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victoria-daydreams · 19 days

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The Winner Takes It All||Challengers

AN: So, I finally I got to see Challengers yesterday and boy do I have thoughts that may or may not be weaved into the story, things still might be ooc or wrong. Also, I'm warning y'all now, I know absolutely nothing about tennis/college and partook in half ass research on how the sport functions.

Based this fic off the most gut wrenching ABBA song because it fits so well with the story. I hope you all enjoy this mini series, don't know if I did it justice from translating this from my head onto Tumblr, but we move. And hopefully there aren't any spelling or grammar errors, but if there are, we die like men.

A playlist for this series is coming soon!

Word Count: 3.5k

Trigger Warnings: mentions of colorism and racism

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kailkailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstalli @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don't know if you'll get the notification.

Part One: Sugar & Spice

With her arms folded across her chest, Gianna's eyes were glued to the TV screen in front of her as two male sports analysts began to discuss their pick for match of the day.

"Oh man, this right here was my favorite today!" one analyst stated excitedly.

"For sure! It was the match to watch as the tennis world bore witness to the next up-and-coming tennis star," the other commentator agreed.

The camera cut away from the men and to the highlights of the mixed doubles championship match.

"Out the gate Gianna Langdon, ranked number five in girls singles, set the the tone for the day with a powerful ace to start the match,"

A clip of the opening minute of the match is put on the screen with Gianna throwing the ball high in the air for the first, and perfectly executed serve, followed by her pumping her fist in triumph with a grin.

"From there, she and her partner, Max Sullivan, kept their opponents, Roy Christians and Marie Riviera on the back foot for what seemed like the entire match,"

Gianna studied the way she nimbly moved around on the grass court, her swift volleys, sharp serves, and effortless backhands left no room for doubt that she was a force to be reckoned with.

"Play of the match goes to none other than Gianna Langdon, with this volley to put the nail in the coffin of this championship," the analyst reported, as the final moments of the match popped up on the screen.

With a powerful strike, the tennis ball was slammed back over the net by Roy onto Gianna's side of the court. Roy's hit lifted the ball high into the air forcing Gianna to reposition herself and backpedal to the spot to return it. Leaping up, Gianna smashed the ball down with force, out of reach from both Marie and Roy, the game winning hit. The clip replayed, but only this time in slow motion, so viewers at home could properly admire the athleticism on display. ESPN then did a jump cut of Gianna and Max both dropping their rackets simultaneously before rushing towards each other to embrace. Max even lifted up her a bit, twirling them around as they celebrated their victory.

The camera panned back to the two commentators who were wrapping up their coverage of the tournament.

"Honestly, Gianna Langdon just dominates the tennis field for her age group whether it's single or doubles," the commentator complimented, gathering his papers up in his hands and tapping it against the desk.

Gianna's lips lifted at the praise, its rare she gets her flowers as a tennis player.

"She's a force to be reckoned with, no doubt about that. If she keeps playing like she is now, she can easily break into the top three, but she's no Tashi Duncan," the other commentator corrected.

At this, her smile instantly fell off her face. Since freshman year of high school, Gianna has forever lived under the inescapable shadow of the phenomenal, powerhouse that is Tashi Duncan. Because Tashi wasn't just some athlete, she was the athlete. The next Serena Williams, as some people taken to calling her. Gianna might as well been chopped liver.

The girls have been thick as thieves since Gianna moved to the same school as Tashi and was paired up by their coach to be doubles partners. The duo were unstoppable on the court, as Gianna was a tennis prodigy in her own right, but often was relegated to just being known as Tashi Duncan's partner. A repeated slight which didn't go unnoticed by her two strongest supporters, her parents. They made it their mission to drill Gianna with an unshakable sense of self confidence in not only her skills with a tennis racket, but also her appearance.

"Don't you ever let the media or naysayers play in your face about your talents, Gianna," her father's words echoing in her head. "You already know, you have to work twice as hard to get half the recognition compared to others," he went on.

Gianna recalled the exact day, he gave her this speech. She was probably fifteen and won a match against some Eastern European girl, it was an upset, and boy did everyone make it a point to tell her so. It ranged from backhanded compliments to outright slurs lobbed at her.

"Oh, so when Tashi pulverizes her opponent on the court who's ranked higher than her it's admirable, but when I do it's a problem!" she complained.

"Competing against Tashi, you need to be prepared that narratives are going to be formed and pushed from factors beyond your control," her father warned. "She's lighter, you're darker. She's thin, you have curves. You're both confident, but only one of you is going to be labeled as arrogant," he listed.

"It's a shame we didn't get to see Duncan and Langdon compete together in girls doubles this year," the analyst said, snapping Gianna out her thoughts.

"Agreed, the best girl duo in juniors we've seen in years,"

Images of Gianna and Tashi materialized on the screen, some were from the last two Junior US Open Championships; both of the, proudly beaming and holding their trophies high above their heads and kissing each other's cheek. But, the one picture that stood out the most to Gianna was their cover on Tennis. Both of them had their arms folded and their game faces on with the headline emblazoned below them.

“Sugar & Spice”

~~~x~~~

Rounding the corner of the hallway, the doors where Tashi's party was being held outside came into Gianna's view. Music and the low murmur of voices floated out of the room, bouncing off the walls as she drew closer. From the corner of Gianna's eyes, she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror promoting her to stop. A pair of eyes, identical to color of rich, molasses stared back at her. Carefully, Gianna studied herself in the mirror from every angle. The healthy glow of her golden, deep brown skin made the light dusting of freckles decorating her upper cheeks and nose more prominent.

"She's no Tashi Duncan,"

It only took those four, little words to dampen Gianna's cheery demeanor and leave her brooding since the afternoon.

Lips pursed, she shook her head slightly, "No, no, no," she whispered to herself. "You're still a champion, Gianna. Fuck that ESPN analyst," she said lowly, smoothing out the pale yellow halter dress she wore.

Letting a lopsided grin grow on her lips, Gianna moved away from the mirror and entered into the ballroom where the party was in full swing. She weaved her way through the crowd to find Tashi, but found herself stopping repeatedly to smile and shake hands as people crowded round her to congratulate her on her match. Gianna couldn't help but feel smug. For once, people were basking in her presence and enjoying the chance to meet a future tennis star in person. It boosted Gianna's ego—a pure, bone-deep satisfaction that something in the air was beginning to shift.

She was starting to be seen as a standout player, not just an extension to Tashi.

Thanking her last well wisher, Gianna's eyes met Tashi's who was a few feet from where she stood. A flicker of recognition flittered across her face and she smiled a tiny smile. Tashi was not alone though, two boys were standing in front her and seemed to be having a very lively conversation.

"What's this I see?" Gianna wondered aloud, brushing past one of the boys. "I'm gone for a minute and you're already making new friends without me," she joked, dropping into the empty chair next to Tashi.

Across from her, both boys were slack jawed and unable to tear their eyes away Gianna. Pride simmered in her chest, Gianna already knew that she was beautiful, but it was nice to be reminded of that fact every now and then. Especially, when there's two boys ogling at her looks and treating her like a divine being.

"You boys gonna stop staring and introduce yourselves, or what?" Gianna questioned, her words flavored with a lulling Louisiana drawl and the boys snapped from their stupor.

"Let me, these two seem to be malfunctioning," Tashi cut in, with a smirk.

"They keep on drooling any longer, they'll catch flies," Gianna quipped, her nude colored lips curling upwards.

Tashi motioned to the dark haired boy with sharp features, "This is Patrick Zweig," she introduced, as Gianna's eyes met Patrick's gray ones, holding her stare and grinning widely. Confidence that bordered on cockiness practically radiated off him. "And this is Art Donaldson," Tashi continued, gesturing to the boy next to Patrick.

Art only allowed himself a small, shy, smile when her eyes shifted over to him. Unabashedly, Gianna let her eyes roam over Art's features. Those blond curls, those blue eyes.

God, they're both gorgeous.

Tashi placed her hand on Gianna's knee, "Patrick and Art, this is my best friend—" she started.

"Gianna Langdon," Patrick and Art interjected simultaneously, causing a Cheshire grin to form on Gianna's lips.

"Well, well, my fan club only continues to grow this tournament," Gianna joked, playing with the curly ends of her pick and drop braids.

"Deservedly so, you were absolutely amazing this tournament," Art complimented, a breathy chuckle leaving him.

"That play when you landed a split after playing a return," Patrick mentioned, beaming at her. "And you still got the point, fucking incredible!" he praised, shaking his head.

She smiled, "Oh, so you two have been avidly watching my matches then?" Gianna questioned, playfulness in her voice while slightly leaning forward in her seat.

"Ashamedly, not initially," Art admitted, and Gianna quirked brow. "But after your storybook comeback in Round 4, we knew there was no way we couldn’t stop watching you," he added quickly.

"Singles or doubles," Patrick chimed in.

"Did you by chance watch any of our matches, Gianna?" Art asked timidly, staring at her with hopeful eyes.

She smirked, "Singles or doubles?" Gianna asked back, smoothly echoing Patrick's words.

"Either," Patrick responded, his eyes drinking her in.

They both seemed mesmerized. Leaning in closer, as if they were going to learn her with their close proximity. Gianna hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair and raising a finger to her chin to mull over the question. She glanced over to Tashi, who was already watching her with an amused expression. Embarrassingly, Gianna kind of forgot her best friend was literally sitting next to her, she had become too engrossed in her conversation with the newcomers.

"No, can't say that I have," Gianna answered finally, with a shrug.

Art deflated, his face falling as the tips of his ears went fiery red, while Patrick's shoulders sagged a little.

"O-Oh," Art breathed.

There was a silence. Gianna looked off to her side again to see a ghost of a grin threatening to appear on Tashi's face. When the two girls' eyes connected with each other, they burst out laughing at the same time. Both boys looked at each other wordlessly, both speechless by this.

"Gia's just fucking with you two," Tashi explained, in between laughter.

Relief couldn't have been written across their faces more clearly.

"Yeah, I actually watched your championship match while I was in the recovery room," Gianna informed, her giggles subsiding. "Your between the legs shot was very inspired, Patrick," she remarked, with a smile.

At this, Patrick puffed out his chest a bit.

"You know, they're playing against each other tomorrow in the boys singles championship match," Tashi mentioned, her eyes bouncing between the boys.

"Are they now?" Gianna responded, an intrigued smirk gracing her face while crossing one leg over the other.

"We are!" Art blurted out, almost too eagerly.

"You both should come and watch," Patrick suggested.

Gianna cocked her head to the side, "Hmm, maybe," she answered, having a little fun toying with them.

Tashi rose from her chair, reaching her hand out for Gianna's.

"Come on, my dad is waving me over to come take pictures," Tashi informed.

"This is a group activity?" Gianna questioned, her brows furrowing.

"No, but the demand for Gianna Langdon is ever growing," she reminded, her eyes filled with mirth.

"It sure is," Gianna agreed, taking her hand as her friend helped her to her feet. Gianna looked over to Patrick and Art. "Well, ciao. It was nice meeting y'all," Gianna said, waving goodbye as Tashi led her away.

"Goodbye?" Patrick jokingly scoffed. "We'll be here all night!" he called out after her.

