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tightjeansjavi · 2 months

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The Rite of Movement | drabble

“sleazy kisses in a back alley”

A/N: everyone say thank you to Lucien Flores for inspiring me to write pornstar!joel going a little…feral ;)

~word count: 2.2k~

Summary: it’s Tommy’s birthday, and you and Joel can’t keep your hands to yourselves for more than five minutes

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of the porn industry and other pornstars, porn with no plot litrally, intimacy, semi public sex, fingering, oral f!receiving, dom!joel, depraved filth, language, mentions of drinking and smoking, teasing, flirting, edging, established relationship, Joel calls you a dirty little slut in a non-derogatory way, sleazy makeout, cum tasting, Joel is a little horny shit, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, reader has no physical descriptions (only description is wearing a shimmery dress but nothing about the length/fit etc) readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Every pair of wandering eyes in this DTLA, heady, nightclub are glued in a trance to your boyfriend. It’s Tommy’s birthday, and despite the fact that somehow you and Joel have ended up in the same state that you both loathed for conjoining reasons, it was cathartic that you were doing this together.

The original plan was for Joel to rent out a local nightclub in Austin for Tommy’s birthday bash, but Pornhub offered to fly the three of you out to LA, along with the rest of Miller-Co for a proper birthday celebration.

That's how you found yourselves surrounded by familiar faces in the industry, and plenty anew. You caught up with old costars, reminiscing on the short lived ‘good times’ during your era at Brazzers. It was a bittersweet and unplanned reunion.

The question of the evening was centered around yours and Joel’s relationship, and you weren’t one to bask in the spotlight or the potential for scrutiny. But you handled their prying questions with grace, after all, humans are naturally curious creatures.

How do two pornstars maintain a healthy relationship?

“Just like the key to any successful relationship: communication.” You responded with grace.

There were a chorus of murmured agreements that went around the circle you found yourself in. Joel was nearby, an arm’s length away, close enough that you could brush up against one another. He was wearing a silly, flimsy party hat, adorned in gold chains draped along his neck and a bright patterned shirt with almost all the buttons undone. He looked like a whole goddamn meal, and dessert, and the greenies in the industry were absolutely eating him up.

He was politely declining opportunities to film with this group of amateur pornstars that flocked to him like a moth to flame. He had recently begun to stray from filming with partners outside of you. It was a personal decision that he made, and you of course supported him through and through. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed from the already stuffy atmosphere, the numerous voices in his ear, the pounding bass, and the beading sweat pooling along his forehead, was just enough for him to politely excuse himself for some fresh air.

You felt his warm palm encircle around your covered hip, squeezing you gently through the shimmery fabric of the dress you were wearing. “M’gonna head out for a smoke, and some fresh air, baby love.” He rasped, leaning over close enough that you could hear him.

You leaned into his touch, head tilting to the side and painted lips brushing the heart shaped patch in his beard, leaving a lip print stain of sinful red against his tanned skin. “Okay, baby.”

Warmth encased espresso brown eyes flicker to your gaze, his skin is flushed, pink hues turning to blues and purples from the flashing strobe lights. His brow raises, lips quirking upwards, sending a gush of arousal to flood the sticky heat between your thighs. You’re not wearing any panties tonight, and he knows this.

You watch as his eyes shamelessly dip downwards, drifting across every inch of your skin that he has spent countless hours kissing, biting, licking, and worshiping. Every ridge, valley, and bump. Every beauty mark, every inch of softness under his touch. He already can picture the sticky mess between your thighs where just under an hour ago, his head was buried between them, feasting on you with your ass firmly pressed against the hotel bathroom sink while you messed up his perfectly slicked back hair with ravenous, desperate tug to his roots.

He meets your gaze once more after he has fully drunk you in from top to bottom. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his carton of cigarettes, flipping the top open with his thumb, feeling your eyes searing into his skin as he places a single cigarette between his plush lips.

“I’ll be waitin’ for ya, baby love.” He rasps, tilting his chin in a subtle nod. His hand that was still holding onto your hip, releases, and discreetly dipping under the fabric of your dress, ring clad knuckles digging into the soft flesh of your ass in a possessive manner that you only got a taste of on a rare occasion like tonight. “You know where to find me.” He added, departing from your close proximity in a suave manner that left you feeling breathless.

A warm tingle rolled down your spine like the condensation dripping down the edge of your glass. Your heart pounded to the heavy thump of the bass, and blood rushed in your ears as you watched him make his way through the crowd of sweaty bodies and exit through one of the nearest side doors.

You finish what is left of your mostly watered down drink, throwing the liquid down your throat and tossing the plastic cup in the nearest trash can. Your feet carry you towards the same exit door he left through minutes earlier. You waited simply to build up the growing tension and to flood your system with a wave of palpable suspense, and that insatiable itch that only he could fulfill.

And just like clockwork, you push open the heavy door, a gust of refreshing evening air blows over you, drowning out the heavy bass and overbearing voices as you step outside into the dimly lit back alley. The door swings shut, and the sole of your heels lightly scrape against the pebbled concrete.

You feel that electric buzz, the invisible string pulling you right into Joel’s vicinity.

And there he was, broad back leaned against the brick wall, hand cupped around the side of his face to block out any obstructing wind as he lit the end of the cigarette that was limply dangling between his lips.

He tilted his head back against the wall, inhaling the toxic smoke into his lungs, the lit end of the cigarette burning bright orange. He exhaled the smoke upwards in a gray cloud that dissipated into the night air.

His eyes locked onto you from a short distance away, and all it took for your feet to move again was the subtle flex of his pointer and middle finger curling at his side in a ‘come hither’ motion.

You find yourself wedged between his broad, jean clad thighs, your hands slowly sliding up the expanse of his broad, tanned chest, as his freehand moves to grasp your hip, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers toy with the gold chains adorned on his neck, twirling the metal in a flirtatious manner, “you have no right looking this good tonight, Joel. And upstaging your brother nonetheless?” You tut playfully.

The fabric of your shimmery dress bunches under his strong hands, gripping onto you like a vice. He chuckles, dipping his head down so he can rest his forehead against yours, “you don’t seem to have a problem with it, baby love. Took you all of five minutes to come and find me…” he trailed off, cigarette dipping down between his plush lips like fresh dew dripping down the delicate petal of a flower. “You want it that bad, huh?” He challenges you.

Smoke curls around your head like an ashy coil of a snake, wrapping and twisting, irritating your eyes, and fogging your mind. “Always want it bad, baby. Dripping like a fucking faucet between my thighs right now…” you blindly reach for his hand around your hip and guide it between your thighs.

“Switch with me.” He requests, fingers just barely dancing across your bare mound, thumb almost catching on your clit.

When you don’t immediately react to his request, he helps you, maneuvering your body from between his thighs, and pressing your back firmly against the brick wall. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest crowd around you like a cloak as he leans in close, “Did you wear no panties for me, baby love? Couldn’t help yourself…hmm? Wanted to make sure I had easy access to you, and your needy little pussy?” He hums, taking one last drag from the cigarette before he flicks it off to the side. “Bet that everytime you close those pretty eyes tonight, all you could see was my head between your thighs, ain’t that right?”

One warm, calloused palm cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently across your cheekbone. He noses at your pulse point, soft curls tickling your cheek as he inhales a whiff of your perfume, groaning softly, lashes fluttering as he presses himself further against you.

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me, baby love. S’like your sweet pussy has a mind of her own…” he drawls, voice syrupy and low, sending a gush of wetness between your thighs. “She’s always thinkin’ of my cock stretchin’ her open, my fingers, my tongue, mmm…” he licks a hot stripe against your pulse point, kissing and nipping at the skin there. His freehand drops between your thighs, nudging them open as he slips his hand under your dress so he can feel you.

“Fuuck.” You mewl wantonly, melting into his touch like putty, “please, Joel. More—” you stumble over your words as his fingers spread you open, teasing and deliberate mininstrations that just aren’t enough.

“Please what, baby love? What do you want, hmm? Want me to keep talkin’ to you like this? You like that, don’t you? Think your pussy does…she’s dripping all over my fingers, naughty girl.” He tuts and tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his. He presses his forehead against yours, hot breath fanning your face, remnants of tobacco lingering on his tongue.

His eyes are like two black shining 8-balls, darker than usual, but all the more alluring. Your lips part, soft breaths escaping when he presses the pad of his thumb directly against your clit, “I want you to—shove your tongue down my throat, Joel. I want to taste your cigarette from the source. I want you to finger me in this alley, scissor me apart, and most of all…I want you to call me your dirty little slut.”

“Yeah?” He rasped, egging you on further, leaning in just enough that you could catch his lower lip between your teeth. “That’s all y’want, baby love? For me to call you my dirty little slut while you gush around my fingers? Mmm…say it again.” He nearly growls, rolling your clit between his fingers, pinching it gently causing you to whimper and arch your back against the wall.

“Please, Joel.” A whine crawls up your throat when his lips brush against yours, teasing you, edging you further as your walls clench and pulse around nothing but the salty air from the coastline breeze. “Call me your dirty little slut, baby. Do it.”

He surges forward, lips pressing against yours in a bruising kiss that is all teeth, tongue and no reserve: a sleazy makeout in a back alley, his skilled fingers prodding and pressing you open, slipping into your wet heat knuckle deep. The contrast of his thick digits clad in cool metal working you into a mess of moans and he has to physically steady you against the wall when your knees begin to buckle.

“That’s it, baby love.” He preens, mumbling against your locked lips, fingers scissoring you, shallowly thrusting into your gushing hole. Your slick drips and trickles down the side of his hand, glistening under the faint glow from the single streetlight. “Look at you, baby love. All pretty and gushing around my fingers like the good little dirty slut that my girl is. Your pussy sounds so gorgeous right now. You hear the sounds she’s makin?’”

You grip his forearm for support, nails digging into his flesh while your freehand is tangled through the back of his curls, keeping him right where you want him. You moan into the kiss, rolling your hips into his hand, wanting more—whatever he’ll give you. “F—fuck. Oh my god.” You cry, eyes rolling back into your skull, thighs trembling, quivering.

“Yeah, that’s it baby love. I got you right where I want you. Keep squeezin’ my fingers, jus’ like that, good girl.” He praises you, curling his fingers rapidly against the soft spongy spot inside of you that sends your hips bucking into his hand in tandem. “That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers, my pretty, dirty, little baby love.”

You squeeze and pulse around his fingers, riding out your high as you cry out his name over and over again. There’s a soft squelching sound heard between your thighs when he slips his fingers out, coated in your creamy honey, glistening along his thick fingers. He audibly groans at the sight of you staining his skin, and you watch as he ravenously sucks his fingers into his mouth, winding his tongue around them so he can taste all of you.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby love. All for me, right? That creamy little pussy gushes her sweet nectar all for Joel.” He rasps, pressing his fingers down along your lower lip, still wet with his saliva and your cum, “taste yourself, baby. Taste how fuckin’ sweet you are.”

You stare up at him, pupils blown, entranced with an endearing dumb look on your face nodding as you suck his fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste. And in the midst of it all, somehow that silly party hat on his head didn’t fall off once.

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nataliabdraws · 4 months

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I need these two to reunite asap.

I started Eye of Darkness recently and every chapter from these two has a chokehold on me. This piece was inspired by their reunion at the end of Fallen Star!

Check out my shop for prints and stickers!

#star wars the high republic #Star Wars #star wars fanart #star wars art #the high republic #thr #avar kriss #elzar mann #elvar #digital aritst #digital art #fanart #art

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dontbelasagnax · 3 days

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hi, do you happen to have any fic recs? :)

Hello!! Of course I have fic recs!!! Now, I must say I haven't read in two or three months due to depression and brainfog so none of these fics are recent but they are highly recommended by me!!

First off, we have non explicit fics!

The General by @snowywinterevenings

Very cute canonverse fluffy fic in which Cody adopts a tooka. There are cuddles.

the spaces between us by @soap-brain

This is THE codywan cuddling fic. It's the first fic that comes to mind when I want to read about them cuddling. It's canonverse.

seeing the long day through by @biscuityskies

Canonverse late night of flimsiwork. So soul wrenchingly tender. They had their first kiss(es). Stoked my overwhelming love for codywan by showing just how well these two can be done.

cherished in sunlight by @inkformyblood

This fic made me smile so much. It's perfect. Just perfect. Another first kiss fic, this time after the war. Soft, hopeful beginnings.

Another Happy Landing by @lttrsfrmlnrrgby

Goddddd this fic!!!! Order 66 happens, codywan lose one another (neither of which is shown in the fic), but this is their reunion!!! Obsessed with Lttrs' take on this.

calls for you tonight, to share this moonlight by @anaclastic-azurite

Modern AU with beekeeper Cody and baker Obi-Wan. Cody is just a gay disaster. He's so sweet. Alcha is the best at writing this dynamic.

Now! For explicit fics!

all your vivid dreams by @meebles

This is a no order 66 necking fic inspired by this artwork of mine. Read it. Have your life changed.

Chasing the Heat of You by @kotekenobii

This is THE fucking for warmth fic. Amen.

Thicker than water by @galateagalvanized

Canonverse vampire Obi-Wan. Cody gets his world rocked. What more could you want? (Also the art is hands down my favorite codywan art ever)

Right on Time by @elwenyere

This fic... God. Bury me with it. It's no order 66 and Cody and Obi-Wan have some spectacular marathon sex. It's fucking amazing.

well. haha. (nuts) by @oathkeeperoxas

Cody with a praise kink. Amen. It's no order 66 domestic sweetness. With hot smut.

Full Moon Blues and the Warmth of Sunlight by @anaclastic-azurite

Werewolf Obi-Wan spends his rut with his loving sun elf boyfriend Cody. Mwah mwah

This is a non-exhaustive list but I hope you enjoy reading these and perhaps acquire a new favorite or two! And of course, if you read, make sure to leave the author a comment ❤️

#ask box #codywan #codywan fic recs #rec list #obi wan kenobi #commander cody

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brabblesblog · 4 months

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Ch 2: Whither is thy beloved turned aside?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The invitation to the Withers’ party arrives at the Crimson Palace during a ball. Astarion allows her to go, with some caveats. Angst and smut.

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

The invitation could not have come at a worse time for Astarion. They read it after the party, as the last of the guests prepared to depart.

