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livyjh · 8 months

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Hunger

Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: on a patrol near Jackson with Joel, you run out of food and have to make do with whatever you can find. Eating the wrong thing makes you both feel… different.

A/N: Here’s another one shot unrelated to Temptation :) I really wanted to write a sex pollen thing with Joel and here it is!!

Warnings: sex pollen/sex poison, smut, dub-con based on the nature of the sex pollen/poison trope, talk about being hungry/eating, unprotected p in v (don’t do this), masturbation, rough sex, angry fucking, being mean to each other, Joel calls you a slut, choking, hair pulling, quick mention of blood/taste of blood, nipple play, spanking with object, anal play, creampie.

Joel Miller Masterlist

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“I’m fucking starving.” You sigh, walking alongside Joel in the forest.

You were on day two of a three day patrol route, tonight you’d stay in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Tomorrow you’d return to Jackson.

“Drink some water. It’ll hold ya over.” Joel sighs back at you. “Or pick some mushrooms.”

You scoff at him. “Very funny.”

“I thought so.” He chuckles quietly.

You roll your eyes, trudging through the humid spring weather. “Are there any edible flowers out here? Shit, I’d eat tree bark at this point.”

Joel shakes his head. “Don’t know much about the plants out here.”

You frown. Until…

“Oh my god.” You gasp and run to a bush you spotted about 10 yards away.

Joel calls after you, using your name to try and get your attention. But it doesn’t work, you were laser focused.

On a tall bush, almost as tall as you, there were berries. Ones that looked… like a raspberry, or a blackberry, but they were orange. You weren’t a hundred percent sure, but, you feel like you remember maybe eating these before.

“Joel!” You wave him over and he walks faster to get to you.

“What?” He sighs, putting a hand on his hip.

“These are edible.” You smile at him, then look at the bush, then back at Joel. “I think.”

He rolls his eyes and begins to walk past you.

“Joel, I know you’re just as hungry as I am. And I swear I remember eating berries just like this before. They should be fine.” You reasoned with him.

He turns back to face you. “Fine. Eat a couple.” He shrugs.

You gulp and stare at the berries for a few seconds before plucking a few and putting them in your mouth. You start to chew and soon scrunch your nose. They’re tart. Not quite sour, but very tart. You couldn’t give a shit at this point.

“They’re good.” You smile at Joel and pull more berries from the bush.

He walks over and picks a berry, bringing it up to his nose to smell it before finally putting it in his mouth. He starts to chew. “These are not good.”

“Quit complaining. It’s food. If those goddamn squirrels hadn’t gotten into your pack that you just left lying around for an hour…”

“You’re the one who fell asleep while you were s’posed to be watchin’ our shit, I was hunting.” He sneers at you.

“That’s because you talk in your sleep and I barely got two hours last night!” You scoff at him.

“Swear to god, if I die by some fuckin’ berries after all the shit I-“

“You’re not gonna die, Joel. Don’t be such a pussy.” You laugh and keep plucking berries and putting them into your mouth.

He sighs and breaks off a small branch, picking a couple more berries and eating them. “Reminds me of pineapple… except, not good.”

You shake your head and keep eating, ignoring his complaining for the next ten minutes while you both gorge yourself on the fruit.

“Should be getting to that safe house in the next hour.” Joel nods at you as you both continue walking, bellies full and satisfied.

A half hour passes and you feel like your skin is too hot. Your clothes are too hot. It was humid, but… it was only maybe 60° out. You shouldn’t be sweating like this.

Joel was on the same page, having taken his light jacket off only ten minutes into continuing your walk to the cabin.

“Joel…” you speak cautiously.

“I don’t feel good either.” He sighs.

“What should we-“ you start.

“Just gotta let the body process it. Or reject it. Whichever comes first.”

You both let out long sighs and keep walking.

15 more minutes and there’s a dull ache in the pit of your stomach. Lower than that, actually. It feels like where your uterus is.

You notice that Joel is breathing heavy, sounding more and more labored.

“Down… uh,” Joel glances at you and then stares for a second. “Down this trail here.” He points to a spot a few yards up where the main road diverts to a slim trail, barely noticeable if you hadn’t been looking for it. It was overgrown.

You nod at him, feeling warmth bloom in your chest and face. You follow him down the trail for a couple minutes when you come across a large fallen tree.

Joel climbs over it easily with his long legs. You? Not so much.

You struggle for a moment as you try and get your footing on a branch start on the side of the log, but you can’t.

“Jesus, give me a fucking hand, will you?” You snap at Joel.

He rolls his eyes and reaches out a hand to help you over the tree.

The second you grab his hand, you feel a jolt of electricity run up your arm and straight to your core. You couldn’t pinpoint what was going on. You felt irritable… angry… but all you could think about after getting over that log, was how Joel’s skin felt against yours.

You approached the cabin just a couple minutes later. You both walk inside and set down your bags before Joel disappears into the bathroom.

You hear the faucet start to run. You’d forgotten this place was connected to water… just didn’t have a working water heater.

You sat down in a recliner in the living room and involuntarily moaned when a spring under the thin recliner padding pressed against your heat through your jeans.

“Fuck.” You breathe.

You wait only ten to fifteen seconds before you figure Joel is gonna be awhile and you stick your hand down your pants. You start rubbing your clit furiously, hoping for some fucking relief before Joel comes back.

You’d go upstairs to the loft style bedroom so at least there would be a delay in Joel catching you like this, but you think rubbing your thighs together while going up stairs would make you cum anyways.

“Fuck it.” You whisper to yourself, dipping two fingers into your cunt. This is probably the wettest you’ve ever been.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d soaked through both your panties and your jeans by now.

You hear a low grunt come from the bathroom over the sound of the faucet and it only spurs you on. Was it because you were horny out of your mind, or did that sound sexual?

A moment later, the faucet turns off and you quickly pull your hand out of your pants and wipe the wetness on the side of the recliner. Just in time too, as Joel walks out of the bathroom a second later.

He spots you on the recliner, leaned back, eyes hooded, legs spread, and something in his face changes.

He looks furious, but… helpless.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, the sensation making your whole body tingle. You look Joel up and down, feeling more wetness pool between your legs.

God, you normally didn’t get along great with him, but… you’d kill a hundred men just to have his cock inside you right now.

“Something’s wrong.” Are the first words said in that moment. Spoken by Joel.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You breathe hard, standing up.

“Don’t you fuckin’ mouth off to me.” Joel spits, stepping closer and pointing a finger at you.

You push his finger out of your face, another jolt of electricity moving through you at the skin contact. “What are you gonna do about it, old man?” You seeth.

Joel then grabs you by the throat, pushing you against the nearest wall. You can’t help but whimper at the feeling, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Shut up.” He frowns.

“Make me.” You test him.

His grip on your throat tightens, his other hand moving up to grab the hair on the back of your head. He tilts your face up by pulling down on your hair and you squeeze your thighs together, moaning despite him choking you.

You reach down into your own pants again, needing just a little relief from the searing pain and pleasure coursing through your clit.

Joel whimpers at the sight of you, his face darting down to yours and crushing your lips together.

You growl into his mouth and bite his bottom lip, and then you taste blood. He grunts and pulls back, looking down at the tank top you were in, grabbing the front with both hands and ripping it from top to bottom. You shrug the ripped clothing off, reaching behind yourself to undo your bra as you look up at him.

His eyes are damn near black. Pupils blown as wide as you’ve ever seen. He’s panting and leans down to kiss you again, despite you having bit his lip too hard on the first one.

His hands drift up your hips and over your breasts, quickly stripping you of your bra. He leans down immediately, taking your right nipple into his mouth and biting just enough to get you to squeak out a moan.

“Joel-“ you cry out as his fingers tweak your left nipple.

“What?” He asks harshly.

“Fuck me, goddamnit. Don’t have time for this shit.” You snap back.

“Take your fucking clothes off.” He barks the order as he backs up and starts to unbutton his own shirt.

He watches you with dark eyes as you slip your boots off, then your jeans, then your mostly soaked panties.

By the time he’s got his shirt off, you’re completely naked, staring at the tent in his jeans. You reach down and start to fuck yourself with two of your fingers. Joel undoes his belt and rips it from its loops in one swift motion.

You stare at him with doe eyes as he folds the leather strip in half before grabbing your wrist and pulling your fingers out. He growls and grabs you by the shoulders, moving you to lean over the arm of the couch. Lightning fast, he undoes his zipper and pulls himself out. You don’t even have time to look back when a *crack* fills the room and your ass stings painfully.

“Did I tell you you could do that?” Joel smacks your ass with his belt again.

“I told you to fuck me, already!” You screamed at him, looking back.

“Careful what you wish for.” He growls and lines up, pushing into you in under a second.

“Fuck!” You clench around him involuntarily, hearing his belt buckle hit the ground. This gave you a little relief from having to experience even more pain than you already are; between the whips of the belt and the way Joel is stretching you out.

“You asked for it.” He grunts and starts with fast, rough thrusts.

“Yeah, I know.” You spit the words at him over your shoulder.

“Show me some goddamn respect.” His cock hits the sweet spot inside you as he speaks, making you whimper loudly.

One of his hands is gripping your hip, the other reaching around your front, under your arm, gripping your breast harshly. He was holding onto you for dear life and you couldn’t get enough of it.

You’re hissing through your teeth at almost every thrust as the sound of his hips slapping your ass fills the room.

Joel doesn’t let up, his hands in bruising grips on your body. The hand on your breast moved to the front of your throat, gripping it, slowly cutting off your blood supply. He pulls you up against his chest, the new angle of your hips helping him get deeper as he fucks up into you.

“More!” You shout at him, fingers tapping the back of his hand on your throat.

He tightens his grip on you, you’re starting to see spots when your cunt pulses around him and you squirt your release all over his cock. “Fuck!” You gasp, tears forming in your eyes when Joel finally loosens his grip on your neck and you gasp for air.

You sob a string of curses as your orgasm washes over you, but Joel doesn’t stop. His hips begin to stutter and you know he’s got to be close.

You reach down and fiddle with your clit, wanting to cum again already.

“You’re a freaky thing aren’t you?” Joel asked, replacing your fingers with his own. “Bet you’d let me do anything I wanted. Fuckin’ slut.”

You nod as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Gonna let me cum inside you?? Fill up this tight pussy?” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Y- yes!! Fuck, fucking do it!” You grind down against his cock and fingers and suddenly you’re both losing it.

Joel’s fingers and hips stutter as he pumps his load into you, your cunt milking him for all he’s got. He keeps moving until his hips and back start hurting.

His dick is still hard as a rock when he pulls out of you. And there was no end in sight for you, you think you could cum ten more times and not be satisfied. You didn’t know at this point.

Joel moves around you and sits on the couch, cock in hand. His wet strokes are music to your ears as you maneuver yourself into his lap, facing away from him, each of your legs on the outside of his.

You can feel your own slick and his cum mixing together and leaking down to your asshole as you lean back against Joel’s chest.

“Fuck me again.” You pant.

“Shut up.” He spreads his thighs to make yours even further away from each other, reaching around and looking over your shoulder as he pushes two fingers into you.

He collects the wetness and starts rubbing up and down your slit, his thumb repeatedly brushing over your bundle of nerves.

“I told you I don’t have t- time for this, Joel.” You cry as you start to grind up against his hand with each downward movement of it.

“And I told you to shut up.” He growls and bites your earlobe. He can feel you dripping on him and he grabs you by the waist and folds you forward, making you put your hands on the coffee table for balance and support.

He lines himself up and pushes his cock into you, his fingers still covered in your juices moving to the hole that he hasn’t filled yet.

“Oh-“ you breathe, stomach churning with pleasure. “Do it. Fuck, don’t tease me, Joel. I’ll fucking stab you in the leg, I don’t-“ You’re cut off when his middle finger slowly pushes into you, making you gasp.

He starts thrusting himself up into your pussy while his finger worked its way in and out of your tightest hole, your slick and Joel’s cum sufficiently lubing you up.

His finger moved faster as his hips bucked up against yours. You start to roll your hips in rhythm with his and you’re about to cum again.