~~~x~~~

True to their word, Patrick and Art were in the same spot where Gianna and Tashi had left them earlier and they were more than willing to continue hanging out with the girls. Which is how the group of four found themselves on the beach, slowly treading along the sand, the dark blue sky and millions of stars above them. Naturally, Tashi had found herself in the middle of the group with Patrick flanking on her left and Art on her right.

Gianna was next to Art and as they walked, their arms would accidentally brush against each other every now and then. Both of them exchanging shy smiles at the fleeting contact that sent butterflies fluttering in Gianna's stomach. She secretly relished the contact from Art, he radiated warmth similar to that of a dryer-warm blanket; a nice contrast to the cool sand between her toes.

"You know earlier, Tashi asked us who was fire and who was ice," Patrick spoke, looking over to Gianna. "I figured I should return the favor, between the two of you, who's sugar and who's spice?" he asked, his eyes bouncing from Tashi to her.

"Tashi, is definitely 'spice'," Gianna answered, and Tashi rolled her eyes with a smile. "She's more fiery than me and has a more aggressive play style than I do," she explained.

"Making you 'sugar', of course," Art reasoned, the two staring at one another. "You are the perfect mix of deadly grace and effortless balance on the court," he described, going in an almost dreamlike trance.

"Why, thank you Art," Gianna said, bumping her arm into his.

"If Tashi is 'spice' and your 'sugar', why does the media switch it around?" Patrick wondered.

"Preconceived notions, methinks," Gianna replied, simply shrugging her shoulders.

They wandered along until they settled on a spot to hang out at. Art and Patrick both sat in deck chairs while Tashi and Gianna perched themselves on a large rock. Conversation flowed between all them on a myriad of topics ranging from college, life in general, and of course tennis.

"So Gianna," Patrick began, a small curious and mischievous glint in his eyes. "Your doubles partner Bryce—"

"It's Max," Gianna corrected flatly, with a laugh.

He smirked, "I was in the ballpark," Patrick argued, throwing his hands up. "Anyways, you and Max, you two a thing?" he asked curiously, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Eww, no!" Tashi exclaimed, her nose twisting in disgust. "You think Gia has such low standards?" she asked back, clearly offended on Gianna's behalf.

"Tashi, come on, Max is not that bad of a person," Gianna stated, lifting her hand up to tell her to calm down.

"Honestly, I don't know how she does it," Tashi went on. "It's a miracle she can still walk after carrying Max through this entire tournament," she sneered.

"Look, Max is not someone who I would consider as an ideal mixed doubles partner," Gianna conceded, her gaze meeting everyone's. "He's mediocre actually," she said bluntly, making Patrick and Art both snicker. "However, Max as an individual and not as an athlete, he's a wonderful guy," she said, with a slight shrug. "Us dating has never once crossed my mind," she finished, waving her hand dismissively.

"So it sounds like you'll be in need of a new partner soon," Patrick hinted, a hunger in his stare.

"Hmm, I guess I will," Gianna agreed, letting a coy smile grow on her lips. "You know anybody?" she asked, tilting her head a little.

"I can think of two people off the top of my head," Art responded, taking a drag of his own cigarette and blowing it out slowly.

"Oh, is that so? And who just—" Gianna started.

Suddenly, Gianna's phone began noisily vibrating in her lap, putting an end to the playful between the boys and Gianna. She picked up her phone and flipped it open before exhaling heavily, it was her dad texting her.

"Shit, fun's over guys," Gianna announced, with another sigh. "My dad wants me back in my room," she explained, unfolding her legs.

"Your won a championship today, and you're father won't let you stay up late to celebrate?" Patrick asked in disbelief, leaning forward in his chair.

"Obviously, you don't know my father if you think a single championship win is going to get him to loosen his reins on his regimented schedule for me," Gianna stated, grabbing her sandals and letting them dangle from her fingers.

"You're about to be off to Stanford, it's insane your dad is giving you a curfew," Art chimed in.

"Well, I'm not at Stanford yet," Gianna pointed out. "And also..." she trailed off, turning to Tashi who had a knowing look on her face. "His roof, his rules," they both said in unison, after hearing those words countlessly over the years.

Finally standing up from the rock, the boys followed suit. Both of their gazes traveled the length of Gianna yet again, as if they needed to commit her to memory.

"I can walk you back to the ferry and to your hotel," Art offered kindly.

"We both could," Patrick volunteered.

"As much as I am flattered that both of you want to walk me back, I can manage just fine," Gianna assured. "Plus, we're all going to be playing an unwanted game of 21 questions if my dad sees two, random white boys walking me to my room," she remarked, with a chuckle.

Tashi pushed herself up onto her feet, "I'll come with you, Gia,"

"No, no stay, Tashi," Gianna encouraged. "Don't end the fun on my account," she insisted. "Another time will come about for all of us to hang out again, right?" she questioned.

A toothy grin broke out on Patrick's face, "There's gonna be another time?" he asked

"I don't see why not," she answered, mirroring his expression. "The three of us are going to be at Stanford together, and I'm sure you come visit from time to time. It all works out so well!" Gianna said excitedly.

Art opened his mouth to speak, but the shrill ringing of Gianna's phone silenced him. Looking down at the phone, she grimaced slightly.

"Shit, I really have to go, my dad is calling now," Gianna stressed.

"Then get going," Tashi prompted, playfully swatting her bottom.

A surprised whoop escaped Gianna's lips before morphing into a giggle as she began to half-walk, half-jog away from the group. She spun around to face them, continuing to walk backwards.

"This was really fun y'all, we should do this again, yeah?" she yelled.

"I look forward to it!" Art yelled back.

"Me too!" Patrick shouted.