He glanced at Ban, who was still staring at the letter. She looked a little lost, and he immediately knew she wished to go. If it had been up to him, the letter would have been tossed into the fireplace immediately. Seeing them, his old friends, would be an unwelcome reminder of who he’d been. He knew they preferred that Astarion: weak, someone who acquiesced to their wishes - with snide words, perhaps, but nary a protest. They had all slowly stopped talking to him after the rite. Not that he cared, he reminded himself; he needed no one other than his consort.

“So.” He broke the silence, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his throne. She was perched on his lap, still staring at the parchment, as if she hadn't heard him. He hated being ignored. Especially by her.

His hand slid down to grip her muscled thigh, squeezing a little harder than he normally would, aiming to draw her attention back to him. Ban’s eyes flicked up in surprise, then settled back into that detached expression she usually wore when talking to him in the presence of others.

“Yes, my lord?” she said mechanically. There were still some guests mingling in the ballroom, so she maintained the decorum befitting the Ascendant’s consort.

“If you wish to go to the reunion, pet…” he said, weighing it even as he spoke. He’d let her go. As much as he disliked the idea, she’d probably be delighted. But there was no way he'd let her out of his sight, especially not across that sort of distance. And especially not around the people who knew him before - people who had less than stellar opinions about his improved self.

“I would be glad to accompany you,” he drawled, masking the amount of time it actually took for him to decide. He stretched his legs as he spoke, as if it was a trivial matter and he’d decided on a whim.

He knew she exchanged letters with them, and it had never bothered him before. It did well to give her entertainment in between their work and overseeing the renovation of the palace. None of them had paid her a visit, however, and he found himself glad of it. Gods forbid they came and tracked mud on his carpets, touched his furniture with grubby hands, or worse - spewed supercilious, self-righteous drivel.

Ban put the parchment down. She was dressed in a tight dress with thigh slits that went up all the way to her hips, revealing the long, hard planes of her thighs. Astarion had chosen it, of course. It reminded him of the one she used to wear, the one that was given to them by Umberlee’s priestesses. His hand moved higher, rucking the dress up several inches, letting his greedy lust take over momentarily.

“We can go, pet, if you’ll let me have a little more than I usually get tonight,” he purred.

Ban nodded. Of course he’d ask for something in return. But this opportunity was far too important to pass up, especially after Gale’s most recent letter.

I may have come across some information that might be useful to you, he’d written. I shall look into it further and will update you soon.

“What… more… would you want to have?” she asked. Her pulse picked up slightly in apprehension, but also arousal. He could ask for anything, really, and if she were to deny him or push him too far, she worried it might finally be when he chose to compel her. And yet her body still responded to his words, to the mere idea of what he might ask for tonight. Still her beloved, even as they stood in the ruins of what they had built.

“I’ll let you know when we’re there.” He gave her haunch a light slap, indicating she should stand. She did, and he headed into the thinning crowd to see off the last of the guests.

She watched him go, his sharp figure cutting across the ballroom gracefully. As was their protocol during events like these, she headed for the doors, seeing the guests out and thanking them as they slowly ambled out of the palace. Her face felt tight, her smile too stiff. No one noticed. To them, she was simply the Ascendant’s plaything. No one was aware of exactly how much she contributed to his endeavors - just the way Astarion preferred it.

Before long, the ballroom was empty, and Ban headed back to their shared bedroom. The moment she opened the door he was upon her, his clothing already discarded on the floor. He growled as he pushed her against the wall.

“I have been wanting, my love. Waiting all night. I wanted to take you right in front of everyone,” he hissed against her ear, hands greedily grabbing every square inch of bare skin he could reach.

Ban arched her neck, moaning when he spoke. It was well-rehearsed and well-executed, and he usually bought it - or at least found it sufficient. Tonight, however, he did not. He drew back, arms on either side of her face, caging her against the wall.

The eyes boring into hers were as hungry and feral as ever, but then he shook his head as if to clear it. His erection stood proudly out from his abdomen, but he made no move just yet.

Ban eyed him warily, tonight’s discussion on her mind. She braced herself. “What did you want then, Astarion?”

As she said this, she slowly began to move to her knees. It was a pretty good guess; he did seem to like her in that position, to remind her who exactly was in charge. But she immediately realized it couldn’t be this. This was… normal, and he had asked for more.

Astarion’s hand on her shoulder stopped her, helping her back up. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Not that.”

Instead, he pressed closer. When he cupped her cheek, it was surprisingly, achingly tender. He pursed his lips, a small moment of uncertainty passing over his features.

“Love me,” he said, and it was a challenge. “You have not done that in so long, my treasure. Love me.”

It was one of those rare moments when he acknowledged that things had changed. She didn’t answer, but neither did she flinch. And he took that as his cue.

Hot, searing lips met Ban’s, yet another reminder that he was different. His free hand took hers and placed it flush over his heart. In the wilds, his slow, undead heartbeat had been a source of comfort to her; she had lain against it, listening to it night after night. Now it pounded and raced, something it had been incapable of before. She fought down the urge to draw her hand back.

“You haven’t done that in ages,” Astarion whispered as he broke the kiss. For a split second, he looked at her with desperate, longing eyes, but she missed it, her own eyes closed. “You haven’t listened to my heart, haven’t felt it beat for you. You used to,” he hissed, and there was anger there.

Did she prefer it when it was slow and abnormal? Did she prefer it to this one - strong, racing, living? It hurt him to think about it. Gods, it hurt him to think of before. The hand on her cheek tightened for the briefest moment, but he mastered himself. No.

“I need it again, Ban. If only for tonight.”

The words were a plea. Laced with demand, yes, but a plea nonetheless. His voice threatened to crack at the end of his sentence.

Ban exhaled roughly at his words. She was torn; a part of her wanted him to know exactly how to make her love him the way she used to. The other, larger part of her merely wished to pretend and get it over with.

“I love you,” she countered, “always have. Forevermore will.”

And that was the truth; for however changed and twisted he’d become, she would always harbor feelings for him.

Astarion wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. It was a far cry from the time they’d slept together in the clearing, when he had hopped into her arms. He carried her to the four-poster bed effortlessly, setting her down on her back. He climbed over her, kissing his way up from her abdomen to her throat.

“You do?” the Ascendant said quietly. Inside, he was pained; he knew this to be largely true, but that resignation was there. That distance. Part of him wondered if that was the actual price of ascension.

Part of him thought that had he known, he would have refused it.

He kissed her throat, hiding his face. He let a growl escape him, let his hands grab her wrists and pin them above her head. He was not, would not, be weak. He wasn’t that mewling cur. Not anymore.

He had ascended. Now he must pay the price.

He brought a hand down to cup her breast. She whimpered when he gripped her wrists a little too tightly, and he instantly eased his grasp, sensing her discomfort. He lifted his head from her neck to watch her face. She had her eyes squeezed shut, face turned to the side to give him access to her throat. It was as if she was in the act of turning away from him.

How pathetic, he thought. I’m the king of my own little kingdom, and I feel as if I have lost everything.

But the Ascendant refused to let these thoughts rule his deeds. Vulnerability was something he had cleansed from himself. He released her wrists, his hands deftly undoing her dress. She shifted to help him strip it off of her.

As they finished, she finally spoke up.

“Yes, I do,” she said carefully, her face guarded and neutral. “I have loved you from the day I first laid eyes on you.”

And what a stupid godsdamned idea that had been.

Astarion wanted to push her, to force her to admit that the love they shared had been changed. By her. Because she wouldn't accept what he was. Because everything he’d given her - riches, power, sex - wasn't enough. Because she wanted the one thing he could not provide - doing so would pave the way for the ghosts of who they used to be. So he’d force them both to settle for this farce.

“And I love you, my dearest consort,” he said thickly, letting it go. He crawled his way back to her, settling his head between her legs. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her muscles tighten under his lips.

“I am nothing without you,” he whispered, and they both knew it to be painfully true.

He sunk his teeth into her thigh.

It wasn’t horribly painful, and Ban forced her leg to stop twitching. She watched her lord suckle at the wounds, his fingers gently making their way to her mound and finding her clit. He thumbed a soft, circular pattern he’d mastered long ago. Licking off the last of the blood, he met her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. The sanguine hunger had been cured in the ascension, but he still craved her blood, simply because it was a part of her.

One dark, hungry look was all the warning he gave before he spread her folds and dove in, his tongue lapping needily at her core.

Ban hissed at the sudden warmth of his tongue, growing wet almost instantly. Sex may have lost most of its passion, but that didn’t mean there was none, or that it wasn’t enjoyable. Astarion was still Astarion, after all.

What Ban worried most about were his thoughts during the act. Did he still dissociate? They had been sleeping together almost every night since the rite, at his behest, but she had never dared ask. Before the rite, he’d finally been able to let her touch him, and even still it had been fraught. It was one of those topics she worried would hurt his ego and remind him of his past.

But Astarion was incredibly present; had been for some time now. He’d vowed to erase his past, and that had included the damage done by the parade of bodies he’d had to lie with. There’d been a learning curve, but it hadn’t been too difficult. Being in the moment was no longer challenging, not something he had to work at. Not when there was no longer anything to fear. He was the master now: he took what he wanted, in the time he wanted and in the manner he wished it to be.

And of course, because it was her. His Ban, the only one he’d ever allow to touch him, see him, know him this way, and she was the strongest balm of all. He knew he would be likely to relapse if they invited others to their bed - that shared event in Sharess’ Caress had proved as much - but alone with her, in his palace? Surrounded by everything that was his? It was effortless to be present in the moment.

He licked at her clit eagerly, alternating soft, feather-light touches with longer, harder laps. Then he wrapped his lips around it, letting his teeth graze her bud gently. He was rewarded with a low whimper and he chuckled darkly, satisfied. As broken as their love was, at least he knew he was still able to bring her to the heights of ecstasy. He snaked a hand down, palming his cock, grinding into his fist and the bed.

He licked her a bit more, bringing her close to peak, and then slowly slithered up her body. He met her gaze and saw a mix of lust, love, and that ever-present and all-encompassing resignation.

“Let me make love to you?” His tone was gentle and a little uncertain. He disliked the way it had slipped out of him, but found her reaction - surprise and… hope - well worth it. He figured that if he wanted her to at least pretend to truly love him tonight, then he may as well give her something to work with.

She gulped, the facade broken. “Yes, Astarion. Just like before.”

At any other time that would have enraged him, but his need to feel her love was too great tonight. He bit back a retort, watching her face as he stroked his cock a few more times before lining up and slowly sinking into her wet heat.

As she watched him slide into her, a small thought occurred to her: there’d never been a time they’d made love without something being off. The first two times they’d been together, he had been manipulating her. Their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands and even those final days before the rite had been filled with exploration, but also with worry. His ability to enjoy intimacy had still been fraught with setbacks. Every time after that had been after he’d changed. It was ironic, she mused bitterly, that the closest they’d gotten to healthy sex had been him seducing her for protection.

And then all thought was quickly chased away by the sensation of his cock burying deep inside her.

Astarion began thrusting. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Ban’s pained expression. He needed to think of her as she’d been, laughing as they made love - that genuine joy in simply being with him. He imagined her in the clearing, wincing a little as he remembered uncharitably thinking her gullible. Shifting course, he brought forth memories of their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands, when they had finally started something real and stopped having sex, but had found other ways to be intimate. When he would touch her, make her come undone, and she would look at him like the sun rose in his eyes. Those, he realized belatedly, were the happiest moments of his cursed existence.

He would give almost anything to see that again. Almost.

He rarely allowed himself to think of the past, but tonight was an exception. He’d asked her to love him again for one night, and so he indulged himself. He thrust faster, driven by his memories, trying to use his body to love her broken pieces back together; trying to give her what he couldn’t back then.

Ban noticed, saw Astarion’s eyes were closed. He was usually very visually greedy, eyes eating up her every reaction as he fucked her senseless, but tonight he seemed like his old self. His thrusts were hard, but with the intention to give, angling himself so that he hit her spot with every pass. She felt tenderness breaking through her apathy and was unable to stem the flow. She couldn’t help it; she stroked his cheek, surprised when he whimpered in response.

His eyes remained shut, but his face was less pained. “Stay with me,” he said, his tone entirely different. It was softer, more earnest. “Just like this, forevermore.”

“I will, if you stay like this too.” It wasn’t a demand, rather a plea. A prayer, one she hoped her Astarion could answer from across time and whatever distance now separated them.

They were both nearing their peak, Astarion thrusting as hard as he possibly could without hurting her. He shook his head at her words, an agonized expression on his face. In those few moments he’d stolen from the Ascendant, he wanted to grant her wish. But he knew once he came, he wouldn’t be able to.

He would have to be the Ascendant again when the dawn breaks, and the Ascendant refused to be that spawn - refused to be anything that man was. The spawn could only ever be allowed to surface in the dark of night, between silken sheets and whispered words; a secret the Ascendant could not allow her to see.

And if that broke her heart, well, the Ascendant could live with that. She’d still be here, and they could both continue the dance they knew all too well.

Ban decided to try again. It was a risk, and she feared being compelled, but if there had ever been a moment in the past six months that it could work, it would be this one.

“I would stay. If you let me be free, Astarion, I would st-”

“No!”

His eyes flew open, the moment evaporating instantly. Freedom? What? So she could run away from him? So he would be left with absolutely nothing, a wretched creature in far worse misery than he’d been in as a spawn? No. She could not be freed.

For a split second, he wished he’d made her into what he was under Cazador. But the thought was instantly swallowed by disgust and self-loathing. No. He would never.

But she couldn’t know.

Ban deflated at his outburst, the resignation returning to her eyes as she nodded. “Fine. For tonight, though, I can.”

He’d settle for that.

The Ascendant closed his eyes again, hips resuming their movement. He wanted to drown in his memories again, and so he let his mind fill with them, let his mind be caught in their current, allowing them to drag him under.

Her, laughing at some silly prank he’d pulled. Her in their tent, coming undone as his fingers touched her and his lips kissed her. Her, telling him she loved him for the first time, but not asking for anything in return.

The power of that final memory unraveled him. His climax washed over him, and the low whine that escaped his lips sounded nothing like the Ascendant. It was in that moment that his mind inadvertently reached for his creation - his bride.

They both gasped at the contact. He tried, frantically, to stem the flow of thoughts, and was mostly successful. Only one slipped through to her, the one which brought him to his peak.