Joel feels you clench around him and he knows you’re close. He starts fucking you especially hard, loving the way you were bouncing on his cock.

His finger pulls out of you and he grabs your hips with both hands for more force and then you’re screaming his name as you cum hard.

Close behind, Joel groans as he shoots his load into you again. His hands start to loosen on your hips, his dick starting to finally soften inside you. Your anger has faded, your stomach no longer burning with feral need.

Joel pulled you back against his chest again as he came to his senses. “Did I hurt you?” He spoke softly, cock flexing, still in your pussy.

You hum a sigh, tired. “No. I mean… yes. But it didn’t hurt in a way that I didn’t like.”

“Alright.” He wraps his arms around your waist, hands splaying out over your belly.

“This okay?” He asks after a moment, nose tracing circles in the soft spot behind your ear.

“Yeah… I-“ you take a breath. “I think I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile.”

Joel laughs quietly. “You ‘think’? Whaddya mean?”

You shake your head, smacking his arm lightly. “I just didn’t want to admit to myself that I had a crush on you. So I played up the sass a bit.”

“Ahh, okay.” He hums.

“Like you didn’t? You tease me all the fucking time, Joel.”

He nods, breath ghosting over your neck, causing goosebumps to raise there. “And I know you love it.”

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Tag list: @evyiione @chyannealaniz @cesspitoflove @supersingle

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ddejavvu · 7 months

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Hi i love your sirius/remus x animagus!reader,,, can you please write james potter x animagus(squirrel) reader?

James always carries nuts such as acorns and sunflower seeds to give her🥹❤️ just pure fluff please

made me think of that one new girl scene where nick opens jess's bedside table and finds her night peanuts

When Remus is instructed to fish James's scarf out of 'his bedside drawer', he reaches for the top one. Because of course he does, because who is asked to open someone's bedside drawer and chooses the bottom one? Of course James meant the top one, otherwise he would have specified the bottom one.

He does not mean the top one.

Instead of knitwear, Remus finds a disastrous array of- nuts? Nuts and raisins and berries and seeds, for god's sake, in James's top bedside drawer. Loose. Filling the entire space.

He stands frozen, hand still clutching the knob to the drawer.

"James," He says, voice calm and cool, "Why are there nuts in your nightstand?"

Sirius snickers, makes some joke about 'forgetting to put them in his pants this morning', but Remus doesn't react. He can't react, he's petrified solid in his spot by the sight of James's strange collection.

"Oh, that? That's for m'girlfriend." James answers, like it's an explanation. Like it solves the problem, like it answers Remus's many, many question; 'Oh, right! His girlfriend, that makes sense. 'Cause she's a squirrel.

"Is she a squirrel?" Remus voices his thoughts aloud, tone bitter and tight.

James's shoulders tense slightly, raising towards his ears, and he nods slowly, "Uh, yeah, actually. 'Finished the transformation last week."

Oh.

"Oh," Remus's eyes are still roving over the heap of sunflower seeds and dried cranberries but he forces himself to shut the door, "So- so, what, she sleeps in there, or something?"

James laughs, a guffaw as he grins at Remus, "Don't be ridiculous, Moony, I don't make my girlfriend sleep in my nightstand. I've been taking a handful with me to class every day so she can snack."

Only James Potter would think that sleeping would be more ridiculous than scooping a pile of nuts into his pocket every morning before class for his girlfriend who can turn into a squirrel.

"Right." Is all that Remus can manage, and he goes through the motions of retrieving James's scarf from the bottom drawer this time, "Here's your scarf, Prongs."

"Thanks, mate." James nods, catching it when Remus tosses it in his direction. He's getting ready to head down to Hogsmeade to meet with you, and Remus briefly wonders if James already has a pocket full of raisins.

"You heading down with us?" James asks, watching Remus gather his jumper, slipping it on over the white tank he'd slept in.

"No," Remus shakes his head, stuffing his feet into his shoes and ducking his head as he beelines for the door, "I'm going to the hospital wing; All of a sudden I need a cure for a headache."

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #james potter one-shot #james potter headcanon #james potter headcanons #james potter hc #james potter hcs #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter dialogue #james potter fluff #james potter x reader fanfiction

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 days

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1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

Text

“No.”

Lance groans loudly, forgoing smacking his face in his hands and going straight for banging his head repeatedly against the elevator doors, which Keith thinks is a touch dramatic. But regardless he crosses his arms over his chest and stubbornly refuses to budge from his position.

“Keith. For the love of God.”

“God is dead and I’m not climbing out of a goddamn ten thousand foot elevator hatch with you.”

Keith admittedly puts a tad too much emphasis on the ‘with you’ part of the sentence. It’s obvious in the way Lance stops and lifts his head up and glares at Keith so icily he doesn’t need to squint to make out Lance’s expression in the low emergency lights; his eyes practically burn a hole through Keith’s forehead. Keith winces but doesn’t say anything.

“You have gone toe to toe with a goddamn zombie dictator,” Lance grinds out, “but you’re too much of a pussy to climb an elevator shaft?”

Keith stiffens. “I’m not — shut up!”

Smirking, now, visibly delighted that he’s managed to press Keith’s buttons (God Keith wants to punch him), Lance leans against the elevator wall, hip cocked, feigning nonchalance.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says, inspecting his nails like it doesn’t matter. “I just never would have thought that the best pilot out of the Garrison and literal pilot of the Red Lion is, you know, a chicken.”

Keith clenches his fists. Lance is frustrated and bored and pushing Keith’s buttons because there’s fuck else to do. He is. Keith knows this.

But he is so goddamn good at it.

“I’m not a fucking chicken, Cargo Pilot.”

‘Cargo Pilot’ is usually a hole-in-one insult that’s guaranteed to make Lance bristle, sure to make him bare his teeth and go bright red and generally lose his absolute shit. Keith is even sparing in his use of the term, careful not to let it lose its potency.

But because the universe hates him and also Lance is the most annoying motherfucker alive, his smirk only widens, and he flexes his fingers, still fucking casual, still not even bothering to look up in Keith’s direction.

I hate you, Keith thinks, with feeling.

“Sure,” Lance says, without. He shrugs. “Prove it.”

For a second Keith thinks he’s so mad that he might. But then he imagines it fully, pictures his bare back pressed against Lance’s, feet planted on the slippery castle walls, lights probably still out, struggling to put one foot in front of the other and drag each other upright. He thinks of how much effort that would take and how easily he would start to sweat, how easily every shift of their muscles would loosen the friction-borne grip between them, how easily his foot could slip. He thinks of how long a ten thousand foot drop would take, how long he would have to accept that he’s going to die before he splats on the pristine floor.

His stomach turns. His face goes green.

Lance’s jaw drops.

“Oh my God, you’re afraid of heights!”

“I am not!” Keith snaps, because he isn’t, he just has a fucking brain. “It’s just — it’s ten thousand fucking feet, Lance!”

“A pilot!” Lance screeches. “A pilot afraid of heights!”

“You are so goddamn extra!” Keith cries.

Lance makes more vague screeching noises. He gestures furiously at Keith, then pauses, then makes a sound in the back of his throat akin to a loudly dying whale, then gestures back at Keith, then at the ceiling, then at the elevator as a whole. Then he lets out one loud, long, final yell, completely wordless and directed at what Keith can only assume is the heavens, and stops, closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and very calmly crawls onto the floor, belly first, and lays perfectly flat with his face pressed to the tiles.

“I hate it here,” he says serenely. He pauses for a minute, thoughtful. “Also, I hate you.”

“Ditto,” Keith mutters, finally giving up and joining him on the floor. He tips his head back until it thumps on the elevator wall and sighs, loud and long, wondering vaguely if this is punishment for the hundreds of times he mocked Shiro for his fear of squirrels. He truly thinks it might be.

All he wanted was twenty goddamn minutes in the pool. That’s all. He’d have even taken ten. He just wanted to swim a few laps, maybe float for a bit, and pretend he was in a lake somewhere without pressing problems such as saving the universe and the fate of every single soul in it.

Eight minutes, really. Seven.

The lights flicker back on. Lance lifts his head, hopeful, then stretches out one ridiculously long leg (seriously what is the deal with that he’s basically a giraffe, it’s too much, Keith should talk to someone about it because since when were legs allowed to be that — long and shapely, or whatever, it’s weird) and presses the closest button with his toe.

It does nothing. Lance stares at it for a few minutes, as if attempting to bring the elevator alive by manifestation alone, but no life is forthcoming. Lance huffs sadly and returns his face to the floor.

“That’s really disgusting,” Keith says, although he has his fair share of Floor Time. “People walk on this floor all the time.”

Lance doesn’t bother looking up, groaning loudly for several minutes before simply rolling away to the opposite side of the elevator.

“Shut up,” he says finally, after so long Keith almost forgets his original comment. “You just —”

Abruptly he straightens up, pulling the towel off his neck and crawling forward to place it in the middle of the elevator. Keith rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts, a little.

“You and your commentary stay on the loser stinky mullet half of the elevator,” Lance says. “The pretty half that’s not infected with your rancid vibes belongs to me.”

“Were you trained to be this annoying?” Keith ponders, half out of genuine curiosity. “Like, do you do this on purpose?”

“Ignoring you now,” Lance says primly.

Keith scowls. He’s not — Keith isn’t the one who’s too irritating to be around without going insane.

“I’m ignoring you, asshole.”

Lance doesn’t respond. Keith closes one eye and holds up his thumb and forefinger to the approximate shape of Lance’s face, pretending he’s squishing his head. It brings him great peace.

After a while, though, he starts to get restless. His legs starts bouncing, up and down so fast it’s blurry, and then his fingers start to tap, but the feeling of rustling under his skin only gets worse, spinning faster and faster and coil tightening more and more in his stomach until he just — implodes, really, until his brain goes boom and says if you don’t get moving right this second, and Keith says in response to it, believe me I’m on it. He’s scrambling to his feet before he has the conscious thought to do so, hands moving before he tells them to and pushing him upright, bare feet padding rapidly on the floor as he paces, three steps until he hits the wall then pivot then three steps then pivot then three steps again. Over and over and over. His fingers stop tapping but his shoulders get twitchy; itchy under his skin and on it, sweaty because there’s no airflow and this goddamn elevator is sweltering. Or he’s just hot. He usually runs hot. He’s not sure and he doesn’t care to know, because the pool would have been refreshing but instead he’s stuck in a ten by ten by ten cube stuck somewhere on a ten thousand foot tube and to his right his rival-slash-teammate keeps huffing and rubbing his hands on his arms and muttering to himself.

“Could you maybe cut that out,” Keith snaps, which is entirely unfair because his pacing isn’t quiet, but Keith is three seconds away from attempting to climb the walls and it’s Lance, anyway, when are they not arguing, so it doesn’t matter.

Maybe when you’re having a crisis-brought bonding moment, says a voice in his brain. Stuck elevators are kind of a crisis.

Shut up or I’m going to give myself a concussion, Keith responds to it.

“Not my fault it’s goddamn freezing in here,” Lance snaps.

Keith pauses. He looks down at Lance. He frowns.

“Your lips are blue,” he observes, bewildered.

“Eat shit,” Lance responds, predictably. He’s fucking — he’s shivering.

Keith is made astutely aware of the cooling sweat on his back and grimaces.

“Lance,” he says slowly, “it is not cold in here.”

Lance blows out a breath like the goddamn weight of the world is on his shoulders. He flicks his eyes up to meet Keith’s, who is standing behind his head and leaning down, and somehow manages to seem like the more put-together person between them, which is bonkers.

“I’m anaemic, stupid.”

Keith blinks. Suddenly the air feels very solemn, and he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know you had an eating disorder,” he manages eventually.

Lance’s faces scrunches up in confusion for seven whole seconds before it clears, and he looks at Keith like he is the dumbest man alive and then bursts out laughing.

“That’s — anorexic, you idiot! I don’t have enough blood!”