Laughing, Gianna spun around and jogged away, all too aware of the three pair of eyes boring into her back.

~~~x~~~

Propped up against the hotel bed headboard, Gianna was tucked underneath the blankets with a well-worn copy of Baking with Julia in her hands. If tennis was her first love, then baking was her second. There was nothing more relaxing than to Gianna than being able to slow down and just allowing herself to focus on precision, without any of the heightened stakes that came with tennis. Not to mention, beating eggs or whisking a cake were great ways to rid herself of any frustration she may be feeling.

A series of rhythmic knocks on her door pulled Gianna from her musings. She didn't even have to ask who it was, she could tell by the pattern of the familiar knock.

"Just use the card I gave you, Tashi," Gianna called, her voice just loud enough for her to hear.

There's a quiet click of the door unlocking before the door opened a crack and Tashi's head popped into her room, a shit eating grin on her face.

"Hurry up and get in here, before my dad sees!" Gianna ordered, with a laugh.

Closing the door behind her, Tashi pranced over to Gianna and sat beside her on the floor on the edge of her bed.

"Tell me everything! What happened after I left?" Gianna asked, a smile of her own on her face.

"They invited me to come up to their room,"

"And you went?"

"I did," Tashi answered, a smirk on her lips.

Gianna landed a playful hit on Tashi's arm, "No fucking way!" she whispered, her eyes wide. "You hooked up with both of them?"

"I didn't sleep with them," Tashi corrected. "We only made out, and then they made out," she added, smirking proudly.

Gianna raised an eyebrow, "They made out? Patrick and Art?" she questioned.

"Yep," Tashi grinned.

"On their own or did they have some help?" Gianna asked, arching a brow.

Wordlessly, Tashi plucked Gianna's book from her hands and she straddled her, resting each leg on either side of Gianna.

"They did most of the heavy lifting, I just gave them the push they needed," Tashi explained, looping her arms around her friend's neck.

"Now, I'm a little jealous. I missed out on all the fun," Gianna complained, sticking out her lower lip in a mock pout.

"Gia babe, don't worry, I did not forget about you," Tashi reassured, as Gianna hands came to rest on Tashi's thighs. "Remember their match tomorrow?" she reminded.

"Yeah,"

"Winner gets my number…." Tashi trailed off, removing her right arm from around Gianna's neck. "And yours," she finished, lightly tapping the tip of her nose.

A slow smile spread across Gianna's lips as Tashi's words sunk in. She knew exactly what her friend was up to, especially if it meant Tashi could watch some "real fuckin' tennis".

"Tashi Duncan, the girl that you are," Gianna praised, letting out a chuckle.

Leaning forward, Gianna planted a soft kiss on Tashi's lips. It was only meant to be a quick peck, but as Gianna went to pull away, Tashi held her face, keeping their lips connected.

Tashi withdrew herself from Gianna, "Tomorrow is gonna be so fucking good," she grinned, her eyes twinkling at the thought. "And guess what is the best part about all of this, Gia?" she questioned, their forehead resting against each others.

"What?'

"We already have them wrapped our fingers, without even trying," Tashi answered, sending the girls into a fit of giggles.

#black!reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers x reader #black fanfiction #tashi duncan x reader #black!oc #challengers #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig

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sixosix · 7 months

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THAWED | LYNEY X FEM!READER SERIES

THAWED (MASTERLIST) — the lyney childhood-enemies-to-frenemies-to-lovers-kinda series that no one asked for, ft. fluff, a whole lot of bickering, flirting, and everything in between

STATUS. mostly updates on sundays!

OTHER INFO.

DISCLAIMER. will contain spoilers. this series will be as dark as genshin lore can be, and this won’t strictly follow genshin’s actual lore—i’ll be making up a lot of stuff for the sake of the fic so there will be inaccuracies, NOT CANON COMPLIANT!! the timeline of events will be vastly different. each chapter will have their own warnings as well, so keep an eye out for that!

NOTES. hello, everyone !!!!!!! welcome to my lyney series inspired by taylor’s reputation album. how it works is each chapter will be titled after each song off of the album as u can see below,,, hope u enjoy reading as excited i am for rep tv!! :D

tysm to naosaki and kruinka for helping me brainstorm w this fic (and also helping me when i was visibly all over the place because of this series)

CHAPTERS.

i — are you ready for it?

The House of the Hearth was perfect. This was where you thrived—where no one else could take this feeling away. But then Lynette became a part of the ‘family’, and with it, she dragged along Lyney.

ii — i don’t wanna hurt you (i just wanna be)

You look more like a soldier than an orphan, Lyney thinks. It’s beautiful in all the wrong ways.

iii — you gotta leave before you get left

Desperately, Lyney melts them away, but your footsteps have already gone out of earshot. It’s an answer in itself: Don’t bother. Take the hint, Lyney; you already messed it up.

iv — for you i would fall from grace

“What now? What do you want me to do? Strut back into their lives and demand all their Fatui secrets as if I never left?”

Aether nestles into his seat. “Prove to me that I can trust them just as much as you do. Who knows, you might get something out of this, too.”

v — you must like me for me

Lyney laughs. It sounds like music that has haunted you for years—and with a new one playing, it’ll torment you for years more. He loosens his grip but keeps you caged in, still. You’re twirled around to face him, and something about his expression has you swallowing thickly.

“You’re even more stunning than I remember, ma chérie.”

vi — look what you made me do

You frown at him, your face upside down in his view. “That was unfair.”

“I have to be if I want to beat you.”

vii — all eyes on you, my magician

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even once when his fingers reached out to fish out a champagne flute. Lyney still has that stupid smile on his face, the rim of his glass against his lips. You’re hit with the startling realization that you want to kiss him.

Fuck, what?

viii — you’ve ruined my life, by not being mine

“You’re so warm,” you murmur to his skin.

Goosebumps blossom all over his body. Your face brushes against the side of his neck. “Do you hate it?”

“I like it. My hands are cold. Every part of you is warm.”

ix — us traitors never win

Lyney knew that this would happen. He knew well enough to predict what ‘Father’ would make them do, but still—

“We understand,” Lynette says, her eyes darting down to Lyney’s clenched fists.

The Knave stares at Lyney, and the strength of her stare has Lyney lowering his eyes to the floor. “Do you?” she asks. They wisely stay silent: Lynette’s hesitance and Lyney’s frustration. “Then I trust this won’t happen any longer.”

x — king of my heart, body and soul

You bit back the bite of ice and wondered how ironic it was that every time your Vision acted out, it was, more often than not, tied to Lyney.

“What, so you expect me to believe you’d just go against your ‘Father’ like that?”

xi — baby can we dance, through an avalanche?

Lyney supposes he can’t hate Aether that much for that. And selfishly, Lyney supposes he can’t truly hate Aether because he brought you back to him. In a vague sense of camaraderie, Lyney understands.

xii — there is an indentation in the shape of you

And so you two stand face to face with your old home, the House of the Hearth. It still had the same grand doors you remember, the same living room, and the same fireplace, but the emptiness was unfamiliar. It was unsettling, like a bad dream.

This used to be your home.

xiii — he built a fire just to keep me warm

“I think it’s special. We’re twins, Lyney and I, but I think if I were in his body for even a day, I wouldn’t be able to recreate what you two have. He treasures you deeply, more than you know.”

more chapter previews soon...!

thawed related tags you might want to check out:

#thawed fanart <3

#thawed memes i want to hang in a museum

of course, if you want to check out akagi's series of mind boggling fanart:

#akagi0021 carrying the entirety of thawed

FANART COMPILATION

our favorite akagi0021 has been blessing me with THAWED fanart (!!!) and i decided that i need to compile all of them for me and to make YOU see the art as well... BECAUSE THEY'RE ALL SO GOOD (with permission of course)

CH 1 | reader's new outfit reveal

CH 2 | lyney doesn’t know how he looks at reader

lyney and MC height difference before/after IM ON MY KNEES theyre so cute

CH 4 | aether and paimon confronting reader

bonus fanart of lyney and reader after training :(( so cute

CH 5 | lyney seeing reader!!!!!! aahhh his eyes

lyney as a kid and then lyney now (grown up) THIS ONE IS INSANE. little lyney is so adorable but then look at the lyney now

CH 6 | LOOK AT THIS ONE!! scene of lyney saying “she’s hiding something” except akagi made him unnecessarily sexy wtf

CH 7 | drunk reader driving lyney crazy... (i went crazy)

CH 8 | "lyney's not my boyfriend" ; the ending scene with childe, aether, and reader!! they all look so good T__T

CH 10 | lyney's "i would. i would for you" OUGH YESS

++ ADDITIONAL!!!

and look at this so so so adorable collection of doodles of chapter six by sunny @emanami !!! her artstyle is to live for its SO cute (look at the siblings!!!)

more of sunny's cute drawings: thawed!mc biting lyney's cheek like what i want to do

look at @lacrimae-lotos's version of mc!!!! SO CUTE look at her piercings and her eyes aahhhh

akagi's art dump from different chapters | theyre all so cutue im sobbing i love akagis mc and lyney so much T__T (LYNEY BRAIDING MC'S HAIR)

lyney doing the stretch tactic ohh he is so slick modern au with akagi's thawed!mc and lyney at the beach i fainted

++ LOOK AT AKAGI'S VERSION OF MC! shes so lovely

design headcanons (theyre all so precious)

akagi's reader as a genshin char !!

reader's outfit for chapter seven SO PRETTY

thawed!mc's eyepatch lore... aether is so silly

akagi's au where mc never left the house and they're enemies to lovers yes yes yes yesyse

HOW TO JOIN THE TAGLIST.

just ask through my inbox!!! and make sure that people can tag you pls!!

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #genshin impact series

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itsnotgray · 7 months

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gray’s fic recs

my tagging/recommendation system is a mess beyond the point of fixing, so i made a masterlist. (i’ll slowly be adding fics to this!)

- an asterisk is next to players who play for the ahl team of said nhl team

- if works focused on more than one person, they’re listed under the other people, but only tagged in the first one you see in the list.

- also, apologies if the links don’t work correctly, it is in fact my first time making a masterlist

NHL/AHL

Anaheim Ducks

Jamie Drysdale

hey roomie by @emaanemaa

- trevor and jamie threesome. that's right, that's all it took to get you to go read it.

Trevor Zegras

chameleon by @hischierhaze

- listen- if you're someone who, whether it be consciously or unconsciously, changes themselves and their personality for those around them, or you have a history of it- please read this. I promise you, you won't regret it.

now that we don't talk by @sc0tters

- it's a toxic relationship with trevor, of course I'm gonna eat it up (she might end with trevor... or she might not. you'll never know if you don't read it.)

hey roomie by @ emaanemaa (fic linked above under jamie)

the penalty box series by @starsandhughes

I- if you're not already keeping up with this series... where have you been? every update is laugh out loud hilarious, and leaves you itching for more.

cruel weather- apart of the penalty box series by @starsandhughes

cruel weather gets it's own link because of the amount of emotional damage this inflicted upon me.

Arizona Coyotes

Boston Bruins

Buffalo Sabres

Devon Levi

like it very much by @jackhues

there aren’t many devon fics (which there totally should be), but the way i squealed when i read this one. further affirmed the fact that i think he’d be the best bf.

Calgary Flames

Nikita Zadorov

that scar hurt by the way by @swissboyhisch

- listen…. i’m the farthest thing from a flames fan, and can wholeheartedly admit it was an adorable read.

Carolina Hurricanes

Chicago Blackhawks

Colorado Avalanche

Columbus Blue Jackets

Adam Fantilli

to you, my adamo by @hischierhaze

- it's adam's birthday + his debut, can you blame me for crying?

his return by @hischierhaze

-this made me cry. but in making this, i'm convinced anything kei writes with the fantilli brothers makes me want to cry from either just how sickeningly sweet it is, or of course, sadness.