He was reading a book while she rested on his chest, part of their usual nighttime routine. He looked down at her, brushing back a lock of her hair.

“You should sleep,” he said. “If we’re going to push for the nightsong tomorrow, you’ll need all your strength.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. Tomorrow could decide the fate of the Shadow-Cursed lands, and she did need rest.

“I want to spend as much time with you as I can. Just in case things go wrong tomorrow.” Her hand splayed over his chest, and his undead heart sped up at the contact. He smiled.

“Once this is all done, darling, you’ll have eternity with me. I promise you that. As for tomorrow, we’ll be fine. I've got you,” he assured her lightly, miming shooting his twin crossbows.

Ban laughed, and her next words came forth unbidden.

“I love you, Astarion. You don’t ever have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

The memory washed over Ban and she felt the wild, intense surprise, the joy he’d felt at her words. The strength of his remembered elation stole her breath, and she stared at Astarion in shock. When the alien presence of his mind had entered hers, she’d thought he was finally going to bend her to his will. She had been prepared to fight. Instead, she’d seen this memory, one she had thought rejected by him.

Was he thinking about that? Was that on his mind as he came?

Astarion jerked back quickly, feeling threatened by this sudden, unwanted vulnerability, and much like a cornered animal, his only recourse was to lash out.

“How dare you,” he hissed. “You ask for freedom, but invade my mind. Look at me.”

He grabbed her by the jaw, turning her to face him. He was aware that it had been his mind that had reached out for hers; she didn’t even know such a thing was possible. But his need to never show weakness was too great. Indignation won out; he took umbrage at this evidence that she could coax that sort of softness from him still, that even the Ascendant could be swayed by her love.

”You will never be free. You understand? Everyone - everything you need is here. In. This. Palace.” He let go of her, his chest heaving. Tears threatened to prick his eyes but he refused to consider why, holding them back by sheer force of will.

“You’ve done as I asked. We will go to the reunion. And then you’ll see,” he sneered, “exactly how pathetic the past was, compared to now.”

With those venomous words, he turned away from her. He missed the determined gleam in her eye, the one that he used to find so vexing and yet so alluring, the one that had never failed to charm him.

Later that night, whilst the Ascendant was in trance, his creation began to prepare a bag. She packed her old armor and weapons from their adventure. In the morning, she would say that she was giving them to Karlach for her battles in Avernus.

And he would believe it, because he’d forgotten her strength, forgotten the stubborn determination that had lured him to her in the first place. He’d believe it because he would be there, watching her. Because he, in his insistence on keeping her a caged bird, had forgotten what she was capable of.

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art-i-sticks · 1 year

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Hi! I've been following your profile for a while now and I love how you draw Ninjago characters! This ask was inspired by your recent post about Kai's powers and reminded me of an hc of mine concerning Kai specifically; if either of his younger siblings are cold (such as perhaps nearly drowning once or twice, cough cough Lloyd cough cough) then he'll use his elemental power to raise his internal temperature, trap them in a hug, and warm them up. The rise in body temp might not affect him, so sick younger sister or brother? Nope you aren't going anywhere, you're staying right there Nya/Lloyd and you are recovering. P.s. Lloyd going limp pretty much because dragon instincts go brrrrrt and he loves being warm

Hi! We loved this headcanon so much that someone (Kass) magically summoned a comic script at 2 AM. Someone else (Rach) then actually decided to draw the whole thing. Enjoy!

Bonus RGB sibling reunion

FR though, thank you so much for the ask! We love talking with you guys and this hc is like the cutest thing tysm

-Rach

And hey! This is post 100! Thank y'all for all the love over the course of this blog! It's been such a treat to be part of this fandom <3

-Kass

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #kai jiang #lloyd garmadon #ninjago nya #nya jiang #rgb siblings #ninjago fanart

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lordgrimoire · 1 year

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Inspired by @hypewinter s Fenton!Talia Au idea!

(The following scene is one that I just thought of for the Fenton!Talia au that was started recently where an Impromptu Fenton-Nightingale family reunion is where Talía introduces Bruce and the kids to her family)

Bruce was going to have a headache, he was going to have a massive, painful, excruciating headache and he would have to bear with it.

He sipped his coffee, the lid a normal black as he watched his children chatter with the extended Fenton-Nightingale family, Jason, Cass, and Damian’s own fluorescent green coffee cup lids blending in far more with the normal ones, proof of how much Bruce hadn’t known when he had tried to face Ra’s without Talia’s assistance, and what it could have cost him.

He watched Steph hesitantly nibble on a glowing cookie as she listened in nearly rapt attention as one of the Fenton-Nightingales, Ellie, recount early adventures she'd had, keeping Steph, Damian, and Cass engaged as the broad shouldered man who sat at the head of the table adjusted his seat lightly, turning to face him and Talia.

Daniel J. Fenton, formerly operating under the name "Phantom" as his alter ego/other self, was a broad man, though not as broad or tall as his own Father, Jack Fenton, who casually dwarfed both Himself and Clark, and given what Bruce had seen during the Fenton's intervention against the League, it was a common trait as well as invulnerabilities of some sort. Daniel Fenton's face had a few marks that bellied his age, laugh lines and creases in his brow, greying hair along the sides of his head, and a nose that appears to have been broken several times in his life in brutal fashion, but other than that and the Lichtenberg scarring that marred the right side of his body there were few obvious wounds save the newest, a small cut, just below his eye, the one and only strike Ra's had gotten in during their fight.

Bruce knew that Talia had been adopted, she'd spoken of it to him in the past, and especially gushed about her extended family, her Aunts, Cousins, Grandparents, Siblings, and her own Adoptive Parents, during slow nights where Bruce would check in on Harley and Ivy, usually inadvertently crashing a Siren's Night and having to sacrifice Robin [Jason, then Steph and Cassandra, then Tim and Damian] as well as Nightwing, Batwoman, and even the Superboys when they came over to join Tim and Damian's patrols, to secure his escape to his work, usually ending in having it all recounted to him by his children at the next debrief. The horror stories she'd told him of her birth family had been nightmarish, and when he had finally placed them as the League of Assassins he'd felt blind for a time after.

But now he sat before Talia's Father, who as it turned out, was a Half-Dead Half-Alive being who had overthrown a literal god to protect his hometown and then waged a years long guerilla war against a rogue element of the US Government, and then the League of Assassins. This was a man forged by the environment around him, by the tasks laid at his feet, and by those around him. In Bruce's honest opinion, Daniel was terrifying, not in an Uncanny Valley sense of the word, but in a logistical sense, for at this man's fingertips was not only the recourses of his family, which delved into many separate scientific, psychological, and occult fields, but also the knowledge that the dead have, and the fighters that are willing to spill forth at his call.

"So," The smiling man sitting at the head of the table began, his voice a quiet whisper that carried clear through the jumbled conversations as easy as water down a hillside, "You, are Bruce Wayne, It's a pleasure to meet one of Talia's significant others!" The smile turned absolutely cheery, and Talia rolled her eyes, as though expecting something.

Bruce gulped down his doubts and steeled himself.

Jason took a photo, planning on treasuring the photo he would show to Selina later.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #jason todd #batfamily #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dpxdc #jazz fenton #jack fenton #dcxdp #tim drake #Fenton!Talia

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 8: Fool’s Gold]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Aemond being very horny for one person in particular, mental health struggles, pregnancy, bodily injury, illness, death, a Targaryen family reunion, the tragedy of a hammerhead shark.

Selected Chapter Quote: “Do you love him?”

Word count: 9.9k.

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

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody

Only 2 chapters left! 💜

“I could love you for more than a day,” you tell Aegon, smiling, drowsy, sipping you blush-pink Salty Dog at the rooftop bar in Kansas City. It’s June, tornado season: a clashing of contradictory air currents, quintessentially American destruction.

“Yeah?” he says, daylight spilling out of his gaps under the night sky: the gleam of string lights reflected in his cobalt eyes, the white of his teeth, the eternal-summer warmth of his voice.

“Yeah. Not on this planet, maybe. But on another, very similar planet.”

He clinks his glass against yours; grains of salt pop off the rims and land on the table like snow, like infinitesimal diamonds, carbon shaped by pressure and time and deadly heat into something cherished. The wind tears through his nearly shoulder-length blond hair. “To other planets, and other lifetimes, and other dimensions where we are all the least-damaged versions of ourselves.”

“Aegon,” you say, and you wait until he’s done downing his Salty Dog and is looking at you again. “Someone’s inability to love you has nothing to do with your merit to receive it. It’s about them, it’s not about you. And that’s especially true when it comes to parents. If your father can’t be there for you in the way that he should, that’s his deficit, not yours. He’s the one missing pieces of himself. He’s the one who has failed. You can’t use his inadequacy to measure your worth. You should be proud of yourself for succeeding in spite of him. You should be proud of the person you are.”

He’s spinning his empty glass between his palms, amused, perhaps somewhat anxious; he is afraid of the answer. “And what kind of person am I?” He waits for one of those familiar soulless tropes to resurface, the disaster playboy, the hot loser, the paradoxically remiss eldest brother, the addict, the slut, the comic relief.

You say instead, somehow knowing that it’s true: “A good one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Takeoffs and landings, highways and streetlights, tarmacs that stretch into the hallways of five-star hotels. You order virgin drinks when no one else is around to hear you do it. You buy prenatal vitamins and stash them in an Advil bottle. You sneak off to see a doctor while Comet is in Boston; yes you’re pregnant, yes everything looks good so far, yes you need to stop eating sushi and lifting heavy luggage. You stay out of hot tubs. You try to dodge secondhand smoke. You follow the band from city to city like children hopping on couch cushions strewn across a floor they say is lava. And now: cold porcelain, too-bright lights, crumpled on the bathroom floor of your suite in the MGM Grand. Sin City, they call Las Vegas. Like it was made for you.

You hear the swipe of a keycard and approaching footsteps, clop clop clop. When he appears in the doorway, you moan and try shield your face with your hands. You finally got your splint off last week in San Diego. “Please go away. Please.”

Aegon doesn’t listen. He gapes at you, chomping noisily on cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. You can smell it; the sickening sweetness twists through your guts. “Damn, Stargirl. You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” You retch unproductively into the toilet bowl; there’s nothing left in your stomach to rid yourself of.

He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and—eternally, faithfully—matching Crocs. “Is it food poisoning? I don’t remember you being fucked up last night.”

Not that he’d know; he spent most of it snorting lines with Cregan. You lower the toilet seat, cross your arms over it, and take a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to tell you something. But you have to not panic.”

“Sure.”

“And you have to not get wasted and accidentally announce it to everyone either.”

“That was not me talking. That was the Icelandic beer. And we’re not in Iceland anymore, so, yeah. Problem solved.”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” you say weakly, haltingly. “Not yet. Not like this. But I need somebody to help me hide it.” Just like Cregan needed someone to tell about Iris. And he chose Aemond. “Baela’s working on her ballet school applications, and I can’t burden Rhaena with something like this, and…wait…one second…” You yank up the toilet seat and heave into the bowl until the wave of nausea passes.

Aegon rubs your back, gentle and sympathetic. “Would weed gummies help?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Percocet? Oxy? Valium? I know where to get heroin in Vegas, but I wouldn’t want you mixed up in something like that.”

You gaze pathetically at him. “I’m eight weeks pregnant.”

“Oh, fuck,” Aegon gasps.

“It’s Aemond’s.”

“Oh, fuck! How…? When…?!”

“Tokyo. Club Camelot. Just once. And then we never talked about it again.”

“Jesus Christ, you love a spontaneous bar bathroom hookup.” He blinks a few times, processing this revelation. “You don’t have to have it, you know. If you don’t want to. You have options. Maybe you wouldn’t back in Kansas, but—”

“Missouri,” you whimper, staring miserably down at your silvery reflection in the water.

“Whatever. But we could fly you anywhere. If you wanted to not be pregnant anymore. If you decided to…uh…serve it an eviction notice.”

“I’ve thought about that,” you say, but it’s not quite true; you thought about it as an option, but not one of your options. “I know, logically, that’s probably the reaction that makes the most sense. But it’s not what I want.”

“Okay.” And if he has an opinion one way or the other, he’s doing a very good job of not showing it. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to resign at the end of this leg of the tour, and then I’m going to go home to Kansas City to raise my fatherless, clandestine bastard child.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows, chaotic blond hair falling in his face.

“That came out weird,” you admit. “But it is essentially accurate.”

“You’re just going to leave? You’re going to do this alone?”

“My parents will help me. They’ll be kind of horrified at first, but…they’ve been through worse. They’ll come to terms with it. They’ve been begging for grandkids since I was eighteen.”

“But you can’t leave,” Aegon says. And his large, murky, deep blue eyes are glistening.

“I have to go home. I have to build a life for myself. I can’t follow Comet around the world indefinitely.”

“But…but…so you’re eight weeks right now, right? So you have, like, I don’t know, over six months until the baby is born? That’s forever, Stargirl! That’s half a year! You could come to the fall shows in South America, and then visit London over the holidays, and…and…I mean I don’t even know what’s next for Comet after that, but you sure as hell don’t have to leave right now—!”

“Aegon, I could have complications because of the blood clotting gene thing. I could have a stroke, I could have a miscarriage. I need to be going to doctor’s appointments and taking leisurely afternoon walks and, like, eating vegetables and grilled chicken, not flying to a new city every couple of days while surrounded by booze and cigarettes.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He sighs and sits down cross-legged on the bathroom floor beside you, rubbing his face with his hands. He looks at you from between his fingers. “One of our last U.S. stops is in Kansas City. You want to get off the ride there?”

“I think that would be for the best.”

Aegon says suddenly: “Let’s get married.”

“What?” Your nausea is now secondary to your shock. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you healthcare and child support and whatever.”

“You genuinely think that me marrying a cokehead sex addict is the solution to this problem?”

“I’m not a sex addict. I’m a sex enthusiast.”

“Aegon, I’m not going to marry you.”

He is wounded, pouting, childlike. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want some arrangement. No matter how well-intentioned or generous it is.” I want real, constant, conventional love.

Now he smiles, faintly, sadly. “And you want a different Targaryen.”

You grab the can of ginger ale you left on the bathroom sink and sip it tentatively, averting your eyes, not answering him.

Aegon says: “Aemond doesn’t know?”