“Oh,” Keith says, face heating. He scowls as Lance continues to laugh way harder than what was called for, clutching his stomach with tears rolling down his face. He pokes Lance aggressively with his toe, and by that he means his kicks him. “Will you stop — it’s not that funny, dickhead!”

“It really is,” Lance wheezes.

Keith scowls harder. His face is as red as his shorts and the flush is starting to spread down his chest and Lance notices and it only makes him laugh more, because he’s a shithead of the worst kind. “I hope you choke.”

Keith flicks his towel over his head and yanks, embarrassed, stomping to the other side of the elevator as if that will somehow make Lance shut up faster. It doesn’t, obviously, and he hears Lance laugh for several minutes until he finally winds down to giggling, then eventually nothing.

Keith harrumphs quietly to himself. He resolves to sticking in his corner like he should have from the very beginning, until the elevator starts moving again or someone on the team comes to save them. At this point he’s so done he wouldn’t even care if it was Shiro, wouldn’t even care if Shiro gloated about it for eternity (Keith saved his ass from government experimentation, anyway, so he wins by default for the rest of time). He faces his corner and pulls his knees to his chest and starts picking at a loose thread in the seam of his shorts to amuse himself.

Several minutes later, he hears Lance shifting. He ignores it. He pulls at the thread until it comes loose, then busies himself with tying the thread into the most complicated and random knot he can.

A few more minutes later, and there’s the sound of fabric rustling and draping, then quiet cursing. Keith untangles and retangles his knot for the fourth time.

After what must be a half hour, Keith hears the sound of teeth chattering.

He sighs. He looks forlornly at his knot.

“I could just ignore him,” he mutters to himself. “He probably won’t die.”

He thinks of how short Lance’s shorts are. He pinches his own towel in his fingertips, so thin he can practically feel his fingerprints. He remembers blue lips and a clenched jaw and raised gooseflesh.

He sighs loudly, more of a groan, and flicks his ball of thread away.

It takes Lance a few seconds to respond to Keith looming over him, which is worrying. But eventually he cracks open one brown eye and flares up at Keith.

“What,” he mutters. His teeth are chattering so bad it sounds like two words.

“You’re freezing,” Keith says. His voice is softer than he expected it to be.

Lance huffs, closing his eye again and curling further into himself. “No shit.”

Keith frowns. “I’m not.”

“Well, rub it in, why dontcha.”

Keith frowns. “You’re not understanding.”

Lance ignores him. Keith has a sudden and vivid memory of the year Shiro and Adam drove him up to Seattle in the winter so he could be more cultured, or whatever (or less of a desert menace, Adam had argued, and perhaps more inclined to stop biting people), and spent the whole car ride lecturing him about hypothermia.

“It doesn’t take very long to set in,” Shiro had said.

“And once you have it you need to warm up or your heart can stop,” Adam had finished, very serious.

Suddenly Keith starts to feel very panicked.

Lukewarm tea, warm blankets, skin to skin contact with someone who’s warm, were Shiro’s instructions. And then possibly hospital.

Well. Keith has one of those things.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he wraps a gentle hand around Lance’s shoulder, tugging him upright, then pulls him forward so his cradled hands are pressed against Keith’s chest and his head is tucked into the junction of Keith’s neck.

Worryingly, it takes Lance almost thirty seconds to start complaining.

“You smell like mullet,” he whines. But he doesn’t move away. In fact, he burrows closer.

Keith swallows down his worry. “Mullets don’t smell like anything, dumbass.” He brings his hands up to press against Lance’s back. Lance groans, curling deeper into Keith’s hold. His nose is icy and burns a trail across Keith’s shoulder, down his collarbone. Keith’s flush from earlier makes an enthusiastic return, because nothing good still exists in the world.

“I still think you’re annoying,” Lance mumbles. Every move of his lip brushes against Keith’s skin.

“Shut up and focus on not freezing to death,” Keith snaps.

Lance snorts. “I’m not gonna freeze to death, doofus. It’s just a dead elevator. Once I fell asleep on the Garrison rooftop in January and only had to spend three days in urgent care, so basically I can withstand anything.”

Keith pauses. He tries to reconcile the Lance who just said that to the Lance who came up with a life saving plan in thirty seconds on the Balmera to the Lance who threatened to stick Keith in a wormhole to the Lance who smiled and said they made a good team before passing out in Keith’s arms.

“You are a very confusing person,” he says when all the reconciling does absolutely nothing.

“Thank you,” Lance says, sounding pleased.

Keith snorts and tightens his hold. Lance sighs and sags a little. Slowly his fingers stop feeling so much like ice blocks, and his breathing doesn’t sound so erratic. Keith doesn’t know how long it’s been. He stopped trying to count somewhere between when Lance’s cheek squished against his chest and his fingers started tracing featherlight patterns across his skin.

Lance yawns. Keith tries to fight his but ends up yawning anyway.

“Is it bad to let a person with hypothermia sleep?” he mumbles, half-slurring his words.

Lance hums. “‘M not hypothermic.”

“Dunno. Could be.”

He sighs again, a puff of air against Keith’s neck, and spreads his palms against Keith’s chest, flat. “‘M not. You’re too warm.” He pauses. “Freak.”

His tone is fond. The corners of Keith’s lips quirk up. “Weirdo.”

“Mhm.”

He falls asleep trying to count Lance’s breaths. It’s — groundbreaking, somehow.

———

(“Oh, my God.”

Keith cracks open bleary eyes, lifting a hand to rub his face. Lance groans from his place on Keith’s chest — in a puddle of drool, why is that not nearly as revolting as it should be — and snatches Keith’s wrist way faster than he should be able to as groggy as he is, placing it back around his waist.

“Oh, my God,” the voice repeats, gleeful.

“Shut up, Shiro,” Keith mutters. “Fuck.”

It takes him a minute.

His eyes fly open at the same time as Lance’s, and they look at each other, and then Keith is being shoved and kicked at the same time somehow and Lance is scrambling backwards at the speed of light, screeching. A loud bang makes Keith look over and he discovers his brother, who is dead to him, collapsed on the floor, laughing so loud Zarkon can probably hear him.

“What — Shiro — go — stop fucking laughing, you piece of shit!”

Lance continues to screech. Keith whips a towel at him.

“You gay pining loser!” Shiro shrieks. “I’m going to tell literally everyone!”

Keith puts his head in his hands and wishes he’d fallen down the goddamn elevator shaft.)

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nychta-luxury · 1 year

Text

A Strange God

Gen Z reader

soft au - reader is an adult -

Warning: Not proofread, dark jokes, mostly comedy rather then serious, swearing.

-------------------------------------------

You were sitting in you're room playing genshin, doing your usual things like commissions, Tea pot, exploration, farming.

Until something strange happened your device wasn't responding. I don't mean the screen froze oh no no. You can still move your mouse however the game itself is moving on its own

"Oh hell naw I didn't sign up for this demonic shit. " You say as you back away from the device. Your main is still moving and the worst part is, its not even part of any idle animation or something you have seen before. You don't care if it's a hacker or some possession shit, EITHER ONE IS BAD

Then it hits you, you starting to get light headed, vision becoming blurry, you start on panicking. What the hell was wrong with your body just when you were about to reach for a phone you black out.

You are now concouice though haven't opened your eyes yet, it feels... Very peaceful your not sure why.. The birds are singing, the smell of flowers in the air, the grass on the ground

"THE GRASS ON THE GROUND?!" You instantly opened your eyes.

"Why is this grass brighter than my future." You say as you look at the neon like grass "Did people kidnap me to touch grass like a normal human being?" Look as much as unbelievable that suggestion was, you have been told to randomly touch grass more than your salary combined.

"You know what fuck it, it's like-" You look at the sky "I'm going to pretend I know what the time is, however I can say it's too early to care." You lay back down, ah how peaceful. Too peaceful, but who cares you can pretend to be in some anime and lay down at the grass.

"AHHH IS THAT A FUCKING BUG" You instantly sat up from the ground, honestly what were you thinking

"GET THE HELL AWAY SATAN SPAWN."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay now that's over with. You look up at the sky "Okay universe we both know you will fuck me over one way or another. I know damn well that the bugs were only the beginning." You sigh, done with your anime protagonist moment and reach out to grab your phone.

"Where's my phone...?"

"NO NO NOO," you say panicking "WHERE IS MY LIFE PURPOSE?!" You scream "I AM STILL WAITING FOR TCF MANHWA TO UPDATE!!"

It's been 30 minutes and you are still upset you don't have your phone. YOU DON'T CARE IF SOMEONE KIDNAPPED YOU AS LONG AS THEY GAVE YOU A PHONE OR BE AN IPAD KID.

"Ugh, what's the purpose of life if it isn't to update that one story you never continued in 2020." You say dramatically, if anyone was watching they would think you just lost a loved one.

you felt a small tickle on your foot, and your -20 IQ brain thought that it might be a spider... but suddenly you had gained 1 IQ and decided to actually look at what it was instead of kicking your feet aimlessly.

Turns out it was was a squirrel, thank goodness you didn't kick it. Let's just say tiktok traumatized you with too much information about animals..

The squirrel was just cuddling up to you, your weren't really sure why. It was then you realize your surroundings. "Why the hell am I in some old ass ruin??" Now your confused, you look around the area to see where you are perhaps you might even recognize it who knows? You can see a huge structure, it kinda looks like a crossbow, your not quite sure how to describe it. It feels very familiar for some reason, you can see carving marks on it, it read "Seed of stories, brought by the wind, and cultivated by time." huh for an ancient structure it sure had modern English. Wait. That's not English. How are you even reading that??? there is only one explanation for this. "I am some fictional work that doesn't even make sense, like 90% of fantasy reincarnation stories even if the protagonist was transmigrated and not reincarnated, but they use it anyway to sound cool." You say with a serious face, "Lmao as if that was true" You feel something on your shoulder, you immediately turn to what it was just to find the same squirrel just climbed up to your shoulder and now just cuddling you. "You are so lucky my reflexes didn't kick in, I almost throw you off my shoulders yk." "Why am I even talking to a squirrel? gonna be Snow White 2.0 ig" suddenly you hear something drop, you turn behind you and see- IS THAT AMBER???? looks like she dropped her bow, why does she look so surprised? Is it your outfit maybe? Maybe even the hair?? Anyways you just walked over and picked up ambers bow for her "Yo, you uh dropped this" "YOUR GRACE, YOU DON'T HAVE TO PICK IT UP FOR ME!!" "Wait tf you mean your grace." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Welp Gen z reader popped up in my mind so here- I decided not to add to many gen z jokes just yet since it is a little short story, might make a part 2 if this post goes well-

#genshin sagau #genshin soft au #sagau #genshin impact #gen z reader

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jazminrhode1 · 9 months

Text

What Went Wrong? Chris Sturniolo x Reader One Shot

Summary: Chris calls you on a dare to ask what went wrong.

Words: 763 words

“Hey, y/n” he said when you answered the phone. Chris was filming a video with his brothers and was dared to give you a call.

You hadn’t spoken to him since you broke up. No matter how much you wanted to call him, you never did.

“I got dared to call an ex and ask what went wrong…” he explained. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You could hear in his voice that he was a little uncomfortable.

“What went wrong?” you asked. “Basically, why did your relationship end,” Nick clarified.

You hadn’t thought about it in a while. No matter how amicable the split was, you loved him and you never really quite came to terms with it being over between you two.

“You don’t have to…” Chris said. You felt the sincerity in his voice.

“No, it’s ok,” you replied, thinking about what to say.

“I don’t think anything necessarily went wrong,” you began, “all good things come to an end.”

Chris was nodding on the other end of the phone. He didn’t realize how much he missed you until this very moment. Hearing your voice was bringing back so many memories for him and he felt a little overwhelmed.

“I think that even though it ended, that relationship wasn’t a failure. Not for me anyway,” you said.

“No,” Chris assured, “not for me either.”

“We were young, you know? And I still look back and consider myself so lucky to have spent all of my high school years with you,” you explained.

A smile tugged at the corner of Chris’ lips as he covered his eyes with his hat. He had loved you since pre-k and when you split, no matter how mutual the decision was, he still lost his best friend.

