. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him rattled. “How is that possible?”

“I’ll tell you how,” Aegon says, squishing Sunfyre’s cheeks together. “Private chefs, personal assistants, five-star restaurants…”

“This town is a graveyard where culture goes to die,” Aemond mutters. He slides his BlackBerry out of his pocket—he’s wearing another black suit today—and begins typing.

“We can go to Foodland,” you offer. Aemond narrows his gaze at you suspiciously. He doesn’t understand why you would want to be accommodating. It’s really not that complicated; the more comfortable Aemond is in Juneau, the longer he’ll be willing to stay. And he seems like a useful friend to have.

Aegon stands, giving Sunfyre one last pat on the head. “Sure. As long as we’re back by 7.”

Aemond puts his BlackBerry away. “What happens at 7?”

Aegon smiles. “My band is performing.”

“Your what?”

“You’ll see,” Aegon says, and grabs his parka from where he had tossed it haphazardly on the couch earlier. Trent, you think, helpless and dismayed. If the band is at Ursa Minor, that means Trent will be there too.

The Foodland is fairly bustling; there is a blizzard forecasted to hit Juneau tomorrow, and locals are stocking up on essentials to last them through the storm. As Aegon fills a basket with Doritos and Dunkaroos, you follow Aemond to the fresh produce section. He picks up a single bunch of broccoli and sets it in the cart.

You laugh, ripping off a translucent plastic bag from the dispenser. “It goes in here.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” He secures the broccoli in the bag, then begins filling another bag with Braeburn apples.

“Wait, wait…you can’t just throw them in like that…you’ll bruise them. Here.” You take the bag and show him. “You pick up each apple, check it to make sure it’s good, no brown squishy spots, and then place it—gently—in the bag. Now you try.”

Aemond successfully procures a dozen satisfactory apples. He’s wearing an eyepatch made of black leather, which is unusual. It’s the first time you’ve seen his wounded eye obscured since you met him.

“Awesome. Be warned though, fruit is super expensive here. Those apples are probably going to be like twenty bucks.”

Aemond smirks. “I think I’ll manage.” He checks his BlackBerry and clicks out a quick reply.

“What are you emailing people about?” It feels odd to even say the word email. It sounds like something you’d hear on Star Trek or the X-Files.

“Napster.”

“What’s Napster?”

“A peer-to-peer file sharing application.”

“Oh, yeah, totally.” You have no idea what that means. “Is Targaryen Enterprises going to invest in it?”

“Probably. But that’s still confidential at this stage in the negotiations.”

“So you’re going to be in huge trouble when they find out you let me in on the secret.”

Aemond smiles, not in a friendly way but not entirely mocking either. “Who could you possibly tell? You’ve never met anyone who matters, and you never will. No one except me and Aegon. And we’ll be gone before you know it.”

You consider him, hushed and regal and stoic and yet…somehow, undeniably…dangerous. “Why did you put on your eyepatch before we left the apartment?”

“I try to wear it if I might be around children. The eye frightens them. And if I take the sapphire out, it’s just a gaping hole. That’s even worse.”

“But you don’t wear the eyepatch all the time.”

“No.”

“Why? Too…piratey?”

“No. Nerve damage.” He signals vaguely to the ruined half of his face. “The eyepatch rubs. It can set it off. And once it gets rolling, there’s no stopping it.”

And because you’re a vet, you know exactly what nerve damage is: numbness, or burning, or blinding electrifying pain, or all three in a rotation like a wheel. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “Aegon, he…he’s never forgiven himself for it. I don’t know if he’s ever said that to you, but it’s true. I think he would take the pain for you if he could.”

“He wouldn’t,” Aemond says bitterly. “He wouldn’t even come home.”

And I don’t think he ever will. I think he’d skydive out of the plane without a parachute first. “Can you tell me what it’s like? Miami? I’ve never been.” I’ve never really been anywhere.

“I can do better than that. I can show you.” He opens his wallet—black leather, just like his eyepatch, gleaming and heavy—and slips out several small photographs. There’s the beach, and palm trees, and the city skyline, and several luxury cars, and a building with a glass spiral staircase and tall white walls speckled with bewilderingly abstract pieces of modern art.

“Oh, is that a museum?”

“That’s my parents’ house.”

“Right,” you reply, wide-eyed.

Aegon appears with a basket so full he has to lug it around with both hands. “Guess who I saw in the snack aisle,” he says to you, heaving his basket into the cart.

“Watch the apples!” Aemond hisses.