“No. He has no idea.”

“You have to tell him.”

“There is a zero percent chance of him taking this well.”

“You have to tell him,” Aegon insists, pointing to your belly, not showing yet but soon, soon, so soon. “If you’re keeping it, then that’s my family in there. You can’t just haul it off to the hellscape that is the American Midwest and push the rest of us out of its life. It can’t be a secret forever. Aemond would want to be involved. I want to be involved.”

“I’ll tell Aemond,” you promise. “But not yet. Not while I’m still on tour, not while I can’t get away from him if he…” You hesitate, not knowing what you are trying to say. Aegon waits. “He’s going to think I did it on purpose. That I was trying to use him or fix him or something. He’s going to hate me.”

“You can explain,” Aegon says, but doubtfully.

“Explain what? That I stopped taking the pill, but then forgot I’d stopped taking it, and then remembered right after we had unprotected sex that I initiated, whoops, oh and also Plan B apparently doesn’t fucking work?”

“His super sperm work, that’s for sure,” Aegon mutters. “Hope mine aren’t that energetic.”

“I’m a nobody,” you say. “And I have a lot to gain from this, even if that’s not how I see it. And Aemond…he’s so goddamn mistrustful. He’s so convinced that no one could want him or believe in him in a way that is pure. I’m afraid to tell him. I’m afraid he’s going to say things in the heat of the moment that I won’t be able to forget.” Like when he called me a slut. Like when he said he loves me.

“The getting pregnant thing sounds bad,” Aegon concedes. “And, yeah…he will most likely not react in an even vaguely sane way. Because he’s Aemond, and that clown from the It movies lives in his brain. But he’ll process it for a few weeks and then he’ll come to the right conclusion: that you wouldn’t deliberately do something to hurt him, and that he wants to be there for you and the kid. And I’ll vouch for you.”

You shake your head, your eyes faraway. “I wish I could wait to tell him until he’s in a better place emotionally. Until he has something…anything…to latch on to…a plan for what to do with his life…”

“Hey,” Aegon says. Gingerly, he turns your face towards his with one hand. His cheeks are splotchy with pink sunburn. He’s sweating out White Claws and Coppertone Sport. “I know you think you’re doing this alone, but you aren’t. I’m going to take care of you.”

You look at him with tears brimming in your eyes, hot, ashamed, blurring out your vision. “You’re so different than Aemond. You’re weightless and warm like daylight. You glow. But you do that for everyone, not just me. And I can’t count on you.”

“I love you,” Aegon says. “Not in a Jack and Rose on the Titanic way. In a different way. But I’m never going to forget about you, Stargirl. I get that I might disappear for a while, but I’m never going to not come back someday.”

You fold into him: softness, effortless proximity, cotton-candy-scented kisses smacked onto your temple, arms that circle protectively around your waist. “I love you too, Aegon.”

“Think you’ll be able to walk over with us to the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay? Criston got everyone tickets to feed the zebra shark.”

“When?”

“Um, soon. But I can buy you some time. I’ll text them that I’m busy FaceTiming Selena.”

“You’re a saint.” Patron saint of mayhem. You groan as you crawl out of his grasp and towards the shower. “I might be okay in thirty minutes. Let me try to start feeling human and wash my hair and stuff.”

“You want some help?”

You stare at him from where you are kneeling on the cold tile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You look…wobbly. You sit on the shower floor, I’ll wash your hair.”

“But I’ll be naked.”

He grins, holding up his hands in a blithe shrug. “I’ve seen it all before, Stargirl.”

“You’ll be naked too.”

“Don’t think you can tempt me into any unwholesome activities, you unwed knocked-up vixen.”

You laugh; it feels incredible. “I will gratefully accept your offer. I might not have a choice, actually. I don’t think I can keep my arms above my head for that long.”

Aegon stands, walks into the shower, starts reading bottles. “You want to smell like Japanese cherry blossoms or a coconut?” He pauses. “A fatherless clandestine bastard child conceived in Tokyo. Cherry blossoms it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A series of walkways connect the MGM Grand to the Mandalay Bay. Comet moseys through faux cobblestone streets in the New York-New York, complete with steam-wheezing manhole covers and operational storefronts of pizzerias, delis, bakeries, Irish pubs. The band narrowly avoids being trampled by droves of exuberant children—and you are looking at children more closely these days, watching how their parents corral them, noticing what makes them happy or sad or afraid—in the strobing, bleeping arcades of the castle-like Excalibur. In the Luxor, modeled after the pyramids of Ancient Egypt and featuring the largest atrium in the world, Criston begs everyone to pose for photos in front of sand-colored statues of sphinxes and pharaohs. “Smile big for your mom, Daeron!” Criston orders between pictures. Shelby, as always, is wearing her camera-ready, gloss-and-veneers grin. She’s also wearing a stunning floral-print maxi dress with a slit up to her thigh, looking glamorous and graceful and very not-pregnant. By the time Comet arrives in the sleek, golden, tastefully nautical corridors of the Mandalay Bay, you are exhausted and dangerously nauseous. You try your best to conceal it.

“Are you okay?” Baela asks. She is scrutinizing you as you stand in the shark tunnel of the aquarium, bathed in rippling sapphire-blue light. Overhead the captive ocean swims by: sea turtles, sawfish, Galapagos sharks, blacktip reef sharks, sand tiger sharks (hideous, in your humble opinion), stingrays, horseshoe crabs, a metallic rainbow of shimmering fish.

“Stargirl!” Aegon scolds mildly, ambling over to massage your shoulders. “I told you not to eat all those New York-New York corn dogs!” He shakes his head and smiles casually at Baela. “You can’t take these Midwestern girls anywhere. They see battered meat on a stick and lose all control.”

“How many did you eat?” Baela says, studying your sweated, queasy, generally unwell appearance.

“I don’t remember. I don’t want to talk about corn dogs right now.”

“You think it might be food poisoning?” Aemond asks. He has appeared in the shark tunnel with a plushie grey beast clutched in one hand. He’s lurking several yards away, but his forehead is creased with curiosity, with concern. His right eye flicks to where Aegon’s hands rest on your shoulders—disapproval? appraisal? fascination? envy?—and then back to your face.

“No, just gluttony.”

“It’s one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” Aegon counts on his fingers. “Gluttony, and pride, and lust, and…uh…uh…oh, right, greed…and uh…”

“What is this, Bible study?” Baela says.

“You’d know all about gluttony, you whale,” Jace tells Aegon.

Aegon shouts back: “I am like a whale, Jace! I am a rare and celebrated mammal!”

Jace mimes shooting Aegon with a harpoon. And then, when Cregan turns to glare at him, he grabs Baela’s hand. Jace’s face is at last fully healed and he has no interest in jeopardizing that. “Come on, baby. Let’s go see the Komodo dragons.”

“Don’t vomit on any sea creatures!” Baela chimes as they leave. Soon only you, Aemond, and Aegon are left in the shark tunnel. Rhaena and Luke are petting stingrays at the touch pool; Cregan, Daeron, and Criston depart to take their turns feeding the zebra shark. And Shelby is…actually, you’ve lost track of where Shelby is. Hopefully getting mauled by something.

“You should see a doctor,” Aemond tells you, stepping closer, although gradually, meanderingly, as if by happenstance. “You look…not great. You might need IV hydration or something.”

“Seriously, I’m okay. I’ll live.”

Shelby peeks irritably into the tunnel. “Honeybunch! Hurry! We have to take a selfie with this fish in the background so I can caption it I’ll love you inFINitely!”

“Will you give me two seconds, please?” Aemond snaps. She retreats with palpable unwillingness. Then Aemond offers you the plushie: a hammerhead shark, you see now. Aegon takes a few steps away from you both and pretends to be enthralled by a sawfish as it glides over the dome of the tunnel.

“What is this?!” you exclaim, delighted. Your nausea has momentarily abated.

“It’s your souvenir for Las Vegas. You can keep it right beside your sika deer from Japan. Hopefully they get along.”

“It’s so cute, Aemond! And very unexpected. Thank you.”

“No big deal,” he says. “I saw it and thought of you, that’s all.”

You pet the tiny hammerhead shark, downy and soft and grey like a storm cloud. “These were in the other tank, right?”

“Those were scalloped hammerheads,” Aemond corrects you. “This is a great hammerhead.”

“Wow. Pretentious.”

He laughs, a miraculously beautiful sound. And as you gaze at each other, painted in sapphire light and the shadows of fish, you remember everything about Aemond, the way he tasted, the sounds of his whispers and his moans, the indescribable fullness as he eased himself carefully into you. And you think: What would happen right now if there was no Shelby, no Aegon? Would he touch me? Would he kiss me? “There are actually no real-life great hammerheads in this aquarium. Not anymore. They don’t do well in captivity. One was flown here back in 2001 and she was on display for a while, but then she died unexpectedly a few years later.”

“She died?” You cradle the plushie shark in your arms. Suddenly, without warning, there are tears welling up in your eyes. You are distraught. You are consumed by irrational pregnancy hormones. “And she was the only shark of her kind here? So she didn’t have anyone who could understand her? She must have been so lonely.”

“Um, yeah, I guess. But sharks really don’t have emotions like people do, they’re mostly brainstem.”

“It’s still awful.” A tear slips down your cheek and falls onto the plushie shark before you can swipe it away.

Aemond is alarmed. “Are you…crying? About a shark that died like twenty years ago?”

“It’s sad, bruh,” Aegon sniffles, conjuring up some tears in his large, oceanic eyes. “The only one of her kind, bruh.”

“Honeybunch?” Shelby whines, appearing once again at the mouth of the tunnel. “Honey Bunches of Oats?”

Aemond sighs. “Yeah. On my way.” And he goes to meet her. A squall of giggling, bewitched children rush into the shark tunnel, pressing their eager little palms to the glass. Aegon’s manufactured tears have vanished and he is typing out a WhatsApp message to someone.

You think, picturing Shelby’s Vegas-themed fingernails skating across Aemond’s skin, flaunting parts of him while shunning others: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Comet returns to their floor at the MGM Grand, there are three strangers waiting for them. Strangers to you, rather; not strangers to anybody else. Certainly not to Criston. The middle-aged woman—auburn hair, vast dark eyes, high cheekbones—rushes to throw her arms around him.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” she is saying, as Criston holds her and blushes a dark hectic pink. Then she turns her attention to Daeron and Aemond, touching their faces and their hair, asking if they are sleeping well, what they have been eating, what their favorite parts of the tour have been thus far. Aegon has not moved from your side. He fidgets awkwardly, shuffling in his Crocs, slurping on the Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino he bought from a Starbucks in the Excalibur. One of the strangers—a weathered older man in a grey suit, tall and vigilant like a wolfhound—examines him with a cool pale gaze. Aegon evades it.

The third stranger, oddly, comes directly to you. She is delicate, nimble, light eyes and hair like watercolors, soft and edgeless. She makes you think of birds: sweet songs, hollow bones. She takes your hands in hers and beams like she’s known you for years, like you are old friends. “You must be the one Aemond has told us so much about.”

Aemond? Me? You smile apologetically. “I think you mean Shelby. She’s over there.”

“Here I am!” Shelby waves from where she is parked determinately beside Aemond.

“No, I know who Shelby is,” the stranger says; and her dreamy, girlish voice is perfectly neutral. She might as well be making some throwaway comment about a squirrel in a tree, a fish in a koi pond. “I mean you. The girl made of stars.”

He talks about me? To people back home? Aemond turns away when you glance at him. Shelby is simmering. You tell the stranger: “That is very poetic. And flattering.”

“Stargirl, this is my sister Helaena,” Aegon says. Then he gestures to the others. “And that’s my mother Alicent, and the frightening bloke who looks like a mob boss is my grandfather Otto.”

“What on earth are you drinking?” Otto chides Aegon, wrinkling his dignified nose.

Aegon is stung, although he tries to hide it. “It’s a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino. It’s delicious.”

“It’s a milkshake for adults. It’s diabetes in a cup. Put some effort into taking care of yourself for once, it’ll make you feel better.”

Aegon says flatly: “Yeah, I’m so glad you guys stopped by.”

“Are you here for the concerts?” Daeron asks, buoyant as usual.

Alicent looks to Criston; he smiles bashfully in return. “Well, Criston mentioned that you’d be in town, and your father just so happened to have a convention to attend here over some of the same days, so I figured…why not drop in and surprise my wonderful, accomplished, handsome sons?” Her prominent umber eyes drift to you. Helaena is still clasping your hands. “And their…friends.”

“Dad’s not around?” Aegon says cynically.

Alicent stalls. “Well…honey, you know how he is. He’s very, very busy. But he promised he’d try his best to make it to one of the shows.”

“You know, it’s strange. He never seems to be busy when Rhaenyra has her little art gallery openings.”

“So!” Alicent chirps, deflecting. “Criston said there was a pool. Is there a pool?” She pats the massive beach bag slung over her left shoulder. “We brought our swimsuits!”

The MGM Grand has an extensive pool complex featuring drink bars, multiple whirlpools, a waterfall, and a lazy river. Even in September—those last gasps of summer in the Northern Hemisphere—the temperature in Las Vegas hovers in the 90s. As you slather on sunscreen and nibble sparingly at an order of fries, Alicent and Helaena cannot disguise their interest in you. Alicent asks about your hometown, your family, your education, your time with Comet. She seems puzzled by your unmistakable fondness for Aegon, but otherwise smiles pleasantly and chuckles at your (carefully selected, intentionally tame) stories from the tour. Alicent strikes you as someone who is composed and warm on the surface but a jumble of frayed threads below; if you tugged on the right one, she’d unravel until all her seams split open and secrets poured out like dark water. Helaena doesn’t say much, and what she does say is strange, truthful but disjointed, like a line from a poem or a song; but she keeps touching you, a hand on your wrist or on your ankle or absentmindedly tracing the lines of your palm. From several chairs away, Shelby watches this with a toxic glower, for surely she as Aemond’s aspiring baby mama should be the beneficiary of his family’s attention. From behind his sunglasses, Aemond tries to act like he’s not staring as you spread sunscreen over your collarbones and chest and thighs.

“I’ve got drinks!” Aegon announces, appearing with a loaded tray. He weaves between chairs to deliver the beverages. “A pina colada for me…a strawberry daiquiri for Rhaena…a Twisted Pink for Luke…a margarita for Mom…no!” he barks at Daeron as the youngest Targaryen (for now, for the next approximately seven months) tries to grab a red slushie. “Not that one!”

