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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 3: The House Of Soup, Salad, And Breadsticks]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, Nintendo, smoking, kids, parenthood, all-you-can-eat breadsticks, wedding planning, mentions of birth trauma and abortion, a brief Greek lesson, Audi Quattros have very tiny back seats.

Word Count: 9k (someone take this laptop away from me!! I am out of control!!).

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

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevirr @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1

Thank you so much for your patience and encouragement, I was really not doing well for a while but all your kind comments meant the world to me!!! I don't know when Chapter 4 will be ready, but hopefully early next week. My posting schedule is super wonky now. We'll get back to regular Sunday updates eventually, besties. 🥰🧁

It’s Thursday, late-morning, sunlight bending in through the open windows and a flock of blue-winged teals toddling through the backyard on their clumsy webbed feet. From the little pink Panasonic boombox pipes Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again. Your steps as you dart around the kitchen are airy and effortless; you’re humming without realizing that you are. You can’t seem to stop watching the clock, the second hand ticking endlessly, revolving like a moon around its planet. Olive Garden tonight! Olive Garden with Aemond!

“Knock knock?” your guest ventures tentatively as the front door creaks. You hear her heels click on the ever-so-slightly inclined floor and the bright jangling of keys and bracelets. Her accent does not surprise you; you were the one who answered the phone when she called in a panic yesterday.

Jade Dragon is a European company. I shouldn’t be shocked that Brits are descending upon Napoleonville.

You greet her from the kitchen, sight unseen: “Hi! Come on in!” Amir rushes over to set the very last cupcake on the glass serving tray, key lime with cream cheese frosting peppered with zest like flecks of emeralds. You have scrubbed the counter meticulously to make a space for your guest to do her cake tasting. There is an open wooden barstool for her, a yellow legal pad for you to jot down her selections. She steps into the kitchen—click click click, jangle jangle—and she is a stranger, surely, and yet something about her face strikes you as familiar.

“I really must thank you again,” the woman says, wringing her pinkish little hands, glittering with rings; she’s flushed all over from the heat, which she isn’t used to. She wears what for many women would be their Sunday Best: a modest organza dress patterned with sunflowers, gold jewelry and heels, and (oddly) a khaki overcoat that runs to her knees. Her hair hangs in thick, glossy, auburn waves. She smells like perfume, amber and roses, a brand you don’t recognize. “I was so distressed when I called, I must have sounded like a madwoman. It’s all just been so fraught. I know this is very last-minute, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you making time to see me today. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“We are delighted to help!” Amir croons warmly as he swoops in to take her coat, which she surrenders with some bewilderment, her large dark eyes clever but innately vulnerable, anxious. Again, you cannot shake the sense that you have met her before. Amir’s hands sweep down the overcoat as he peeks at the tag inside, and he mouths to you, grinning, eyebrows raised above the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses: Christian Dior! He’s delighted to help this lady, sure; but he’s far more enthusiastic about the prospect of squirreling away more cash for his imminent exodus to San Francisco. Amir hangs the coat in the tiny living room closet and then goes to the stovetop to check on the Kentucky butter cookies that are cooling there.

“Amir and I love baking for any occasion related to a wedding. Everyone is cheerful and excited…and hungry too, of course!” You give your guest a reassuring smile and wave her over to the counter. She’s still tormenting her own hands, still glancing uncertainly around the kitchen. Amir is using a spatula to transfer the cookies from the baking sheet to a cake plate. “Remind me, ma’am, on the phone you said your name was…Allison?”

“Alicent,” she corrects, taking a seat on the barstool beside you and clutching a camel-colored leather purse. She hesitates before she adds: “Targaryen.”

Targaryen?! Jade Dragon?! You gawk at her. Amir drops a Kentucky butter cookie on the floor. You exchange a glance with him and can practically see the bills flitting through his mind: Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Franklin.

“Please don’t make any fuss on my account,” Alicent pleads with those sleek, imploring eyes. “I’m just a customer, just an ordinary customer—”

“A VIP customer!” Amir says, beaming. He won’t work on their rigs, but he’ll take their money in a heartbeat. He considers it compensation for the inevitable environmental catastrophe, for the souls of all the places their dynasty bleeds dry.

“Ma’am…Alicent…Mrs. Targaryen…” you sputter. “What on earth brought you here?”

“My son is getting married.” She squeezes her eyes shut, an infinitesimal frustration, a self-reproach. “Our son, I mean. Viserys and I, our son is getting married, and we’re hosting an engagement party for him and his fiancée this Saturday, as I mentioned when I called. We had arranged to have caterers fly in, but now there’s some sort of visa problem and they won’t be able to make it in time. I found a company based out of New Orleans that is very well thought of for hors d’oeuvre and lunch, but the cakes I sampled…well…they left a lot to be desired. I was desperate, I tell you, utterly bereft, you know we have family and friends and all these industry representatives who will be in attendance, photographers, journalists, and I can’t ruin it, I can’t embarrass the happy couple, it’s not as if people get more than one chance at a wedding!”

Amir rolls his eyes at you from across the kitchen. Listen to this idiot, he means.

“But then I asked around town, and I got the same recommendation over and over again,” Alicent tells you, smiling now. “Everyone said that I just had to stop by Hummingbird Bakery.”

And now you know exactly where you recognize her from. She looks so much like the drunk man from the holding cell; his hair was blonde and his eyes were that sad swirling blue, but nonetheless he was a Targaryen the same as Alicent, and they share so much of the same bones, blood, innate defenselessness. That boy is getting married? His poor goddamn bride. “Well I am thrilled that you found your way to us, Mrs. Alicent Targaryen. And I think you’ll taste at least a few cakes that you’d be proud to serve at the engagement party.”

“And you can have them ready by Saturday?” Alicent asks fretfully.

“Absolutely.” You won’t sleep much between now and then, but the business matters more. And if you can recruit the Targaryens and some of their associates as regular customers…well, you might actually be able to start saving up for that new house Aemond asked you about on the night you met. You gesture to the glass tray on the counter. “Amir and I have baked twelve cupcakes for you to sample today. I’ll write up a list of the flavors you like best, and we can make any customizations. You can choose one flavor and have multiple cakes made, or four cakes in four different flavors, or any other arrangement, you just let me know and we’ll see that your wishes are granted.”

“These are all for me?!” Alicent says, surveying the cupcakes.

“Yes ma’am. Vanilla bean, triple chocolate, coconut, red velvet, carrot, white chocolate raspberry, key lime, lemon, peanut brittle, cherry chocolate chip, blueberry jam and cream cheese, and hummingbird. But don’t get overwhelmed, you only have to eat one bite of each.”

“And whatever you don’t finish we’ll let Cadi throw to the gator,” Amir says.

“Gator?” Alicent is alarmed.

“She lives in the tree row,” you explain. “She doesn’t bother anyone.” And you almost add: Except Aemond, of course. He hates her.

“Oh. Fascinating.” Alicent blinks a few times. “And who is Cadi?”

“My daughter. She’s ten, she’s at school. She’s…” You glance at the clock. “Learning about fractions and decimals at the moment.”

“How wonderful! And what does your husband do for work?”

“Terrorism,” Amir says, and Alicent Targaryen’s jaw drops.

“He’s the sheriff of Assumption Parish,” you swiftly amend. “But he’s my ex-husband now.”

Alicent doesn’t know how to reply. She stares at the cupcakes instead of at you. After several long, awkward seconds, she says: “My, do these look delicious! Where should I start?”

“Wherever you’d like.”

“This one is hummingbird cake, you said?” She picks it up. Her hands are fidgety; she doesn’t seem to ever stop moving. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Did you name the bakery after it, or did you name the cake after the bakery?”

“Oh no, the cake existed first. It’s been popular around here since…what, Amir? The 60s? Something like that. My mom taught me how to make it when I was seventeen. Hummingbird cake was my favorite dessert for years.”

“It’s from Jamaica originally,” Amir notes. The Kentucky butter cookies are displayed on the kitchen table, and now he’s beginning to peel vivid green Granny Smith apples for dumplings.

“It has bananas, pineapple, cinnamon, pecans…”

“Mmm!” Alicent sighs as she takes a bite. “Oh, it’s fantastic! The different fruits add such dimension of flavor! And the texture too, so interesting. Very substantial, almost like a fruitcake. Yes, I think that is a strong contender.” She continues on to the next cupcake. As she nibbles on each one, she chats nervously, almost compulsively. “She’s a darling girl. Woman, I mean. My future daughter-in-law.”

You get up to pour Alicent a glass of sweet tea. “What’s her name?” you ask politely. You are actively trying not to let your thoughts drift to Olive Garden: soup, salad, breadsticks, Aemond licking blood-red marinara sauce from his lips as he smirks at you from across the table, acting like he doesn’t want to be there.

“Christabel.” Alicent sets down the carrot cupcake, opens her purse, and digs through her wallet for a photograph. It’s small and rectangular, and the girl trapped inside the frame—a girl, truly, if she’s twenty you’ll eat your white denim shorts—looks like Teri Copley: billowing platinum hair, squarish jaw, pink cheeks and red lips, large dollish blue eyes. She reminds you of Barbie; she reminds you of something that belongs in a box on a shelf somewhere. “Her father is a marquess.”

“She’s gorgeous! And is that…is that a job…?”

“It’s a title,” Alicent Targaryen says with a demure, apologetic smile as she tucks the photo back into her wallet. She has spoken of things she should have known were above you. “Like a duke or a baron. Christabel is from a noble family back in the United Kingdom. Milford Haven, more specifically.”

Amir gasps, elated, waving his paring knife around in the air. “She’s just like Princess Diana!”

“She’s very young,” Alicent says, a bit wearily. She takes a bite of the lemon cupcake. “But then again, I was even younger when I got married, seventeen. That’s just the way it was back then. None of my friends even thought of going off to school for years and years, or playing the field, or getting a serious job. In our eyes, there were no other options. You found a good man from an acceptable family and you settled down and started having babies.” Alicent sips her sweet tea, ice jangling in the frosted glass. “Oh, that’s dreadful! Cold tea!” She shudders. “I suppose that’s how you all keep from getting heatstroke down here. Cold drinks and no clothes.”

“Sorry.” You glance self-consciously down at your shorts.

“No no, it’s quite alright. I’m in your jungle, I can’t expect you to conform to my idiosyncrasies.” This is a word you don’t know, although you try not to show it. Then Alicent winks. “Now, if you ever find yourself across the pond…”

I’ll never visit another country. Nevertheless, you chuckle as Alicent expects you to. “I understand what you mean about not having options. I got married at seventeen too.”

“Did you?” she asks, somber now. Her large umber eyes are uneasy, searching.

“Yeah. I was way too young. And unfortunately, the only way to know you’re too young is to not be young anymore. And by then you’ve already made such a mess of things.”

Amir looks over at you; this is not recruiting-a-customer conversation. Alicent nods, slow and thoughtful, studying you with those vast eyes like a dark mirror image of that Targaryen boy in the holding cell. She nibbles on the peanut brittle cupcake to avoid having to respond.

You pivot. “How many children do you have?”

Now Alicent brightens. “Four.”

“That many! I can’t even imagine. They must bring you so much joy.”

“In between the chaos, yes,” Alicent says, sampling the key lime cupcake. “Daeron is my youngest, he’s so sweet-natured, so encouraging, always offering to help with my projects around the house. He never complains. He hasn’t been gobbled up by the company yet. My only criticism is his obsession with his godawful parrot. I’d have it murdered, but tragically Daeron already knows it’s supposed to live 50 years. Helaena reads a lot—about gardens and insects and other planets, all sorts of things I can’t make heads or tails of—but she’s kind and gentle, and she still lets me fix her hair and take her shopping once in a while.” You think, smiling: If I tried to touch Cadi’s hair, I think she’d claw my face off. “And then my son who’s getting married—”

The front door bangs open and heavy footsteps race across the floor. He appears in the kitchen: greased-back black hair, a single gold earring, tan skin, white suit, a bold Hawaiian shirt—sapphire blue water, green palm trees, hot pink flamingos—underneath. He’s breathing heavily and his forehead gleams with perspiration. Alicent appears stunned to see him.