tiny dancer au by @letsgetrowdy43

god when i say sunny and adam have my heart- i mean it. they’re sososo special to me.

Dallas Stars

Wyatt Johnston

our song by @lovinbarzal

hands down one of my favorite wy jo fics/au’s. it’s wyatt x a barzal sister, a pairing i wouldn’t have thought of, but works so well!

Detroit Red Wings

Edmonton Oilers

Florida Panthers

Matthew Tkachuk

waking up in vegas by @doc-pickles

- matty t x hughes!sister is a dynamic i didn’t know i needed.

Mackie Samoskevich*

perfect girl by @dmercer91

- this had me feeling things like no other... a big hint as to why? she's shared.

Los Angeles Kings

Alex Turcotte*

who does it better? by @harry-hollands

one of the cutest social media au’s in a while (technically has two parts, but they don’t have to be read together)

Minnesota Wild

Montreal Canadiens

Kirby Dach

here with you by @sc0tters

- it's amber's writing + kirby, what's not to love? (if that's not convincing enough, maybe the line, "I will follow you to the ends of the earth," is.)

Nashville Predators

New Jersey Devils

Jack Hughes

timeless by @babydollmarauders

- if I hadn't originally read this in the middle of the grocery store, I can almost guarantee that I would've cried from just how heartwarmingly adorable this is.

out by @babydollmarauders

- equipment manager x jacky boy- aka a trope I never knew I needed, but now crave after reading this.

ballad of a homeschooled girl by @babydollmarauders

- hands down one of the best pics I've probably ever read in terms of conveying emotion. my stomach was in knots the entire time, attesting to just how realistic the writing is.

never grow up by @aliaology

- i'm sorry but you're not human if you don't get even the tiniest bit emotional at any fic with "never grow up" as the song. BUT A FIC WITH THE BROTHERS? this rendered me emotionally unavailable for a solid 20 minutes.

medía management au by @babydollmarauders

the media management au is an ongoing series staring mr jack hughes and his lovely girl, dove! the updates always bring a a smile to my face, and more than likely make me laugh out loud.

4:41 am by @sweetestdesire

listen, as much as i adore brynn’s smut like no other, her fluffy, soft and sweet fics just do something to me. she writes them so detailed, and consistently has me craving for soft moments with a significant other (a significant other i do not have)

John Marino

stay for a while by @sc0tters

- when i talk about made me feel things, i mean it. amber never fails in writing panty-dropping smut, while also having an thought-out plot.

Luke Hughes

welcome back by @leaentries

- this literally made me swoon. a protective lukey- what's not to love?

nobody's love by @eyesthatroll

- my heart was in my throat while reading, and my emotions were all over the place. regardless of how emotional it left me, it was amazing and deserves all the love.

never grow up by @ aliaology (fic linked under jack)

- older hughes sister watches her brothers grow up + never grow up = tears

summer aches by @starry-hughes

- this fic makes me want a luke to take care of me when i get headaches, triggered by heat or not

what’s not to like? by @starry-hughes

- queen ellen and jimmy are a little apprehensive of you…

jack’s best friend by @lvrzegras

okay listen- any of the brothers x their best friends is great, but jack’s best friend x luke… it just hits different, yk?

Nico Hischier

I never could've seen you coming (I think you're everything I could've ever wanted) by @writingonleaves

- this is probably as close to a literary masterpiece as a fanfic posted on tumblr will ever get

will you take a moment? promise me this (that you'll stand by me forever) by @writingonleaves

- listen- it's apart of the universe she began in the fic above. I have the fic linked under nico (because the oc eventually ends up in a relationship with nico, as seen in the part above), but this is sososo found family heavy. if found family is your trope, then this is your fic

New York Islanders

Mat Barzal

it's nice to have a friend by @youunravelme

- put me through the emotional wringer in the best way possible.

winnie martin's favorite person by @ilyasorokinn

- god- i cannot even begin to describe how cute this is. all i can say, is that I need more pictures of barzy with kids... for science of course.

New York Rangers

Ottawa Senators

Philadelphia Flyers

Pittsburgh Penguins

Sidney Crosby

she was the (red) devil by @crosbyscurls

- hockey meets f1 is already a dream combination… but sid x f1? absolutely amazing

San Jose Sharks

Seattle Kraken

St Louis Blues

Tampa Bay Lightning

Toronto Maple Leafs

Vancouver Canucks

Quinn Hughes

these michigan summers by @lukevangelista

i feel like the only way your not aware this series exists, then your new here. because if you haven’t read this, where have you been? this is for sure one of my top three series’ on tumblr, finished or unfinished. will in fact, forever have my heart. (currently unfinished)

the sun to my moon by @ghostfacd

this fic is part of an au! i highly, highly recommend checking it out- quinny + a grumpyxsunshine trope, what’s not to love?

never grow up by @ aliaology (fic linked under jack's name)

- older hughes sister watches her brothers grow up + never grow up = tears

Vegas Golden Knights

Washington Capitals

Dylan Strome

it's never too late to come back to my side by @lukevangelista (a series)

- one of my recent favorites. particularly geared towards those who think back on old friendships (...and constantly overthink on whether you should reach out. spoilers- it's never too late)

Winnipeg Jets

NCAA

University of Michigan

Luca Fantilli

missing you, quietly by @bitchinbarzal

- emotional torture in the best way possible. i re-read a concerning amount

i lost him by @hischierhaze

- made me cry- but in a good way

baby 101- name reveal by @hischierhaze

- it's dad!luca... yeah that's right, now that you have that cute thought in your head, you kinda have to go and read it

I tell you that I think im falling back in love with you by @writingonleaves

- this fic is sososo special to me for so many reasons- and I think you should totally read this fic to figure them out... just saying

opposites attract au by @dmercer91

this is a link to the head anons for the au- but please go read this sweet au. luca and landen are one of the sweetest pairings.

Nick Moldenhauer

sundays are for textiles by @drewsbuzzcut

- super cute read, and it's apart of an even cuter au

all american lace by @drewsbuzzcut

- also apart of that super cute nick au she has- but this part was not so cutesy (it was at the end). had me on the edge of my seat, and tears building in my eyes. the type of angst you physically feel- but with the type of ending that makes up for it (trust me, it does!)

Mark Estapa

icy roads by @nicohischierz

the simplest explanation i can offer is that this broke my heart- but i loved it anyway!

Boston College

Gabe Perreault

princess!gf x gabe perreault by @yankstrash

- these two are on my mind at least three times a week. i aspire to become amelia- aka find someone who is as down bad for me as gabe is for “his meels”

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strawberries-and-summer-days · 24 days

Text

WE'RE... WHAT?? ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

summary:

warnings: swearing and i think thats just about it!

a/n: part two of the series is out! im procrastinating the shit out of all my other requests so im not ignoring any of you btw!! lets all collectively ignore the fact that gracie like a post that has a lyric from her song (also damn im really just smashing out these fics)

"y/n has officially flitted off to boston!" clarisse announces suddenly from chris's lap.

"huh?" grover's head snaps up. "what do you mean?"

"y/n l/n, she's come to boston for her concerts," clarisse says showing her phone screen.

"you have got to be shitting me," chris says. "this is going to end terribly. seriously? here? boston? percy's gonna shit himself."

"oh really why would you think that?" clarisse drawls. "it's not like they don't like each other, they're like besties!"

"and y'know to make things worse y/n's setlist has been posted for months so we legit could've avoided her," chris sighs.

"yeah well, next time you see percy and he comes home grumbling about a business meeting in boston you deal with it then," grover argues.

"okay all of you shut it, percy's coming inside with luke so shhh," clarisse snaps.

"shh about what?" luke asks settling down on the couch next to grover.

"you'll never believe who's in boston!" grover sing songs. it doesn't take luke very long to work out who and his eyes widen in realisation

"no."

"yes."

"well shit."

"yep."

"we're in for a show."

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, chris.rodriguez, lukecastellan, clarisse.la.rue, the.annabethchase and 1, 402, 385 others

percyjackson hello boston! one non-reschedulable meeting later and here we are...

view all comments

underovergrover i expect full compensation for making those pizzas WHICH YOU TOOK CREDIT FOR

percyjackson YOU DID NOT! I MADE HALF OF THOSE - MINE WERE BETTER

clarisse.la.rue no they weren't

percyjackson 🖕🏼

user1 ugh im in love

user2 omggg he's in boston!! so is y/n l/n!! are they following each other around?

user3 PLS I WOULD DIE MAKE THIS A THING

user4 i wonder if he's going to a concert here?? 😏

user5 does anyone else find it weird how his entire friend group follows him around?? no just me? they're just a huge freak show

user6 booooo we dont like haters here

user7 y/n l/n and percy neeeeed to happen rnnnn

user8 YES YES YES

lukecastellan im so ready to be done with this shit and go home

theannabethchase aww is someone feeling homesick?

lukecastellan yes obviously

user8 i. love. him.

☾. ⋅

"see i told you this would happen!" grover screeches, running away from percy who is threatening to castrate him if he doesn't get his phone back.

"i don't care! just give me the damn thing back!"

percy had groaned for two straight minutes when he found out that y/n was in boston this weekend - he had also face planted onto the couch and used some extremely obscene words.

"if it helps at least you'll be leaving on sunday," chris had offered in the midst of his crisis. it didn't help.

so now when grover trips over a fallen pillow - which may or may not be from percy's tantrum but we don't talk about that - and percy wrenches the phone from him a loud - and might grover add overtly girly - scream.

"WHAT THE FUCK? NO! NO NO NO NO!"

his screen is on the article grover had opened with really poorly photoshopped images of percy and y/n walking together. every gossip site/blog has swarmed the photos and circulated them sending the internet into a spiral.

"im fucking done with this grover," percy groans flopping onto the couch. "its a good thing we're leaving tomorrow - we'll be back in new york thats a huge ass city i wont see y/n there again and i can just go into hibernation, let all the rumours die down and be done with this whole shit show."

if only right....

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by sabrinacarpenter, lia.mandel, gracieabrams and 932, 841 others

yn.official feel like maybe i might go to boston! you were the best audience and im honoured to have performed for you these past two nights! heading home now to rest and recharge for the final shows in new york

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lia.mandel yayy you're finally coming home i missed you 🥺

yn.official bitch please its been like a week

lia.mandel and every second of it has been torture

user1 MOTHERRRR

user2 i think i nearly fainted when she came up on stage i was so happy i coulda died right then-

user3 the lyric makes me so happyyy

user4 ikrr y/n is like the queen of lyrics and the way she sneakily adds them into her posts 🤭

user5 WERE YOU WITH PERCY JACKSON THIS WEEKEND?? 🤨 I NEED TO KNOW

user6 y/n and percy are my dream celebrity ship

user7 they'd be the biggest power couple in history

user8 can you hard launch with percy plss?? i dont care if its fake i just need content to feed my delusions!

☾. ⋅

lia's soft snores fill the plane aggravating the hell out of you. usually you'd find the way she curled up in a ball underneath a blanket and snored quietly to be adorable. but since you're tired, just finished performing a concert and there's a problem with the jet, its grating on your nerves.

you had also been scrolling on twitter, instagram and pinterest, curled up underneath a matching blanket urging something to catch your attention while whatever work was being done on the plane happened.

unfortunately for you the thing that did catch your attention was the dozens of very clearly photoshopped pictures of you and percy walking together on a quiet street in boston.

no way in hell thats real. for one; ew and two; percy was only here for the weekend you were here for the week and you would've had no time to go out in between concerts.

eventually you doze off not realising you're in the air until you're ears pop waking you up to lia grinning mischievously.