“All of my best memories from high school have you in them. And, they’re not ruined because we broke up… They’re 10 times better because they were with you,” you said, "I have no regrets about dating you."

You hadn’t told him that before. There were a lot of things that you regretted not saying and you were glad to have the opportunity to say them now.

You waited to hear if he was going to respond but, you pictured him on the other side of the phone hiding his face and trying to keep his shit together. He might have acted tough but, he wasn’t good at this kind of thing.

“I still remember that road trip we took to Portland with your family,” you started. “Oh my god, I forgot about that. Do you remember when Matt ran over the squirrel and cried for like, 2 hours?” Chris asked. "It was like 5 minutes," Matt argued.

You could hear Nick and Matt laughing in the background. Their voices were getting more and more distant. You figured that Chris was done with the video and was heading to his room.

The thought that their life in LA was so foreign to you made you kind of sad. Even when you broke up, you promised that you’d always be friends or, at least, you’d always stay in touch. You knew that you could have made more of an effort, and in the beginning, you both did, but it was hard to go back to being friends after a relationship like that.

You stayed on the phone for hours, reminiscing about young love. You talked about dancing in parking lots and making out in breakrooms at your high school jobs. You remembered picnics in your Dad’s pickup truck and Valentine's Day dates in minivans. You laughed about corny pickup lines and awful date ideas. But, mostly, you remembered how much you loved each other and laughed at yourselves for thinking that young love lasted forever.

“Hey… thanks for calling,” you said. It was 2 a.m. and you had to go. You wanted to stay and talk to him all night like you used to do when you were 16. You wanted to know that when you hung up, he’d be outside ready to pick you up for school. You wanted to go back in time and fall in love with him all over again. But, this good thing came to an end.

“I sometimes want to call you but, it never feels like the right time,” you said. “Call” he whispered, “whenever you want to. I’m here… I’m always going to be here,” Chris said.

Before you hung up, he paused just to say “I still love you, y/n”. “I still love you too”, you replied.

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tim-shii · 3 months

Text

i remember it all too well.

featuring: bachira meguru, itoshi rin, mikage reo

" you almost ran the red 'cause you were looking over at me. "

bachira meguru was an eccentric lover. he likes to have fun and takes you on dates you’d never even expect. one time, during your second date, he took you out to go bungee jumping. you were frozen on the platform for 30 minutes while he was down there, cheering you on with a stupid smile on his face and his phone recording you.

right now, you guys are on the way home after a day at a cat cafe. they were really cute but their fur all over you was not cute at all. you look out the window, admiring the view as the car sped through the road. you hold back a laugh as you pass by a squirrel falling down a tree with its acorn stuck in the branch. you turn to tell bachira when you notice he’s already looking at you.

“eyes on the road!”

“i got my eye on you.” and to push it further, he points two fingers in your direction. sighing lighty, you shove his face to turn to the road. “you can eye me later if we don’t die.”

bachira whips his head to look at you accusingly. “excuse me?! my driving skills are maxed out, you know. and besides, who’s the one with the license between us, huh? that’s right. me. bachira megu–” “yeah, yeah. shut up.” you try to shush him however that seemed to only seethe him more. more screams of fury and annoyance comes from bachira. you were only seconds away from tuning him out when you saw the traffic light glow red. immediately, you urged bachira to step on the brakes. with the panic in your voice, he abides at once.

now at a stop sign, deep breaths coming from the two of you fill the vehicle. giggles and laughter following after. “oh my god, stop laughing, meguru.” he halts his laughter. playfully gesturing a zipper over his lips yet the obvious grin on his face gives it away.

“can we both agree to always keep an eye on the road now?”

“yes, ma’am… got my other eye on you tho.”

“bachira.”

" you told me 'bout your past, thinking your future was me. "

getting into a relationship wasn’t in itoshi rin’s bucket list. or any list really. never did he think that he’ll be here at 3am in the morning, on his bed, with you, and he’s telling you all about him. from the very first time he held a soccer ball to the day sae left for spain. he confided in you, hiding no side of his self and showing you all and even letting you see through him completely.

“so, this is it?” the air was cold. breaking up on a december night? it almost makes him laugh. he’d fight for it but.. what was the point? this is the ending of a love story. your love story. if he tries to change the ending, who knows what could happen next? you stay with him out of pity? or you get tired and all goes in a circle once more. he stays silent. not uttering one word and maybe that set you off because you dragged a hand down your face. he observes you for the first time in weeks. you look really tired and if letting this end would make you happy then so be it.

he walks past you and that leaves you baffled. so he’s just leaving, you think in your head. chest aching and hands itching to reach out, but you don’t. because if he’s walking away without a word, what are the chances he’ll hear you out?

“oh god, i never thought it could end up like this.” rin hears you whisper to yourself as he grabs his coat and makes his way to the door. he bites on his lips, urging the tears brimming his eyes to not fall. not now. as he strolls through the park, he mutters to himself. “neither did i.” but you weren’t there to hear him. only the moon knows.

" we're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light. "

loving mikage reo was unexpected and something you’re grateful for. he’s the best boyfriend one could ever ask for. he fell in love with you at first sight when you took his coffee order at the cafe down the block. the continues to visit the coffee shop with a bouquet of flowers dedicated for you everyday until you give him your number.

cravings at midnight are common. you had them a lot so sneaking out of reo’s arms became something you’re skilled at. tiptoeing towards the fridge, you rummage through every shelf to find something to eat. a yelp escapes you as you felt cold hands slid under your shirt. reo’s laughter breaks your shock, turning to hit him in the chest. that just seems to make him laugh more.

“hi, sweetheart. what are you doing?” he smiles like he did nothing wrong. you scowl at him before turning to rummage through the fridge once again. “i’m hungry. i wanna eat.”

“oh? should we just order then?” reo asks you, pulling out his phone and opening a delivery app. he was about to click on an item until your hand blocks his phone while you stare him down with a glare. “reo, your fridge is full to the brim. baa-ya even had to push things in the pantry ‘cause there’s no more space!”

“come on, use your inside voice inside the house.” like the smooth man he is, he cuddles you in his arms, swaying the both of you side by side. only to stop when you pinch his side. “ow! what was that for?"

“don’t dance with me when the fridge door is open!”

“but it’s romantic!”

“an overpriced electricity bill isn’t!”

“you’re not even the one paying the bills–ow!”

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

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hanichani · 9 months

Text

Pairing: chan x gn!reader (but reader is referred to as mom), slight minsung cameo hehe

Genre: fluff, idol!au, friends/idiots to lovers

Summary: confusing shenanigans between chan and his kids lead to even more confusion but also clarification?

Warnings: reader can be seen as gender neutral but they are referred to as mom by the kids. small age gap between reader and skz.

Word count: 688

a/n: this is a part 2 to this channie drabble!!!

you were standing in front of the door to chan’s studio, trying to bring yourself to knock on the door. he had texted you that he would finish work in about an hour and asked if you could meet him at the company so you guys could continue to the dorms afterwards. so here you were, standing in front of the door and wondering what would happen after you opened it.

he kissed you goodbye this morning. should you go in for a “hi kiss” now? should you act like nothing happened and just greet him normally? maybe shake his hand or something? no y/n, jesus you were overthinking this. but it was hard to not overthink when you had no idea where you stood with chan.

the door suddenly opening interrupted your frantic thoughts and you came face to face with a squirrel looking boy.

“oh, hi mom. dad’s still inside.” he grinned and slightly turned around to point behind him.

great, this makes things so much easier, even your friends could see the very obvious something between you two.

“shut up ji.” you rolled your eyes playfully. “we’re not mom and dad.” you argued, looking down at your hands.

“we’re not?” chan suddenly came out of the studio, walking over to you and stopping behind you. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his chest. then you felt a kiss being placed at the crown of your head. your hands automatically went to rest over his bigger ones.

“I definitely feel like a father with all these kids running around my studio.” and as if on cue, said kids, changbin and lee know to be specific, walked out of the studio bickering about something.

“case in point.” you grinned at chan over your shoulder and he smiled back.

“hi, mom.” changbin stopped in his track when he spotted you, making minho bump into him. the older boy groaned and waved from behind changbin.

you rolled your eyes yet again. “you guys do realize that i’m younger than you, right?” this earned you a shrug from changbin and a chuckle from both han and minho.

“you’re dating our dad, it counts.” jisung argued and you instantly felt your cheeks go warm and pink because no, you were in fact not dating chan. at least not officially. but after today and after this little display, you couldn’t really say that you were just friends either, could you? but chan didn’t seem to have a reaction to this. in fact, he just stayed silent while tightening his grip on you a bit more.

luckily, the conversation quickly came to an end when minho interlocked hands with jisung and dragged him away after saying a brief goodbye. changbin also just waved and exchanged a quick “see you at the dorm” with chan.

and then you were left alone with chan who still remained behind you.

“should we get something to eat before we head to the dorm, mom?” he emphasized the last word, while he rocked you both from side to side as if you were wobbling little penguins.

“don’t start.” you turned around in his arms and glared at him.

“no?” he asked, a sly grin forming on his face.

“you don’t wanna adopt my kids?” he chuckled, after making a pouty face at you.

you stared at him, trying to read his face. was this still a part of the joke? did this have a deeper meaning? oh god, feelings are such a confusing thing.

“i think we’re going to have to get a divorce then. i can’t be with someone who won’t accept my children as their own.” he said, letting go of you and putting on a serious face.

and in that moment you thought to yourself, it’s now or never and so you just said the first thing that came to mind.

��maybe we could at least start dating before we go around getting divorced.” you chuckled nervously, holding eye contact with the man in front of you.

his expression turned from a serious one to a confused one.

“wait, we weren’t already?”

oh, man.

#chan x reader #chan fluff #chan drabbles #bang chan x reader #skz drabbles #stray kids x reader #bangchan x reader #chan x y/n #bang chan fluff #bang chan x y/n #stray kids x y/n

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alisonsfics · 1 year

Text

caught in the rain

pairing: chris evans x reader

summary: your mischievous puppy is the reason you end up meeting your dashingly handsome neighbor

word count: 2.2k

warnings: swearing, lots of chris + dogs fluff

“Duke, c’mon. Can we not stop to smell every blade of grass? Mommy doesn’t want to get caught in the rain” you asked, trying to put some pep in the step of your new dog.

You eyed the approaching storm clouds and prayed you could make it home before it started pouring; however, Duke had other plans. You had had Duke for about four months, but that didn’t stop him from smelling the same grass and trees every single day.

You normally weren’t in a rush and we’re down to enjoy a calm stroll with your pup, but now the weather had other plans.

You focused your gaze on the dark clouds and how fast they were moving. As soon as you looked away, Duke got distracted: a squirrel darting down the street.

Duke took off in pursuit of the small animal. Being an almost-forty-pound german shepherd, he quickly pulled the leash out of your hand.

You felt the burning in your hand as the leash was yanked out of your reach. You chased after Duke, who was currently sprinting down the street in the opposite direction of your house.

You silently cursed your decision to not buy a small dog like a pug; you could’ve caught up to a pug.

“Duke, come here” you screamed after your dog, but the command missed his attention. He had lost sight of the squirrel and was now just blissfully running in the breeze, unaware of his owner’s panic.

You continued to chase him down the sidewalk and began to feel the aching in your legs. “God, I knew I should’ve been working out more.” You mumbled to yourself.

If it was possible, Duke actually sped up.

A few houses up, you watched a car pull into their driveway. “Oh great, a neighbor to embarrass myself in front of.” You thought to yourself. You tried to run faster to make sure Duke didn’t jump in the way of the moving car.

You were so focused on Duke, you didn’t see the man step out of the car. “Duke,” you called again.

The stranger stepped out of his car and saw an unknown woman running down the sidewalk after her dog. He let out a small chuckle to himself at your predicament.

You finally noticed the man when he bent down and started clapping to call Duke. Duke, always a people person, ran right in the stranger’s arms. “C’mere bubba,” the man said, successfully grabbing his leash and petting the dog.