“Criston? What’s wrong? I said you could wait in the Lexus.”

Amir asks the man: “You’ve been in the car this whole time?”

“Don’t feel too bad for me. The Lexus has air conditioning.” The man, Criston, turns back to Alicent. “There’s a lizard out there!”

Amir sighs impatiently. “It’s a gator. And she’s perfectly harmless.”

“I just watched her maul a duck to death! There’s blood all over the grass!”

Amir is unfazed. “To humans, I mean.” He resumes peeling apples.

You tell Amir glumly: “I might have to get Willis to shoot her.”

“Only if it’s a murder-suicide.”

“Criston, help me choose,” Alicent says. She has a gift for ignoring unpleasantness, you’re beginning to notice. “I suddenly feel so overwhelmed.”

He walks over to the counter and begins taking a hefty bite out of each cupcake, eating after Alicent without any trepidation. They confer in murmurs, nods, shrugs, their own language that is threaded with a distinct and curious familiarity. Alicent catches you observing.

“He’s my bodyguard,” she explains hastily, then titters. “And my personal assistant, and my driver…”

“And your babysitter,” Criston says, grinning, crumbs all over his face.

“Yes, they never seem to outgrow the need for that, do they?” Then Alicent addresses you. “Could you manage to have six cakes ready by Saturday, do you think? They’re all so lovely. I don’t think I can narrow it down to less than that.”

Amir casts you a petrified glance. Notwithstanding that, you reply: “I suppose we can handle six.”

“Brilliant.” And you think: Aemond uses that word a lot too. “Then we’d like one vanilla, one chocolate, one blueberry, one coconut, and one hummingbird. And a key lime. I just adore the color, don’t you? A gorgeous, vivid green. It reminds me of the moors back home.”

“Yes ma’am.” You scribble her order down on your legal pad.

“And how much do your cakes cost?”

“$10 each,” Amir tells her.

“$10!” Alicent exclaims, looking at Criston. “Can you believe that? We’re certainly not in Knightsbridge anymore.” She takes $60 out of her wallet and hands it to you. “And you can deliver it to the house if I leave you an address? Around noon on Saturday?”

“Of course, no problem.”

Alicent gives you an address to add to your notes—you don’t recognize the street name, it must be in a new development—and then checks the clock on the wall. “Oh, is that right?! Christabel will be landing at the airport any minute. I’ve got to rush back to the house to make sure everything is ready for her. I can’t be a subpar host.”

“Where’s your coat, Ali?” Criston asks.

“In that closet over there.”

Criston fetches her coat and drapes it over her shoulders. Amir flashes you a salacious smirk. You wiggle your eyebrows back.

As Alicent and Criston cross the kitchen towards the living room and the front door, they pause by the table where an assortment of baked goods, different every day, is displayed for walk-in customers. Criston points to a cake plate piled high with Rice Krispie Treats. “You know who likes those,” he says softly.

“They’re very popular!” Amir announces, ever the salesman. “And we can make them with any kind of cereal you could imagine. Fruity Pebbles, Frosted Flakes, Cocoa Puffs…”

Alicent says, a bit randomly: “Cap’n Crunch?”

Amir doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely!”

“Alright.” She has a faraway look in those dark oil-drop eyes, always a little shimmery, always a little sad. “I’ll take two dozen of those as well.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” you say.

“Thank you. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echo, perplexed.

Criston and Alicent depart. You hear the front door swing open and then close again. Outside, Criston reminds Alicent to leave plenty of space between her and the gator. An engine rumbles and gravel crunches as the Lexus rolls out of the driveway.

“If they’re not fucking, I’m Tom Cruise,” Amir says. “Speaking of fucking, what time is Scarface coming to pick you up?”

“5:15.” You nod to where Alicent was sitting. “She’s not bad for a robber baron.”

“Oh, please. She would grind your bones into flour if that’s what it took to have cakes ready for her child bride engagement party. I hope that Christabel girl knows what she’s getting into.”

What is she, eighteen? Nineteen? “She doesn’t.” The phone rings and you scramble for it. “Hello?!”

It’s not Aemond. “Hey, sugar.”

Ugh. “Hi, Willis.” Across the kitchen, Amir mimes slitting his own wrists with the paring knife.

“Listen,” Willis drawls in his familiar, I’m-about-to-deliver-bad-news tone. You can hear noise wherever he is: sirens, shouting. He must be using his car phone. “I’m all tied up down here on Route 90, we got a hell of a wreck, ten cars and an 18-wheeler. Had to close all the goddamn lanes in both directions. I don’t think I’m gonna get home until late, really late, maybe not ‘til 9 or 10.”

“So you have to switch nights. You can’t pick Cadi up from school.”

“Tell her I’m sorry, will ya? And that I’ll take her fishin’ this weekend to make it up to her. I’ll keep her Saturday and Sunday, if that works for you.”

“She’ll love that,” you say distractedly. No Olive Garden. No Aemond. Not tonight, anyway. “Anything outside and with animals. Anything that lets her get filthy.”

“Thanks for understandin’. I gotta run.”

“Bye.”

“So long, sugar.” Willis hangs up. So do you.

“Oh no!” Amir waves his knife around threateningly. “No, not a chance, that gremlin does not get to ruin the first real date you’ve had in…what…ever?!”

You smile; you can’t help it. “It’s not a date. Aemond is fancy and kinky, I’m a mom covered in frosting, people like us don’t date. Besides, his personal ad was very clear: Single and not looking to change that.”

“He’s not acting very single.” Amir begins chopping the peeled apples.

“It’s fine. It happens. We can go to Olive Garden some other time. I’ll try to call Aemond, and if he doesn’t answer I’ll tell him when he gets here. Maybe we can at least chat on the front porch for a while or something. Watch the lightning bugs come out as it gets dark.”

“I’ll hang out here with Cadi,” Amir offers.

“What? Really?” Olive Garden might be back on the menu! “You will?”

“Yeah, ho. I can’t in good conscience just stand by while you are deprived of traumatized war veteran dick. I need a break from Grandma anyway. She’s gotten really into Unsolved Mysteries and that shit gives me the creeps. I don’t want to hear about missing or murdered people. I’m already scared I might end up like that.”

“I’d find you. I’d rescue you. My and my pet gator.”

Amir laughs, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Sure you would.”

“I’ll give you $10 out of my share of the bakery profits this week. For watching Cadi, I mean.”

“Deal,” he says. “Now help me with these dumplings so we can get started on those six cakes for the motherfucking Rockefellers.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s 5:13 p.m. when Aemond arrives at what Cadi named the Fall-Down House when she was in kindergarten, toting in her Chewbacca backpack sheets of homework about shapes and seasons, things you could help her with. You wonder what you’ll say when she gets to her senior year of high school and starts asking about calculus, physics, Shakespeare, college applications. It’ll be like she’s trying to talk to you in a foreign language. It’ll be like trying to explain colors to a blind man.

You’re almost done wiping down the stove and counter; Amir and Cadi are singing along and dancing to Kyrie by Mr. Mister: the Moonwalk, the Electric Slide, the Wop, the Sprinkler. Aemond wanders in and hovers on the border between the living room and the kitchen, his neon teal duffle bag hanging from one shoulder, staring with this profound, childlike puzzlement on his face. He looks like he’s never seen people dancing before; it’s some exotic ritual, some rite of a religion he doesn’t practice. He wears dark jeans, a black button-up shirt, black Converses, and his trusty Marlboro jacket. His fists are buried deep in the pockets like he’s holding something precious there, treasure, wisdom, secrets.

“Wassup, Scarface?!” Amir yells over the music, pretending to be reeling Aemond in like a fish. “Show us your best moves! Do the Worm! Do the Robocop!”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, drops his duffle bag, and—after a moment’s hesitation—glides across the tilted wooden floor to you. He takes your hands, spins you around, something like a clumsy, out-of-practice waltz, something real and enchanting beyond measure. And when was the last time you really danced with a man? Willis’ senior prom? Aemond sings as Amir and Cadi do the Running Man:

“Kyrie eleison down the road that I must travel,

Kyrie eleison through the darkness of the night,

Kyrie eleison where I’m going, will you follow?

Kyrie eleison on a highway in the night…”

Aemond releases you, sweeps his blonde hair off his forehead, and guzzles your frosty glass of sweet tea that you left on the counter in an expanding pool of condensation. You are reminded of how Criston devoured the cupcakes with no concern for the fact that Alicent had already tasted them.

“Such a weird song,” Cadi says as it fades out, as the cicadas and nighthawks grow louder through the screens of the open windows. “What the heck is a kyrie eleison?”

“It means Lord have mercy,” Aemond tells her. “It’s Greek.”

“Willis got stuck cleaning up an accident about a half hour south of here,” you explain. “But Amir and Cadi are going to have some nice couch potato time together.”

“Can we watch Unsolved Mysteries?” Cadi asks Amir excitedly, clinging to his arm. Amir groans.

“I might have an alternative,” Aemond says. He returns to his duffle bag, unzips it, and produces—not blue silk scarves, fuzzy handcuffs, a riding crop, or any other tokens of depravity—but a Nintendo game console.

Cadi screams and sprints to Aemond, unable to rip it out of his hands fast enough. “No way! Really?! I can play it?!”

“You can keep it.”

“What?!” She ogles the tannish rectangular box, the two handheld controllers. “This is the most epic day of my life!”

“I’m glad I could deliver it in person. I was just going to leave it with your mum.” Aemond starts taking cartridges out of the duffle bag. “I have Commando, Super Mario Bros., Star Force, the Karate Kid, Kung Fu, Burger Time, Donkey Kong and Donkey Kong 3, Alpha Mission, the Legend of Zelda, and Golf, which I honestly would not recommend. I used to have Top Gun too, but my brother spilled Tang all over it.”

“This is better than Christmas!” Cadi shrieks. “This is better than my birthday!” She dashes to Amir and starts hauling him off towards her room. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“I’m being kidnapped,” he tells you, feigning distress.

“Cadi, chill. Do you know how to hook that up to your tv?”

She reluctantly surrenders Amir’s hand. “Yeah, Michelle has one.”

“Okay. You can get it ready, I have to talk to Amir for a sec.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, and vanishes into her bedroom with the Nintendo and a precarious armful of game cartridges.

“Thank you,” you tell Amir quietly. “Seriously. I know I owe you.”

He grins. “Anytime. You’re helping to pay my way to San Fransisco, I really can’t complain.”

Aemond perks up. “You’re visiting San Fran?”

“I’m moving there,” Amir says. “And as soon as humanly possible! Sun, sand, and Speedos, here I come! Why? Have you been?”

“I have, actually. It’s a great city.”

You turn to Aemond; this is new information. “Did you go to school there?”

“No, I went to Imperial College in London. But I flew to San Franscisco to interview someone I was writing a term paper about.”

Amir squints at him. “Imperial paid for you to fly across the world for one interview?”

Aemond shrugs, hands back in his jacket pockets. “I got, uh, a research stipend.”

You ask: “Who did you interview?”

“I don’t think you’d recognize the name, but he was a really incredible guy. He was a nurse and the first person to ever come out publicly as having AIDS. Then he spent the rest of his life educating people about the disease. Bobbi—”

“Bobbi Campbell?!” Amir is awed. “Of course I know who he is! You actually met Bobbi Campbell?!”

“Yeah, we had lunch together. Wine and cioppino. His partner was there too.” Aemond is somber, reflective. “It’s probably the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well you just get better and better, don’t you, big boy?” Amir says. “Have fun at Olive Garden. Don’t hurry home or anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You are beaming, serene, warm all over, bewitched by the magic of liminal spaces, doorways between realities that rarely touch. Frank Sinatra—Fly Me To The Moon—floats through the restaurant speakers. The table is cluttered with plates and bowls: breadsticks, salad wet with Italian dressing, zuppa toscana, minestrone, main courses. Families in nearby booths are chattering; wine glasses clink, stories are recalled. You always wonder when you see cheerful married couples surrounded by children: Are they really happy? Is it worth it? Or do they go home after these displays of fairytale adoration and ignore each other, argue, brawl, crack open the Bud Lights, crack knuckles, crack bones like glass? Does true love exist at all? Or is it a lie we’re taught so the species can live on? “I’m in Italy.”