Daeron is confounded. “But it’s a strawberry daiquiri. Isn’t that what I ordered?”

“Yeah, but that specific daiquiri is Stargirl’s.”

“What makes it different?”

“Extra whipped cream,” Aegon says without missing a beat. He passes it to you. Nonalcoholic is what it actually is: sweet and refreshing and without any bite whatsoever.

“Why are you being helpful?” Criston asks Aegon suspiciously, squinting, full of dread. “You’re never helpful.”

Aegon grins. “I’m just a helpful guy.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Criston says. “Cregan? I’m scared. What’s he up to?”

Placidly, sucking on a frozen hard lemonade through a hot pink straw with multiple loops, Cregan shrugs. Sunning themselves beside him are three Victoria’s Secret models. “Cregan?” Romee Strijd croons, reaching over to comb her fingers through his hair. “Could you rub more sunscreen on my back, please?”

Otto is stretched out on a pool chair and reading the Business section of the New York Times. Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are gathering up their inner tubes and heading into the lazy river, a swift crystalline blue current that reminds you of Aemond’s clear right eye. Alicent gets up to go talk to Criston; they speak in low voices, less secretive than sacred, like each believes the other to be a relic necessitating great care. Shelby is now scrolling through her iPhone. Aemond is still watching you. The speakers are playing Somebody’s Heartbreak by Hunter Hayes.

“I was hoping you could fix me,” Helaena says suddenly.

You don’t understand. You think you must have misheard her. “What was that, Helaena?”

“Aemond says you fix people. That you’re a saint.”

“I’m certainly not a saint.” I’m just an unwed mother from Missouri. Who wears Cookie Monster pajama pants. “And even if I was, I don’t think anything about you needs fixing.”

“But I’m not normal.” And her eyes glisten with it: this knowledge that can’t be escaped, a lifetime of whispers and rumors and being hopelessly misunderstood.

“No, you’re not.” You won’t lie to her. What good would that do? What cure can come from dishonestly, even when spun from compassion? “But Freddie Mercury wasn’t normal. Neither was Jane Goodall. Einstein, Montessori, Dali, Tesla, da Vinci, Curie, Shelley, Newton, they were all extremely, undeniably not-normal. And guess what? Aegon’s not normal either. And neither is Aemond. And neither is anyone else in Comet. They might not be the same brand of not-normal as you, but I can guarantee you they are all bona fide freaks of nature. Because that’s what it takes to make something new, to leave a beautiful mark on the world. Being not-normal is painful sometimes. But that’s not a reflection on you. It’s an embodiment of how small-minded and cruel all those normal people can be. You don’t want to be like them. You’re above them, you can see things they can’t. You keep flying. Don’t worry about the dirt down here on Earth.”

And only now do you realize you have an audience, peering over with wide eyes: Alicent, Criston, Shelby, Aemond, Aegon, Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models, Otto wearing the first smile you’ve ever seen from him. Helaena, calmed and content, goes to sit by him; he begins braiding a green ribbon into a lock of her hair.

“For the record,” Aegon says. “I am definitely dirt.”

You laugh as you gaze up at him, shielding your eyes form the sun. “No you aren’t. Not even close.”

He offers you a hand. “Ready to get in the lazy river?”

“Yeah, I think so…” You finish your daiquiri, climb off your chair, shed your black swimsuit coverup, and walk over to the pile of inner tubes that Criston collected for the band. You can feel Aemond’s eyes on you as your bare feet pad across the cement. He moves a towel over his swim trunks and then stares at the palm trees, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Honeybunch, let’s go in the water too,” Shelby says.

“Um. In a minute.”

The rushing current has brought Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron back around again. From his inner tube, Jace splashes you and Aegon as you approach the steps that descend into the lazy river. “Finally daring to enter my watery domain?! I’m the king down here. I’m Poseidon. But if you want to battle me for my throne, you’re welcome to try.”

“Don’t you start bumping people!” Aegon yells, jabbing his index finger at Jace. “You keep your little scrawny chicken limbs to yourself!”

“Aww, someone call Greenpeace, we’ve got a beached whale over here…”

“Careful,” Aegon says, grabbing your arm to stead you on the steps. “They’re slippery.”

And Aemond observes this, lighting one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes and inhaling a deep breath of smoke, his face lined with scars of the past and furrows of worry for the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty-four hours later, the band is enjoying dinner down the strip at the Wynn’s buffet: eccentric modern art and elaborate fruit sculptures, prime rib and crepes made to order, gelato and pasta, sushi you can’t eat. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto are here with Comet. So are the Victoria’s Secret models. So is Selena Gomez. She sits next to Aegon, teaching him the Spanish words for various foods and giggling as he butchers them. When Justin Bieber’s Sorry comes on the speakers, she rolls her eyes and stabs aggressively at her shrimp.

You were violently ill until 3 p.m. and then mercifully improved. Upon arriving at the buffet, you caught a whiff of the Alaskan king crab legs and were at once ravenous for them. You demolish plate after plate, sucking hunks of meat out of cracked shells, licking up dribbles of drawn butter from your fingers and wrists. Aemond—relegated mostly to fresh fruit, chunks of bread, and a vegan ratatouille—ogles while trying very hard to act like he’s not. Jace pulls one-dollar bills out of his wallet and throws them at you.

“You could have an OnlyFans,” Baela says. “Forget a real job. Make millions splattering yourself in crabmeat and butter for sad horny men. You could do a whole series…shucking oysters…dismantling lobsters…”

You imagine your child in kindergarten: So where does your mommy work? She stays home and films herself eating seafood in her underwear. “I don’t think I have the disposition for a celebrity lifestyle. You know I’m always hiding from the paparazzi.”

Alicent chuckles as she takes a bite of her roasted quail. “Yes, I remember the photos! Always tucked behind Cregan or Aegon. Except those times when you were walking with Aemond. That was so sweet of you, encouraging him like that. I’m sure it meant the world to him. Ever since…well, you know…it’s a more stressful experience for him now.”

Aemond, self-conscious, busies himself with stirring his ratatouille. “It was really my pleasure,” you tell Alicent.

“Pleasure, huh?” Jace teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

Baela asks you once again if you’ll ride the New York-New York rollercoaster with her tonight. You pretend to be terrified of rollercoasters. She counters that you definitely rode rollercoasters at Grona Lund when the band was in Stockholm. You try to gaslight her into thinking she has misremembered this. Aegon jumps in with (doubtlessly fabricated) statistics about how many people are killed in rollercoaster accidents.

“Really?” Baela says. “Five million people die on rollercoasters every year?”

Aegon knows he’s made a fatal error, but he is committed. “Yup.”

“You’re telling me that more people are killed by rollercoasters than live in the entire state of Oregon? And no one has addressed this problem? This epidemic of amusement park calamities?”

Aegon shakes his head spiritedly. “Nope.”

Now Shelby is saying something to Alicent at the other end of the long table. You don’t listen too closely, because you’re in the habit of mentally muting her. Still, you can’t help but catch snippets. It’s about the importance of public figures being good role models. “…So it’s probably for the best that she’s not interested. Young girls are very impressionable, you know.”

“Oh?” Alicent is replying, polite but noncommittal, perplexed. Criston brings her a miniature creme brulee from the buffet’s sprawling dessert section.

“Don’t you agree?” Shelby asks you, and the table goes quiet. She smiles sweetly, innocently, all beachy waves and highlighter sheen.

You lower your crab leg. “What exactly am I agreeing with?”

“That people who accept the responsibility to be in the spotlight should be the sort of role models that the youth can look up to.”

“Um, not really, no. I think a popstar’s job is to be a popstar, not to impersonate Mother Teresa or stop global warming or anything. They’re not running for president. But I mean, yeah, I guess they shouldn’t be murderers, so I agree like 1%.”

Aemond glances over at where Shelby sits beside him, not knowing what she’s up to, not especially invested. She sniffs, a dismissive, haughty little sound, like can you believe how uncivilized this bitch is? “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter since you aren’t planning to pursue fame anyway.”

“Lovely Shelby,” Jace says, taunting her. “Are you implying that our supernaturally poised and responsible Stargirl would set some sort of nefarious example for the little girls of planet Earth?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Now Shelby is staring fixedly at you, cold like deep water.

You glare back defiantly. She couldn’t possibly have found out about the baby. Aegon would never have told her, and no one else knows. “Because…?”

“Because of what happened when you were in high school.”

Nothing changes for almost anyone else at the table, but it does for you: your mind goes blank, your skin goes cold, your stomach lurches, you are fifteen all over again. It’s not the fear that anyone in Comet would think less of you for it; you don’t think they would. Alicent might, Otto almost certainly, Cregan’s flock of models could carry the gossip anywhere—and surely this is Shelby’s design—but Comet would not condemn you. No, what paralyzes and disgusts you, what empties your veins and fills them with ice, is the truth that you are not the one choosing if and how to tell them, you are once again powerless and exposed, you are the curves and hollows of bare flesh they’re reading like a newspaper headline.

How…? Aemond…? But no: he looks just as horrified as you do, this is the last thing he expected, he didn’t think she knew, his eyes fly to yours and stay there, frenetic blue emotions but no words.

The others peer around the table. Aegon is frowning at Shelby, but he doesn’t know what she means, he doesn’t know how to help…because you’ve never told him. “What about high school…?” Luke says uncertainly.

“It’s not difficult to find,” Shelby tells you. “All someone has to do is Google your name and Kansas City, then comb back through a few pages. There are old Tweets and Facebook posts about it. Pictures, even, if you search long enough. Can you imagine how parents would feel about their daughters’ favorite boy band associating with someone like that? Popularizing that sort of behavior? It’s unacceptable. It destroys innocence.”

Your hands are shivering violently. You take one deep, shaky breath. “Actually, what happened was—”

Aemond lunges to his feet. “Don’t,” he commands you, holding up a hand. Then he turns to Shelby. His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, stormy, cutting, wrathful. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Aemond!” Alicent gasps.

Shelby blinks up at him. She is bewildered; she has miscalculated. She had no idea he knew. Her eyes dart from Aemond to you.

“No, don’t you dare look at her,” Aemond seethes. “You don’t look at her. You look at me.”

It takes effort, but Shelby manages to comply. She gawks at him, dismayed, flinching away from his rage, his scar, his sightless left eye like the lethal atmosphere of Neptune. She cannot hide how she truly sees him, how she will always see him. As something broken, pitiful, less.

“What the hell does she have to be ashamed of?” Aemond asks Shelby. “She doesn’t use people. She doesn’t sell false versions of herself. She is kind, and wise, and forgiving, and beloved. And what are you? A professional liar. A manipulator, a snake. Someone who knows how to pity but not how to cure.”

“Aemond—”

“Stand up.”

Shelby is petrified, shellshocked. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to put you in an Uber, and it will take you to the airport, and I honestly don’t care where you go from there. But you can’t stay in Vegas. And I never want to see you again.”

“Aemond, please!” Shelby cries. She still hasn’t moved from her chair. There are tears flooding down her cheeks: despair, defeat. You could almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“And if you fight me,” Aemond says. “Or if I hear a whisper of you trying to disparage anybody at this table, I will end you, Shelby. Every app you use to edit your photos, every so-called friend you’ve worked to sabotage, every sponsorship you haven’t disclosed, I’ll expose all of it. I’d call up the fucking Rolling Stone if they cared enough about you to publish it. I will end you. Now stand up.”

Trembling, sobbing, this time Shelby obeys. Aemond and a flock of security guards—two of Shelby’s, two of Comet’s—escort her out of the buffet. He is only gone for a minute or two; the table is silent except for slurps of drinks and the occasional squealing of silverware against plates. When Aemond returns, he immediately goes to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder—gently, protectively, the same way Criston does—and murmurs so no one else can hear. He is so close the air you breathe is filled with him: smoke, cologne, dissipating fury.

“I am so sorry. I had no idea she would do that. I don’t think she’ll speak of it again. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you reply in a stunned little squeak.

“Good.” Then he looks fiercely around the table, pausing to lock eyes with every single person. His meaning is clear. You will not ask questions. You will forget this happened. He sits back down beside Shelby’s vacated seat and pops a red grape into his mouth.

“Damn, Stargirl,” Jace says after a moment. “So you’re a serial killer.”

Everyone laughs, and the nightmare is over. It breaks open like dropped glass. “Don’t worry. I only murder obnoxious, curly-haired brunettes.”

He winks as he licks chocolate mousse from his spoon. “I wouldn’t mind being added to your body count.”

“Shut up,” Baela groans. “Shut up, shut up…!”

You excuse yourself. You walk out of the buffet. The Wynn has a gorgeous hallway that passes through a garden of whimsical ornaments, flowers, trees, and string lights. Too suddenly for you to change course, you realize what’s going to happen; you stumble into the greenery and vomit five plates’ worth of Alaskan king crab onto a Ficus tree.

“Need a napkin?” Aegon asks; he has followed you. “I don’t actually have one. But I could take my shirt off and give you that.”

Still hunched over and spitting, you shake your head. “No, I’m okay. I’ll use a leaf.” You don’t make eye contact with him. You don’t want to invite unwelcome questions.

“Relax,” Aegon says, rubbing your back. “I’m not going to ask.”

You are relived but skeptical. “You’re not curious?”

“I figure if it was something you wanted me to know about, you would have already told me.” He smirks. “I do think it’s interesting that Aemond knows something about you I don’t.”

“He gets one secret, you get another. You’re even.” You thought you were done. False alarm. You resume vomiting on the Ficus tree.

“Goddamn, that is disgusting. You want a Percocet or something?”

“I think that would be less than ideal for the baby.”

“Oh. Right.” He considers you with great sympathy. “A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?”

“Yeah, probably.” You rip a leaf off the tree, wipe your lips, trudge back to the buffet bathroom to sanitize yourself as best you can.

When Comet’s fleet of Escalades arrives back at the MGM Grand, you loiter in the lobby hoping for Criston to appear. You shoo away the band when they try to wait for you, and once Aegon catches on he ensures that they file into the elevators and zoom up to their floor. You need a minute alone with Criston. You need to arrange your imminent departure from the tour. Criston, oddly, does not come inside. You give him five minutes and then head back out into the arid Vegas heat, dry, ancient, barren. One of the Escalades is still idling in front of the hotel. You open the door. Criston and Alicent are in the back seat: he’s on top of her, her legs and arms curled around him like ivy, the hem of her chic mom-appropriate sundress pulled up to her waist, her lips famished and moaning against his.