You stopped running and were about five or ten feet away from the man. “Oh thank you so much,” you said quickly, while bending over to catch your breath. Your sides were aching.

“Are you okay?” The man asked you, almost amused. You nodded, not fully answering yet.

“Just not a runner,” you said in between breaths. The man had Duke’s leash securely in his hand, so you could stop worrying about it for one second.

When you had finally caught your breath, you walked over to the man. He was still on his knees and playing with Duke. “Hi, pal,” he said, seeming just as excited as Duke was.

“I bet you’re a good boy, yeah? But you probably freaked your momma out.” He said, while scratching Duke's side.

“Thank you again.” You said, looking down at the man. He looked up to meet your gaze and nodded. You finally took in some of his features, and realized how handsome he was. “I’m Chris, by the way.” He introduced himself, holding out the hand that wasn’t holding the leash.

You smiled and introduced yourself. You reached out to shake his hand and felt a shiver run down your spine at how strong his hand felt.

He carefully took the leash off of his hand and helped wrap it around your hand. “He’s a gorgeous dog.” He said, bending down to pet Duke again.

“Thank you. He seems to really like you.” You told him as you looked at the giddy expression on Duke’s face.

“He reminds me of my dog, Dodger. They’re both just as hyper.” He told you, standing up to look you in the eyes again. You giggled to yourself. “What? I totally didn’t take you as a dog guy” you teased.

The joke caught Chris off guard. When it finally clicked what you had said, a giant laugh came out of his mouth, and he clutched his chest. “Guilty as charged,” he said, still laughing.

Neither one of you could get the smiles off of your face. You both seemed to be stuck giggling and looking into each other’s eyes.

Then, there was a loud crack of thunder and it began to downpour. You both jumped at the sudden cold rain pouring over your body. “Oh shit,” you swore to yourself. Duke began playing in the rain, trying to catch all the falling drops with his tongue. “C’mon,” Chris said, gesturing for you to follow him. You ran after him with Duke.

Chris pulled you both under his porch, saving you from the rain. “You wanna come inside and hang out til it stops?” Chris asked, having to yell over the rain.

You nodded your head and followed behind him. He opened his front door for you and let and Duke walk inside. You wiped your shoes off on the doormat and stepped inside. “Do you have a towel that I can wipe his feet off with? I don’t want him to ruin your carpet.” You asked, turning to Chris as he wiped the water droplets off his face.

“Yeah, of course,” He nodded and jogged towards another room. You waited there patiently. Chris came back with a grey towel in his hand. You took it from him and thanked him. “Is Duke good with other dogs? I can get Dodger and they could play together.” Chris suggested.

You quickly nodded and smiled at him. “That would great, Duke loves other dogs.” You told him.

When Chris came back, Dodger was slowly walking behind him. He seemed hesitant as he walked over to Duke. They both sniffed each other for a second, then Dodger jogged over to his basket of toys.

“Go see, Duke” you said, pointing over at Dodger. Duke followed after him and they quickly began playing tug of war. You and Chris both laughed at how quickly they had started playing.

“While the kids play, I have some beer the adults can have.” Chris said, looking towards you.

Your eyes lit up at his suggestion. “Oooo yes please,” you said, smiling. You followed him to the kitchen and waited as he grabbed two beers out of the fridge.

He opened a bottle for you and handed it to you, “here’s your prize for second place.” He said. You took the bottle from him, but furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “Second place in what?” You asked taking a sip of the beer.

“That race down the street,” he said, chuckling. You clutched your mouth as you nearly spit out of your drink. “Way to hit a girl when she’s down” you joked, giggling over the joke.

“You’re right. You put in a lot of effort. Good job. Here’s to…” he said, trying to come up with something to drink to. Your mind automatically came up with an idea. “Getting caught in the rain,” you replied.

A smile grew on his face as he looked at you. “To getting caught in the rain,” he agreed.

You were already head over heels for this guy that you only known for less than an hour. It wasn’t something you would normally do, but he was charming and sweet and he even liked your dog.

You both clinked your glasses together. As you both took a sip, you held eye contact that lasted for longer than it should have. There was a glimmer in his eyes that mesmerized you.

“So, are you new to the neighborhood? I’ve never seen you around.” He asked, knowing he never could have forgotten seeing your face. You shook your head. “No, I’ve lived here for a few years now. I didn’t really walk around the neighborhood until I got Duke. I’m never at any of the neighborhood block party things though either, just not my scene. I would much rather hang out at home.” You replied.

He nodded his head along as you spoke. You had never had someone listen so intently to every word that came out of your mouth.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that one. I spent more nights home with Dodger than out partying. I go on walks with him sometimes or I’ll jog around the neighborhood, but that’s kinda it.” He told you.

You couldn’t help the fact that your imagination lingered to the thought of Chris shirtless and jogging past your house. Just the thought made you excited.

“I’ll have to keep an eye out.” You said, not being able to get rid of the smile on your face. Chris nearly choked on his beer when he heard what he perceived as a flirty comment. He almost thought he imagined the twinkle in your eyes when you said it. He was sure he was just overanalyzing though.

You guys kept talking for what felt like hours, getting to know each other. Clearly, Chris was charming, but he was also just a really nice guy.

Finally, you both looked over and noticed that Duke and Dodger were both laying on the floor panting and exhausted from their previous activities.

“Clearly, I need to come here everyday just to wear Duke out, so he doesn’t pull me down the street again.” You said, giggling and looking over at Chris. He jumped on the opportunity to spend more time with you.

“Dodger would love that. I’m sure he’d love a friend to play with. I wouldn’t mind the company either.” He said, testing the waters.

You felt your stomach do a flip. Did he really just say that?

“Oh, really?” You asked him, as you felt the butterflies swarming inside of you. Chris suddenly seemed shy as he smiled and looked at the ground.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush anymore. I think you’re really fun to be around, and you’re obviously drop dead gorgeous.” He said, matter-of-factly.

Before you could respond, Chris stepped closer to you and cupped your face with one of his hands. You felt jittery as you looked into his eyes right before closing your eyes and connecting your lips.

His lips were surprisingly soft against yours. You let him pull you closer to him, and your bodies became pressed up against each other. You rested your hands on his chest as you kissed him. His cologne filled your lungs and reminded you of pine forests.

You pulled away for a quick breath, and when Chris pulled you back into the kiss, he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You felt like the room was spinning.

The kiss got more and more heated since both of you couldn’t resist each other. You tugged against his shirt, keeping his close to you. His tongue lightly flicked against yours, teasing you. His free hand began to caress your side, drawing little circles with his fingers.

You both didn’t separate until Duke nudged his nose into the back of your knee, causing your knee to buckle. Chris wrapped his arms around your waist and kept you from falling.

“Hi, buddy,” Chris said, looking at Duke and then back at you, “he’s protective over his momma.” You giggled, nodding your head.

“So…” you said, referencing what you both had been doing before being interrupted. Chris chuckled to himself, and his cheeks turned a little red. “Yes, about that. How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?” He asked you, looking into your eyes with a hopeful look.

“I would really like that. I mean it’d be a shame after a kiss that good to not try this out.” You said, smirking to him. He let out another one of those full-body laughs that you saw earlier. “Yeah, it was a pretty great kiss.” He said, pecking your lips again.

Duke then nudged you again. “I think this guy would like to go home and take a nap. So, how about I give you my number and I see you tomorrow?” You suggested. Chris quickly nodded his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

You took the phone from his hand and opened up his contacts. “By the way, your picture of you and Dodger on your wallpaper is adorable.” You said, as you typed in your number. “Right? That’s what I said, and everyone else says it’s cheesy.” He agreed. You handed it back to him and smiled.

“You better call me. I know where you live.” You joked, still with a giddy smile on your face. He laughed at your joke, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “Oh, I promise I’ll be calling you. I’m not dumb enough to miss that opportunity.” He said, making your stomach flutter.

Chris walked you to the front door, where you hooked Duke back up to his leash. “Bye Dodger. It was nice to meet you.” You said, waving to the sleepy dog curled up on the couch.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, smiling up at Chris. He leaned down to softly place a kiss on your lips. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He replied.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @azghedaheda @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guacam011y @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @visenyaverse @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @bookwormchick91 @princess-evans-addict @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @multitargaryen @stephv213 @sunwardsss @studentville-struggles @impossibleapricotlampbat @infjkiki @k-k0129 @lickmymelaninn @hailey-a-s @andreasworlsboring101 @fanofalltheficsx @spiderstyles04 @madisondelstan @spookyparadisesheep @beyondthesefourwalls @basicfangirlx @gretavankleep37 @whorefire-club @blueeyeddemon1016 @bbl32 @escapingrealityagain @stressydepressyandlemonzesty @cherryyxbabyy @patzammit @harrysthiccthighss @darkjellyfishcoffee

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Requests CLOSED

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans oneshot #chris evans imagine #chris evans fluff #marvel cast #marvel cast fic #marvel cast fanfic #fanfic

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ninewhiskers · 2 years

Text

they shouldve enhanced all five of dovewing's senses. i want her to bite into a squirrel and be like "oh my god did you know this squirrel ate an ant that was on its acorn and that ant took a nibble of leopardstar's rotting corpse because i thought that was interesting" because she thinks it's normal and everyone is starign at her like she's insane. bc she is

#wc #warrior cats #warriors #wc au #1k #2k

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chiriwritesstuff · 3 months

Note

i stumbled upon those meet cute nyc tik toks where the guy asks random couples on the street how they met

PICTURE THIS:

Joel and Sugar walking around NY together maybe after some conference that they went to together. He’s got his protective hand on her lower back as she’s chatting away about some random interaction with a squirrel she had while waiting for him when he was in the toilet.

They get stopped by the guy and he’s like are you a couple and before she even processes the question Joel’s proudly proclaims” Yes, yes we are” and proceeds to tell their story (skipping the more nsfw stuff). Readers a bit camera shy but butts in every once in a while to correct him jokingly.

I just see Joel going like “this one did this” or “this one here had no idea what she was getting into” as you playfully pat his chest. I see this happening a few years after marriage so they do a shout-out to all the kids.

*bonus* the internet goes crazy for them in the comments.

*bonus two* it does the rounds a bit around sugars parents club and they get this glimpse into the life they’re no longer a part of (fuck them)

OH NONNIE. I love that TikTok account! I could totally see this happening with Joel and Sugar in the future, so let's flash forward a few years...

Meet Cute NYC - Joel and Sugar, from Austin, Texas

(Also, I had a BALL laughing at the thing with the squirrel and Joel being on the toilet!)

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.3k

"… and then I asked its name, and the squirrel quirks its head at me and said, 'Well, I'm Bill!' and I was like, 'OH MY GOD, I know a Bill, and he's one of the best people I know-"

"Wait, Mami. Are you seriously telling me a squirrel introduced itself as Bill? … and all this happened while I was on the toilet?" Joel indulges you, a hearty laugh escaping as you both make your way to Gray's Papaya, Joel's sole request for accompanying you to the IT convention in New York. He guides you towards the wall of a building, noticing a man with a tiny microphone focused on both of you from the corner of his eye. Raising an eyebrow at the stranger, Joel positions you so that your conversation is shielded from prying ears.

"Hey, hey, are you guys a couple?!" The man with the tiny microphone shouts, waving at the both of you, his iPhone pointed forward, eager to capture any response.

Joel stops in his tracks, the hand that was on your lower back circling your waist as he pulls you into his side, a playful smile on his lips. "Yeah, this is my girl right here. Even the squirrels know it."

"Papi!" you squeak, burying your face into his chest. "That's private!"

The man laughs at that, a wide smile forming on his face. "Well, do you mind me asking how the both of you met?!"

"Well," Joel exhales, "Do you have time? because it's a doozy-"

"Oh, it was not-" you cut him off, playfully slapping his chest.

"… as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by my beautiful wife," he presses a kiss on your forehead, winking. "I actually met her in the mall back in Austin while she was being dragged against her will to go spend time with her mama."

You nod. "This is true."