“You’re not in Italy, Cupcake. You’re in Gonzales, Louisiana. I can glance out the window and see a Doller General and a Burger King.”

“I’m basically in Italy.” You gesture to your plate, large and oval-shaped. Your entrée is divided into thirds: chicken parmesan, lasagna, fettuccine alfredo. “I got the Tour of Italy. I’m now an expert in all things Italian.”

Aemond smiles at you, the way he usually does: amused, teasing, craving. “In Italy, the pasta is always al dente. And they use very little sauce, not like here where everything is drowning in it.”

“I personally love my ocean of sauce.”

“And in Italy the bread is served plain. No butter, no olive oil, no…” He scrutinizes a breadstick. “Whatever this is. Assorted soy products, probably.”

“Don’t ruin my dinner or I’ll tie you up next time.”

Aemond laughs: crinkles around his eyes, pure boyish radiance. “Go ahead. I dare you.” He eats a bite of his herb-grilled salmon. “I looked into your Saint Honoratus of Amiens. He’s the patron saint of bakers.”

You roll your eyes like this is obvious. You like knowing something Aemond doesn’t, Aemond with his vocabulary and his high-powered career and his petroleum engineering degree from Imperial College in London, England, a place you have never seen and never will, a city that might as well be located on one of Saturn’s rings. “Yeah, clearly.”

But you never feel like the clever one for long. “And of oil refiners.”

“Is he really?”

Aemond grins. “Yeah. So we’ll have to share him.”

“Did you ever think about doing something besides engineering?” You already know the answer. You saw it in the way he talked about Bobbi Campbell.

“I did,” Aemond admits. “The engineering thing…it was expected of me. It wasn’t really my choice. It’s fine, I’m okay with my job, I’ve come to terms with it. But when I was a kid, I wanted to be a historian.”

“People get paid for that? To study history?”

“Not a lot. But I love the stories. When I was at Imperial, I’d fill every extra space in my schedule with history and anthropology courses. I interviewed Bobbi for my Microhistory class.”

“Micro…history? Tiny history…?”

“You learn everything there is to know about one individual, or one town, or one product, whatever, and through it you can get a better sense of the bigger picture. Like…you could catalogue what specific pieces of furniture were in George Washington’s house to study 18th-century trade routes.”

“Or you could use Ketchikan, Alaska as an example of the dangers of oil rigs and the corrupt, greedy company policies of modern-day robber barons.”

Aemond stares at you. “Yeah. Sure. You get it.” He wastes no time changing the subject. “Where did you go to college?”

“College?” This is preposterous. “Aemond, I never finished high school.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” you say. “I dropped out. I don’t have a high school diploma. I definitely didn’t go to college.”

He’s utterly bewildered. “But…you aren’t stupid.”

“Yes, Aemond, a lot of not-stupid people don’t go to college. And I’d imagine the opposite is true as well.”

He sighs, long and deep, rubbing his scarred forehead with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I could have worded that more sensitively.”

“Willis is a year older than me. I got pregnant the night of his senior prom. I never went back after summer break. I figured…you know…what was the point? I didn’t need Calculus or World History. I needed money. I needed baby clothes and a crib and a car. And my high school wouldn’t have let me in anyway.”

Now Aemond glares, though his wrath isn’t for you. “They kicked out pregnant girls?”

You smile wryly, chomping on a breadstick wet with marinara sauce. “They still do. They have to make cautionary tales out of us. The weak and the lustful.”

“Well then how the fuck is someone like you supposed to provide for yourself?”

“By marrying whoever got us pregnant and never leaving them.”

“Medieval,” he snaps. He stabs at his salmon, loses his appetite, slams the fork down on the plate. The waitress had just been approaching to ask about dessert; she does a 180 and vanishes again.

“Aemond,” you say gently. I don’t want to ruin tonight. “Please don’t be angry.”

“There are specific things that make me angry.” He rests his chin on his knuckles and peers out the window. Seconds tick by; Frank Sinatra sings about New York, another city you’ll never visit. Then Aemond looks at you again. “What is it like to be a parent?” he says, in the same reverent and mystified tone that someone might use to ask what it was like to flatline on an operating table before being brought back to life. Did you get a glimpse of the gates of Heaven? Did you feel the heat of Hell?

“I can only tell you how it feels to me.” You are wistful; you are painfully honest. You’ve never told anyone this before. No one has ever asked. “It’s…wonderful, and terrifying, and exhausting. You love them more than anything, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired, irritated, impatient, resentful. One minute you’re laughing hysterically with them, the next you’re begging them to go to sleep so you can have a half hour to yourself, or just ten minutes, or just five. And then as soon as they’re gone you miss them. You’re too strict or too lenient, never just right. You sacrifice—money, time, your body, your soul—but it’s never enough. You accidentally hurt their feelings and then tie yourself in knots to fix it, but you can never show them when you’re sad, or frustrated, or afraid. They can be so sweet and then so inadvertently cruel. They’re too young to understand that they’re being ungrateful. They ask you questions you don’t want to answer. They’re your reason for living, they’re a burden, they’re the best thing that ever happened to you, they’re your closest friend, they’ve trapped you somewhere you don’t want to be. There are all these emotions that come in waves, they go around and around and never stop. It’s like a tire spinning in mud.”

Aemond considers you for a long time before he speaks. “I think you’re doing a good job. Cadi seems happy. She’s…uh…spirited. But happy.”

“She’s a little wild, but that’s my fault. We grew up together. I didn’t draw many lines, and now it’s too late. And she’s getting old enough to notice things she didn’t see before. Most of her friends’ parents are still married. They might not be in love, but she doesn’t understand that part yet. What she understands is that we’re broke and her dad lives in a different house, and I’m the one who made that happen.”

“You’re doing a good job,” Aemond insists. He starts to reach across the table for your hands, then stops, reconsiders, grabs his duffle bag that’s squeezed next to him in the booth instead. He unzips the small pocket on the side and pulls out a toothbrush, a travel-sized tube of Crest, and a miniature bottle of Listermint. “I’m going to go brush my teeth in the bathroom, and then I’m going to fuck you in the back of my car. Okay?”

Your smile has returned. The magic has too. “Okay. You don’t want dessert?”

“I don’t need tiramisu. I already have a Cupcake. Unless…do you want tiramisu…?”

“No, I don’t like coffee.”

“I think they have other things too, cannoli, cheesecake…”

“Aemond,” you say. “I want to leave now.”

“Got it.” He leaves $30 for the waitress on the table—he always pays with cash, you notice—and bolts for the bathroom. Fortunately, you’d had the same thought; shortly before Aemond arrived at the house two hours ago, you’d packed your pink toothbrush and a tube of Ultra Brite in your Valerie Barad rainbow purse…just in case. By the time you get back to the table, Aemond is waiting and looking uncharacteristically anxious: biting his lower lip, clasping his hands together behind his back. He’s relieved when he spots you. “I thought you might have ditched me.”

“What, and walked 25 miles home?”

“Forget it. Let’s go.” And he shoves his hands into the pockets of his Marlboro jacket before he can reveal any more of himself with them.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re flying down Route 70 with all the windows down, warm twilight wind flooding through the gaps between your fingers, centuries-old southern live oaks and flowering dogwoods passing by in a blur, an Eddie Money tape in the Audi Quattro’s cassette deck. Under the bridges you cross, brackish bayou water ripples lazily, thick with cypress trees, duckweed, spider lilies, salvinia, wading great egrets and lurking alligators. The seats are tan leather and spotless. Aemond rests a palm on your bare thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. His blonde hair whips in the breeze. From the passenger seat, you can only see the right side of his face, the unscarred side. It’s almost like he’s whole again. He puffs on a Marlboro Red, smoke escaping through the open windows, tobacco and tar and nicotine, chemicals and earth.

“We better stop before we get into Assumption Parish,” you tease. “You don’t want one of Willis’ deputies to stumble upon us.”

But Aemond is particular; he wants the perfect spot. Just a mile before Ascension Parish gives way to Assumption, he finds an overgrown dirt pull-off used for fishing. He parks the Quattro just out of sight of the highway, rolls up the automatic windows, blasts the icy air conditioning.

“Get in the back,” he orders, unclicking his seatbelt. The intro of Take Me Home Tonight thunders through the speakers. You obey, climbing into the (very not-spacious) back seat. Just seconds later, Aemond follows.

You giggle when he pulls you into his lap to straddle him. As you toss away his Marlboro jacket and unbutton his shirt, Aemond yanks off your orange tank top, unhooks your bra, accidentally breaks the tab of the zipper off your white denim shorts with his strong, frantic hands. He needs you; he needs you all the time, everywhere, and he’ll never get enough. He’s kissing you deeply, roughly, nipping at your lips and tongue, breathing his smoke into you. His fingers slip into your shorts and under the silk that you bought for him, blue like his eyes, blue like the sky before heavy rain. You’re moaning, grinding, impatient; he’s helping you shimmy out of your shorts, he’s tugging down his jeans. And now you realize that he wants you to stay on top. “Aemond, no, I’m not good at it…”

“Shut up. You’re good at everything.”

That’s a lie, you know it is; still, Aemond makes you believe it. He grabs your hips and shows you exactly how to move them, and soon the rhythm feels effortless, soon you are wet and relaxed enough for him. At the last minute, he gets a condom from the pocket of his jeans, rips it open, and rolls it on. And again, you are struck by a strange but unmistakable disappointment that you cannot have all of him, that you cannot experience what it’s like to be as close to him as humanly possible, this man that you hardly know, this body that unleashes ecstasy in yours.

It’s quick: your arms linked around the back of his neck, Aemond kissing your throat and the slope of your jaw, his hands and murmurs guiding you, delicious fullness and friction. You’re amazed when he comes—I made that happen?? I did that??—and a tidal wave of extraordinary pride, lust, power surges through you. Aemond helps you finish with his fingers, only a few vigorous strokes, and then he drags you down onto the Quattro’s back seat with him.

“Careful,” you say as you lie on top of Aemond’s chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, goosebumps springing up in the chill of the air conditioning. You’re all tangled up in each other; there’s no room to get away. “You’re not going to be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll accept the risk.” The last rays of sunlight fall across his damp skin, turning him to amber, tiger’s eye, gold. “What happened when you had Cadi?”

You turn your face to look at him. “Huh?”

“You said you were unconscious for a few days after she was born.”

“I told you that?”

“Yeah. The first night I came over. And you’ve been on the pill ever since. You never wanted more kids?”

“No,” you say quietly. “No, I didn’t. I still don’t.”

“So something happened.”

“It’s not a cute story. It’s not sexy.”

“I’ve surmised that.” Another word you don’t know.

“I don’t really ever talk about it.”

“Because you don’t want to, or because people don’t ask?”

You’re amazed by how much he sees, like you’re a clean window, like your skin and skull are made of glass. “My water broke and I went into labor, but I wasn’t progressing fast enough,” you tell Aemond. “I mean, the nurses told me I wasn’t progressing. I didn’t really understand what that meant. It felt like something was happening. There was a lot of pain and pressure, and it was intense, definitely, but it was bearable, I still felt like myself. I was actually really proud of how calm I was. But I guess it wasn’t enough. So the doctor started me on something called Pitocin, and then the contractions weren’t bearable anymore. They were…I can’t even describe it. It was like this bone-breaking twisting, but also sharpness, razor sharpness. I imagined knots of barbed wire. It’s the only thing I could compare it to. And I wasn’t in control anymore. I wasn’t myself at all. I was this animal being trapped, being tortured, and there was no break between the contractions, they happened over and over and over again, one right after the other, and it went on for hours. I kept telling everyone that I couldn’t do it. I needed an epidural, laughing gas, pills, anything. I was begging them to knock me out. I was trying to rip the IV with the Pitocin out of my hand. But no one listened. The nurses acted like I was being dramatic. Women have babies every single day all over the world, why couldn’t I just shut up and deal with it? My mom was around, but she had pretty straightforward births, and I don’t think she could comprehend what it was like. Willis told me I was doing a good job. That’s all he could say: Good job, sugar, you’re doin’ just fine, sugar. But I didn’t want mindless encouragement. I wanted somebody to help me. I thought I was dying.”