"what asshole?"

"you're adorable when you wake up, you know that right?"

"yes i know."

"seriously the cutest human on the planet."

"what do you want lia?"

"a gossip podcast has picked up the subject of you and percy jackson. and the host is saying shit about you."

your eyes widen for a moment. "oh my god what? wow its almost as if i don't care!" ypu give lia a blank look. "this happens every three months lia, i do something and people either love it or hate it. thats the way it goes."

"yeah but this is PERCY JACKSON Y/N! he's gorgeousness personified."

"ugh can i go back to sleep? you can fangirl to me tomorrow when im in bed and pretending to listen."

"im offended." she leans over to place a kiss on your head. "but sleep tight babes, we land in like forty minutes."

shutting your eyes again you drift back to sleep.

only when you wake up do you realise you dreamed of percy...

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you] @lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle, @lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus, @avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, [if you want to be added just let me know!]

#percy x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy x y/n #percy x you #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson fic #fanfic #fanfiction #emma writes ₊˚⊹⋆#percy x popstar au ₊ ⊹

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ldrfanatic · 4 months

Text

Theodore Nott "13"

Theo Nott; Taylor Swift; A cohesive mini-fic series following my favorite songs from every Taylor Swift album as follows;

synopsis - amidst the turmoil of your final years at hogwarts, you found your heart intertwined with theodore nott's. despite the darkness looming, your love for each other bloomed like a rare flower. but destiny, ever fickle, seemed determined to tear you apart.

chapters are based off of my favorite taylor swift songs from each album :)

Series Title: "13"

chapter list

1 i just wanna know you better | "everything has changed" from the Red album

2 you might still have me | "should've said no" from the Fearless album

3 love made me crazy | "don't blame me" from the Reputation album

4 sitting in the corner i haunt | "right where you left me" bonus track from the Evermore

5 the night i nearly lost you | "the great war" from the Midnights album

6 i think your house is haunted | "seven" from the Folklore album

7 when the sun came up | "out of the woods" from the 1989 album

8 that's my whole world | "miss americana & the heartbreak prince" from the Lover album

9 kiss in cars and downtown bars | "cardigan" from the Folklore album

10 wherever you stray, i'll follow | "willow" from the Evermore album

11 if you'd say you'd rather love than fight | "story of us" from the Speak Now album

12 so casually cruel | "all too well" from the Red Taylor's Version album

13 i had the time of my life | "long live" from the Speak Now album

14 screw me up forever | "suburban legends" from the 1989 Taylor's Version album

15 golden | "daylight" from the Lover album

A/N - if you're gonna read this prepare to cry

#slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #taylor swift fanfiction

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wongyuseokie · 3 months

Text

Broken Illusions: A Seventeen-Three-Story Series 💔

Summary: Here are some of the angstiest stories I've ever written, haha. If you've been here a while, then these stories might look familiar to you, but these were once written for a different group, but I wanted to write a Seventeen Version instead. Some of these have happy endings, and some very much don't. Indi's Notes: do let me know if you wish to be tagged in any of these stories. All these fics contain smut, and are nsfw, so only those who are 18+ will be tagged. Thank you to my lovely @wooahaeproductions and @highvern for helping me brainstorm as well. Yes, these are based of Taylor Swift Songs, but its just because these three songs spoke to me.

All Too Well | c.s.c

Summary: You thought you met the man of your dreams. He was everything that you ever wanted, but what happens when that dream falls apart, and what happens when that man is no longer the one you recognise, but you want to love him against all odds because you believe things can be better.

Word Count: 21202 words

Age: 18+

Pairings: Professor! Choi Seungcheol x Female Reader

Warnings: TBA

Exile | k.m.g

Summary: You two were high school sweethearts, and your love story was something only found in the scripts of a shitty teenage rom-com, but he was a jock, and you were shy and quiet. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it did, but now, fast forward ten years and things aren’t the same. Your lives aren’t the same, he’s stuck in the past, and you’re only focusing on the future. Neither of you has your priorities straight, and neither of you realises that your present is a complete and utter mess. You won’t let him go because he’s all you’ve ever known, and he won’t let you go because you’re the only thing right in his life but will love and high school promises keep you two together?

Word Count: 20,341 words

Age: 18+

Pairings: Kim Mingyu x Female Reader

Warnings: TBA

Teardrops on My Guitar | h.j.s (Coming 30th June 2024)

Summary: You loved him, but he was your best friend, and while he sometimes blurred the lines, he never saw you more than a friend, but since he was your best friend and you were so in love, you’d break yourself apart for him. You watched him fall in love with everyone, but you, only question for how long?

Word Count: 19,770 words

Age: 18+

Pairings: Joshua Hong x Female Reader

Warnings: TBA Taglist: (i'm tagging some folks who i think would be interested) @dkluvrsclub @wooahaeproductions @stayinhellevator @aaniag @ressonancee @seungkwansphd @tomodachiii @gyuminusone @bitchlessdino @zezedoesshit @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @noiceoofed @joonsytip @miniseokminnies @wonwoos-wineparty @persnyako @deobienthusiast @gyuwoncheol @gyuswhore @shuadotcom @the-boy-meets-evil @multi-kpop-fanfics @ourdawnishotterthanourday @thegirlwhoimagined @starlight-night0 @dreamsbloomout @aaasia111 @wongyuuu @ana-marais98 @gaslysainz @cherrylita @soonyoonswoo

#seventeen fic #svthub #kvanity #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff

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harlowcomehome · 2 months

Text

The start of forever:

Series link.

A/N: The engagement fic is finally here! Thank you for being patient. This is a lengthy one! ◡̈

Jack helped you onto the private jet, grabbing your hand with his free one as you walked up the narrow steps. Things between the two of you had been a lot more calm now that you had your own place and had settled into it.

Neelam, Chris, Urban, and Clay were already seated and ready to leave when you two had finally boarded.

“Aubrey really hooked us up!” You giggled as you looked around the private jet at the custom leather interior. You had never been on a private jet before and were blown away at the opportunity presenting itself.

“Aubrey huh?” He let out an unamused chuckle knowing you only called him that to garner his attention making both Clay and Urban laugh to themselves too knowing how territorial Jack could get over you.

“Aubs. Aubrey. Drizzy didn’t tell you we are on a first-name basis?” You giggled as you sat down in your seat with Jack beside you. He seemed tense, flexing his jaw as you two took your seats. You noticed he seemed off all morning, wondering if he hadn’t been sleeping much. You knew he wasn’t used to taking time off, and had been incredibly overwhelmed lately chalking it up to that.

“You know I was joking right?” You reassured him leaning over to him and taking his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “What time did you get to bed last night? I don’t remember waking up when you got in” Your face wore a look of concern that he knew too well.

His demeanor changed quickly, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. “Yeah, you were out cold! Snoring and all” he teased squeezing your ticklish knee and making you jump, you felt your cheeks get warm as the rest of the jet crew giggled along at you both.

Neelam was on ring duty, she had checked her bag dozens of times, worried the ring box had suddenly grown a pair of legs and gone missing. It wasn’t until Jack had given her a look of disapproval that she realized it might be obvious of her.

Looking back at everyone’s behavior this day was something you had taken note of later but in the moment you had no idea that this trip was going to significantly change your life.

••••

Jack had rented a romantic oceanfront private villa for the two of you, while everyone else stayed in another nearby.

“Baby, this is beautiful” You were nearly speechless as Jack set your bags down in the room.

“You like it?” He hid his enormous smile behind his hand. “I was hoping you would.”

“I love it!” You smiled as you took the room in, you had stayed in a lot of hotels with Jack but this was by far the best.

You were just getting settled when he pretended to receive a text, reading it out loud only hoping you wouldn’t want to look at his phone to verify. “Something came up. Hope everyone still has a good time” Jack clicked his tongue, pretending to be upset as he threw his head back.

“He’s not coming?” You scanned Jack's face for reaction, wondering if he was going to change his mind about being on vacation.

“Guess not, but that means we have more time to ourselves” Jack grabbed you by the waist and pulled you onto the bed, hovering above you as you lay underneath him. Drake had never planned on coming, he helped Jack with the private jet but otherwise, it was a ruse to get you here but that was a story he’d tell you much later.

“What about the song though?” You looked up at him, your eyes set on his lips as you waited for him to lean down and kiss you.

He shrugged before he kissed you, hoping it would also distract you from asking more questions as his stomach was already in knots. He was trying his best to keep you from noticing but it didn’t help that you knew him a little too well.

“Let’s not talk about work. Do you want to try out that pool?” Jack got up from the bed to open the blinds revealing the private pool on your patio.

“Thee Jack Harlow is willingly getting in a pool? Someone alert TMZ” you teased as you followed him to the window, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaving kisses on his bare back.

“I’m on vacation mode now” he blushed, trying to find ways to pass the time, knowing he only had to successfully get through the next few hours.

As you got changed into your bathing Jack sent a quick text to Clay, who was on “Layla duty.” Jack knew you’d want her there and she agreed to FaceTime your family who couldn’t make it in person. Hiding that from you was giving him excruciating anxiety and a wicked stomachache.

“I’m going to get in babe!” He rushed outside trying to hide his nerves, even when his voice cracked a bit.

“Okay, I’ll be right there!” You fixed your hair a final time before following him outside. He was leaning against the lip of the pool with his back toward you, looking at the ocean. You decided to snap a quick picture of him for memories sake before joining him in the heated pool.

“This feels so good” You playfully splashed him as you got in making him shutter as he didn’t expect the water to hit him, droplets dragging down his back.

“Don’t start. I’ll take us both underwater” he warned with a smile as you wrapped your legs around him. The two of you bobbed around in the pool together for a bit.

“Thank you for this” you sighed, looking over at the start of a sunset, his eyes still on you, taking in your beauty.

“For what?” He hummed, still distracted.

“Everything” You took his face into your hands, leaning in for a kiss. His kisses felt more desperate than usual, he was noticeably breathing hard in between, as his hands explored your backside.

“I love you, you know that?” He whispered as you kissed him once more.

“I love you too handsome. How long do we have until dinner?” You wondered what his urgency was about, your intuition telling you something was going on with him.

“Oh shit! Dinner” he pretended to forget, leaning over to grab his phone and check the time. He put his acting skills to the test, pretending to be frustrated by something he read on his phone. “Urban needs my help with something, while you shower I’ll go see what he wants” he rolled his eyes hoping to really sell it.

“Don’t you need to shower?” You laughed, wondering why he was so jittery, watching as he quickly changed into a lounge set of clothes.

“I’ll just take one in Urbans room” he shrugged, his mouth suddenly drier than usual. He gave you a fast kiss before you could ask any other questions and rushed out of the room letting you get ready.

Jack had rushed over to the restaurant he rented out meeting Layla, Urban, Clay, and his managers, Chris and Neelam. The color was completely gone from Jack's face as Layla gave him a big hug, she could feel the nerves radiating off of him.