“Who?” you ask Aegon.

“Our favorite former-football star.” Icy, stunning fear seeps from your skin all the way down to the bones. Trent. “Congratulations on getting rid of him, by the way.”

You try to keep your voice level. “I got rid of him?”

“Seems that way.” Aegon plucks a banana off the display shelf, unpeels it, and takes a bite.

“You’re paying for that,” Aemond says.

Aegon continues: “Trent’s been super happy recently. Creepily happy, actually. I keep asking him what’s up but he won’t tell me, he just flashes that big stupid grin. Well just now he finally dropped a hint. He’s having luck with some girl he’s really into. Says things are finally looking up for him in the love department. And if he’s not talking about you, Appletini, it’s got to be someone else.”

“That’s wonderful news,” you say, barely hearing yourself. It's me, you think, petrified. It’s me that Trent thinks he’s going to end up with, and how the hell am I going to tell Aegon that?

“Who’s Trent?” Aemond inquires.

“Just a guy,” you reply. “A big, Hulk-like, not terribly intelligent guy.”

“You should probably check him out,” Aegon informs his brother. “I find it hard to believe that he could be a killer—he’s violent sometimes, but not, like, murderously violent—but he’s the only real suspect we’ve got.”

Aemond’s jaw is rigid, contemplative. “Hm.”

Aegon finishes his banana, tosses the peel under a table stacked high with boxes of donuts, and pushes the cart towards the checkout counter. Aemond takes off after him. “Hey, what did I say about the banana—?!”

Trent, you think despondently, staring blankly at rows of glossy apples: red like blood, green like life. I have to tell him about Trent.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Bitch!” Heather proclaims when she spies you, arms thrown wide open. She embraces you, the golden sequins of her shirt snagging on the loops of your turquois sweater. “Whoops, sorry Grandma.” She untangles herself. Joyce, Kimmie, and Brad wave from the usual booth. Rob and Trent are warming up on their instruments. Aegon meanders unsteadily over to join them, downing a rum and Coke assembled by a yawning Dale. You wonder how much Aegon owes on his tab now. It has to be a thousand or more. Maybe Aemond will pay it before he leaves. Before he drags Aegon back home to Miami screaming like stormwinds.

From behind his drumkit, Trent beams at you, showing all his teeth. You shudder when you remember the bruise they left on your neck. Nonetheless, you smile back noncommittally; the last thing you need is to prompt him to make a scene.

Heather gestures to Aegon. “British Kurt Cobain.” Now she points at Aemond. “Albino Fabio.”

You burst out laughing. “Yeah, basically.”

“What’s up with the…?” She taps her own left cheekbone. The scar, she means, The eye.

“It’s a long story. Aemond is Aegon’s brother, he’s here to convince him to go home.”

“I’d like to think I’m a pretty non-judgmental person, but their parents really should have invested in a baby names book. Where’s home?”

“Miami.”

“Well fuck, I wouldn’t mind jetting off to Miami. Think Aemond would take me instead?” But she’s joking, of course. Heather loves Juneau. She would never put it so sentimentally, but she does. Kimmie adores being a big fish in a small pond; she wouldn’t make such a splash anywhere else. Joyce needs the quiet. Only you were cursed with this greedy restlessness that is inked to you like an invisible tattoo; only you inherited this nameless craving for more.

“You should ask,” you tease Heather. “Ask Aemond really, really nicely. And make sure you nuzzle up against him so he can feel that you’re not wearing a bra.”

She gasps. “You can tell?”

“Heather, everyone can tell.”

She grins mischievously. “Good. That’s the point.”

You order drinks together—a Sex On The Beach for Heather, a blackberry Bacardi Breezer for you—and then part ways. Heather joins the growing crowd that is gathering to watch Boat #27’s imminent performance. You sit next to Aemond at the bar. He’s sipping a Caipirinha, taking slow, shallow, meditative tastes. He’s staring at the band, but you’re not sure if he’s really seeing them. Aegon gulps down another rum and Coke—his second in about five minutes—and staggers as he tests the microphone. His white-blond hair falls untidily over his eyes. No one seems surprised to see the mottled bruises or split lip on his face. It’s the sort of thing to be expected from someone like him; drunks wear ill-gotten injuries like diamonds and pearls.

“It’s not good for him,” you tell Aemond. “You being here.”