Aemond’s hand smooths your hair. He’s watching you closely.

“When Cadi…when she was finally born, I wasn’t excited to hold her. I didn’t even care. I was just relieved the pain wasn’t so bad anymore. I told my mom to take her. I could hear the baby crying, and I remember thinking: Who is that? I almost died for that? I felt nothing for her, absolutely nothing. And then I heard…it sounded like someone had turned a sink on, because there was water running. But then the nurses were yelling and the doctor rushed back into the room. I was hemorrhaging, and it wasn’t water that I’d heard, it was blood, my blood, gushing all over the floor. I passed out and I needed transfusions and I woke up three days later. The very first thing a nurse said was that she was so happy to tell me that they’d been able to stop the bleeding without doing a hysterectomy, so I’d be able to have more children. Can you believe that? It was like I didn’t exist. I was just a vessel. As if I wanted to go through that again. No, never, no thank you. I got attached to Cadi, but it took months. Obviously, now I love her. But I was empty for a long time. Just empty, and sad, and in pain, and hopeless.”

“And your useless fucking husband named the baby you almost bled to death having.”

“He didn’t mean for it to be hurtful,” you say. “He thought he was helping. And it’s a hell of a name, I have to admit it. Arcadia Dove, like a Star Wars character or a superhero. It suits her.”

But still: Aemond shakes his head, incredulous, outraged on behalf of your long-gone teenage self. “When you found out you were pregnant, did you ever consider…you know…not having it?”

You give him a small, guilty smirk. What kind of mother could admit this? “Yeah. Yeah, I did. That was my plan, actually. I called a clinic in New Orleans and made an appointment. Cleared out every penny of my savings to pay for it. Cheaper than a life sentence, right? Amir offered to go with me, but neither of us had a car or a license, and I could never let my mom know. So I asked Willis.”

“And he wouldn’t drive you.”

Worse. “He told me that if I went, I’d be a murderer.”

Aemond jolts upright, furious. “He actually said that to you?”

“Aemond—”

“No, hold on, he actually said that?! He said that you could drop out of high school, you could throw all your dreams out the window, you could become a mum at fucking seventeen years old and marry some guy you barely knew, and if you wanted a way out that would make you a murderer?!”

You offer weakly: “Willis is really, really Catholic. A lot of people down here are, and—”

“He’s a coward, that’s what he is. He was willing to sacrifice your future to soothe his conscience. His life didn’t change. Yours did.”

“I love Cadi. I don’t regret her.”

“But you should have had a choice.”

You study Aemond: his glinting right eye, the deep stormy furrows in his brow. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because you deserved better. You could have been something more.”

Something more? Something more? “I’m not horrified by how I’ve turned out, Aemond. I made the best of my circumstances. I have a job I enjoy, I keep a roof over our heads, I have people to live for.”

“You deserved better,” Aemond repeats, soft and low.

“So did you.” You touch your palm to his scarred cheek and ask in a whisper: “What happened? Who hurt you?”