“Hey! It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be amazing” Layla held his arm and made sure to make eye contact.

Jack nervously swallowed, “I know! I’m just— this is all happening so fast. Neelam, do you have the ring?”

Neelam nodded, showing Jack the ring box to ease his mind.

Clay and Urban exchanged looks, a quiet understanding from both of them. They knew Jack had never known a love like this. You had completely changed his life and on top of his career budding and growing at a rapid speed it was overwhelming but in the best of ways and sometimes that was intimidating.

Jack had arranged a beach-view dinner with a floral walkway, the finishing touches were almost complete, he just wanted to make sure he put a hand in it. He had placed the shimmery silver tablecloth on the table with shaky hands. He moved the flower arrangements and candlelight to where he saw fit, standing back and admiring the large three-foot-tall “Marry Me?” marquee sign he had paid way too much for.

Clay walked over to his older brother laying a hand on his shoulder as Jack turned to him and smiled. “You’re still FaceTiming Mom and Dad right?” Jack needed to be reassured that everyone knew their duties.

“Yeah, and Layla is calling Y/N’s family when it’s time. Don’t worry” Clay smiled knowing that would be the follow-up question.

“What if after all this she says no? Wouldn’t that be wild?” He smirked as his eyes widened to show he was only joking.

A boisterous laugh escaped from Jack, it was what he needed to lighten the mood.

He was worried that for some reason you might say no, and he had no idea why. You had spent the last year and some change talking about this exact moment, late nights intertwined in bed as you spoke about future kid's names and plans for the both of you. A part of him felt like he didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve a love like this on top of all his other major successes. Why was he so lucky? Why him?

“But seriously bro, I’m happy for you” Clay and Jack weren’t usually emotional with one another but he knew this was a special circumstance.

“Thanks, Clay, that means a lot” The two of them walked back into the restaurant as everyone was talking amongst each other.

“I just need to go shower and then it’s go time.”

Urban handed him his key card to his villa. “Your suit is in the closet, cologne on the counter.”

Neelam handed him the ring box, Jack thanked her before turning to the room. “I’ll text Layla when we are walking this way. Thank you guys” he left quickly, worried you were growing suspicious.

As soon as Jack left the room everyone started to discuss the events that would follow. Clay, Urban and Layla sat at the bar together while Neelam and Chris talked about logistics.

“I can’t believe my best friend is getting engaged” Layla broke the awkward silence before ordering herself a fruity mixed drink.

“Same” Urban mumbled as he looked through his camera settings to make sure he was prepared for the dark lighting. He wasn’t sure how to act around Layla, the feelings he had for her still confused him and now that she was seemingly going to be around for the rest of his life he didn’t want to complicate things more.

“I always thought I’d get married first if I’m being honest” Clay laughed as he threw back a shot of tequila.

“Same” Urban repeated earning a slight smile from Layla.

Layla's phone chimed making the entire room come to a standstill as all eyes were eagerly on her.

“Jack said he’s going to the room now to get her and we should all get in position!”

••••

Jack was vague about dinner, telling you it would be formal wear and that was the only detail he was willing to share. You had recalled FaceTiming Layla for her opinions before committing to a dress, and now that it was on you, you knew you had made the right choice.

Your phone vibrated against the marble counter as you finished putting the finishing touches together, quickly clasping your necklace on before answering his call.

“Is it dinner time?” You were starving and ready to get the night going, earning a chuckle from your soon-to-be fiancé.

“Hello to you too!” He laughed into the phone once more. “I’m around the corner, are you ready?”

“Yeah! I’ll meet you down the hall!” You hung up, grabbing your key card and a small clutch before taking a final look at yourself in the mirror.

Jack was eager to see you, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest as you walked toward him and down the hallway. You were always breathtakingly beautiful to him, but knowing what tonight entailed made everything that much deeper.

He took you into his arms, before pulling back and making you do a twirl for him, you were wearing his favorite color and a pair of heels he had bought you recently.

“You look beautiful, as always” he hummed before leaning in to kiss you.

“You clean up very nice yourself. Something about this suit really brings out your pretty eyes” you playfully giggled as you took his clammy hand in yours.

He blushed at the compliment and was worried you could hear his heart beating, the thumping was ringing in his ears as he subtly patted his suit jacket for the ring.

When you got to the restaurant you noticed the ambiance immediately, dim and covered in flowers. Jack had beads of sweat forming on his forehead as your breath hitched. You noticed a few photos blown up of the two of you, from when you started dating to now.

“Oh my—“

Jack started to speak, as he continued to hold your hand. His voice was shaky but he knew it was now or never.

“As we enter the room you’re probably immediately aware of what’s going on.” A nervous pitchy giggle laced with emotions came from his chest.

He guided you down the walkway, speechless as you realized what was happening.

The moment was surreal, you felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of you, in the best way possible. Layla and Clay were waiting at the end of the walkway with their phones up, Layla waved to you as you held back tears.

“Oh my gosh, Layla! Hi,” your voice cracked earning small giggles from the room.

Urban was capturing photos of the two of you as Jack walked with you to stand in front of the marquee sign.

“Jackman- baby, is this real?” your voice trembled as you stood in front of him. He smiled and nodded before clearing his throat to speak.

“From the moment we met on that rooftop, I knew my life would be forever changed with you in it. People always talk about that immediate instantly feeling of knowing when you found your person and with all the blessings I’ve had in my life, I didn’t think I’d be one of the lucky ones until I met you.” A tear fell from his eye, that you instinctively wiped away as he continued to speak.

“Waking up next to you, makes me feel like the luckiest man in the world. Being with you has not only made me a better man but a better friend, son, artist, and person and hopefully I’ll be an amazing husband if you’ll have me. I want to choose you today and every day for the rest of my life.” His entire face was blushing, as you were fully crying now as he got on one knee.

“Yes! Yes!”

“Wait baby, let me ask the right way!” He couldn’t hold back his laughter as he pulled the ring out from his suit jacket pocket.

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

You were ecstatic, your cheeks hurt from smiling, your eyes stung from crying and you couldn’t have said yes any faster if you tried.

“Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you!” You squealed as the room roared with clapping and cheering. Jack slid the ring on the correct ring finger, standing up to kiss you as fireworks went off in the distance.

“Holy shit, we’re getting married?” You gasped in shock as you took another look at your finger.

“We’re getting married” he nodded, knowing this feeling was indescribable and that you were in shock too.

“You’re my future husband” your voice cracked as you kissed him again, he used his thumb to wipe your tears as you pulled away.

“You’re my future wife” he repeated back to you as the two of you held eye contact, the room was full of noise and people you loved but for you both, it felt like it was only the two of you.

#Jack Harlow #Jack Harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow blurb #Jack Harlow fanfic #Jack Harlow series

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abbyshands · 2 months

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🇵🇸 LINKS | before engaging !!! | click before you fic ♡ | m. list | join my tag list!

do me a favour by am makes me think about loser!abby, smoker, drank alcohol, shitty grades, who you were irrevocably enamored by. you were popular, a pretty girl, but smart, witty, kind, fun. you could usually find abby buried in an alleyway of your college, cigarette perched in her lips. playing it off like she didn’t have a care in the goddamn world. and usually? she didn’t. but there was a loophole, always was: and it was you. she fell for you by accident when you were paired for a project in one of your classes. she figured she would hate you: you were a part of a group of people who bullied her senseless on a daily basis. you weren’t proud of it, but you had to admit it: your friend group of popular, rich girls could be pretty goddamn snobby. but when you and abby’s first meet ended in a makeout session, she knew it wasn’t going to be what she had envisioned. but there was one more issue: her. abby anderson didn’t get fucking feelings for people. the only thing she’d shown love to in this world up to this point was a bottle of bourbon. the only closeness she had when it came to a human aside from her, was the drug shop clerk who sold her cigarettes once every few weeks. abby loser anderson, falling for a pretty girl? what a fucking joke. she capped it when she began to feel it: her feelings beginning to spill out of her, too much, too soon. and maybe she should keep them bottled up forever. she was feeling this thing for you, this utterly repulsive emotion she couldn’t get a grasp on. and all her life, she had heard a word, a word hurled around like it was candy. and it began with an “l,” didn’t take a genius to know it, but, god, it just couldn’t be that. so abby breaks it off. you say whatever, despite your hurt feelings. and you move on. sometimes, she wished you had been the one to end it. then, she wouldn’t feel so fucking guilty. guilt. guilt. guilt. she had fucked up. done it, lost you, and how could she? she’s back at your door weeks later. a girl who isn’t you answers it, and she knows she’s fucked up now. done it, lost you, she had done it. and she wasn’t sure if she could undo it. you come up behind the girl who’s lips had just been on yours, ushering her out of the way, and you cross your arms as you look at abby. her eyes have bags. she looks like she hasn’t been to sleep in weeks. and her face is solemn. you frown. she indulges, gives into the feelings she’s been bottling up for eons. and she spills it, voices all you had needed to hear from her … three weeks ago. that she loved you, that she needed you. you tell her, honest, fuck off. because if she really loved you? she would have come to her senses a long time ago. you had forgotten. you were moving on. and by now, all things considered? perhaps fuck off might be too kind.

adding in this lyric as well: “curiosity becomes a heavy load, too heavy to hold, too heavy to hold,” abby didn’t know shit about what it meant to love somebody else: to give your heart to them, and only them, in full. she didn’t understand this desire to go on dates, you by her side. or to hear your voice, your laugh, see you smile, be the one to make you smile. she didn’t understand what she was feeling for you. someone so perfect, someone too good for her. and so, when she could’ve just made a point to understand her feelings, she shut down instead. and at what cost? she wanted to make an effort, but now, it was too late. you were too far gone for apologies, meaningless words. it’s always been said that curiosity killed the cat. and abby anderson, was the embodiment.

a/n; wanna make this into an ongoing series so if any songs cross your pretty minds in regards to that ,, please let me know ♡

divider creds !

#yes i’m in an angst mood this week #leave me alone #</3 #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson imagines #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #the last of us #the last of us part two #tlou

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discokicks · 10 months

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BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life.

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care.

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting.

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours.

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers.

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something.

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt?

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so.