"She was back home from college. You know, she was getting her Masters," he adds proudly, "… and she was the cutest fucking thing I've ever laid my eyes on. Absolutely fucking beautiful, she took my breath away," he gets a faraway look on his face, his eyes a little misty.

"Anyway, I had met her mother before, because I was gonna fix their roof that she managed to set on fire with an antenna she tried to mount, poor thing didn't realize that there was gonna be a lightning storm, her father was furious with her!"

"He was," you quip, blushing. "The whole side of the roof was just burnt to a crisp!"

"And what did you think of your husband then?"

"Well, I thought he was hot, and thought of myself as shameful, having impure thoughts about him right in the presence of my mother. Thought I should go to hell with him at the gates, waiting for me." You gush, blushing at the memory.

"So how did you guys get together?"

"Well, we met 15 years ago. She was too young for me at that point, and well, I was just getting my business out the door. We didn't see each other for ten years until I saw her mama at the same mall one day, and we got to talking… and my baby needed a job, and I needed an IT specialist… and I thought to myself, fuck, I've been biding my time, I will never get a chance again if I don't take this one, so I told her mama to have her call me. That was five years ago."

"I used to go to these Sunday dinners at my parent's house, and my mama goes on and on about how she's seen Joseph or James at the mall-"

"That's what she called me?!" Joel exclaims, shocked.

"Yeah! So I go and tell her, 'I think his name's-', playing like it wasn't the best thing that's ever come out of her mouth. She told me that the job was basically mine and that I should wear some heels and a skirt to meet him-"

"God, that was the best fucking gift-"

You giggle, holding Joel tighter. "Anyway, I got the job, and apparently, my husband was completely technology inept, didn't know the difference between a printer and a copy machine-"

"Hey!" Joel exclaims, shaking his head and chuckling.

"… and then one night, he emailed me at midnight about some crisis he was having about pop-ups," you laugh, clutching at your middle. "… and while I was fixing his computer at one in the morning, well, I stumbled upon a bucket list of his, and the rest was history."

The host laughs. "What kind of bucket list was it?"

"Oh, well, let's just say-"

"It was one I made with her in mind," Joel cuts you off, blushing. "I figured, these were the things I would do with her if she gave me a chance again, and she did, after confronting me about it."

"I did, and I'm glad that fate connected us one more," you muse. "… because now, we're happily married and are taking our first trip together without our kids, and it's been a blast!"

"Hi Amie, Hi Bruno!" Joel interjects, waving to the camera. "I hope your older sisters are not losing their minds watching you both!" he winces at the camera, knowing damn well that they're probably up to no good. "Sorry Sarah and Ellie, promise to bring you guys back something good!"

"So what brings you guys to New York?"

"Well, my baby here was a speaker at an IT convention, held a panel and everything!" Joel gushes, pushing you forward slightly towards the camera. "I'm just here for the ride, as her proud husband!"

"Oh Papi, stop!" you exclaim, smiling widely. "It was nothing, really."

"Don't sell yourself short like that, baby!" Joel chides, "You fucking killed it, I was so fucking proud of her! She's not one for public speaking, but her panel was sold out! all 200 seats!"

"So what's your favorite thing about one another?"

"I love everything about him," you reply honestly, locking eyes with Joel as he hugs you. "I love how persistent and driven he is, how he takes charge and makes sure that everyone he loves is taken care of."

"I love her soul," Joel smiles back at you, caressing your cheek. "She does these things that might seem weird to people but is the most endearing shit to me. Like just right now, she was having a chat with Bill the squirrel-"

"BABY!" you scream, hiding your face in his chest. "That didn't happen," you mumble into the fabric, clearly embarrassed.

"One last question: Five years married, four kids, what's the secret to a successful marriage?"

"You lose the girl for a bit, make a shit ton of money, become a millionaire, and tell your asshole in-laws to suck a dick!" Joel exclaims, laughing. "Sorry, baby," he adds, putting his arm around your shoulder as he leads you away.

"What's your guys' names?" the host yells after you. Joel turns around once more, smiling into the iPhone.

With a wink, he yells, "Joel and Sugar Miller!"

Comments 10.5K mami94794: OMG GOALS ConnieBaby: YOU GUYS THAT'S MY BOSS! Hit me up, I have all of the tea… Reply (109): GIVE ME THE TEA, GIRL! girldad808: wow 10 years of waiting my god the kitty must be good! S.Miller: DAD??? EllieBellie123: You guys better be getting me something good! Bruno drew something on my ukelele! ohheythere5478734: Damn where can I find me a rich ol daddy out on these streets?!?

Meanwhile, at the Austin County Country Club…

"Have you seen that video that went viral on the news?" your mother's friend says as she sips her Old Fashion, her eyebrows quirked conspiratorily.

"What video?" your mother asks.

"The one of your son-in-law, telling the world for you and your husband to suck a dick," she laughs, giving your mother a smirk. "I'm assuming that's why you didn't know they got hitched in Hawaii all those years ago? How embarrassing is it to be called out by someone on the Fortune 500 list, huh?"

#the girl in it #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal characters #joel x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us hbo #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou fic

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indouloureux · 2 years

Note

Hehe I love your writing, I have a little request! Reader goes to by weed from Eddie but realises they forgot their money so offers to pay Eddie in another way 🤭🤭🤭💦💦

thank you for requesting! <3

18+ mdni. cw: oral (m receiving), anxious!eddie. (eddie calls the reader pretty, but that word can be gender neutral bc i said so) (nobody comment on the robocock thing i could care less)

eddie looks anxious. he sits in front of you with his knees bouncing and his lunchbox open right on this dingy table he'd marked as his. you scratch your cheek, looking at him awkwardly; he refuses to look at you.

but he's blushing, from his cheeks down to chest that disappears behind his raglan 'hellfire' shirt.

"so,"

"so!" it seems as though he's been snapped out of his daze, his back straightening and his palms wiping across his jeans. eddie's curls bounce across his forehead when he stretches his neck. you swallow thickly at the movement. "here for the weed, eh?"

"yep," you clasp your hands together on the table, lips moving to the side. "jazz cabbage. devil's pubes,"

eddie's eyes seethe playfully at you, all his nervosity burnt to the brink. "jazz cabbage is unacceptable. devil's pubes, however. very creative,"

"i have a whole list for it," you chuckle lightly. he laughs, though, carding through the mess inside that metal box of his until he pulls out a bag of that smelly, dark bushy green mess. "'s that it?"

"no, this is spicy lettuce," it's visible how he tries not to roll his eyes.

you stare blankly at him.

"christ- yes, this is it!"

making a sound of realization, you nod your head, playing dumb. eddie's smile returns despite his previous disbelief though. he thinks you're still cute.

"twenty bucks," he places the bag in the middle of the table, right above where your elbows rest. "i'd give you discount but, uh, i'm kinda short on money right now."

"oh?" you take the bag in your hand, observing it like it's something you've just seen. the wind that howls blows lightly on your skin, and at the same time the collar of your blouse. eddie catches a glimpse of the top of your chest and almost chokes at your obliviousness. "how come?"

"i was- uh- planning on renting robocock for a change? great movie, i heard. exceeded the expectations, highly unrealistic but oh-so-dreamy,"

you snort, a hand moving behind to feel up your wallet inside your pocket. you wait for your palms to feel up an acute angle somewhere on your thighs or behind you, but you're patting on the fat of your flesh instead.

"shit," you whisper. quiet, tuned out from the rustling of the trees and the squirrels that run by, but eddie's ear is sharp.

"something wrong?" he tilts his head at you, bottom lip jutted out. his hairy arms sit on the table, hand splayed out, a vein bulging out beneath his tattoos. had you not been panicking, maybe your mouth would have watered at the sight.

"my wallet," you frown. "i- it's not here-"

you jolt your head to him and remember you'd left your wallet inside your room in a rush. eddie's eyebrows raise in a question, fingers fiddling with his ring.

"it's in my bedroom," you groan, sinking your face into your hands and driving your fingers through your hair. "i left it in my bedroom because i was hurrying,"

eddie's lips part in an "oh," hauling his head back. he almost seems... disappointed— with you. or upset, or sad because then the deal will be cut short, or the fact that he wouldn't be able to make some cash today.

you think of a compromise. tutoring? you'd like to bring it up, but you worry you'd might offend him and eddie's the only dealer you know isn't in jail. driving him around? he needs it. he drives like a maniac, from what you'd seen.

you're desperate. you just needed the weed now. you think you might die if you don't; god knows what might happen if you cry all your depression out again.

dolorous, a thought comes up in your mind as you stare at the bag in your hand, flickering your eyes between that plastic and at eddie's—who's waiting patiently for what you want to do next.

you muster up all the courage and brazenness into a ball in your chest that puffs up. eddie leans back, copying you, brown eyes awaiting.

"you've watched porn other than robocock, right?"

—

eddie is a gentleman. so much, in fact that he offered you his beloved vest to kneel on so you wouldn't bruise your knees on the ground.

he looks more nervous than earlier, a bead of sweat falling down his temple, mends with his shirt and leaves a gray spot just below his black collar.

although, people usually sweat whenever they have sex. a little less when they get head.

you litter kisses over the swell of his tip, your hand wrapped around his slowly hardening cock. eddie's hands are fisted beside his thighs, his chest heaving already, eyes watching you carefully — scrutinizing every aspect of yours.

"just relax, munson," you murmur calmly, the flat muscle of your tongue pressing right above his heavy sack, licking slowly up until the thick ridge of his mushroom head. eddie hisses a quiet fuck that sends heat over every vein that builds you. "just think about- how you're in the porn you're watching,"

eddie chuckles. "it is actually like a porn i'm watching. except, y'know, they're usually compromising for pizza than for w-weed—ohhhh christ,"

you envelope your lips around him, cheeks closing in around the throbbing helmet. eddie's eyes drip in inebriated arousal, his hands fighting the urge to grab your hair.

humming around him when he moans louder as both your hands twist and tug on his length, you see the way all the whisky glow of his eyes darken the way a cloud hides the sun behind and glooms everything so melancholily pretty.

eddie's fleshy shaft disappears every time you bob your head. you gag when you take him deeper and your nose digs into his pubes, drool lathering over your chin.

"shit, you're so-..." he finally lets himself push your hair behind and cup your cheek, his nails scraping on your scalp before he clasps his hand on your locks. "so pretty. so fuck- so fucking amazing with this oh god."

you pull away from him with a teasing lick on his leaking slit, the salty taste of his precum that continues to dribble down at the squeeze of your warm hands. "thanks."

you go back to putting your lips on him again, this time a tad bit aggressive. you have the urge to make him cum hard, something you consider as an apology for leaving your wallet and not being able to pay him.

but something about his heavenly sinful sounds, his moans and the way they sound like harmony with the wet sound of his cock fucking your throat keeps sending fountains down your underwear that completely ruins the fabric.

your legs cross, thighs applying pressure on your heating sex. eddie's grip tightens on your hair, and you let yourself indulge just a little bit when you pull out to take his balls into your mouth, hands squeezing on his spit-covered length.

"ohhh, fuck, yeah, that's amazing," you blush at his praise, the loose fuzzy skin of his sack that lays heavy on your tongue. eddie's eyes roll to the back of his head, his rings pressing against your head. he brings himself to look down at you, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. "shit- so much better than fuckin' robocock."

you try not to splutter out a laugh. you see his stomach tense beneath his shirt, his balls clench inside your mouth as you continue to pump him with that lewd sound. eddie's plump lips part into whines and moans that loop around the trees of the forest behind hawkins high.

"better than any other porn out there?" you purr, jerking him off with kitten licks. "do you usually let people suck your dick as payment to fulfill your fantasies or what?"

"shut up," he groans, throwing his head back, hiding his eyes with the back of his hand. "i'm gonna- gonna c-cum—hngh!"

eddie's hips buck in the air when you put him in your mouth again, thrusting and basically fucking your mouth to bring himself to that thrilling feeling of an orgasm.

when he finally cums, it spills down your throat, salty down your taste buds. you pump him, milking him until eddie's telling you it's too much. he watches your cum filled mouth move back and scoop up his seed off the side of your lips and suck if off your finger.