“Stop,” Aemond says, flinching away from your hand. And that’s the safe word; you have to listen.

~~~~~~~~~~

At home, Cadi and Amir are chatting at the kitchen counter with a late-night snack of apple dumplings, warmed in the microwave, and Breyer’s vanilla ice cream. Blue Bell is cheaper, but Breyer’s tastes real; it’s one of the few things you won’t compromise on.

“Mom, guess how many levels I beat in Super Mario Bros.!” Cadi doesn’t notice that your tank top isn’t quite covering the brutalized zipper of your shorts. Amir definitely does notice; he mouths to you: Baby Jesus is so sad.

“Um, I don’t know…how many levels does it have?”

“Thirty-two,” Aemond informs you.

“Seven?” you say.

“Try ten!” Cadi grins triumphantly.

“Radical! Amazing!”

Aemond applauds. “No way! You’re a prodigy!” You don’t have to ask if he wants to stay. He scoops two apple dumplings into the same bowl and then pops open the microwave, like he lives here too. “How long should I heat these up?”

“About 45 seconds,” Amir says. He yawns and puts his dishes in the sink.

“Thanks again for entertaining Cadi.” You give him a tired, repentant smile. “I would tell you to take tomorrow off, but we both know that’s not an option. I’m going to set my alarm for 3:00 a.m.”

“I myself will most certainly not be awake at 3:00 a.m. But I’ll try to get here by 7:00.” Amir gives Cadi a hug that she pretends not to appreciate. “Goodnight, slayer of Bowsers.” Then he waves to Aemond as he breezes out of the kitchen. “Goodnight, destroyer of zippers.”

Aemond covers his mouth to keep from laughing. “Cheers, Amir.” He brings the bowl of apple dumplings from the microwave to the counter, adds several heaping mounds of vanilla ice cream and two spoons, and slides it over so you can share. Outside, you hear Amir’s Ford Escort pull out of the gravel driveway. “You have a lot of baking to do, huh?”

“Oh my God, I completely forgot to tell you. You’ll never believe who showed up—”

“Mom, can we go shopping tomorrow?” Cadi asks, derailing your train of thought.

Cadi? Shopping? This is an unusual request. “Shopping for what?”

“For my riding boots,” Cadi says brightly as she finishes her apple dumpling, and you think, sinking in ways you can’t let her see: Oh fuck. Here’s the conversation I’ve been avoiding for weeks. “Michelle and Erica are both going to that horse camp in July. Breanna and Sam are going too. Kristen might even go, and she’s a total freakazoid! I can go, right? I’ll need boots, and a helmet, and I want to ride an Appaloosa. They have all kinds of horses, but Appaloosas are my favorite, and if they don’t let me ride one I’m going to go nuclear.”

“Honey, I don’t think it’s going to be possible this year.”

“But I have to go. Everyone else is going.”

“I tried, I really did. But I just can’t swing it right now. Next summer I’ll have more money saved up, hopefully, and then you can go to horse camp, and maybe we can even go to Biloxi for a week too—”

“I don’t care about Biloxi.” And now she’s lashing out, because she’s realizing the answer might really be no. Aemond is silently picking at the apple dumplings, looking between the two of you but not knowing what to say. “I care about going to horse camp when literally all of my friends get to—”

“Cadi, I’m so sorry, I really am. But sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s okay, that’s a part of life. We’ll still have fun this summer.”

“I’m not going to have fun if I’m just stuck here at home all day!”

Stuck here with me, stuck here in the life I built for her. “Cadi, please—”

“I’ll give up my birthday presents,” she pleads, her eyes turning misty. “You can just not buy me anything for my birthday, or Christmas either, and you can use what you would have spent on that for—”

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, a hand on her little shoulder, her tiny breakable bones. “I wish I could give you what you want. I really, really do. I’m trying to make things better for us.”

“Can’t you ask Daddy for more money?”

And you remember what Willis said at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year. “Daddy wants to help too, I’ve already talked to him about it. We just can’t make it happen right now.”

“Daddy always says he’d have more money if he didn’t have to send you so much every month!” Cadi blurts out. Aemond is watching you, but you shake your head. He can’t say anything. It’s not his place. “That’s why I can’t go to horse camp, isn’t it? Because we don’t all live together?”

“No, Cadi, that’s not what this is about—”

“Erica’s parents live together and she gets to go! Michelle’s mom and dad are always taking vacations!”

“Every family is different,” you say, fighting to stay calm while your throat is closing up and the blood in your face is hot enough to scald.

“Sam’s mom just bought her riding boots and gloves!”

“I’m not your friends’ mothers, I’m sorry, I’m just not.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have kids if you can’t afford them!” Cadi screams, tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes, and then she storms off to her bedroom and slams the door.

You and Aemond are left alone in the midst of humming florescent lightbulbs, long-eared owl hoots, the ambient shrieks of cicadas. The apple dumplings and ice cream have dissolved into a soup. Your lips are trembling; a single blistering tear escapes down your cheek. You refuse to break down. You learned years ago that there is nothing to be gained from it. Aemond studies you, seeking and worried. You avoid his gaze. His hand reaches for yours, stops short, retreats to drum his fingers against the counter.

At last, Aemond says: “How much is the horse thing?”

“Too much. Way too much. It’s over $300, I won’t be able to make rent.”

He sighs; not a frustrated sigh, you think, but a sigh of incredulity, maybe even of pity, which is the last thing in the world that you want from him. Aemond takes his wallet from his jeans pocket, leafs through it, and counts out $400 in twenties and tens that he stacks on the countertop.

You are mortified, horrified. “Aemond, no—”

“Look, next time I see you, we need to talk. We need to talk about my situation, and your situation, and what we’re going to do going forward. And it’s…fuck, it’s, it’s complicated. You’ll see. But we have to get it sorted out, because this is…” He gestures to you, to him, to what you’re building between you like a bridge linking islands. “It’s different than what I expected it would be. And that’s a good thing, but…there’s just a lot we have to discuss.”

“Aemond, I can’t accept this much money from you.”

“The money doesn’t matter. $400? That’s nothing. The money’s not real to me. But it is real to you. So please just take it. And next time I see you we’ll…we’ll decide what happens next.”

It’s complicated, Aemond said. You’ll see. See what? How bad could it possibly be? “We can’t talk now?”

“No, I can’t do it now. I just can’t.”

He’s not just uneasy or distracted. He’s fucking scared. “You’re married,” you say.

“No. No wife, no kids. I swear to God.”

“No girlfriend either?”

“No.”

“You’re divorced.”

“No.” He combs his fingers through his short blonde hair, stares blankly at the wall behind you. “You’re free Saturday, right?”

“Yeah. I think Cadi will be with Willis all weekend, actually. He’s taking her fishing on Lake Verret. If Jade Dragon hasn’t blown it up by then. I’ll be busy with work Saturday morning and early afternoon, but after that I’ll be around.”

“I’ll come over around dusk, probably,” Aemond says, hands in his Marlboro jacket pockets, thoughts miles away. “I have something going on Saturday afternoon too.”

And he leaves before you can thank him for the stack of cash on the counter, or for any of the rest of what he’s given you.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond x y/n

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 22 days

Text

I wrote this probably over 2 months ago and haven't done shit with it since. I thought it was cute but never elaborated on it.

So it is what it is. But it's about Nanami. ANYTHING to bring this man back lol.

SFW from what I can recall. Enjoy <3

Hear ... Me ... Out.

Nanami is at his favorite coffee shop one day and he sees this girl (woman, ok? don't get into semantics over it) and she is just a hot fucking mess.

Her hair is in the world's messiest bun on top of her head. It doesn't look like it's been brushed for a few days. Her clothes are like, less than casual. He doesn't want to use the word "sloppy", but damn. She look so sloppy rn that he has this overwhelming need to go straighten her up.

She's not ugly, not beautiful ... natural, though. But there's something about her that he is drawn to. She's kinda chubby. Which adds to her unique appearance(?), but with the right fitting clothes, she would be so cute, he thinks.

There's not a speck of make up on here face. And Nanami can't help but find that somewhat refreshing. There are stains on her sweatshirt from the coffee she is drinking. Crumbs on the table from her bagel with cream cheese.

GOD he wants to give her a napkin but doesn't want to offend her. What is the etiquette here, he wonders. Could he spin it so he comes off as polite? Caring, even?

He watches her for a while longer. Studies her face as she reads up on whatever textbook she's studying from. He can't get a good look at it, but it's a thick book.

Speaking of thick, he looks down to her thighs. They're thick, too.

His tired mind begins to wander uncontrollably to what she would feel like, what she would taste like. Then Nanamin catches himself staring too long. Spit pools in his mouth and he swallows hard. He looks away, hopefully before you catch him eating you up & out with his eyes.

But it's too late. You felt someone's gaze on you. And not just someone's. Fucking Kento Nanami's breathtaking brown eyes.

So now you're taking him in. And he is the most put together person you have ever seen. His blue button-up shirt is so well pressed that there isn't a single crease in it, even as he sits there in the cafe, it hugs his large arms looking like it was about to give at even the slightest miscalculated move. His tie hangs perfectly around his muscly neck. The light colored pants he wears - Oh God. They look like they're painted on. And they leave very little to the imagination.

He's got a tiny cup in front of him, his regular drink, espresso. But you don't know that's his regular drink. Because you have never seen him before. You don't even come to this cafe regularly. The one you like, the one closest to where you live, is having some renovations done. It has ruined more than one morning for you this week. Seeing the tall, ridiculously handsome man sitting across the seating area is starting to fix some of today's damages, though.

You tilt your head to the left and size him up, just like he was doing to you. But you're not even trying to be discreet. You decided that morning that you had nothing to lose by doing the societally deemed shameful things.

ie: oogling an attractive man, while you're looking like you're coming down from a 23 hour gambling bender with Toji (Nanamin doesn't know you know Toji and vice versa). Not that he'd permit you to keep associating yourself with him if anything were to become of the two of you.

No, he'd put a stop to that years ago. No proper lady of his would be fraternizing with garbage like Toji Fushiguro. No, no, no.

He's already decided he wants to talk to you. And while he has absolutely no reason to be shy about speaking with you, he can't bring his legs to move. That could be in large part to the considerable amount of blood that has pooled in the center of his body. He'll give it a minute and compose himself before he walks your way.

Nanami glances back at his newspaper and continues to read the daily stock updates. He sees movement in his periphery but thinks nothing of it because, after all, this is a busy cafe. It is a Wednesday. More people than you will move around.

It is you, though. You pack up your stuff, purposely leaving behind your cellphone beside your empty coffee cup, and walk toward him, holding eye contact for the entire time you're heading toward the exit.

He gets excited for some reason he can't yet understand and his pulse gets faster and faster the closer you get to his table for 1. Without thinking, he straightens up the scattered papers on the small table surface like he was expecting company. Your company.

But you turn at the very last second and push open the door to the sidewalk. The disappointment Nanamin feels crushes him like nothing he's quite experienced before. You are no one to him. He, in turn, knows that he's no one to you as well. Yet the dejected feelings remain in the forefront of his thoughts.

His eyes squint against the bright reflection of something silver on the table you were sitting at. You'd strategically forgotten and placed your phone to pick up the sun's light emerging from behind the clouds to get his attention.

It worked. He made his way across the cafe to the shiny object left behind. Picking it up, he tapped on the screen. To his great pleasure, there was no lock on the main screen. He had access to your photos. Your contacts. Your notes. Everything. He could look at everything.

Being the gentleman he is, Nanami thought it best to not look through it, though. He thought about giving it to the barista and letting them handle returning it to you. But there's no fun in that. He would track you down and give it back himself.

On the car ride to the "Return To" address in the phone, he felt his stomach turning. There was no reason for him to be nervous about this task, considering what his career is. He dealt with much worse shit than delivering a phone to a woman to whom he was attracted but couldn't figure out why. This was child's play. There was no curbing his excitement though.

Arriving outside your apartment building, he was surprised at how nice the place was. If he had to guess by just looking at you, he'd not have guessed a place such as this.

The doorman let Nanami pass with no problems. Looking as respectable as he does often grants him permissions that other people can't even entertain the idea of.

He pushed the button to call the elevator down and waited for it to carry him to the 14th floor.

Walking down the hallway until he found your place, he smoothed his tie down and knocked 3 times. He heard your footsteps coming as you padded your way closer to your door. And then he saw your shadow moving underneath, on the opposite side that he stood.

"Hello?" He said, his voice rumbly and deep. "You left your phone at the cafe we were both just at. I - thought I'd return it to you."

Nanami watched your shadow stretch out a little more and heard your fingers tap on the door as you looked through the peephole.

@darkstarlight82 @viburnt @arlerts-angel @kazutora-kurokawa @katkusuo (tagging you on the off chance you give a shit =))

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk kento nanami #kento nanami #nanamin #nanami kento #jjk fluff #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento x reader #kento x you #kento x y/n #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami kento fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 14 days

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No bc vampy and Niall going to eat where bb works would be soooo funny 😭😭😭😭

They’re at each other’s throats the majority of the time but whenever they team up for a mutual cause, it’s chaotic 💀 They’d ask her about every single item on the menu.

“What about the sweet potato fries? How are those?”

“They’re good. People substitute them for regular fries all the time.”

“Are they carb free? I’m on a diet.”

She can’t keep the edge off her voice— not when they’ve been purposefully tormenting her for the last ten minutes. “Potatoes are carbs. And we both know you’d rather drink piss than go on a diet, Niall.”

“Fair enough. What’s your best beer?”

“You literally have the menu in front of you with all the descriptions.”

“Harry, tell me: did I ask for the menu’s opinion?”

Her boyfriend tuts disapprovingly from across the booth, doing his best to fight off a shit-eating grin. “No, I believe you asked for hers.”

“Yeah, I believe I did.”