You scream, they scream, you slam the Escalade door shut. Seconds later, Criston bursts out of it. He is wearing only his hastily pulled on boxers and a half-unbuttoned white shirt.

“I’m sorry!” you blubber. “I, uh, I didn’t see anything! Um, I mean, I didn’t see that much—”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Criston pleads.

“I definitely will not.”

“Her husband…he’s…he’s not a great guy, you know? And Alicent, she’s…she’s so…she’s so incredible but so sad, she’s been through hell this past year, and after Aemond was hurt we…uh…well we spent a lot of time in hospital rooms together…and I just love her hair and her eyes, and her devotion to her family, and the way she smells…”

“I really, really, really do not feel entitled to nor desire the details that you’re sharing with me right now.”

“Okay.” Criston tugs at the collar of his shirt, catching his breath. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“I have to talk to you about something, but it can wait.”

“You’ve already interrupted us at this point. Just go ahead.”

“Alright. Well. I’m leaving Comet.”

“No!” he cries, distressed. “Really? Why?! Is it something Jace did? What did Jace do? Because I can let Cregan know and he’ll—”

“No no no, nothing like that. It’s just time for me to go figure out my own life now.” Time for me to find a permanent job, have my baby, re-traumatize my parents, the whole American Dream thing.

Criston sighs. “I was hoping you’d stay on through the South America dates.”

“I can’t, Criston. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and how welcoming everyone has been, this has been a fantastic experience…um, overall…but I really do have to go home now. Can we fill out the paperwork and make the Kansas City shows my last stop with Comet?”

He nods reluctantly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it taken care of. We can do signatures in a few days.”

“Aegon is the only other person who knows I’m leaving. I don’t want anyone else told yet.”

“Got it. You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

These secrets are multiplying, you think as you enter the MGM Grand and Criston climbs back into the Escalade. Like cells, like storm clouds. Upstairs in Comet’s hallway, Selena Gomez is in a war with the vending machine; it has snagged her Starbursts and refuses to release them. You don’t offer to help her shake the machine—heavy lifting, not good for the littlest Targaryen—but you do use your flip flop to reach up inside the machine and knock the Starbursts loose.

“You’re the best!” Selena high-fives you. “Aegon tells me you’re a really talented therapist.”

“Oh no, no way, not yet. I mean I’m really new at it and I don’t have a lot of confidence in my abilities but I am learning a lot and maybe one day—”

“The work you do is very important,” Selena says; and she seems to mean it. She is so beautiful in a vulnerable, benign way. It is difficult to not be starstruck.

“Thank you,” you manage.

“Watch out for him,” she says quietly, discretely. “Anytime his parents visit, he’s a little extra fucked up for a while.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She smiles, lays a palm briefly against your cheek, floats down the hallway and is gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On their last night in Las Vegas, Comet adds a cover to their usual lineup of songs: Animal by Neon Trees. It was Luke’s idea, which means it was probably Aemond’s. Aemond wanders the lofty catwalks and shadowy hallways making his notes, his comments, his white amendments on night-black paper, stars freckled across the void. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto join you, Selena, Baela, Rhaena, and the Victoria’s Secret models in the front row. Otto dances with Helaena, spinning and laughing; Alicent cheers for Daeron and watches for glimpses of Criston as he studies the performance from just off-stage. Aegon fumbles no less than five lyrics. Cregan has come up with this new trick where he can remove his boxers on-stage while keeping his pants on. He gifts the aforementioned boxers to a group of soccer moms who in the commotion rip them to tiny, sweaty, treasured shreds.

After the show, Alicent, Helaena, and Otto catch a flight back to London; Selena takes a limo to Los Angeles. Jace’s suite at the MGM Grand, per tradition, is soon engulfed in voices and music and smoke and amply flowing alcohol. Criston is chatting with Aemond, who has a Bramble in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models are playing Jenga with Luke and Rhaena. In Baela’s absence—she’s working out in the hotel gym—Jace is consoling himself with plentiful Vespers and some barely-legal fangirls; he is introducing his tattoos to them one by one. Daeron is toasting Yuenglings with friends at the bar. And Aegon is like he always is: here, then gone, then here again, and finally gone, like a comet, like a tornado that touches down without warning and vanishes just as quickly. You lose track of him. It’s not your fault. He comes and goes like an act of God.

In the hallway, several suite doors are open, including Aemond’s. You slip inside; no need to watch out for Shelby anymore. You find his notebook on his nightstand—the same place you keep your souvenirs in your own bedroom—and you engage in your least-honorable hobby. You’ve been sneaking looks at his lyrics since Paris. You open the notebook and rifle through onyx pages to the most recent, starlight-hued entry:

I was closest to the sun, like Icarus, swimming in your light

You are the only person I’d let melt my wings

Worry a line into your face, I think about it for days

Don’t talk to me about what the end of summer brings

“He’d kill you if he saw that,” Luke says from the doorway, grinning. “Well, he probably wouldn’t kill you. But he would not be thrilled.”

You snap the notebook shut and place it back on the nightstand. “Please don’t tell him. I am but a humble fangirl.”

“I won’t tell him. But you should ask permission.”

“I don’t think he would give it to me anymore.”

Luke is gazing at the notebook now, his face distant. “It’s screwed up, right? I only got into Comet because of Aemond. He fought for me and he won. But when he was the one who needed help, I couldn’t do the same.”

“Luke…” You open your hands: sorrow, futility. “You must be the least blameworthy person in this whole goddamn mess. You tried to fight for Aemond when no one else would. You make him feel valued. Every single day I watch you remind him of his place here in Comet. You’re the only person who does that.”

“I can’t do this without him,” Luke says softly, fearfully. “I don’t know how to write a song without his advice. I don’t know how to end a show without being able to ask him what I did right or wrong.”

“I think you’re more capable than you believe you are.”

Luke is troubled. “Am I hurting him by wanting him to stay?”

You contemplate this for a while before you choose your words. “In my opinion, Aemond needs to know that his contributions to Comet were real and they he will always be welcome here. But he also needs to find a new purpose. He’s a guest in the band. He’s not a part of it anymore. He can’t go back to who he was before the accident, he’s learned too much about how people treated him when he was hurt. Even if he got up on stage again for a farewell performance—which I think would be beneficial for him—he’s never going to be a full-time popstar again. He needs something else. I don’t know what that thing is, but he needs to be free to find it.”

“I understand,” Luke says. He’s quiet, mulling it over. And then, brightly: “Want to play Jenga with us? Cregan is so bad at it. Or he’s letting us win, I’m not sure which.”

“That’s super sweet, but I think I’m going to go lay down. Maybe take a half-hour nap and then see who’s still conscious for me to hang out with.”

“Are you okay?” Luke asks abruptly.

“What? Yeah, of course, I’m just exhausted. I think the tour is wearing on me.”

“You haven’t looked good for a few weeks now,” Luke says. “I don’t mean that in a rude way. You just seem sad or sick or something. Or both.”

You give him your best reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Luke. I promise.”

He smiles back. “Good. Enjoy your nap!”

“Enjoy your Jenga!”

You drag yourself back to your suite, a human-shaped pile of concrete and lead. What had Aegon said? A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?

“We’ll be back in Kansas City in a few weeks,” you whisper as you collapse onto the bed, one hand resting on your not-showing-but-soon belly. And as your eyes drift shut, you realize how good home sounds, better than it ever has before. Is that nesting? Is that just getting older? You don’t want to leave Comet. But you do want your real life to begin.

You are nearly asleep when you hear him come in: the swipe of a keycard, the clopping of Crocs, a clumsy dive onto the bed that rocks the whole mattress.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

Aegon doesn’t answer. You sit up and look at him: sprawled face-down, hair in disarray, sunshine yellow Crocs still on his feet.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. You reach out to shove him. His eyes are closed; he is limp. He’s not breathing.

“Aegon?!” you shriek, shaking him, hitting him. There’s no part of him that is glowing now. The sun has set, but the moon is full: his skin is silvery-white and bloodless. You’re screaming for anyone who will hear you.

Cregan is the first to arrive; he was out in the hallway leading all three of the Victoria’s Secret models back to his suite. And then it all happens very quickly. Cregan is dialing 911, Aemond is dragging Aegon off the bed and onto the floor, Criston sprints to get something from his room and returns with two small white devices that he’s ripping out of their packaging. Aegon’s skin is turning blue. Criston feels for a pulse, doesn’t find it. He’s telling Cregan what to relay to the 911 dispatcher: no breathing, no heartbeat, Narcan being administered. Criston cradles Aegon’s head and tilts it backwards so he can dose him with the nasal spray. Then Criston looks at his wristwatch and begins chest compressions. You are pinned by shock and horror to the wall. You can hear people out in the hallway, voices and footsteps, clamoring and rumors.

There is Jace’s frantic voice: “Is he okay?!” Cregan pushes him back outside.

“Come on, Aegon,” Aemond is saying, patiently but firmly, slapping at his brother’s face, pinching his cheeks. No blood rushes in to darken the battered flesh. “We’re all here. We’re all waiting for you. Come on back.”

“One minute,” Criston notes as he glances at his watch. Forever, it feels like.

“I’d give him another,” Aemond says.

“Second dose of Narcan,” Criston tells Cregan as he stops compressions and administers another round. And that does it: Aegon gasps, jolts, comes alive again. His skin transforms from blue to white to pink. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Criston hisses, and buries his face in his hands, trembling with relief and adrenalin. Cregan is informing the 911 dispatcher that the patient is back from the dead.

Aemond lifts his brother so he’s sitting upright and holds him, smoothing back his hair, murmuring to him words too hushed to understand. Aegon says, dazed: “Did I do it again?”

“Yeah. Yeah you did. But you’re back now.”

“I’m sorry, Aemond.”

“Stop—”

“I’m so sorry. I should have been at soundcheck.”

“Stop, Aegon. It’s over, it’s done. None of us knew what would happen.”

There are glittering, glass-like tears on Aegon’s face. His voice is choked and heavy, so heavy. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now.”

“One of these times you should just let me die.”

“But then who would torment Father? I don’t have nearly as much talent for it.”

Now they are both laughing, and you see that Aemond has a few tears of his own: only from his right eye, only from the one that fate spared.

Criston says, almost apologetically: “Aegon, we have to take you to the hospital to get checked out.”

Aegon sighs. “Yeah, I know. I remember how it goes.” Aemond and Criston help him to his feet. He can’t walk on his own; they half-carry him out into the hallway where EMS is just arriving. And once Aegon is on the stretcher and being ferried away—with great fanfare, everyone gathered in the corridor to wave him off—Aemond comes back for you.

Together you ride in one of the Escalades to the hospital and stand outside the transparent windows of the room while a lethargic, irritable Aegon is hooked up to machines and Criston talks to the doctors and nurses, vigorously reprimands him, makes a phone call to Alicent so she hears it before TMZ can report the story.

“I haven’t helped him at all,” you say to Aemond. “Not last June. Not now. Never.”

“That’s not true. You don’t know where he started.” He watches you, this man who sees so much and yet so little, who maybe loves you but sometimes hates you and is the father of a soon-to-be child that you already feel you know. “Do you love him?”

“Yes. But not in the way you mean. I would kill for Aegon, but I’d never marry him.”

Aemond chuckles, like this is a ludicrous combination of words. “Has he asked?” And then when he sees your face, too exhausted and woeful to censor itself, his jaw drops open.

“He wasn’t serious.”

“A strange thing to joke about.”

“Not for us.” It would be strange if Aemond joked about it. Because I could actually see myself marrying him. Not in another world, in this one, if only the stars aligned just right.

“Look, I think I have to apologize,” Aemond says. “Because I might have…misinterpreted things. The way you make me feel is…I can’t describe it, you know? It’s like, light, and warmth, and music, and I made the mistake of thinking that was only for me. But you do that for everyone, right? It’s not just for me. It’s never been just for me. And you’ve been so goddamn gracious. You’ve never asked me for anything. You’ve never put yourself in a position to use or take from me. You knew what I needed and you tried to give it to me. So thank you. I know I said that I understood you better in Reykjavik, and I was wrong then. But I understand you now. You help people. You heal people.”

You turn to him, startled. “You aren’t like everyone else. That’s not how I think of you.”

He is intrigued, perhaps hopeful, perhaps too afraid to hope. Pity is familiar. Love would be something else. “No?”

“No.” Truths, like birds with clipped wings, struggle in vain to take flight. “I have to confess something.”

“Go on then.”

I want you. I love you. I want to have this child with you. But I’m so fucking scared that you won’t be able to handle it. And at last, cowardice: “I’ve been reading your lyrics.”

He smiles. “That’s fair, I guess. Everything I’ve written since June has been about you anyway.”

Criston emerges from Aegon’s room. His dark hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead; his eyes are damn near vacant. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the past hour. “He wants to talk to you,” Criston tells you. “I don’t think he’ll be awake in five more minutes, and he might not remember any of it anyway. But he is insistent.”

“He usually is,” you say, and go in.

Aegon is dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, no neon. His feet are bare; you can tell because one of them is sticking out from under the blankets. His hair is slicked back from his face. He is afflicted with a slew of twisted wires and beeping monitors. But he is still Aegon: beautiful, bright, generally harmless to anyone except himself. He blinks blearily up at you. “No one has ever loved me, and it’s because I don’t deserve it.”

“Millions of people love you, Aegon. I love you.”

“For more than a day?”

“For all of them.”

He grins, then presses his right palm to his chest. “Starboy,” he says. Then he points at you. “Stargirl.” His gaze drops to your belly. “Starbaby,” he declares at last. “Not my Starbaby. But a Starbaby nonetheless.”

“You can’t leave me,” you say softly, tears falling down onto his blankets. “I can’t do this without you. Not just the tour. Everything. I can’t live in a world without you in it. You can’t leave Comet. You can’t leave me.”

And Aegon murmurs, petulant like a child as he drowns in sleep: “You’re leaving me first.”

#aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you

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pinkykats-place · 10 months

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Aemond Targaryen x Reader Insert Fics

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

The stories linked are NOT mine.