“Nothing’s ever been good for him,” Aemond says. “I remember being twelve years old and my whole life was trying to stop him from jumping out of a window or in front of a car. When we locked up all the pain pills he found bottles of Vitamin A tablets and swallowed about five hundred of them before we kicked the door down. We got his stomach pumped, brought him home, and the next day he tried the same thing all over again with my mother’s EpiPens.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, agonized.

“I’m not here to torture him. I’m here to help. I want to help my mother move on with her life. I want to help Helaena and Daeron get their brother back. And I want to help Aegon become a better man. It’s possible, I think, if he’ll work for it. But it’s not going to happen as long as he’s running between cities and from one addiction to the next. He’s got to come home. He’s got to face what he’s done and learn how to cope with it.”

The band has begun their song. It’s Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, a peculiarly subdued choice. Aegon sings with his eyes on you and his calloused fingertips scaling the fretboard of his battered green electric guitar.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow.

You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be, and I don’t want to go home right now…”

“Hm.” Aemond’s face—half-immaculate, half-mutilated—holds a quiet, intense curiosity that might even be a dash of awe. “I’ve never seen him play before.”

“Really?”

“Really. He’s not bad.”

“He’s perfect,” you murmur.

“So you’re in love with him too.” Aemond nips at his Caipirinha. “I feel so sorry for you.”

You glare at him, flushing and furious, the kind of flame-red rage you can only conjure for someone when you know they’re right. Aemond is aware of this, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He is as cool as his Caipirinha: frosty and still and sharp like glass. His sapphire glints, his scar grows darker in the twilight dimness of Ursa Minor. You miss the Christmas lights; you miss what could have been if Aemond had never walked with his light and yet decisive steps into Juneau. You swallow your Bacardi Breezer like reckless, venomous words.

When the song is over, Trent begins making his way through the crowd towards you. You hop off the barstool and evade him, weaving from one end of the packed room to the other. He gets drawn into a conversation with Matt and Gary, but he’s still scanning the sea of faces for yours.

If he finds me, it’s going to all come out into the open. He’ll say something, or I’ll say something, or Aegon will say something, and then it will be out of my hands. I have to tell Aegon first. He has to hear it from me.

Aegon finds you, smiling in that warm, dreamy, tipsy sort of way. “Hey, Appletini—”

“I have to talk to you.”

Immediately, it startles him: your voice, your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I just have to talk to you about something. Right now. Where can we go?”

“Uh, uh…” He glances around, and then he points to the staircase. His disobedient lock of hair is a white stripe across his cheek. “The roof?”

“Okay. Yes, good.”

“Great.”

You go to the coatrack together to fetch your parkas, then make for the steps. Aemond is there to meet you, towering and lithe and silver like lightning.

“Please, Aemond,” Aegon says. “We need ten minutes.”

“You can’t have it.”

“Ten fucking minutes,” Aegon snaps. “It’s a rooftop patio, it’s not in use during the winter. For Christ’s sake, we’re not going to jump off of it or anything. There’s nowhere for us to run. She’s not leaving Juneau. I have no money, no license, no nothing. You have all of that. Don’t you get it? There’s nowhere for us to run.”

Aemond’s BlackBerry starts beeping. He whips it out and reads the message. “Fine,” he snarls, like a verbal shove hard enough to bruise. “Just go. Ten minutes.” And as you and Aegon ascend the staircase, you catch a glimpse of Trent watching from across the crowded bar, knocking back a Heineken and simmering with some pattern of layered emotions that you can’t read.

Outside, the night sky is muted with cloud cover: thick, dark, starless. The moon is a vague blur of eerie ethereal light, a reflection of a reflection. And sometimes, you think you might be something just like that.

“What is it?” Aegon asks. And his face destroys you: seeking but not suspicious, concerned but not fearful. He would never see this coming. Not now. He trusts me too much. He thinks too highly of me. Much, much too highly. And isn’t that what love always does to people? Cold Arctic wind spirals around you both, tearing at your hair, wrenching tears from your eyes like doomed fish from a lake.

“I hooked up with Trent.”

Aegon’s face doesn’t change. He’s heard it, but he hasn’t felt it yet. “Like…a long time ago?”

“No. After the New Year’s Eve party.” After I found you in your apartment.

The first wave of it hits him: in his shoulders, in his eyes, in his tremulous voice. “And when you say hooked up, you mean…what? Second base?”

“No. I mean everything.”

“Everything,” he repeats numbly.

“Yes.”

He takes a step back from you, covering his mouth with one hand. He stares down at the snow around his Doc Martens combat boots, shaking his head and saying nothing. That’s worse than shouting. You had been prepared for shouting.