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth.

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be.

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth.

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it.

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you.

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter.

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis.

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him.

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand.

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number.

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read.

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning.

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names.

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you.

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you.

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.)

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee.

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you.

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight?

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes.

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it.

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat.

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past.

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember.

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips.

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is.

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.”

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him.

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs.

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point.

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply.

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back.

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips.

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say.

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close.

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.”

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make.

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing.

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so.

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings.

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention.

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating.

me too.

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with.

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #bad ideas #the one who's not a loser but THEE loser #discowrites

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely.

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse.

Get in line.

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue.

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened.

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch.

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him.

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him.

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen.

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions.

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes.

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back.

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath.

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before.

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago.

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit.

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun.

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes.

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully.

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate.

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed.

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers.

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you.

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again.

You shake your head. “This…sucks.”

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand.

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you.

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself.

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfic #tlou hbo #the last of us #fluff #angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #hi please read this and say nice things to me i worked really really hard on this #writing #fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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cinnaminsvga · 4 months

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🥀 | yoongi

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ vampire!yoongi ft. lots of miscommunication (all because newly-turned yoongi doesn't know how to talk to women lol) | 2.6K words → a/n: SURPRISE i am miraculously alive and well (?) back at it again with some weird monsterfucker propaganda... it's been months since i've written a fic so pardon the lacking quality but i Am Trying... also i added ghost!maknaeline bc i think they'd be cute... umm this might become a series if anyone is interested but i think it works as a standalone... enjoy!!!

When Yoongi first agreed to being turned, he never imagined being so tired all the time. Even as a mortal, Yoongi had never been the most energetic soul. He preferred loafing around at home or reading a nice book by the fire. He rarely left his drafty villa, always isolated despite the nearby town. The most cardio he would ever do was when he’d take the few steps needed to get to his piano and play a few soft songs for the ghosts wandering down his halls.

He knew the neighbors liked to whisper about him, liked to refer to him as a local boogeyman to scare naughty children. “Beware the man who sold his soul to the devil,” they warned, though Yoongi supposes their silly rumors weren’t so far from the truth. Although, it was only a month ago that he did “sell his soul,” just not for the reasons that people might have expected.

Still, being a vampire was still very strange and new to Yoongi. He’d known about spirits and ghosts for as long as he can remember, but even he thought that creatures of the night were nothing more than an urban legend. All it took was one high-stakes game of cards and an empty promise to pay back a debt for Yoongi to realize that it probably isn’t smart to make deals with ghoulish-looking men in strange clothing in the first place.

It wasn’t all bad, save for the never-ending fatigue and deathly pallor to his skin. He was still Yoongi, just… worse, if you will.

For safety’s sake, he hadn’t told anyone about it. He was a bit embarrassed, to be honest. If his brother found out, he’d surely get an earful (or a stake through his heart, though Yoongi hopes his Seokjin hyung would remember all the good times they had together). Most importantly, he could absolutely NEVER tell you about his turning. That would be absolutely humiliating.

You were a witch doctor he had met just a few weeks prior to his turning. You had just moved into his sleepy town as a “pharmacist” who could “magically” make any ailment disappear. You had decided to move there on a whim after being exhausted from the high-paced nature of the big city.

You had spotted a small line of ghosts trailing after him on the night you had moved in. He had been on the way to the convenience store for a caffeine fix, and you had been on the way there to grab a couple of toiletries you had forgotten to pack.

You were so sweet, shyly approaching him under the guise of asking him if he could reach for a snack on a high shelf. But he could see your worried gaze fixed on the three spectral children climbing on his back, though he did nothing to shoo them away. After all, they had no mass, so as long as they didn’t lick his neck or something weird, he was fine with letting them be menaces.

When he had his back turned away from you to grab your snack, he could hear you quietly telling the ghosts to get off of him. They only laughed in response, their giggles always sounding a little muffled and distorted.

Yoongi plucked the bag of chips from the shelf and turned back to you, catching a glimpse of your annoyed expression before you could school it back into something more neutral.

“Is something the matter?” Yoongi asked smoothly, handing you the bag. He amusedly watched as your brows furrowed, not even hiding that you were glaring pointedly at the little gremlins making faces at you from his shoulder.

Jungkook, the youngest of the three ghosts, climbed on Yoongi’s head before proceeding to pull down his pants, mooning you with his spectral ass.

“Uh, nothing,” you eventually said, huffing indignantly as you stomped away. Yoongi caught you discreetly poking your tongue out in annoyance before you turned to another aisle.

Thus began your cautious attempts at exorcising him without trying to “alert” him to it. It was amusing to watch you try to “save” him from the three little ghosts that decided to cling onto him, and it was even more amusing to watch you fail repeatedly every time.

Yoongi made no comment when you were suddenly bumping into him everywhere he went. There was always a terse grin on your face as you performed as many anti-ghost spells as you could, but none of them ever seemed to work. The truth was, ghosts could only be exorcised if the haunted person in question wanted them to leave, but Yoongi had found himself a little fond of these stupid little kids. They might be slowly sucking the life force out of him, but Yoongi didn’t really care. They were just kids, and he’s always been too soft for his own good.

Your many encounters with him created a subtle friendship of sorts, one that Yoongi found himself enjoying. He was never been one to foster friendships with living beings, but perhaps your sweet attempts to save his soul might have defrosted his little grinch heart. But he wouldn’t ever tell you that, of course.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that you were very pretty, for that matter. He certainly would NEVER tell you that as well.

Was he feeling guilty for not telling you about his ability to see ghosts? Slightly. But was it cute watching you trying to outsmart three little ghost babies to no avail? Very much so.

So, Yoongi stayed quiet and enjoyed your company, even if you had no idea who he was or what type of things he was capable of.

That was until he got into that damn bet with the stupid bloodsucker.

Probably shouldn’t call him that, given that I’ve become one myself, Yoongi groaned internally. He’d been hiding in his house for a month now, and your “random” visits were surely on the horizon. He wasn’t sure if you’d immediately clock that he’d turned into a vampire, but he wasn’t going to risk it. If you found out, then you’d find out about everything, and that wouldn’t be a good impression.

Yoongi knew he wasn’t great at interacting with people, let alone people he had a crush on. But at least he knew that lying to someone for extended periods of time was probably not in his favor.

Little Jungkook fluttered close to him, his smoky form twinkling from the moonlight streaming through the living room windows. “When is the pretty witch coming to visit?” he asked, a little forlorn. Among the three ghosts, Jungkook was the one who’d grown attached to you the most. “I miss playing with her…”

Yoongi sighed, rubbing his face. “Hopefully never,” he responded, voice muffled by his hands. He peered through his fingers and saw the two other kids floating by his doorway.

Jimin, the older twin, nudged Taehyung forward to speak. “Y-Yoongi… I think she’s coming soon,” Taehyung whispered, a tinge of excitement evident in his tone.

“You can’t keep hiding from her forever… She's sure to find out anyway,” Jimin warned, uncharacteristically stern.

Yoongi stretched his tired limbs, his aching back cracking as he pushed himself off his sofa. Time moved weirdly ever since he turned into a vampire. This month had felt like a day, so it was hard to tell how long he'd been sitting so still. His creaking bones gave him an idea though, that's for sure. “I know… how much do I have to bribe you three to scare her away?”

Jungkook giggled, floating over to sit on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nothing. We do that all the time for free,” he snickered.

Taehyung nodded in agreement. “It’s true… but she never seems to go away even when we do.”

“In fact, I know she thinks we’re cute,” Jimin said, and Yoongi couldn’t help but agree. Your cat and mouse game with the three idiots was probably past the point of annoyance and more towards the territory of playfulness. You likely noticed how they weren’t exactly the malicious ghosts that people feared, so you humored their antics.

(Yoongi hoped that you stuck around for him, too.)

“How much longer ’til she gets here?” Yoongi asked, walking to his bedroom. The air was stale inside the room, not having to use the bed as much as he once did. He opened his closet, trying to find some better-looking clothes than the threadbare robe he had decided to live in. He plucked a nice button-up shirt, before thinking better of it.