Some contain mature content.

Mostly female readers.

Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!

In the beginning

aemond x targaryen!reader, reader is rhaenyra and laenor second born child

Summary: in a final attempt to salvage the rift between your families, you suggest a marriage pact between you and and Alicent’s second son

Reunion

Aemond x Older Half-Sister!Reader

Summary: You reunite with your brother after the death of your husband.

starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

aemond x female!tyrell!reader

Summary: Aemond has only wanted two things in his life. a dragon and to marry the pretty tyrell girl, now he has both.

warnings: smut, literally almost all smut very little plot, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), creampie, breeding kink, light innocence kink, light size kink, use of pet names, blood is mentioned two (2) times, aemond has a huge cock i don’t make the rules, and breeder balls, eye patch gets taken OFF when aemond fucks his lady wife, implied jealousy, implied voyeurism

Touch Starved Aemond

Summary: touch starved aemond aka aemond slowly falling in love with his betrothed by her gentle touches he was deprived of all his life

In the Eye of the Beholder

Summary: Compared to his elder brother, who abused the offerings on the Street of Silk, Aemond’s tastes have always been…tame.

Can't help falling in love

Summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

Secret Visits

aemond x female!targaryen!reader

Summary: you are aemond's little sister and he visits you in your room after dinner (smut)

To Have and to Hold

Aemond Targaryen x F!Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

Summary: Reader goes to Storm's End with her younger brother and instead of asking for Lucerys' eye, Aemond claims her as his wife.

"Muña"

Aemond x Older Sister!Reader

Summary: Aemond longs for you, Aegon's twin.

We Light The Way

Aemond x Hightower!Aunt!Reader

Summary: Aemond's beloved aunt returns to the Red Keep, and this time, he is determined to prove the depths of his devotion to her.

Deep Rivers Run Quiet

Aemond x Lannister!Reader

Summary: You have the reputation of being a spoiled young lady of House Lannister, but a certain one-eyed prince sees beyond that.

Ties That Bind

Aemond Targaryen X cousin!Reader

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

The Woes of Betrothals

Synopsis: Recently betrothed, Prince Aemond is unsure on the virtues befitting that of a good husband. Ser Criston offers some surprisingly useful insight.

Of Flowers & Dragons

Aemond x wife!Reader

Summary: Your daughter wants a sibling and makes it everyone’s problem.

mad blood stirring

Aemond x betrothed!f!Reader

(inspired by the scene in s1e5 where harwin rescues rhaenyra during the wedding feast)

Urgency (smut)

Aemond x afab!Reader

Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures

Mother Knows No Bounds

Aemond x wife!Reader

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

Little Dragon

Aemond x wife!Tully!Reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest

Your beauty never scared me

Look after you

Summary: You were betrothed to Aemond Targaryen, and while the two of you got along well enough, you hardly behaved as man and wife. After you suffer a great loss, Aemond decides to change that. (Hurt/Comfort)

Not a child anymore

Prince Aemond Targaryen x older!fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You are Queen Alicent’s favourite young lady in waiting and Prince Aemond’s childhood friend. However, he is sick and tired of you viewing him as nothing but a child when he is a man now and he will not let anyone else have you.

Just A Touch

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: During a ball made to celebrate the name day of King Viserys, Aemond falls in love with Daemon's first daughter, and he is eager to dance with her.

Gold Rush

Aemond x Lannister!Reader

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x newlywed!reader

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Mini Series: Castling

Aemond x twin!reader x Dameon

Warning! Very mature content

"A Love Like War"

Ares!Aemond x Aphrodite!Reader

Summary: Aemond, the God of War, does his best to woo you, the Goddess of Love, though obstacles meet you at every turn.

Pomegranate Seeds

Hades!Aemond x Persephone!Reader

Summary: a retelling of the abduction of Persephone

282 notes · View notes

ihni · 4 months

Text

It's @weird-an's birthday, so have a little Argilly (!) (yeah I know!) piece inspired by this post.

This piece is written to be read around the time they release season 5, because whatever shit they come up with to happen in Hawkins, our forgotten boys will just be living their best life in Cali.

~~~

Billy wakes up slowly, gaining awareness in increments. The softness of the sheet underneath him, the sounds of the traffic interspersed with voices coming from outside, the warmth of the air in the room and from the body behind him. Taking a deep breath, he stretches until his joints pop and then releases the air in a content sigh as he becomes boneless once again, turning around and snuggling up to the man behind him. Tucking his head in under the man’s chin, still without opening his eyes.

There’s a chuckle. Billy can feel the vibrations through the body he’s clinging to, and can’t help but smile.

“How long have you been awake?” he murmurs, and hums contentedly when a big hand splays out over the back of his head, scratching lazily at his nape.

“A while,” comes Argyle’s voice from close by, and Billy feels a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, then yawns.

“You’re cute when you sleep,” is the answer.

“I’m cute all the time.”

A laugh, and Billy can feel Argyle move as he nods. “Truth. But especially when you sleep. Also, we’re not in a rush. We can stay here all day, if we want.”

Billy starts to nod along, but then stops. Reluctantly blinks his eyes open. “Not all day. We’re meeting Tommy later, remember? You promised you’d show him all the best burger places in town.”

“Yeah but that’s not until the afternoon,” Argyle argues. “We have hours to go before then.” A pause. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

Billy considers. It’s still a luxury to be able to wake up at his own pace, and not have to hurry to get ready in the morning. It’s also not until recently that he has started sleeping through the night, with the nightmares being less frequent the longer he spends away from their source.

Two years. Two years since he clawed his way back to the real world, two years since he stopped having to sleep with one eye open, two years since fate – perhaps as an apology for everything it had put Billy through – brought Argyle to that godawful Indiana town. (No one could tell who was most surprised to see the other; Argyle, who had been told that Billy had died in a fire, or Billy, who hadn’t thought he’d ever get out of that hellish place at all. Their reunion was emotional and tearful and came as a shock to everyone else, who hadn’t even known that they knew each other. But honestly fuck everyone else.)

It has been two years now since Billy sat down in the passenger’s seat of Argyle’s van and went back to California without looking back; his only goodbye being a middle finger aimed at the ‘Leaving Hawkins’ sign as they passed, while Argyle’s hand rested on his thigh, gripping Billy’s other hand in his.

Two years later, and here Billy is, in bed with Argyle; his best friend, his lover, his Aggy. There are no monsters anymore, there is no Neil to be wary of. He is safe, he is warm, and he can go back to sleep if he wants.

Does he want that, though? He frowns. Something tickles his mind, like a half-forgotten memory. He dreamt something, he realizes, but trying to remember what it was is like trying to capture mist in his hands. It slips between his fingers like smoke, but still leaves him feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

Argyle, like always, notices. “What is it, Bee?” he asks, and hugs Billy closer. “Nightmare?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says, truthfully. “I don’t remember.”

Argyle hums. “You were moving around a lot. Talking in your sleep again.”

“Really?” Billy says. It’s been a while since he did that. “What did I say?”

“Just murmurs. No real words. You sounded kinda worried, though.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t remember.”

Billy rolls back a bit and puts his head on the pillow. He immediately misses Argyle’s warmth, but Argyle keeps his hand on the back of Billy’s head, playing with his hair, and at least this way he can look at Argyle’s face.

He’s beautiful. Big and strong and soft, with his sunshine smile that never fails to make Billy feel all warm inside and his long hair that somehow always looks perfect even right after waking, unlike Billy’s. There’s a mark on Argyle’s cheek from a crease in the pillow, and Billy wants to kiss it.

Argyle’s smile – widening at the sight of Billy, which will always be a thrill – is contagious, and Billy finds himself smiling too.

“’Mornin’, Aggy,” he says and leans forward to place a kiss on Argyle’s lips.

“’Mornin’, Bee,” Argyle replies and smiles into the kiss.

They lean their foreheads together and breathe for a while. Then Argyle stretches out too, like a big cat. Billy seizes his opportunity to plop himself on top of Argyle, who just laughs and puts his arms around him, pulling him closer. Chest against chest, Billy moves with Argyle’s expanding lungs as he inhales. It is soothing, and he tries to relax. But he doesn’t quite succeed – the remnants of the dream is still lurking in the back of his head.

Of course, Argyle notices. “Bee?” And of course, he knows what’s Billy’s thinking. “Do you think it’s got something to do with, you know, all that stuff from a couple of years ago?” He doesn’t even say ‘Hawkins’ out loud, because he knows how Billy feels about that town. It is just another reason to love him.

Billy wants to say no. Wants to reject it out loud, because all that is over. But that nagging feeling in his brain stops him. “I don’t know,” he admits. Argyle knows about the nightmares, about the dreams. He has met El after all, and knows what she can do – and he knows about the times, right after they got back to California, when Billy and El’s dreams merged. It has stopped now, thankfully. Or, he thought it did.

“Do you think something’s … wrong?” Argyle asks. His voice is neutral, but Billy knows him well. He knows what Argyle went through, too; what he had to see and live through on his way across the country two years ago.

And Billy decides, then and there, that “No. Nothing’s wrong.” Because they’ve had enough, him and Argyle. They’ve done their part. Billy has served his time; he paid the price, survived, got out and got away. The people they left back in Hawkins – none of whom cared enough about him to try to save him, by the way – could have left too. If they stayed around for the next wave of horror, that’s their choice.

Hawkins can burn to the ground, for all that Billy cares. If something’s about to go down there, Billy doesn’t want to be involved. Doesn’t even want to know about it.

“Okay,” Argyle says and pats Billy’s shoulder. As if he knows what Billy’s thinking. He probably does.

“And if it is,” Billy says, petulantly. Makes sure to say it out loud, so that the powers that be can hear his refusal. “If something is wrong .... If something goes down, back there? I don’t give a fuck.”

“Right on.” Argyle chuckles and kisses his curls. Hugs Billy even closer, trapping him against his chest and making him feel … small, and safe, and cared for. Something that Billy has only ever felt with Argyle, outside of when he was a child and his mother was still around. “Right on, my dude.”

Billy huffs out a laugh, but wrinkles his nose in distaste at the same time. “Don’t call me ‘dude’ in bed. It’s weird.”

“But you are my dude, dude.” Billy tilts his head back so he can glare at him. It’s hard to maintain a façade of annoyance in the face of Argyle’s sparkling eyes, but he manages through sheer force of will. “My little man.”

“Stop it.”

“My bro.”

“Aggy.”

“Brochacho.”

“I will literally kill you.” But despite his words, which are an obvious lie to the both of them, he cannot stop the smile that blooms on his face, or the blush that follows when Argyle laughs and peppers his face with kisses.

“Sure you will, dude.” Argyle sees straight through him. He always has.

That doesn’t mean that Billy will just take this kind of disrespect lying down. He struggles out of Argyle’s grip – only succeeding because Argyle lets him – and rolls and crawls with grunts and mutters to the edge of the mattress. He pushes off the bed and gets to this feet, uncaring of the fact that he’s naked, and cocks a hip to the side while he points at Argyle, who’s still sprawled out in bed, grinning. “Just for that, breakfast is on you.”

Argyle just keeps smiling, even as he leans forward and hooks his own finger around Billy’s, shaking his hand a little. And damn it, Billy is charmed. As always. “Sure thing, Bee. Cold pizza?”

“Leftovers? You call me ‘dude’ in bed, and I get leftovers?”

“Tasty, tasty leftovers, though.”

Tasty leftovers. Breakfast with his Aggy, after waking up in bed with his Aggy, in the apartment he shares with his Aggy.

A look to the window reveals blue skies with barely any clouds. The leaflets on the palm tree just outside moves gently in the breeze. Billy knows that if he opens the window, he will smell car exhausts from the road and Chinese food from the restaurant across the street and a hint of decomposing trash from the dumpster around the corner … and under all that, the salty air blowing in from the ocean, barely two blocks away.

Life is good.

He releases Aggy’s finger and takes his hand instead, pulls him up until he’s standing. Pokes him in the middle of his chest and raises his eyebrows as he looks up at him. “I want garlic sauce on mine.”

Argyle salutes – lazily, and with the wrong hand – and says, “You got it,” before pressing another kiss to Billy’s face – forehead, this time – and walking past him to get out the bedroom. Argyle’s not wearing anything either, and Billy watches appreciatively as his behind disappears around the corner.

Whatever might go down in Hawkins, it’s got nothing to do with him anymore – him or Aggy.

Life is good for them, now. He’s not trading this for anything.

And with that, he files the fragments of the dream away to be forgotten and follows Argyle out into the kitchen for a cold pizza breakfast.

~~~

(And yes, Tommy has moved there too because he deserves some kind of appearance as well, so I'll just headcanon that he and Carol maybe have moved out there and is finding their feet out in the real world. He's gonna become fast friends with Billy and Argyle and become a cook or something.)

#ihni writes #argilly #argyle #billy hargrove #argyle stranger things #argilly fic #cali bros #i don't know if it counts as bros if they're together though #hmmm #a conundrum #oh well #happy birthday an :)

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 11 months

Text

Serendipity

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: You meet Wanda’s high school crush and you feel a certain way about it.

A/N: Inspired by ‘Ennui’ and an idea by @boiledlemongrass

Warnings: Angst and jealousy.

You jump up to your feet after you get your shoe retied for the third time since getting off the plane. You really should have worn different shoes, but these were so comfortable and you had planned on a lot of walking today. You sigh as you step outside and look around the hectic road full of taxis, confused drivers and buses for you wife. Wanda had arrived here a couple of days before you since you couldn’t get off work, but she had wanted you to be here for the reunion with her.

Unlike you, she was excited to go to her high school reunion despite being an outcast. Her words. She looked forward to seeing all of her classmates and hearing all the gossip. You couldn’t understand it, and you’d never realized how much your wife liked tea, but you just went along with it. You were promised a good time and it honestly couldn’t be worse than your reunion.

You’re still looking for Wanda when your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two minutes away. Sorry traffic sucks!

You send her a frowny face in response before moving to find a good spot for Wanda to pick you up. Your mind wanders to your dogs at home and how you hoped that they were behaving for your friends. It made the most sense to housesit since there were things around the house that needed doing as well as taking care of the pets. Yelena had asked to do it and she’d asked to bring Fanny which you were only a little nervous about. She and Rogue had met for a second time and it had gone much better than the first. You’d put him on a leash and fed him jerky as Fanny walked around your house with Yelena. He’d watched her carefully, but only growled initially and eventually he’d even gone up to sniff her. The third time they’d met it was on neutral territory and he’d just hung out with her outside. The fourth and most recent time Boone was with them and they all sat on the couch together.