"god, heaven and hell," eddie exhales, watching you do something so filthy. "that was hot,"

"way better than weed," you stand up from between his legs, patting dirt off his vest.

"you should forget your wallet next time," he chuckles, tossing you the bag of weed. then he saunters over to you, leans down until his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. "but uh, maybe instead i should punish you for leaving it behind."

gawping, you laugh and slap his chest. "easy there, peter weller."

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things smut

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ilovewriting06 · 3 months

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Hello I have a question do you do requests if you can you do one of Chris Argent is dating Lydia's older sister of 23 years old and they are in the woods standing guard and form one moment to the next they are having a smut moment ( if you do ) and she finds out she is pregnant

Loveeeee the idea, I tried my best lol. Lydia’s sister is human but knows about the supernatural and she’s going to college to become a lawyer. In this Y/N is 23 and Chris is 38, so there is a 15 year age gap.

I hope you enjoy it Anon!!

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The darkness of night settles on the woods leaving the only light to be provided by the full moon and the stars that are breaking through the trees. The only noise is the occasional chittering squirrels and a few different birds squawking and if you focus the calm even breaths of two different people.

“So, why exactly are we standing around in the middle of the woods together?”

Chris looks at me and raises an eyebrow, "To stand guard incase that omega comes back through the territory."

I snort, "I know that part. I meant, why are we out here together? I didn't think you liked me. You always avoid me so I'm just a little surprised you would willingly spend time with me."

His ever-present frown deepens as he takes a few steps coming closer to me with each one, "Y/N, I don't dislike you, it's just that you, well, it's a little complicated to explain."

I cross my arms and raise and eyebrow, "Are you telling me I made the, Chris Argent speechless?"

The corner of his lip ticks up just a little before falling back into his frown, "No, I just don't think you'd appreciate what I have to say, or understand it."

I furrow my eyebrows and shrug, "Lay it on me, I'm on my last year of law school, I think I have a pretty good understanding. That and I don't know what on earth you could say that I wouldn't 'appreciate' as you like to say." I put air quotes around appreciate before sending a small smile his way hoping he'd finally tell me why he treats me like the plague 98% of the time.

He closes his eyes and looks up to the sky deciding whether to speak before he finally looks at me, "You make me feel things I shouldn't feel for a 23 year old kid, things I haven't felt since my wife died, and even then it wasn't this strong."

My eyes widen in surprise because out of a thousand and one theories I had, that never once crossed my mind, but I'm not mad about it, I've liked Chris ever since I met him but I didn't think he would ever feel the same way.

I swallow around the lump in my throat trying to stutter out a response, "Oh-okay, well, that was not one of my theories. I'm not mad about it though, other than the part where you called me a kid."

Much like mine did, his eyes widen before he speaks, "You shouldn't be okay with this and to me you are a kid, you're fifteen years younger than me. You're only six years older than my daughter. It's wrong on so many levels."

I take a step closer to him until I'm only about a foot away from him before softly speaking, "What if I don't mind? What if I told you I felt the same way? What if I don't care about the age gap?"

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm fifteen years older than you. So many people would have problems with it."

"Maybe people would have issues with it, but why does it matter to us. I'm 23, I'm old enough to make my own decisions and I know what I want, and I want you."

In the blink of an eye my back is pushed against the bark of a tree as Chris's arms cage me in with a hand on either side of my head. My breath catches in my throat as I look into his lust blown eyes as he whispers, "This is your last chance to walk away. One last time to change your mind. I don't walk away from these things, Y/N. I'm all in and you need to decide if that's what you want."

I let out a small noise as I arch my back to rub against him, "I want it, god I want it."

Without another thought lips are pressed to mine and I'm pushed farther into the tree. I moan when his hands dig into my hips pulling me impossibly closer to him as I wrap my arms around his neck. We separate only when we need to breathe and even then his mouth continues planting little kisses across my jaw and down my neck until he hits the sweet spot on the juncture of my neck.

"F-fuck!"

I can feel him smile against my sweet spot before he gently bites, careful not to leave any marks but hard enough that I could feel it.

I throw my head back against the tree and cup the back of his head with my hand as his hands find their way under my shirt and up my ribcage, "Can I take it off?"

I hum as I nod, "Mhmm, take whatever you want off. This is me giving consent for you to do whatever the hell you want from here on out."

Like that snapped something in him our clothes start disappearing and before long we were both naked with one of my legs hitched around his waist as our tongues fight for dominance.

The hand that isn't holding my thigh against his hip is slowly getting lower and closer to where I crave him. I whine and wiggle, "Chris, please."

His mouth, which is now on my collarbone hums against my skin as his deep gravely voice speaks, "What do you want, Baby?"

I grab a handful of his hair and tug him back to look at me before half begging and half demanding, "Fuck me. I want it. I want you and the thought of you inside me is causing me to fucking drip, so please, please, please, fuck me."

He growls before kicking my right leg, the one not wrapped around his waist, so that he had easier access to my core. I shiver as a cool breeze blows against the sensitive area before shuddering as his cock brushes my clit, "H-holy s-sh-shit."

I'm not usually this sensitive but unlike my sister I haven't had sex for over a year. Luckily she's only sleeping with one guy and I have a feeling this one's gonna last a long, long time. God bless, Stiles, he must have the patience of a saint for dealing with her.

My thoughts are quickly brought back to the here and now when Chris thrusts into me with little to no warning. I let out a cross between a whine and a moan as he hits my g spot on the third thrust. He smirks as he brushes my hair out of my face, "There it is. Come on pretty girl, sing for me." He enunciates his words with a hard thrust that has me moaning for him.

I whine and dig my nails into his shoulders as he groans, "Fuck, this is better than I ever could have imagined. How long you gonna last, Sweetheart? I can't imagine it's too long, you're already quivering."

I whimper and squeeze around him earning a delicious sounding moan from his lips. I surge forward and kiss him before pulling back just enough to whisper, "So close, feels 's good."

He smirks before pulling me back into a heated kiss never slowing his thrusts. Just when I thought I couldn't feel anymore pleasure there's suddenly a thumb tracing figure eights on my clit eliciting a gasping moan as my manicured nails drag down from his shoulders to his biceps leaving behind red lines with little specks of blood along his skin.

He pulls back from the kiss and manages to get out a question around his heavy breaths, "Where do you want me?"

I pull him closer and pant, "In-inside, on, on the pill. Mm, fuck, I'm so close."

He grabs my other leg around the thigh before hoisting me up to completely wrap around him. When my back slams back into the tree I can barely register the pain because it feels like his thrusts got ten times deeper and he's kissing my cervix with his cock just enough to send pleasure coursing through my veins.

I throw my head against the tree as my legs start to shake, "C-Chris, I'm c-cumming."

The pressure on my clit increases as his dick twitches, "Come on Baby, cum for me."

I open my mouth in a silent scream as my orgasm crashes over me followed by Chris'. He rides us through our highs before his thrusts stop and he leans his forehead against my shoulder. As I'm coming back to earth I notice a flash of two blue eyes in the distance.

My breath catches in my throat and Chris looks at me in worry but I gently whisper, "Omega, behind you in the bushes." His eyes widen as he processes what I said before he slowly and gently pulls out of me and sets my feet on the ground. Once he's sure I can stand on my own he slowly bends down to pick up the pistol with wolfsbane bullets that he laid by the tree.

It all happens in a blur one minute Chris is picking up his gun, the next I'm yelling at him because the omega is running at him, and then there's a gunshot followed by the unmistakable growl of a wolf before his body hits the ground with a dull thud.

He turns and runs to me gently grabbing my arms, "Are you okay?"

I turn to him and give him a quick kiss, "I'm perfect. Coulda done without the bloodthirsty omega but other than that, it was perfect."

He pulls back with a chuckle and kisses my cheek, "God, you're the perfect woman. Come on let's get dressed before I call Scott."

------------------------------------------------------------------

It's been about a month since the night in the woods with Chris and we've been seeing each other ever since. I don't head back to college for another month so we decided we would wait for a little bit and see if it's going to go anywhere before we tell anybody.

Lydia being Lydia and a nosy little sister figured out I was seeing someone within a week and has been trying to figure it out on her own. Luckily, Stiles, who I'm seriously contemplating replacing Lydia with, has taken on the role of distracting Lydia to get her off my back.

However, he can't always be around which led to the stare down currently happening in my bedroom, "Lyds, just drop it already. I'm not telling you."

She narrows her eyes and stomps her foot like a toddler, "Why not? I'm your sister, you're supposed to give me these details. I told you about Jackson, and Aiden, and that one other dude, and then Stiles."

I roll my eyes before scoffing, "I also remember telling you when you started dating Jackson, Aiden, and that one other dude, that it wouldn't work and you were going to marry Stiles. And look where you are now. Also, he is such a sweet sarcastic boy isn't he. You know you should really go call him, maybe fight over baby names again, see if you can get him to cave and name your first son Jasper."

She blushes at the mention of marrying Stiles and turns a darker shade of red at the mention of baby names, "You heard that?"

I nod once and smirk, "I'm just saying, you could do a lot worse, sometimes I contemplate replacing you with him but that's because he doesn't stick his nose in my business."

She huffs and rolls her eyes, "Fine, if you want to get brutally murdered by some stranger or get a raging STD you go ahead, see if I care."

I stand and gently yet forcefully push her out the door, "Goodbye, Lydia. Thanks for stopping by but go back to your room and text Stiles or something."

She huffs, "Whatever, maybe I'll just call Allison and see if she wants to hang out or something."

I stiffen at the mention of my boyfriend's daughter before nodding, "Uh, y-yeah, you do that I'm gonna go down and make lunch."

Not even ten minutes later Lydia comes prancing down the stairs and stops abruptly when she sees me, "What the hell is that?"

I look down at the island before looking back up and shrugging, "Peanut butter and pickle sandwich."

Her mouth drops, "Haven't you been throwing up the last couple days? Why the hell would you eat pickles and peanut butter together?"

I shrug before taking a bite, "I feel better."

She blinks and then squeaks, "You don't even like pickles and you aren't a huge fan of peanut butter either. Are you sure you're okay?"

I wave her off before walking towards the couch to watch Spongebob, "I'm fine. I assume you're going out with Allison so be careful and have fun."

------------------------------------------------------

Lydia's POV

"Allison I swear she's being all secretive and it's weird."

Allison shrugs before taking a sip of her sweet tea, "Maybe she really likes the dude and wants to see if it's serious before she says anything, or maybe she's just having a summer fling and doesn't see why she should tell you."

I shake my head and set my fork down, "No, you don't get it. Ever since I was little we were always open and honest with each other, she has always told me about boyfriends, and hookups, one night stands, or summer flings. It just isn't like her. What if he's a criminal or like a pedophile or something?"

Allison roles her eyes before patting my hand in a reassuring manner, "Relax, I highly doubt she's dating a pedophile, more than likely she's probably dating someone older and doesn't want to say anything because she's worried you and everyone else won't approve."

I perk up and smile, "Yeah, yeah that makes sense. That definitely sounds like something Y/N/N would do." I frown as a thought hits me, "Why would she be worried I wouldn't approve? She could be dating a 50 year old and I wouldn't care as long as he treated her right and she was happy."

Allison just shrugs before digging back into her cheeseburger.

As Allison and I are walking around the mall I stop walking when I see a woman that looks similar to Y/N except her hair is a different color, but that isn't what caught my attention, the huge baby bump is. "Oh my god."

Allison stops and lays her hand on my shoulder, "Lydia, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

I tear my eyes off the baby bump before looking at Allison, "Yeah, I just realized that Y/N/N hasn't been feeling good so I was gonna make a stop for her. Do you mind if I go ahead and leave. I feel bad leaving her when she's sick, she was always there for me so I feel it's only fair that I'm there in case she needs something."

Allison smiles and nods, "Yeah, go ahead. Let me know when you get home."

I promise I'll text her before rushing out of the mall and to the small drugstore not far from the house. As I stand looking at all the options they offer for pregnancy tests I huff before grabbing two different kinds just to be sure.