Y/N’s features drops into a flat expression, but she obliges nonetheless. “Blue Moon is really popular—”

“While we’re on the topic,” Harry intervenes, “I’d like to know your go-to suggestion for wine, as well.”

“Okay, well—”

“Oh, and can I do a Caesar salad?” Niall chimes in, tapping his fingers across his lips pensively. “But hold the cheese, croutons, and dressing.”

“You want…a plate of plain lettuce?”

Niall rolls his eyes at her dramatically, reiterating his point slowly just to grate on her nerves. “No. I want a Caesar salad, hold the cheese, croutons, and dressing.”

Y/N can feel her left eye begin to twitch. “Fine. For the drinks, do you still want—”

“Can we sample them?” Harry interrupts, lazily flipping through the menu with barely any interest.

“Sure. Which ones do you want?”

“All of them.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow spitefully. “You want to sample the entire drink section?”

“Why not?” Harry glances at Niall over the laminated pamphlet, quirking his eyebrows jestingly. “We have time.”

Niall hums in amused agreement. “An eternity, actually.”

Harry snorts at the joke, swimming in the sheer irritation pinching his girlfriend’s face.

She inhales deeply, releasing the air in the form of a measured sigh. It’s taking every ounce of her will power not to pummel them with the menus.

“Okay. I’ll see if you’re allowed to sample the whole drink menu, but I highly doubt it. Drinks aside, for Niall, I have an order of sweet potato fries and a Caesar salad with no cheese, croutons, or dressing. Harry, you’d said you wanted a southwest chicken wrap in a spinach tortilla—”

“I never said that.”

Y/N’s grip on her pen tightens to the point where it cracks. “Yes, you did.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I’m literally vegan.”

“Since when?”

“Since right now.”

Her nostrils flare, and she drops her voice into a tight hiss. “You two shitheads better order and get the hell out of here before I spit in your food.”

Harry’s eyes slink over to his friend, his tone dripping with insulted disbelief. “Niall, tell me: did our server just threaten us?”

Niall tsks, copying Harry’s fabricated offense. “I believe she did.”

“I want to speak to a manager.”

“Yelp will be hearing about this.”

“I’m going to skin you both alive.”

#ysijwa!ask

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yeonjunszn · 9 months

Text

ASAP! — SIXTEEN

PAIRING! mark lee x f!reader

SUMMARY! you’re not exactly the best barista at zhong coffee, but for some unknown reason (his massive crush on you), mark thinks you can do no wrong. sick and tired of his favoritism and your lack thereof due to absolute obliviousness, your coworkers are determined to fix this problem. asap.

MORE! i’m sleepy

◠‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠

If you were being honest, every day was starting to feel the same. Work seemed to take up so much of your time now, you don’t remember what it was like before being a Zhong Coffee barista. You were starting to feel a bit like a coffee-making zombie. No amount of beauty sleep was revitalizing you.

During your hour lunch, you decided to grab some tteokbokki from the restaurant next door. As you were walking back to the shop, a little bleary eyed, you managed to trip over a stray pebble on the sidewalk.

You were fully prepared to fall flat on your face and drop your poor food on the ground, squeezing your eyes shut to brace yourself for the impact.

However, the fall never came. Instead you were met with a pair of strong hands on your biceps, holding you up.

The guy looking back at you has dark blue hair and a wide smile, helping you stand upright once you’ve regained your footing. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you apologize, sheepishly.

“It’s okay, don’t sweat it. It’s Y/n, right?” He glances at the little name tag on your apron just to be sure, smiling a bit wider.

“Uh, yeah? Do I know you?” You ask with furrowed brows. Now that you think about it, his face looks extremely familiar, like you’ve seen him before. But you’re positive you would’ve remembered seeing somebody with blue hair around the shop.

"I'm a regular customer here. You’ve probably seen me before," he explains. "I'm Hongjoong."

"To be honest, I don't think I've ever seen you before, because obviously I'd remember," you say skeptically. "I think I'd remember someone with bright blue hair."

Hongjoong's smile falls a bit (like you previously), but nevertheless he continues smiling, "Oh, I used to have brighter blue hair. I recently re-dyed it."

You raise an eyebrow. You've also never seen a customer with bright blue hair. Who the hell was this guy and why do you feel like you know him?

Suddenly, another guy approaches the two of you and hands you a cheese danish, "Here."

Staring blankly down at the pastry in your hands, you're even more confused. "Thanks?"

"No problem," he winks at you before walking away. You squint as he walks to the end of the sidewalk, stopping at another guy who's holding more pastries. Freaks.

Hongjoong clears his throat, "So, can I get your digits or something?"

Pursing your lips, you stop and think for a moment. What is it with guys asking you for your number?

You're about to answer when Yeonjun appears out of nowhere and answers for you: "No. She's uncomfortable giving her number out. Now can you leave, Joong? She only has a little bit of time left for her break."

You bow your head silently and make your exit, speed walking back into the shop, where the break room awaits you and your tteokbokki. You just hope you don’t fall asleep before eating.

SIXTEEN — lunch break

PREV! fifteen — pick me choose me

NEXT! seventeen — DONG SICHENG ?

MASTERLIST!

◠‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠

TAGLIST! @stardusthyuck @erin-calling @tddyhyck @bigheadchen @choiwonder @neozon3nha @sunflowerbebe07 @kissesfrmwonwoo @miyawwn @sserafimez @haechansbbg @lilyidk03 @mowchiie @jaemsrina @jeongintwt @shwizhies

#nct #nct smau #nct social media au #nct socmed au #nct mark x reader #nct mark smau #mark lee x reader #mark lee smau #mark lee social media au #mark x reader #mark smau #mark social media au #yeonjunszn #asap.mark❕

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months

Text

Lunch is happening right?

Part two of Two Hearts by the Ocean

Javier Gutierrez x Abigail (plus size OFC)

This part is for general audiences - rating will depend on individual parts. Overall will be 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx 2.1k

Warnings: Javier being a sweetheart, anxiety, overthinking, more fluff! 🥰

Summary: Our kind pair meet up and go for lunch…eventually. Once they do, they finally eat and it leads to an important question that Javier needs answered.

Notes: Nerdie is fully in her soft fluffy marshmallow era. This fic so such a joy to write. I’m glad people are enjoying the softness. Some of you may be surprised to know that I do enjoy the fluff at times. ☺️ Hehe!

Main Masterlist/ Javier Gutierrez Masterlist/ Two Hearts by the Ocean Series

Javier returned to his compound and checked in on the chef who kept it simple by making grilled chicken, a blue cheese salad and sliced some bread he bought from the market in town with garlic butter. Javi requested for regular butter instead, just in case. Not an expectation of course, but it never hurts to plan for these things. After squaring things away with the chef, he returned to his quarters and undressed, showered and put on his favorite red relaxed button down shirt with tan slacks and brown loafers. He checked on the chef once more and went to inquire what was for dessert when he saw a chocolate cake coming out of the oven. The question of whether to frost the cake or not was put on hold as Abigail texted Javi that she was ready. Gutierrez left it up to the chef as he headed to his golf cart, replying that he was on his way to get her.

Abigail stood in front of the resort where Javier had parked the golf cart not too long ago. Her excitement was matched by her anxiety over putting herself out there and agreeing to lunch with a man she didn’t know. But it was fine, right? Treat it like a date, at his enormous compound, villa house that has a private beach. That happens every day. She did text her girlfriends and let them know that she wouldn’t be at the beach or resort. That she was out exploring, which was as vague as she could be. She thought about it and added that she would be touring some of the buildings and architecture of the island, she might be back late. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She brought a smaller tote back which she stuck her sunscreen, a bottle of water, her phone, wallet, charger, her notebook and a few pens, hand lotion and sanitizer. Javier appeared to be a sweet man who was kind enough not to kick her off his beach and was inviting her to lunch, things should be fine. Great even, when’s the last time she had lunch with someone who wasn’t a friend, family or for work?

Pulling up to the curb, Javier spotted Abigail holding her brown tote back in front of her. She was wearing the same yellow wide brimmed sun hat from earlier but this time, she wore a strapless blue dress that was the same light shade as the cloudless sky above. Her red matching nail polish on her fingernails and toes stood out against the quiet blue of her dress. She wore simple brown thong sandals and waved when she saw him. He returned her wave as he slowed the golf cart to a stop and practically beamed, “I have come back for you Abigail. I take it you have an appetite for lunch now?” He asked as he got out of the cart and rushed to the passenger side to ensure she was in all the way along with her dress that rose above her knees when she sat down. Once settled in, she nodded and smoothed out her dress, patting her thighs softly to remain calm. Javier was back behind the wheel, but didn’t take off yet.

“So you did Javi. I certainly am hungry. Um, what are we having for lunch?” His hand covered her left one and squeezed, her patting stopped. Javier could tell that she was nervous, he didn’t want her to be. His cousin’s frightening one, not him, though they do not know each other and hopefully never will. The smile he had on his face waned a bit as he turned toward her.

“Abigail, are you sure you still want to have lunch with me? You do not need to feel pressured into doing so.” The woman’s head shook quickly and she placed her right hand over his hand that held hers.

“No, no! It’s not that I don’t want to have lunch with you. I’m just nervous. I tend to anticipate the worst, but I know you’ve shown me none of that. I’m learning to let go and relax. I find it difficult. Please, let’s eat lunch Javier.” Her face still showed some reservation to Javi, but he would see how lunch went at the very least, she appeared a little less anxious than when she first got in the cart. With a nod, he released her hand for a moment and started the golf cart, then held it again.

“Alright Abby, but please, if you feel uncomfortable at any point let me know. You are going to be my guest in my home so it is my job to make sure you are at ease. Yes?” His face was serious as he informed her of his expectation. The view of his home was even more impressive from the front given the long driveway and lush greenery. She wondered how many landscapers it might have taken.

“Yes, I’ll make sure to let you know, I-I think I should be okay now though. Sorry about that.” Abigail apologized again, she may not have needed to, but it was very clear that he was much kinder than even she initially thought and understanding. He added that she didn’t need to apologize for how she feels, that it’s alright.

“I must confess that I feel nervous as well. I’m going to have lunch with an enchantingly gorgeous woman this afternoon. My day has improved greatly.” Javier pulled to a stop near the bottom of the steps that lead to the front door of his home. The heat to Abigail’s face was not from the sun. What had he been nervous for? He’d be able to convince a leopard that they would look perfect with stripes. Should I be concerned with my lack of concern? Might have something to do with the fact that I can see nearly all his teeth in that pretty smile he has on his face. I might be staring…that’s rude, but I also feel like he knows how attractive he is.

“…And that makes him all the more alluring. Such a stunningly warm man.” Her thoughts spilled from her lips. Javi’s smile turned to a grin.

“Do you mean me Abby? You find me alluring? This makes me swell with joy and relief.” He stepped out of the cart and walked over to the passenger side where he extended his hand. “I suppose I did take to you rather quickly. It may have been the work of your polka dots and red bathing suit at first, talking with you is a delight.”

Keeping further thoughts on any swelling he mentioned, Abby placed her hand in his. “Yes you are Javi. I believe you know that though.” She chuckled, stepping out of the golf cart and walking up the stairs with him to meet two towering cherrywood doors that a butler opened. “I enjoyed seeing you in your speedo too and I like the burnt orange against your skin. You look amazing with and without clothes.” They stepped across the threshold and her grip tightened on his hand. That was way too suggestive, we haven’t even eaten yet. That’s not the impression I wanted to give him.

“You have quite a way with your words Abigail.” Javier added a playful rasp to her name and brought her hand closer so he could hold it with both hands. “I understand what you meant. Do not fret. Tranquilízate (calm down) Abby.”

Javier gave Abby a brief tour on the way to the dining room to which her head turned in every direction to marvel at the house itself, the artwork, the hardwood and marble. Arriving in the dining room, Javier pulled out the chair for her, which she was momentarily confused by but sat down. His seat was set on the far side of the long table, but Javi picked up his place setting and moved it to the chair next to Abby.

“It appears to be a bit silly to be all the way over there. This is much better, do you agree?” He took his napkin and placed it in his lap as she nodded giggling. This is good, Javier thought to himself, she almost looks as she did on the beach. Ella está tranquila (She is calm).

The chef and a maid brought out the meal and served the pair. Abigail complimented the chef and thanked both him and the maid before starting in on her chicken. She was actually hungry and if she chewed a bit slowly, she may not say anything else embarrassing to this nice handsome man. Just act like you’ve spoken to another person Abby. It’s not that hard. Small talk was made over the meal about the food, the beauty of the house and beach. Her throat cleared when Javier asked how long she would be in Spain. She hadn’t been expecting the question, but it wasn’t a strange one, especially since it seems like he wanted to get to know her. “We arrived this week, Sunday, so we’ll be here for the next rest of this week and two additional ones. It’s a miracle we were actually able to coordinate our schedules.” She explained, it sounded like a joke but it wasn't. The group, half thought they were imagining things when everyone had the same block of time available.

“So Javi, I take that to mean you’d like to have other lunches?” Setting her fork down after finishing her chicken and half her salad, she was curious.”With me?” She maybe didn’t mean to add that last question, that was out of her own shock. They hadn’t finished lunch yet.

Javier took a few sips of his water and used his napkin to wipe his mouth though Abby didn’t see anything on his lips. She had been keeping track, and trying to be subtle about it. Not that she was quite sure what that looked like. The man has these beautiful strands of chocolate-cinnamon swirls that match his facial hair along with his large nose that fits his face. Though, where else is it supposed to fit? Focusing on another part of Javier didn’t work so well either, his neck has a vein that kinda jumps out at times when he’s chewing and-