You had told her that as long as he and Fanny weren’t alone together at any time that it would be fine. Nat had said she’d be in and out as well, so that made you feel better. The sound of a horn honking startled you from your thoughts and you jumped before looking around for the offender. You figured it was just an irate driver who lost their spot in line, but as you look up, the first thing you spot is your wife sticking her head out of an unfamiliar car.

“Detka, come on!”

You smile widely before running to the car and throwing the back door open. You put your stuff in back before getting in the front seat and you lean over kiss your wife quickly before she starts to drive you out of the airport.

“Hi, Wands! Good to see you again. How’s it been?”

Wanda laughs as she drives you both to the hotel and tells you about her time here alone. She’d come here a couple days early to help set things up and you had been shocked. You would have never guessed that your wife would be so into this, but you just listened attentively as she named people you didn’t know. You’re glad that she seems so excited about this because you would need some of that energy. You’re exhausted from work and you just want to spend time with your wife.

If you have to walk around and be introduced to people Wanda knew in high school, so be it.

“I’ve missed you too, detka. This is going to be so fun though!”

You can’t stop the laugh that escapes you, and Wanda shoots you a glare that has you reaching out for her hand. You have to chase it a bit because she tries to maintain her annoyed front and keep away, but you finally snag it and kiss her ring with a grin.

“I’m sorry, I’m not making fun of you. I’m glad you’re so excited, it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolls her eyes but she blushes slightly as she gets off the interstate and heads to the downtown area. The reunion is only being held a few hours from where they live, but she’s always hated driving, so they flew here. In her time here without you, Wanda had a chance to explore the city and she’d decided that she liked this place. If she had the ability to move, she’d probably come here. The only problem was there wasn’t as much outdoor space, and she knew that was a major selling point for you.

“I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

You briefly wonder if you should have asked Pietro to come with you. Despite dropping out two years in, he knew some of these people as well and technically could have shown up without it being too weird. Unfortunately Pietro had told you he’d rather dunk his head in a toilet bowl than go to this reunion, and you hadn’t been able to bribe him at all. You knew this was going to be a challenging weekend because your introverted-self was already exhausted, but you’d try for your wife.

Wanda had insisted on dressing up, so you’d brought a couple of outfits for her to choose from. You honestly didn’t know what would be best, so you deferred to her. This was her reunion after all.

Unsurprisingly, your wife wanted to match and you let her pick a blue top for you while she wore a dress. She paired it with heels that made her legs look amazing, and you almost considered skipping the reunion for something more fun, but she’d just batted your hand away and told you ‘maybe later, if you’re good.’

Now at least, you had extra motivation to be pleasant and engage in the reunion that you honestly were a little nervous about. You and Wanda arrive early because your wife just can’t help herself and she immediately greets a group of girls that you just smile at.

You completely missed their names, but you heard your own as Wanda turns to reach out for you with a smile.

“This is my wife, Y/n.”

You offer a wave before shaking all of their hands with a polite smile.

“Hi, nice to meet all of you.”

You were hoping that this would be the extent of the conversation, but apparently, you’d missed the part where Wanda had told them what you did for a living. You talk to them for a bit about animals before Wanda spots someone that she leaves you to go say hi to.

“Wanda says you’re a vet? What’s that like?”

Wanda had barely been here for five minutes when she spots someone that she hadn’t expected to see. She supposes it was within the realm of possibility for her to be here. She was in this graduating class, and she’d moved to a nearby state so it wasn’t a completely ridiculous notion. She breaks her number one rule and leaves you alone to fend for yourself, but she can’t help it. She takes note of how much her friend has changed, but yet not at all. Her hair is different, it has highlights and her red is darker now. She’s still tall, freckled and so beautiful.

When Sam turns toward her and Wanda sees recognition, she can’t help but smile.

“Wanda! Look at you. You’re a redhead!”

Wanda laughs as she’s pulled in for a hug that is blissfully long. When she pulls away, she gets a better look at her friend and she feels her heart start to beat a little faster despite herself.

“You too, Sam. At least mostly. How have you been?”

You’re still giving advice about cats that are peeing outside of their box when you realize where your wife’s gone. You see a tall redhead talking to her and when you look a little too long, you catch the attention of one of the women in front of you: Hanna. She turns to see who you’re looking at and her face lights up with glee and something you don’t recognize.

“Oh, Wanda found Sam! Great. They were such good friends all throughout school.”

You vaguely remember your wife telling you about her two close friends in high school, Sidney and Sam. That said, you don’t remember any details about them beyond the fact that they were her closest friends and she met them freshman year in one of her classes. You decide that it wouldn’t hurt to find out a little more information before finding a good excuse to wander over there.

“Sam, yeah, Wanda’s mentioned her a few times. I’m glad they get a chance to catch up.”

When another woman, Janet’s smile turns into a smirk you wonder what you’d said wrong. However, you quickly realize that this wasn’t your doing. At least not directly.

“Did she ever mention how much she liked Sam?”

You don’t know how to respond to this because the suggestive tone throws you off. As you look back to your wife, you realize that she’s smiling widely and she’s slightly flushed in a way that you wouldn’t expect. She’s embarrassed, or something else. You shrug before excusing yourself because now you’re very interested.

“Now’s as good a time as any to find out. If you’ll excuse me. So nice talking with you.”

Sam laughs loudly at what Wanda says. Despite the redhead not going to college, she can still tell that she hasn’t just sit around for 15 years. She’s still smart as a whip and well-read in a way that she envies. She always found Wanda so impressive, and she’s sure that if she got to chat for longer than this she’d realize this is still the case.

“Well that’s not hard to believe. You always did have a good head for it.”

You arrive just in time to see your wife blush at the compliment and you don’t even know what they’re talking about, but you’d like to. You offer Sam a smile because she notices you first, and you can’t just stand by and watch what’s happening without a little context.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I’m with this one. Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

As you stick your hand out for Sam to shake, you see Wanda take a moment to compose herself as she clears her throat with a nod. She looks between you and Sam before finding her voice.

“Yes, Sam. This is my wife the vet.”

Wanda doesn’t have time to slap a hand over her mouth in embarrassment before Sam’s nodding and smiling charmingly at you. You can see the appeal, and you can only imagine what this woman looked like 15 years ago. You try to imagine her with your wife and you can’t quite picture it.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. I’m Samantha the art curator.”

You smile at this and despite disliking most times you’ve had to go to an art museum you listen attentively to her talk about her job. You honestly don’t have the attention span or patience for art, and at this point Wanda knew better than to ask your opinion on it. She decorated most of the house, and besides your beloved dog painting, you didn’t care one way or another for any of it.

You periodically turn to Wanda who is still standing closer to Sam than she is you, but you’re not going to bring this up right now. You’re just catching up with one of Wanda’s friends and compiling necessary data to back up the claim you’re going to make later. You can’t ignore your wife’s blush that you certainly hadn’t caused, and the way that she seems to hang onto every one of Sam’s words.

Interesting indeed.

By the time the reunion is over it’s dark out and you just sigh as you head for the car without a word. You’re exhausted and need to lie down soon because that had drained you. You’d forgotten how socializing always made you want to take a good, long nap. Wanda follows you to the car and as the adrenaline from the night wears off the further she walks away from it she realizes something’s off.

She’d been busy catching up with old friends and meeting new people that she hadn’t paid that much attention to you. You’d been by her side through a majority of it, but she felt bad about simply introducing you and then forcing you to listen to the endless chit chat. She knew you didn’t like it, but you’d smiled and waved and been polite. You hadn’t started complaining yet which made her think that you were either too tired to or you didn’t have anything to complain about.

“So you and Sam were a thing.”

You’d spent the last half of the reunion trying to figure out how to broach the subject with your wife. You weren’t sure how to feel about things until you had a little more information, but you could at least be certain that your wife’s clear infatuation with her old friend was a little offensive.

Wanda turns to look at you staring straight ahead as you drove back to the hotel. You didn’t ask this; it was more of a statement but Wanda realizes that you want an answer nonetheless. She begins to fidget a little but she tries to hide it under her bag in her lap.

“No, we were just friends. “

You can’t stop yourself from scoffing at this because you’re calling bullshit. You’d seen Wanda with her friends tonight. She’d hugged them, laughed with them and chatting in ways that old friends do. What she’d done with Sam was different. She clearly had history with her even if she wasn’t willing to admit it. You honestly didn’t mind if Wanda used to have a crush on the woman. High school was for hormones and you’d be shocked if she hadn’t liked or dated someone.

That said, harboring feelings for someone now was a completely different story, and if Wanda felt this way you would at least hope she’d have the guts to tell you.

“Come on, Wanda. I’m not an idiot.”

The instant shame Wanda feels at being called out for lying is enough to tank her previously good mood. She fidgets a little more and it’s impossible for you not to notice. You take a turn a little faster than you should and Wanda sighs in defeat before deciding to come clean.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t think I’d see her again.”

You’re silent for a moment and it extends into your arrival at the hotel. You park and think about just getting out to go inside, but you don’t want this tension to follow you in.

“See her again, or feel this way again?”

Wanda flinches and you just sigh in defeat before turning to face your shamefaced wife. You can tell she feels guilty and you only take a little comfort in this. You hate to see your wife upset. Wanda opens her mouth to defend herself, but there’s nothing that she can really say unless she wants to continue lying. She had felt flustered and then flattered talking to Sam again and she couldn’t help her reactions. She supposed she should have had the decency to try a little harder given that her wife was watching.

“I’m sorry. I know it sounds horrible, but she was my first real crush. I forgot what that felt like.”

If you weren’t privy of Wanda’s difficult time coming to terms with her sexuality in high school, you’d be a little more offended. You didn’t like the idea of your wife having feelings for someone else, but you also understood that there were a lot of emotions associated with her time being friends with Sam. You hadn’t known any specifics which now you wish you had, but it is what it is. You’re a little jealous, but other than that you can’t really get mad at Wanda without seeming like a jerk. You understood that feelings were complicated. The only thing you could really be upset about was that Wanda hadn’t really tried to hide them from you.

“I mean…I guess I can understand what that’s like, but you don’t want anything with her anymore right?”

Wanda shakes her head so furiously you’re afraid she’s going to hurt herself if she keeps it up. She was beginning to feel like an asshole for even sharing this with you, for saying that she felt something for someone who wasn’t you, but what was her alternative? She could have lied, and maybe that would have been best consider how you still continue to pout after you tell her that everything’s fine.

“No, Y/n. That’s not what I was saying. I just…it was nostalgic is all. I don’t want anyone other than you, detka.”

When you just nod and try to take a couple of seconds to let that set in, Wanda frowns. You eventually just mutter an ‘alright’ under your breath before deciding to head to the room. You’d like to lie down now. Wanda’s quick to follow you and as you lock the car you hold out a hand for her. She grabs it without a word and follows you into the lobby to the elevators where you quickly press the button to get to your floor. As much as you wanted to go to bed you were a little hungry. The food at the reunion had been a good starter, but you could eat a lot more right now.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun, Wands.”

Wanda waits for the ‘but’ that she’s certain will follow this statement, but you just unlock the room and walk in with a tired sigh. You hold the door open until Wanda walks in before closing it quietly behind her. You glance over to the bed that looks very inviting, and you slip off your shoes as you start to walk toward it.

“Do you want to order some food, and then lie down? I might fall asleep before it gets here, but then you can watch whatever you want.”

Wanda smiles widely before she just nods and heads over to the table that has the room service menu. She grabs it and by the time she turns around to head back toward you, you’re already under the covers with some of your clothes in a pile on the floor. Your eyes open when you feel Wanda sit on the bed beside you, and you turn to see her shooting you a worried look.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Can I make it up to you?”

You’re still resting your head on the soft pillow when Wanda asks this and you barely raise it to respond with a sigh. You can tell what she’s asking by her tone, but you don’t want that right now which is something you didn’t think you’d ever say. However, you can tell that Wanda feels guilty and you’re not going to take advantage of this right now. At least not in that way.

You reach out to grab her hand before pulling her closer so she’s almost on top of you. You glance to the covers that she hasn’t gotten under yet before offering her a smile.

“After you order, you can come let me snuggle you. I’m tired.”

Wanda just smiles in response before nodding as she lies down next to you. You barely hear what she says as she goes over the menu with you. You’re exhausted and now that your head is on a pillow you know you’re going to be asleep soon. You just offer a vague confirmation when Wanda asks what you want to eat before she just chuckles before reaching down to run her fingers through your hair.

“I love you, Y/n.”

When the food arrives later, you are wrapped around your wife sleeping deeply. She doesn’t bother waking you immediately because she knows how exhausting today was for you. She appreciates you for being willing to come with her here for something that you weren’t really excited about. She was lucky to have someone so dedicated to her, and she’d shown her appreciation by flirting right in front of you. Wanda wants to kick herself for being so selfish about this whole thing and then having the nerve to seem infatuated with an old crush not two feet from you.

Her self-deprecating thoughts are cut short by your hold on her waist tightening as you groan tiredly. You can tell that Wanda is tense and you don’t want that. You just want to relax, so you decide to swallow your pride again, at least for now.

“If it will make you feel better, Wands. You can walk Boone in the mornings for a week.”

You consider this a punishment because your dog has recently started waking up earlier for walks, close to 6am every day regardless of the day. He would come into your bedroom and sit on your side of the bed and just stare at you while whining occasionally until you took him out. You weren’t sure what this new change was about, but you blamed it on the cool weather, and you planned on figuring out how to give him outdoor access within limits around the house. You don’t see Wanda cringe at the thought, but you can imagine it as she nods with a sigh.

“Okay, Y/n. I guess that’s a good start.”

You nod in agreement before shifting so you can grab Wanda’s hand and kiss it. You just smile before the smell of your dinner registers and you open your eyes again. Your wife is only a little less tense, so you figure you need to distract her.

“You could also feed me if you feel so inclined.”

Wanda just laughs before moving to do just this and she sighs as she watches you shoot her a teasing look as she rolls the cart towards you. You’re willing to forgive her and that’s all she cares about at the moment.

“Yes, detka.”

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