“Aegon—”

He puts his hands up like he’s barring a door. “I need a minute, I need a minute.” He inhales, exhales, rubs his furrowed forehead with his thumb and index finger. “Why—?” His voice breaks off. He tries again. “Why would you do that?”

“I was angry, I was so goddamn angry at you. And I’m not trying to make excuses, I’m just…I’m just trying to explain. I was so desperate to feel something other than what I was feeling that I made a mistake. A horrible, humiliating mistake. Now Trent thinks I really like him and that’s bad but what’s worse is the fact that now, right now, I have to tell you the truth. I’m so fucking sorry. And I would change it if I could but I can’t.”

Aegon looks at you. “You weren’t…you know…” He flinches like somebody’s struck him. “Afraid of Trent?”

“It was at my house, my parents were around—”

Again, he stops you, holding up his hands. “I can’t hear the details, I just can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whimper. It’s almost inaudible in the roar of the wind.

It seems like forever before Aegon speaks. When he does, there’s no fury. It is a controlled, calm surrender. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all? Okay?”

“It’s my fault, right?” he says. “It would be pretty fucked up of me to blame you for something that only happened because of what I did. So okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with Trent together. We’ll figure something out. We—”

You rush to him and Aegon catches you, shocked but welcoming, harboring. You burrow into him as he strokes your hair and shields you from the frigid wind, soothing you with soft, sighing words, his damaged lips warm against your ear.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, Appletini. I’m not mad. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” you agree, biting back sobs. “Right now I am.”

But what about when you leave, Aegon? What about then?

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re lying in bed—showered, somber, oversized T-shirt and blue flannel pajama pants—and staring at the celebrity posters on your wall when the phone rings. You frown at it as it sits on your nightstand, a beacon of both hope and despair. Trent. It’s probably Trent.

Downstairs, your mom is engrossed in a riveting book club meeting. You can hear the attendees debating the merits of A Walk To Remember through the floorboards. You snatch up the phone before one of your parents can answer and invite Trent over for tea and Tongass Forest Cookies.

“Hello?” you say, with great annoyance.

“Hey, Appletini.”

“Heyyy!” You bolt upright in bed. “What’s up? Why are you whispering?”

“Aemond’s asleep on my couch. I think if I keep him awake again, he might disembowel me.”

You smile. “So why risk it?”

“I had a weird feeling. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“My mom’s book club is getting extremely heated downstairs. I’m currently in bed and staring at my numerous Ricky Martin posters. I’m fine.”

“Just fine? Not better than fine?”

You twirl the phone cord between your fingers. You remember what his bare skin felt like against yours, what he tasted like, the way your fingers twisted in his hair. It’s all you can think about; you can’t stop. Maybe it’s better not to. After all, time is running out. “I want you,” you say simply.

There’s no question of whether Aegon will agree. He goes straight to the logistics. “I think that would definitely wake up Aemond. And even if he didn’t have my keys I’m not…uh…in driving condition.” Not sober, he means.

“I have a Jeep.”

“I’ll look for you in ten minutes.” He hangs up. You wave a bashful hello to the book club attendees as you race by them and out into the driveway, clutching the bear mace that hangs from your purse just in case the Ice Fisher happens to be lurking nearby. You don’t even remember your parka.

As you idle under the streetlight in front of Aegon’s apartment, he comes running out of the building in his black Nirvana T-shirt, green flannel pajamas, open parka, and hastily thrown-on boots, the laces untied and flapping. You get out to meet him in the backseat, locking the doors with a distracted press of a button. Both of you kick off your boots and toss them onto the floor. Neither of you speak; there’s no need for it.

You yank off Aegon’s parka and T-shirt as he drags you into his lap, one hand pressed into the small of your back and the other cradling your face, kissing you with vicious desperation. His split lip, still healing, is rough against yours; the bruises on his face are shadows under the murky streetlight glow. You knot your fingers in his hair, drawing him in closer, closer, never close enough. He tugs your shirt over your head and finds nothing underneath but bare, needy flesh that aches for him like lungs burn in the cold.

As his hands wander, he murmurs against your throat, breathless and urgent: “I missed this. I missed you.”

“Show me,” you beg him. You can tell how hard he is; you can recall exactly what it will feel like once he’s inside you, filling and safe and deeply, immensely good. You grab his hands and put them on the waistband of your pajamas. “Aegon, please, I need you so fucking badly. Show me how much you missed me.”