“I am unsure who else I would be having lunch with Abby.” The soft chuckle matched with a mischievous look in his eyes had her palms flat on the table near her plate. She was more aware this time so she didn’t move them. “I do have a question for you, it is of the utmost importance.” Javier clasped his hands together and set his chin upon them, pausing for dramatic effect. “Have you seen ‘Paddington 2’?” Blinking, she tilted her head to see if he was going to say he was kidding. The man across from her did not appear to be, he was waiting for her to answer.

“I have not. Is this a dealbreaker Javi?” Her mind is still trying to catch up. She knows of Paddington, she hasn’t seen either movie, her nieces had been into Monster High and the Bratz so she didn’t take them so see it.

“Not if you are open to watching it with me.” His eyes remained trained on Abby, curious to her answer.

“I haven’t seen either Paddington movie. Should we watch one today and another one another day?” She proposed, if he wanted to watch a movie or two, that was more than fine with her. She might even suggest a couple herself. She wasn’t prepared for Javier to pop up from the table and knock his chair back. He took both her hands into his and planted one kiss on the back of each.

“You would be willing to watch both of them with me?! My enjoyment of this day has increased tenfold! Vamos al cine! (Let’s go to the movie theater)!” Abigail was up on her feet and with Javier’s arm around waist before she realized her point of view had changed. He was guiding her out of the dining room as she looked up at his bright face.

“Espera (wait) Javi! ¿Qué pasa con la comida?! (What about the food?!)”

“I can tell them to bring whatever you like! Estoy muy contento porque voy a ver la película contigo (I’m excited to watch the movies with you)!”

Moving quickly down the hallway, all Abigail could do was mutter to herself with a soft smile that Javi missed in both his explanation of why he enjoys the movies, especially Paddington 2 and hurry to make it to his private theater.

“Eres un cielo (You are very cute) Javi. Estoy metido en un lío (I am in trouble).”

Part One Part Three

Peeps who pass the Paddington 2 test 🧸: @innerpersonunknown @trulybetty @tinytinymenace @maggiemayhemnj @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @grogusmum @secretelephanttattoo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept @lady-bess @readingiskeepingmegoing @gwendibleywrites @avastrasposts @bitchwitch1981 @missladym1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @inept-the-magnificent @i-own-loki

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier gutierrez #Javier Gutierrez x OFC #plus size OFC #Javier Gutierrez x plus size OFC #A Nerdie fic #two hearts by the ocean

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fromasgardandback · 11 months

Text

Automotive Plant's Secretary

Eddie Munson x Reader

description: Y/N L/N is the central secretary at the Automotive Plant Wayne Munson works.

word count: 1.2k

warning: nothing, literal fluff

masterlist | oneshots

Y/N went to work early that morning to set up for the bosses' meeting. She never understood why they couldn’t do it themselves, but she was getting paid for the boring and mundane work. Although she hated the executives of the company, she adored the workers. They were always kind to her when they came in and visa versa. At least once a week she would bake sweets for them and leave the container on her desk. The notes on top of the Tupperware were always different, but each one with a smiley face. Sometimes families would come in to surprise their loved ones who were hard-working and only a few would make a regular appearance. One of those guys just so happened to be Eddie Munson, the old classmate she had a massive crush on. His uncle worked on the floor and said hello to Y/N each morning and goodnight at the end of the day. If she was having an off day, he would make sure to cheer her up. If her day was particularly hard and stayed silent, when everyone left he would give her a hug with an encouraging word or two. Needless to say, she loved Wayne.

“Good Morning, Wayne. I made chocolate chip cookies.” Y/N smiled up at him.

“Good Morning, sweetie. Thank you, these look delicious.” He smiled back taking a cookie, wasting no time in eating the entire thing.

Most days were busy and quiet. If the floor was hard at work and not much chit-chat going on, you can hear the executives mucking it up in their offices without a care in the world. They cared little for their employees and only if they made them more money or not. It was hard for Y/N to see the contrast between white-collar and blue-collar workers. They deserved better, that’s why she baked and tried her hardest to be kind to all of them.

“Do you have any exciting plans this weekend?” She asked, leaning her elbows on the desk.

“Some chores around the trailer, nothing too exciting. Try and use my days off to relax.” Wayne replied, swallowing the last remnants of the cookie. “What about you, kid?”

“Same, nothing much other than relaxing. I might go out with some friends to a bar tonight.” She smiled at the nickname.

“Don’t get too crazy, don’t know what we’d do without you here.” He smirked, waving her off as he walked to the breakroom with his things.

The day went by fairly quickly, and now it was 1:30 pm. Only three and a half hours to go until they can all clock out. The hum of a radio blasting and turning off can be heard faintly through the entrance door and a pair of boots touching the fake hardwood floors moving closer to her desk. She looked up, only to blush and hide the heat rising to her face.

“Hey, Y/N.” Eddie smiled politely.

“Hi, Eddie. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you during a work day?” She smiled up at him. ‘Seriously? You had all of five minutes to come up with something non-embarrassing and that’s what came out of your mouth?’ She thought to herself.

“Came to drop off lunch for Uncle Wayne, he deserves something better than ham and cheese.” He chuckled as he signed the visitor sign-in sheet.

“That’s very sweet of you, Eddie. You can go on back. I’ll let him know you’re here.” He winked at her, following her instructions and going towards to break room. Heart-pounding and the blush on her cheeks growing redder, she hurriedly went to the floor. On his way out of the building, he stopped by her desk again.

“My band’s playing at The Hideout tonight. Maybe you want to come by?” Eddie smiled nervously, quickly fixing his sentence. “Not alone of course, with friends. Or alone if you just want to be alone, but you don't have to.” Eddie failed terribly, fumbling through trying to stop talking.

“I’d love to come. My friends and I were headed to a bar anyways. We’ll be there.” She smiled at him to which he returned and a small wave while leaving.

For a few weeks, Eddie would make an excuse to come “drop” occasional things that Wayne just so happened to forget at home. He would spend at least ten minutes talking to Y/N and declare to his friends that he was going to ask her out one of these days.

“Dude, you’ve been pining after her for years and talking with her every week. If you haven’t done it by now, you’re not going to. You’re just chicken, man” Gareth rolled his eyes sipping his beer.

“Watch how you speak to me, I am not chicken. She comes to see us play every week. If that’s not making a move, then what do you suggest?” Eddie grumbled sitting up straight, eyes boring into his friends’.

“Y/N, go to dinner with me? That’s a start.” Jeff replied fiddling with his guitar.

“ALL BLUNT!?” Eddie exclaimed.

“YES!” His friends yelled annoyed that he has yet to do anything about this crush, but bitch and complain.

The band was setting up the stage an hour before the bar opened to set up their gig. The moment they opened she walked through those doors with her friends smiling wide when making eye contact with him. Eddie blushed giving her a small wave, going back to tuning his guitar. Y/N sat in the back booth giving her the advantage of hiding what redness crossed her cheeks.

“Just ask him out,” Nancy commented setting down her purse next to you.

“What are you talking about?” She acted dumb, not wanting to be embarrassed by the conversation, watching her crush be his adorable self.

“How much you’re in love with Eddie. Y/N, we love you but it's painfully obvious. Just rip off the bandaid and ask him out.” Robin remarked, setting down the drinks.

“And disgusting to hear how much you think he’s hot and adorable and his eyes are so dreamy.” Steve rolled his eyes, exaggerating.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop talking about him. But I can’t ask him out. He doesn’t see me that way.” Y/N shook her head looking down. Steve laughed loudly, causing Nancy to elbow him in the shoulder.

“Sweetie, it is so clear that he likes you.” Nancy smiled. “Just go for it. There’s nothing to lose, we promise you.”

“And he’s making his way to the bar now. Take your chance. And if it goes awry, we’ll leave.” Robin nodded encouragingly.

Y/N had no other choice than to get up and face the fear of rejection from the childhood crush she couldn’t seem to shake.

“Eddie, Hi.” She fiddled with the rings on her hands.

“Y/N, you came. Hi.” He noticed, taking note that she was nervous.

“I, um, want to ask you something.” She squeaked out, not looking up.

“I want to ask you something as well.” Eddie leaned against the bar on his right elbow. They both took a short breath asking their question together.

“Would you go to dinner with me?” He asked.

“Would you go to dinner with me?” She asked. They chuckled, blushing harder than a tomato.

“I would love to, Eddie.” She smiled big, leaning into him.

“I would be more than happy to, Y/N.” He smiled wider, leaning closer to her.

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midnightfire830 · 7 months

Text

Because I haven’t done anything cyberpunk I’m a while, also bc I’m stalling for a drawing. Here’s the questers favorite types of junk food in cyberpunk (and IG any of my modern AUs)

Cuphead obviously likes anything sweet, especially lollipops. He doesn’t really care what flavor but he likes those mystery kinds that randomly pick for him; grape, and strawberry. But he also defaults to eating ravioli cups or cans if he needs a quick meal, or a snack. Or for comfort. Or if he’s just feeling it.

Mugman likes snacking on pokeys. His favorite flavor is regular chocolate and blueberry. Cuphead teases him about that relentlessly. “He likes blueberries so much it turned his nose blue” (A note from my friend @ireallylovepuppies101 ). Also, he really likes sour gummy candies. Like sour patch kids and sour fizzy skulls (I work at a Swedish candy store that last one might not make as much sense to my american friends).

Bendy has a bad habit of forgetting to eat when he’s stuck with a project (as does Holly) so he likes hot pockets. He doesn’t really have a favorite flavor, whatever he can grab at the corner store. He’ll usually eat these as a last minute meal if he forgets to eat dinner. It drives Cuphead INSANE. He also likes any kind of bacon flavored chips or pretzels.

Boris is the one in the workshop that actually remembers to eat. He often has to remind Bendy and Holly to actually eat if Cuphead isn’t there to remind him. Boris is kind of a sucker for Mac ‘n cheese cups or just regular Mac n’ cheese in the boxes. He likes to cut up hot dogs or little bits of ham and mix them in his Mac ‘n cheese for a little extra protein. He also makes sure if that is going to be his meal that he also eat some fruits or veggies with it.

Felix doesnt really eat junk food but he occasionally likes a good vanilla milkshake. He also enjoys chocolate biscuits and cookies. I tried looking up british chocolate cookie brands but I’m obviously not british so idk what’s good. But there was a thing called McVities Chocolate Digestives. I imagine he’d like the lemon drizzle flavor. He also likes Girl Scout cookies. If there’s someone selling them he’s buying their whole stock of cookies. He especially likes Samoa, Thin mints, and Lemonades. He doesn’t eat those a whole lot, they’re kind of special occasion things or comfort food. Whenever he’s feeling nostalgic.

Holly likes lollipops of course, preferring cherry and blue raspberry flavors. But really any flavor will do. But she also likes ramen! If you go into her section of the workshop where she codes you’ll see a lot of cup ‘o noodles cups everywhere. If she decides to cook ramen she likes to cook it with some egg and chopped up onions, carrots, celery, and potatoes to make it a bit more hearty and filling.

Alice doesn’t eat junk food that much. She does like marshmallows, especially s’mores or any kind of chocolate covered marshmallow. But she also likes donuts. >:) (for the people who read inky mystery you know that Holly scared Alice into thinking that eating donuts makes you a bad person.) So she only likes specific kinds of donuts. She loves apple fritters, long john donuts, and crullers because they don’t look like your average donuts. So she doesn’t realize those are actually donuts. She thinks they’re just regular weirdly shaped pastries. No one has the guts to tell her they’re actually donuts.

If you wanna hear other characters let me know!!!!

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juanarc-thethird · 2 years

Note

How did Jaune's meeting with Tai go in How To Get Your Man?

Outside the restaurant

Yang: *Wearing a dark blue dress with a gold necklace and some gold-colored heels* Where is he? Have I put too much pressure on him?

Jaune: Yang, I'm here!

Yang turns around and is surprised to see how Jaune was dressed. He is wearing a dark blue three piece suit with a white dress shirt, a dark red tie, dark brown shoes, a gold watch on his left hand, and as a finishing touch he has combed his hair back giving him a mature look.

Jaune: Wow Yang, you look amazing! Well you always look amazing, duh. But any way, how do I look? I didn't know what to wear, and since it's the first time I'm talking to your dad and it's a fancy restaurant, I thought I'd dress formally. So what do you think?

Yang: *Blushing*....

Jaune: Yang?

Yang: What? Oh yes, you look great! I'm surprise you can look this hot, Mean!, look good. *Ahem* You look good Jaune.

Jaune: *Smiles* Thank you.

Yang: *Blushing with a smile* You're welcome. Being honest with you, for a moment I thought you wouldn't come.

Jaune: Why?

Yang: Because I tricked you into coming to this dinner.

Jaune: Don't worry about it. Besides, I think I'd be in trouble if I didn't apologize after what I said on the phone, and well you'd be in trouble too for lying to your dad that we're dating.

Yang: You won't tell my dad that we're not dating?

Jaune: Nop, but you own me a dessert

Yang: *Chuckles* Sure. Now let's go in, my dad is already waiting for us.

Inside the restaurant

Tai is setting on the table waring for her daughter and boyfriend. He is wearing a classic black suit with a red tie and black dress shoes.

Yang: Dad!

He hears his daughter's voice and looks around for her. He finally finds her and he gets up from his chair to greet her.

Tai: My little dragon. *Hugs her* So good to see you. It's being so long.

Yang: Dad we video call yesterday.

Tai: So? It was a long time.

Yang: *Roll her eyes with a smiles* Yeah sure.

Tai: So you are Jaune, correct.

Jaune: Yes sir, nice to meet you. *Put his hand out for a hand shake*

Tai: *Shakes his hand* You seem to have manners, good. Please, both of you, sit down.

Jaune moves the chair back to help Yang sit in the chair and then he sits down. Tai notice that and only smile. Then one of the waiters arrive.

Waiter: Good evening, my name is Steve and I will be your waiter tonight. What would you like to drink?

Tai: For me a lemonade

Yang: Same here

Jaune: Me too.

Waiter: 3 lemonades. Great, I'll be right back. *Leaves*

Tai: So Jaune tell me a little bit about your self.

Jaune: Well....

Jaune told him a little about his family, where he is from and how he met Yang.

Jaune: And then my partner removes her spear from my hoodie and locker, says goodbye, and then Yang shows up to help me up. And that was the first time we met.

Tai: *Laughing* Oh god, that's funny.

Waiter: Excuse me, are you ready to order?

Tai: Yes, I want a Bolognese pasta

Jaune: I want a regular Salumi Pizza

Waiter: Understood, and for the lady?

Yang: I'm going to want the Gargano pasta.

Tai/Jaune: Wait...

Tai hears Jaune and falls silent to see what he is going to say.