As I'm paying for them the cashier is giving me a once over and I roll my eyes, "They aren't mine, I think my sister might need them. Trust me, no baby for me until after I graduate." She nods and then rings me up before she finally speaks, "Don't know what news your sister wants but I hope she gets the result she wants."

I smile and thank her before speeding home deciding if I get pulled over I'd pull the whole 'do you know who my boyfriend is' card and get out of a speeding ticket.

When I get home I barge into her room holding the bag from the drugstore scaring Y/N. She's on the phone but she hurriedly whispers to the other person on the phone before hanging up.

I throw the bag at her and bite my lip a little nervous, "I think it might be a good idea if you used them."

She tilts her head before looking in the bag and her eyes widen more than I thought possible.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N's POV

I jump as Lydia bursts through the door before quickly ending the call with Chris. When I look up I get ready to ask her what the hell she's doing when a white bag gets thrown at me.

I look in the bag and feel my eyes widen and my stomach become queasy because, holy shit the symptoms fit, and then holy shit my sister just bought me pregnancy tests and she was with...oh my god, "Did you buy these with Allison?!"

She shakes her head before sitting on the edge of the bed, "No, no of course not. I figured you wouldn't want anyone to know so I ditched her a little earlier than planned telling her you weren't feeling well before stopping at the drug store for you."

I breathe a little easier before realization sets in that I could be pregnant with my little sister's, best friend's father's baby. "Oh god, this wasn't the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. FUCK!"

Lydia jumps a little before laying her hand on my leg, "Hey, it's okay, no matter what the results are I'll support you either way." I nod before asking, "Will...will you stay with me?"

She smiles and nods before pulling me towards the bathroom while i carry the bag in a death grip, "Go ahead and do your thing and I'll wait here for you to be done."

After I come out of the bathroom my hands are shaking and my palms are sweaty because somehow, deep down, I know what the results are and it terrifies me yet excites me and I feel guilty for feeling excited.

Lydia stops my pacing and pulls me into a hug and we stand like that until the timer on her phone goes off. She pulls away from the hug before looking at me, "Do you want me to look at them first or do you want to do it?"

"I-I'll do it, just, can-can you stand with me?"

"Of course."

I take a deep breath grabbing one of the tests in each hand before flipping them over revealing with one revealing a plus sign and a line and the other showcasing the blaring word that reads 'Pregnant.'

I clutch them to my chest before sliding down the wall as I feel sobs start to wrack my chest. Within seconds there's a small hand on my shoulder before a head of red hair is laying on my shoulder as Lydia tries to calm me.

After I've calmed down and we're just sitting in silence I whisper, "How am I supposed to tell him?"

I feel Lydia shift so she's leaning across the sink to look at me, "I don't know. Who is he?"

At her words I feel my tears starting anew, "You're gonna hate me. Oh god, this wasn't supposed to happen like this."

She rubs a hand on my shin as she speaks, "I'm not going to hate you unless you're sleeping with my boyfriend but I know you view him as your little brother so it would be like incest."

I scrunch up my nose and let out a small chuckle before I look down and whisper, "Chris."

And just like that Lydia's touch is gone and she's staring at me with a slack jaw and wide eyes, "C-Chris? Allison's dad Chris?!"

The tears start overflowing again as I nod, "I swear he's not just a hookup." I hiccup as Lydia scrambles to her feet and walks out of the room, "I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, it wasn't supposed to go like this."

Realizing Lydia left the room the tears fall harder and the sobs come out quicker and slowly get louder before I can't breathe. I don't process what's going on until I feel someone kneel in front of me and hands cup my cheeks wiping away the tears, "Hey, it's okay, I'm not mad, I promise I'm not mad come on Y/N/N, calm down for me."

I lean into the touch as my breathing turns back to normal and my vision clears I notice that Lydia is kneeling in between my legs with a box of tissues by her knee. After a few seconds my breathing's back to normal and I'm blowing my nose with one of the tissues.

"I'm sorry Lydia. I'm sorry for lying to you and then losing my shit like that."

She shakes her head so hard her hair flies in her face, "No, don't apologize, I'm sorry. I overreacted and I shouldn't have walked away like that. I should have told you I'd be back but I was a little mad and figured a small walk to grab tissues would help me calm down and I realized something, you know what that was?"

I shake my head and she smiles, "I realized that you've been through everything with me, you've sacrificed your happiness for me time and time again. When Mom and Dad were fighting you'd always comfort me and have this brilliant idea to listen to these cool new songs you just found or have a movie marathon so I wouldn't hear them screaming. When it was really bad and you couldn't shut them out anymore you got in between them so that they'd stop. You helped me study for school so I could get good grades and you wouldn't leave for college until I gave you permission and told you that I'd be okay. You love me and you'd give everything up for me and the one time you really needed me I walked away. So, I'm not mad and I'm happy for you because the last few weeks you've been happier than I've ever seen you and it would be wrong of me to take that away from you. I'm sorry and I love you."

I sniffle and pull her into a hug, "I love you too Little Red."

She pulls away and has a dreamy smile on her face, "I call Stiles, Little Red a lot because he runs with the wolves and he always wears this red hoodie, which is like literal magic. It's so soft and it smells like him and it may be my favorite thing ever."

I snort and ruffle her hair, "You're down bad little sis."

She shrugs with a lovesick smile, "And so are you."

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As the minutes tick by Lydia and I don't move from the bathroom floor as I try and process everything. "I don't know how, I'm on birth control."

Lydia hums before asking, "You remember my friend Violet from middle school?"

I nod before Lydia continues, "Well, last year she got pregnant and I know she was on birth control because she had an alarm set for it so she wouldn't miss a dose. When she found out she was pregnant she freaked out and came to me crying because she didn't understand how she could get pregnant because they were so careful. Sometimes birth control doesn't work but if you're keeping the baby I would stop taking it."

I frown, "Wow. I hope she's okay, I really liked Violet, she was a sweet girl."

Lydia nods with a smile grabbing her phone off the sink before scrolling through it and turning it around to me. There was a picture of a smiling Violet holding a baby that looked to be a few months old and in the picture was a boy with dark hair and eyes that matched the baby’s.

Lydia chuckles, "Everything worked out in the end, her and James got married a few months after she found out she was pregnant because her parents and James's parents pretty much disowned them. She was a little upset about it but they got married and moved to New York to live with her grandparents, which are ecstatic to have another little girl to spoil."

I smile and hand the phone back to Lydia, "I want the baby, but I don't know what Chris will say. What if he doesn't want it, what if he's mad at me."

Lydia turns her phone off before setting it on the floor, "Y/N, everything will work out in the end. Just like Violet the beginning will probably be a little rough but in the end you'll be happy."

I let out a deep breath, "Yeah, but what if I don't get the happy ending? My luck I'll get stuck with the crappy ending where everyone hates me and it's just me and the baby."

Lydia snorts before grabbing my hand, "That's not gonna happen, you're going to get a happy ending because you deserve one."

I smile and lay my head on her shoulder before sighing, "I think I'll tell him tonight, just so I can get it over with."

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I put the car in park outside of Chris and Allison's apartment before taking a deep breath, "You can do this Y/N, just calm down."

I take my keys out of the ignition and shove into my purse that also holds the two pregnancy tests, before getting out of the car and walking into the apartment building.

I knock on the door while maintaining a death grip on the strap of my purse before taking a deep breath to prepare myself as I hear footsteps walking towards the door. When the door opens I come face to face with a surprised Allison, “Oh, hi, Y/N! Lydia told me you weren’t feeling well.”

A small yet genuine smile tugs as my lips as I reply, “Oh you know Lydia, she’s overprotective. I have been sick but I’m feeling a little better now. But, uh, I actually came by to talk to your dad about something important, is he here?” I know the answer to the question because I got off the phone with him about an hour ago and he was about to get in the shower then so I know he hasn’t went anywhere.

Allison opens the door a little wider looking a bit worried before stepping to the side, “Yeah, yeah come in. Is this something that is life threatening or just something else?” I lick my lips before forcing a smile, “Oh no, Ally it’s just something else, nothing supernatural right now.”

She nods and leads me into the living room before going down the hall to knock on Chris’s bedroom door, a bedroom door that I have been through more times than I can count and pinned against almost as much. “Hey dad, can you come out here, someone’s here to talk to you?”

There’s a muffled response before the door swings open to reveal Chris dressed in grey sweatpants and a grey t shirt. When he follows Allison into the room he stops and his eyes widen slightly at the sight of me standing in the middle of the living room, no doubt looking like an emotional wreck. “Y/N? I wasn’t expecting you, is everything okay?”

I force a smile and a nod before speaking, “Uh, yeah I hope so. Can we talk, privately, please?”

He ushers me to his office as Allison resumes watching whatever tv show I interrupted her from with my arrival. Chris closed the door and locks it for safe measure before turning to me, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve been through hell.”

I sniffle before apologizing as tears well in my eyes, “I am so, so sorry. I swear I never meant for this to happen, please don’t hate me. Don’t leave me.”

He takes two giant steps forwards before gently grabbing my arms, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, relax. I’m not going to hate you, there’s nothing you could say or do that could make me hate you. Now, deep breaths and then tell me what’s wrong.”

I do as he says and take a deep breath before stepping out of his grasp. I set my purse on the desk so I can dig through it easier before grabbing the two little white sticks that have brought me more emotions in an hour than anything else ever has. With shaky hands I pull them out before walking back over to Chris and handing them to him.

He takes them with confusion on his face before he looks away from my eyes to actually look at them. The moment he realizes what he’s looking at his eyes widen and his hand tightens around the sticks turning his knuckles white.

There’s a beat of silence followed by another before I whisper, “Say something...please.” I can’t stop the tears and emotions from altering my voice as I speak but it seems like it got his attention.

For the first time in what feels like hours, he looks up at me and I can see the start of tears in his eyes. He clears his throat and shifts slightly, “I thought, how? It was only the one time we didn’t...” He doesn’t have to finish what he’s saying because I know what he’s thinking, it was only the time in the woods that we didn’t use protection.

“I know, I’m on birth control, well, I was. I don’t want to hurt the baby so I’m going to stop taking it, but I don’t understand how it happened either.”

There’s more silence before I swallow, “Chris.” He looks at me expectantly so I continue, “I-I, I want to keep it. I don’t know what you want but I’ve always imagined having kids, and although it was never supposed to happen like this I can’t just get rid of them. It’s my child, hell, it’s yours too, but if you ask me to-to get rid of it, I can’t and I won’t.”

His eyes widen and he steps closer so he cup my face with his empty hand, “No, no, I want it too, I want you. I’d be an idiot to get rid of you, and I've always wanted more kids.”

My eyebrows furrow in question because I remember having a conversation with him one night after dinner where he told me that they never tried for other kids after Allison. He seems to pick up on my confusion because he reaches around me to drop the tests back in my purse before pulling me closer to him, “Victoria was the one who didn’t want anymore kids. I however always wanted a big family. A nice house with four or five kids running around, maybe even more, but after Allison was born and Victoria decided she didn’t want anymore kids I thought that I’d never have more kids. Then the craziest thing happened, I met this woman, this strong, beautiful, intelligent woman and it felt like I was given a second chance, and now she’s standing in front of me telling me she’s having my baby.”

I blush as happy tears flow down my face but my heart explodes at his next words, “And I swear to god and any other higher power there might be, that I have never been more in love than I am right now.”

My heart stutters and my stomach fills with a thousand butterflies as I smile and lean into his embrace even more before I respond, “I’ve never been more in love than I am right now either. I want it all with you Chris, the big house and a bunch of kids, I’d love to give you what you’ve always dreamed of.”

He brushes his nose against mine as he whispers, “Baby, you already have.”

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A/N...again: I'm thinking about writing a part two where they tell Allison and maybe even small little milestones of Y/N's pregnancy so let me know if you want a part 2!

#teen wolf #chris argent #chris argent x reader #chris argent x reader smut #lydia martin #allison argent #stiles stilinski #pregnant reader #jr bourne

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