He throws you down across the backseat, cushioning your head with one hand so it doesn’t hit against the door. Then he positions himself between your thighs, panting as he hooks his thumbs under the elastic of your pajamas. They’re gone in an instant, your legs bare and shaking with the rush of adrenaline. Aegon is pushing your thighs apart so he can kiss his way up the inside, his rough wounded lips pressed to your vulnerable skin. You can feel the heel of his palm kneading you through your panties, simple blue silk that is soaked for him; he’s about to take them off.

“Yes,” you moan, almost unable to stand it. The Jeep windows are clouded with sweltering fog. “Yes, yes, oh god, Aegon, yes—”

There is a deafening sound, a breaking, a crashing; someone is screaming, and it takes a moment for you to realize that it’s you. The Jeep door rips open, startlingly cold night air flooding in and ravaging your bare skin, slick with the sweat of now-vanished lust. Something grabs your hair and—with horrifying, relentless force—drags you out into the snow. There are shards of glass littering the ground from the broken window. One of them cuts into the side of your right thigh, spilling blood that is more black than red under the dim beam of the streetlight. Aegon is shouting, and someone else is too, a rumbling voice that at first you can’t place. Then you look up and see him. Trent stands above you, one hand still gripping your hair, the other holding a rock as big as a human skull. He’s calling you a slut, a whore, a bitch. His hand is bleeding from when he used the rock to break the Jeep’s window so he could unlock the door. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Trent, Trent!” Aegon is screaming, standing in the snow with bare feet and wearing only his green flannel pajama pants. His hands are outstretched, but there’s nothing he can do. “Trent, let her go. Let her go—!”

“You?!” Trent roars. “She’s been cheating on me with you?!”

He yanks you by your hair again and you shriek, punching at his knuckles and trying to curl your legs beneath you so you can stand and then—

And then what?! your mind howls like the wind. You can’t run away from him. You can’t fight him off. You probably can’t even put a mark on him. So then what? So then WHAT?!

“You’re not mad at her,” Aegon says, trying to stay calm, trying to reason with him. “You’re mad at me, Trent, you’re mad at me, it was my idea, I talked her into it, I’m the one you’re mad at, so let her go and then we can—”

“You bitch!” Trent thunders down at you. You try to bolt away and he jerks you back again by your hair, a scream tearing from your throat. You’re trembling all over; you’re drenched in snow and blood. “You fucking bitch—!”

“Let her go!” Aegon is out of ideas. He charges Trent, having no chance at all and knowing it. And just as he reaches him—

For the second time, there is a sound that seems to split the world in two. You cover your ears; you pinch your eyes shut. Trent’s hand releases your hair, and when you fall into the snow—your arms buried up to your elbows in it—you scramble for Aegon, sobbing and shivering uncontrollably. He pulls you against his bare chest, his eyes huge. You turn to see what he’s gaping at. Under the streetlight is Aemond with a revolver in his right hand. At first, it’s aiming into the sky. Then he brings it down to point at Trent.

“You want to get out of here,” he says in a low, blade-sharp voice.

Trent—not out of defiance, you think, but rather out of sheer, witless disbelief—doesn’t move.

Aemond pulls down the revolver’s hammer with his thumb. “Or, if you prefer, we can all find out what your brains look like.”

Trent, sufficiently mobilized, stumbles through the snow to his truck, climbs inside, and speeds off into the night. Aemond dumps the rest of the bullets out of the revolver and into his palm, then stows them in the pocket of his black sweatpants.

Aegon reaches into your Jeep to get his parka, throws it over you, and zips it closed. Then he yells to Aemond, waving at the revolver: “What the fuck, they let you on a plane with that?!”

“Private jet.”

“Oh, right. Obviously.” Aegon cradles your face with both hands. “You okay, baby? You okay?” You nod forcefully, too cold and shell-shocked to speak. He doesn’t believe you. “Come on, let’s get you inside, let’s get you warmed up, let’s take a look at that leg—”

“That’s the guy, right?” Aemond says. “The one you think might be the killer.”

“Yeah,” Aegon replies distractedly, still focused on you.

“What’s his name?”

“Trent,” you say, finding your voice. “Trenton Desormeaux.”

Aemond stares out into the night, his pale eye fixed on the place where Trent had stood just seconds ago. He betrays nothing, his face lined with enigmatic concentration. “Hm,” he says. And then again: “Hm.”

#Aegon Targaryen #Aegon II Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x y/n #Aegon x you #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #nttf #north to the future

258 notes · View notes