Jaune: Yang, this dish contains Blue Cheese. You can't eat that.

Yang: Oh thanks, I didn't notice.

Jaune: Why don't you order the garlic shrimp spaghetti? It's delicious.

Yang: *teasing* Are you sure it tastes good?

Jaune: Hey, have I ever lied to you?

Yang: Yes

Jaune: *Joking* What?! When?

Yang: Every time you reject me...

Jaune looks at her with a panic face and Tai looks at her with a confused face. It's that precise moment she saves the day with a silly idea.

Yang:....memes! When you reject my Memes and I know you love them a lot.

Jaune: *nervous* Oh yeah, you're right. I love your memes.

Yang: Wait, *Blushing* You like my memes.

Jaune: Yeah I like- wait are we still talking about memes or memes?

Yang: I don't know, what memes are you talking about?

Tai: *Serious* Yeah, what kind of memes are you two talking about?

Yang: *Nervous* Um... I-I need to go to the ladies room. *Stand up an leaves*

Jaune: Wait-

Waiter: I'll be right back with the food. *Leaves*

Tai: Jaune.

Jaune: (Damn it) Yes?

Tai: Are you dating my daughter? Be honest.

Jaune: Well....

Tai: Jaune, be honest.

Jaune: I'm... I'm not dating your daughter.

Tai: I see.

Jaune: She didn't mean to lie to you! I swear. She played a prank on me and well things got out of control and-!

Tai: *Smiles* Hey, is fine. The same thing happened to me with my last wife.

Jaune: Really?

Tai: Of course, where do you think she got that idea? Unlike your case, she lied to me telling me that we were going to eat with some friends. But in the end it was a dinner with her parents and she told them that I was her boyfriend.

Jaune: Why did she do that?

Tai: At that time I was still depressed that my first wife left me. I had been like this for four months and my depression began to affect Yang. There was a time when I almost lost everything, but Summer saved me and my daughter. She was with me the whole time. She helped me with the house, she supported me, but best of all she gave Yang what she couldn't give him at that moment, love. With time I get better and start to see life differently. Yang was my sunshine, but Summer was my entire sky. I began to fall in love with her, but the fear that they would leave me again was still there. One day she asks me out on a date, but I turn her down. She did it again and again, and always reject her. And I did this because of fear and because I was an idiot. So she made that plan and without objection I became her boyfriend and then her husband. She gave me the best years of my life and gave me the best gift I could ask for.

Jaune: What did she give you?

Tai: A loving family.

Jaune: That's nice. *His eyes begin to water*

Tai: Are you crying?

Jaune; No, I just... I just have something in my eye.

Tai: *Smiles* You are a good man, Jaune. So I will give you the best honor a father can give someone outside of his family.

Jaune: And what is it?

Tai: You have my blessing to date my daughter.

Jaune: Wait! I haven't said anything about planning on going out with her!

Tai: It's just a matter of time. I bet by the next time I see you, you'll be her real boyfriend.

Jaune: Sir-!

Yang: Did I miss something?

Jaune: No, nothing happen!

Tai: I gave Jaune my blessing to go out with you.

Yang: Really?!

Tai: Yep

Yang: *Hugs Jaune by the neck* Oh my god! Thanks dad, you are the best!

Jaune: *Trying to stay alive* I can't breathe!

Waiter: Here's is your food.

Tai: Great! I'm starving.

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randomfoggytiger · 1 year

Text

X-Files Collector's Fic: Cleaning Out the Vineyard House (Poll Results 2nd)

This list was inspired by this poll-- 1st part here~.

(**Note**: I'll edit out errors later when no one's looking.)

Loose chronological order below~

raspberrycoffeecake's Vineyard-Haven

""But he turns back toward the sea, retracts his arms, and wraps them around his knees, closing in on himself.

“I came out here once the year after Samantha disappeared,” he says in an even tone. He’s still looking out at the waves, and she wonders if he’s talking to her or to himself. “It was just a normal summer morning. My father was upstairs in his office, writing letters, making phone calls, ignoring us like he always did. My mother made me a sandwich to take with me to the baseball field, as if there had always been just one child to make sandwiches for. As if Sam was just a dream I had, as if she had never existed. And I finally decided that I couldn’t stand the denial. I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.""

Post Paper Hearts Mulder whisks Scully to Martha's Vineyard. She supports him as he processes his memories; and insists they start a relationship when it won't be based in trauma.

@syntax6's (Gossamer, FFN, Omni) Mulder 1998

""He opened his eyes and looked at her over the flames. "They say the ocean has no memory."

She licked her thumb and scanned the paltry breaking surf. "I guess I can see that. The tide comes in, sweeps everything away and washes out again, only to reappear a few hours later. It makes the ocean seem immutable, as though no outside force can change it."

"And change equals memory?"

"Sure. Every memory changes you.""

Pre-Triangle Mulder sells his father's Vineyard house because of the expenses wracked up during FTF. He and Scully share their beach disappointments; and they compare his height to the former scratches on his childhood wall.

Chimerical1975's Regular People

""Grocery shopping with Mulder was something of an experience. It turned out that he was a creature of immense habit with definite likes and dislikes. Since she'd barged in on him, she offered to cook whatever he liked and he put up surprisingly little resistance to the offer. In fact, he revealed that macaroni and cheese was his favorite thing in the world. But only homemade--he had to be close to starving to eat the stuff that came in the blue box. She was amused that such simple comfort food was something he craved, not to mention greatly relieved because it was something that she actually knew how to make. If he'd wanted ratatouille, she would have been in big trouble.""

AU-- TGTSC Scully's California flight was canceled; so she surprises Mulder at the Vineyard where he is cleaning out his father's house. They whack down yard weeds, move each other with respect and admissions on both their parts-- romantically and not living a normal life together-- and conclude their unresolved romantic tensions.

Folieadeux's Cyclone

""Closing the door behind him, he slid off his jacket and laid it on the hall bench.He'd promised himself that he would not take too much time doing this,that he would be quick and efficient, without unnecessary emotions. Just like she'd do it, like she had done it when it had been her turn.

// He sat in the hallway, his back propped against the wall, watching her. It was late spring and the yearly housecleaning was in full force. The scene was misleading in its normalcy. A woman in an apron and a freshly washed house dress ripping sheets from a little girl's twin bed, shaking puffs of dust in the air that floated in the sunshine before disappearing to wherever those particles went. Her jaw was set tight and her face was determined. Only twin paths of tears betrayed her calm exterior.

He kept silent, a skill he was beginning to hone as the weeks wore on and his sister didn't return. Every day the house grew more and more silent while they all pretended. What they were pretending was something he had yet to figure out. //""

Post Closure Mulder somberly packs up the Vineyard, apologizing to the house while battling morbid memories. He always felt he had to protect his mother: the woman who kept travel books but never traveled.

LuvTheBeez’s (mulderscreek) Packing

""Every object, every possession left in the house had been carefully wrapped and packed away only to spend the rest of its days in a dank storage room somewhere. These boxes contained once precious objects that no longer mattered to anyone, all of them things he'd looked at a million times but had never really seen. Things that had been carefully maintained, fastidiously dusted and polished, each holding a memory that was solely hers, that he could not share.""

Post Closure Mulder packs up Tena's house, frustrated that there were no more answers to be found. Scully drops in with comfort food; and both are glad she hadn't listened to his earlier denials and mild mandates.

OKayVal's 155 Words - Santa Claus, North Pole

""Dear Santa, I have been good. Please bring me a talking Crissy doll. And please bring my brother Fox a model rocket so he will be too busy to tease me. Thank you. Love Samantha Mulder.""

Post Closure Mulder soldiers on, cleaning out Tena's house. Samantha's "Dear Santa" letter guts him with guilt.

xraelynn’s (Gossamer) Illumination

""It’s good to see you, Mulder,” she said softly, taking a sip of her coffee. The smile in his eyes dimmed as he looked away.

“I, uh...I didn’t mean to run out of town on you,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed down on his coffee. “I just thought I...needed some time.”

Mulder’s face was smooth and calm now, but for days she hadn’t stopped seeing his expression of devastation and betrayal whenever she looked at him.

It turned out that she had needed some time too.""

Post Closure Mulder invites Scully out to the Vineyard, needing her company while he processes his losses and revelations.

@bohoartist's (Ao3) Unnamed Prompt

""Let me see!” she pleads, reaching for it, but he extends his arm just out of her reach.

“Oh not at all, Scully, this is way too incriminating.”

She sits back and pouts, sticking out her plump bottom lip and looking up at him through her lashes before quickly changing tactics and lunging at him.""

Post Closure Scully rescues a picture of little toddler Mulder before her partner can destroy all of his family mementos.

Pattie's Sailor Spooky

""Besides, I wouldn't want to spoil your free time away from me."

His heart sank. He sat on the couch. After a long pause he told her the truth. "I just don't want to be alone, okay?"

Scully stopped filling the coffee maker and approached her partner.""

Post Closure Mulder doesn't want to be alone. Scully assures him he doesn't have to prove anything-- including making himself seasick by trying to bond with her.

@o6666666's (Ao3)

Untitled

""Martha’s Vineyard, he’d said, this weekend, and she’s already teased him that he ever thought it might be a hard sell. His Scully is made for the beach. Not least because her body is pink and freckled and cut from stone, but mostly because the ocean recognizes her at once—a Scully, one of its own—and she opens her heart to it like she does to her mother and small children, allowing her wild laugh and squeaky voice and a sort of space-taking that seems fundamentally opposite to the space-taking she does at work, with clipped tones, and where the littler she speaks, the more powerful she seems.

(By contrast: When he woke up this morning she had all the covers, and her arms were spread out like wings across the whole bed. “You cozy?” he’d whispered, sidling closer. She’d tucked him right in with her with a kiss to his nose. And doing the breakfast dishes together, he’d heard it—this dry little fart. She’d turned to him with wide, guilty eyes and he’d rat-tailed her, lightly, with the dish towel and whistled: “Scul-ly!”)""

Post Closure? Mulder takes Scully on a boating trip to the Vineyard-- and she boats, happily, like a crazy person.

Untitled

""Mulder, I can’t sail.”

He grinned. “Sure you can.” He was sure Scully knew the methodology of sailing. Perhaps Scully could sail like she could drive. When she was a little girl she could sail, and when she was six she accidentally hit Captain Scully in the head with the boom.

AU-- S9 Mulder bought Scully a boat for her 40th. The two go sailing while Maggie watches their son.

@scapegrace74-blog/scapegrace74's Pandora's Box

""He’s been at loose ends since his mother passed away, and she draws an invisible line around him, daring anyone else to cross it and touch his tender heart. There are a million daily reminders of loss: calls from the family attorney, paperwork to sign, a father’s voice rising from a tour group outside the Hoover Building, “don’t wander too far away, Sam!”

So when he asks her to run this simple errand, she leaps at the chance to help.""

Post Closure Scully finds an engagement ring in Mulder's things; and the two realize their weaknesses-- fear to take it to the next step for fear of guilt-tripping the other-- pale in comparison to their strengths.

@alienbaby-babymama/ABBM515‘s Potential

""Even though it had only been a few weeks since their partnership became an “official” partnership, Dana Scully would never have to be asked twice to spend a weekend by the water.

Mulder had mentioned in passing that he wanted to get his mother’s house prepared for sale. The place was big, required maintenance, and the memories engrained in the walls and floorboards of the house was not something he wanted to deal with. The property deserved love again. He just wasn’t sure he was the one to give it.""

Mulder and Scully-- still not dating post Closure-- sort out how to use Martha's Vineyard: a rental property so they can subsidize their IVF treatments.

@gabby-msr/ScullytoyourMulder/scullytoyourmulder993's

A Love Captured

""That night was special. In high school, I was the kid whose sister had gone missing. I guess it was some kind of curse. I was a bit of a pariah. Even on the baseball team,” he said, and he saw her frown in disapprobation.

“But that night, it didn’t matter. We stayed on the diamond celebrating well into the night, the team and other people, too. Some people drank. I didn’t, I still had to drive myself home. People congratulated me.”

"I’m glad,” she told him, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad baseball brought you some happiness.”

“It did,” he said, but there was something sad about the way he said it.

“What is it?”

“My parents - they’ve never seen me play,” he admitted.""

S8 Monica is trying to understand the late Agent Mulder. While snooping through his office, she finds memorabilia from his and Scully's vacation to the Vineyard post-Je Souhaite. Their trip was about him rediscovering and reinvigorating his past-- all of it: Samantha, his parents, Diana, and everything else-- with a newer, fresher start.

FatCat's Scully Pride

""Where's the car your mom rented? What did she get us, a convertible?" I grinned.

"Uh, no, it's not a convertible. It's over there." Scully pointed up the street toward a Toyota Corolla.

"Scully? A Corolla? I can't fit into a car that small comfortably."

"Uh, no, Mulder. Not the Corolla, the... erm... one in front of it."

I looked again and whistled. "A Cadillac Escalade? Your mom rented a Escalade for us?"

"She said something about it being handy to have with so many guests around." She couldn't meet my eyes. I knew she was embarrassed.

"Scully," I leaned down to force her to look at me. "Your mom told me about your Aunt Maeve. It's okay. I had some relatives just like her so I do understand.""

AU-- Mulder offers the Vineyard to Maggie's snobby relatives, good-naturedly hosting their get-together. The love bomb and a proposal is dropped; and Charlie fights Scully over her initial refusal.

WordsSpillFromMyOpenVeins_89's Weekend At Martha's Vineyard

""Less then ten minutes later, William was fast asleep on the floor and snoring with Ishy next to him.

Mulder pat the back of William's head, ran his hand down is back, feeling the rise and fall of his tiny chest.

"Oof. Don't know how much longer I'll be able to do this, bud. You're growing up", Mulder whispered against his floppy auburn hair.

Mulder reached out his right arm, to brace against the wall before taking the last two steps up to the second level of the Hamptons Style Bungalow.

Mulder carried William up to his bedroom, unlaced his converse sneakers and placed them on the floor, at the foot of the bed. Carefully covering William with the Van Gogh Starry Starry Night bedspread and tucking the edges under him, to keep him warm.""

AU-- S9 Mulder, Scully, Will, and their dog all vacation at Martha's Vineyard. While there, Mulder proposes; and all is chummy and famfic-y.

Enjoy!

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