Am I really going to look like a stereotypical vampire when I meet her? What’s next, a cape?

“She’s a few blocks away,” Taehyung responded. The ghost paused, looking at the shirt Yoongi had put back. “No, wear that. She likes it when you wear that shirt.”

“She thinks you look regal in it,” Jimin agreed, grabbing his only pair of slacks. “These, too. She likes your butt in them.”

If Yoongi were still human, he’d probably blush. “I told you boys it’s rude to eavesdrop on her thoughts,” he scolded.

“You like the reassurance, though…” Jungkook muttered, but Yoongi ignored him.

“Two minutes away…!” Taehyung reminded him before disappearing. The two others followed suit, likely going to meet you before you arrived. Yoongi sighed, a headache slowly forming by his temple.

As promised, after two minutes, there was a knock from his front door. As Yoongi reluctantly approached and reached for the doorknob, he could hear you arguing playfully with his little friends.

“Taehyung, no pulling! I just got my hair fixed,” you whined. Despite your words, Yoongi could hear the affection in your voice, plain as day.

“You look really pretty today, noona…” Jungkook giggled, and Yoongi could imagine Jungkook placing a chaste kiss on your cheek in greeting. “Are you finally gonna tell hyung about your crush on him?”

“What are you talking about?!” you yelped. Yoongi heard something fall, then a string of curses from you. “Oh gosh, the food! I hope nothing spilled…”

“Don’t worry, noona. I doubt Yoongi hyung is hungry,” Jimin giggled slyly. “Unless you count how he’s hungry for you…”

Before you could reply to Jimin’s out-of-pocket comment, Yoongi swung open the door, an alarmed expression on his face. “H-hey, Y/N,” he began, a little awkwardly. He cleared his throat, trying to appear as if he hadn’t heard anything at all. “What do I owe this pleasure?”

You froze when Yoongi suddenly appeared. You were in the midst of rearranging the plastic bags of take-out food with your jaw agape, likely about to chastise Jimin for his rudeness. You floundered for a second before straightening up quickly. Your cheeks were a cute shade of red.

(Yeah, maybe he was a little hungry…)

“Yoongi! Oh god, sorry, I was just…” you stumbled for a moment, trying to figure out a way to explain yourself. Behind you, the three stooges grinned evilly, full of satisfaction.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asked instead, bending down to gather your bags. The smell of take-out Chinese wafted into his nose, and he had to hide his growing smile. His favorite food, you had remembered. If he could eat, he’d be salivating.

“Yoongi hyung is salivating for a different reason…” Taehyung muttered, reading his thoughts. Yoongi and your eyes widened in alarm, causing the three kids to guffaw in response.

“Sorry, I was on the phone with somebody and the bags slipped,” you coughed, quickly grabbing the rest of the bags. In your haste, your hands accidentally touched, making you gasp in surprise.

“Gosh, Yoongi! Your hands are terribly cold! Are you alright…?” you asked, trailing off. When you tore your gaze away from his pale hand, you slowly turned to face him fully. Due to the uproar caused by the kids earlier, you hadn't been able to look at Yoongi properly since you arrived.

Yoongi braced himself, a terse smile on his lips.

You observed him silently, a mysterious emotion flitting through your face. Yoongi saw the way your gaze shifted to the injury on his neck, which he had recklessly forgotten to at least try to cover up. The dots were connecting, and Yoongi waited for you to make the first move.

To his surprise, you started by staring inquisitively at the kids. “Did you guys…?” you asked, suspicious. This was the first time you had openly addressed them in front of him, and Yoongi was shocked. Not only for that, but for also potentially thinking that they were to blame, somehow. Didn’t you trust them by now?

Jimin looked affronted, scoffing at your train of thought. “Us? Of course not! Why on earth would we do that to hyung?”

Jungkook huffed, wrapping an arm around your waist with a sad pout. “Yeah! Why would we hurt hyung on purpose? You don’t think we’d do that, right?” he asked, eyes watering with hurt tears.

Immediately, your expression softened. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” you trailed off, sighing. As if remembering where you were, you snapped back to reality, staring incredulously at Yoongi as if he’d grown three heads. Well, or turned into a vampire, he supposed.

“Yoongi! What on earth happened?” you asked, terrified for him. Or perhaps, terrified of him? Yoongi knew he should be feeling guilty, or embarrassed, or maybe a little ashamed, but all he could see was your worry for him, and his dead little heart would have skipped a beat if it still could. God, he was pathetic.

Instead of answering you truthfully, Yoongi chose to run away from his problems, like he always did. “It’s just a mosquito bite,” he explained lamely. He rubbed the very conspicuous marks in question, wincing slightly. It might have been a month since he turned, but it still felt as tender as it did the day it happened.

You stared at him, unimpressed. “In the middle of winter? When you rarely step out of your house?” you asked sarcastically. You gave him a steely glare. “Be serious with me for a second, Yoongi.”

But Yoongi couldn’t. He couldn’t tell you, or else he’d literally die a second death, from embarrassment or heartbreak, he couldn’t tell.

“I… I don’t actually know,” Yoongi lied. It was sort of true. He didn’t know that the stupid bet would actually mean he’d give up his soul to pay for an impossible debt. He had been swindled, that was it. He still didn’t understand how he could’ve been so stupid.

“He didn’t know he was stupid… what a joke,” Jimin murmured, causing the others to giggle in turn. You and Yoongi ignored them.

When he didn’t explain further, your shoulders slumped, defeated. You likely didn’t believe him one bit, but you were never the type to push. You were probably as shy as he was, which had caused its fair share of misunderstandings in the past. Most of the time, those misunderstandings helped Yoongi, though he often wished that he didn’t need them. One day, he’d be honest with you, but for now…

“May I come in, Yoongi? There’s something I have to tell you…” you started, eyes shifting behind you. The kids hovered closer, watching you with curiosity.

Yoongi felt the air turn colder, though he wasn’t sure if it was just him, the wind, or the ghosts doing it. Or maybe it was you.

Yoongi opened the door wider, gesturing for you to come in. “Please, make yourself at home…” he whispered before closing the door gently.

Outside, the three boys didn’t make a move to come in.

“Now… we wait,” Jimin whispered. The other two nodded, faces determined. They floated to the second floor of Yoongi’s villa, still keeping their ears to the floor. As much as they wanted to interrupt, they knew this was an important development for the two of you. They wanted to give you a false sense of privacy, but they could never stop themselves from hearing the gossip. God knows that these rascals would be bored without their daily dose of real telenovela romance.

In the living room, Yoongi took a seat as far away from you on the couch as possible. He laced his hands with an iron grip, forcing himself to stop any fidgeting.

Breaking the silence, you sighed tiredly. “So… where do I begin?”

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts x reader #min yoongi #the sleep deprived series #this has been IN MY DRAFTS for months now....#god i am so stuck in my monster phase #i want to write more... MORE...#is this what it feels like to be inspired #idk who i think i am but man... love this guy #kinda obsessed with this au tee bee aych

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video-game-luvr · 1 month

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80's themed Honkai Star Rail!

A/N: Let me cook! Let me cook! These prompts will be made into yandere fics, if you guys enjoy it, the smut will come eventually.. If you folks dig it! Just be patient and let me cook! I haven't ever posted actual fics or series so my work isn't the best but I still hope you bunch enjoy it nonetheless! Feel free to correct me or tell me if it's OOC! I am always open to improving! English was not my first language.

My ask box is open for ideas and thirsts! Maybe an 80s slasher theme next? A serial killer is on the loose! Who could be behind the mass disappearances!

Neighbourhood dilfy uncle Gallagher, who is friends with your parents... This prompt would also work so well with Jingyuan! Your parents just trust their friends so much, don't they?

Welt being that hot librarian with a mature charm. You can't help but gaze at his veiny and calloused hands, holding that book, and scrutinizing everything about the contents of the book.

Sneaking out at night to skate around with Caelus and Luka!

Dan Heng who is part of a band, as a bassist. Walking around everywhere with his headphones on. Talking about music with him, and him sharing all his favourite songs with you by giving you a custom made cassette! (Though it was probably pirated)

Going to a cassette store and befriending Dan Heng gives you butterflies. The usually cold and hard-to-approach Dan Heng was now your friend!

Gepard being the local heartthrob, he is such a sweet man, always helping his neighbours with carrying their groceries to their house. Funnily enough, this man is also really clumsy. Your mom asked for his help in changing a light bulb, only for him to fall over from the ladder, luckily he didn't get any major injuries from it.

More about Gepard, he is part of the baseball club! His broad figure and precise aim makes him perfect for it! Just about everyone has a crush on this brawny oaf! He is such a himbo. He can definitely do no harm!

Rock star Blade/Yingxing! It just makes so much sense! Especially if his band is punk, definitely an alternative band for sure, even if it's not punk. Just cheering for him with all your heart, and seeing him throw a wink your way.. Orz "Meet me behind stage." He mouthed to you. The cold arrogant star took a liking to you! Now this is exciting!

Ah yes, Sunday. The epitome of a perfect man. A role model for everyone in school. (Probably a preppy private school) His drive to keep things in order is commendable. All of his perfect execution as a school president isn't limited to the school. He also most definitely goes to church and organizes youth events, leading the choir, you name it!

However, under that flawless persona. Sunday is probably hiding some deep dark secrets. Who knows what that man is thinking.(It's giving... cult leader!)

Playing videogames with Caelus! Who has been your trusty neighbour for years! Your first encounter was him digging into piles of junk, you were really weirded out at first, and probably refused to play with him. But with enough nagging from your mom, you slowly warmed up to the idea of being friends with that weird silly neighbour of yours. From that point on, you guys started to play videogames together! Caelus has started to change over time, he seems to not be able to focus on videogames anymore.. His face oddly becomes red when he catches you gazing at his face. Without your knowledge, someone's love has started to bud and bloom. (He wants you so bad! You might regret befriending this weird kid!)

Himeko is the absolute hot aunt! The resident MILF! Every time she talks with your mom, you can't help but stare at how beautiful she is. She can't help but tease you about how adorable you look with that flushed face of yours. Your mother trusts her with all her heart. I'm sure she wouldn't do anything twisted.

Argenti, an art student. His vision of what beauty is is directly painted onto the canvas. He is incredibly passionate about his vision. A beautiful birth, a beautiful life, a beautiful end to life. He may seem a bit eccentric at times, but he means well... Right? (He is probably a cult member... Not Sunday's though. He is a follower of the path of beauty!)

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 4: The House Of Glass]

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, koi fish, smoking, drinking, drugs, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, impractical architecture, angst, Adventures With Aegon, historical topics including war and discrimination, let's all give a nice warm welcome to Christabel! 🥳

Word Count: 7.4k.

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

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 🥰🧁

It’s dawn, but you’ve already been up for hours. The sky turns from indigo to embers to flames to a cool, cloudless blue; mourning doves coo, goldfinches chirp, swamp rabbits gnaw on blades of grass glittering with dewdrops like diamonds. As the vanilla bean cake bakes in the oven, you go to Cadi’s room, sit on the edge of her bed, lay a hand lightly on the indistinct knoll that is your daughter curled up beneath her Rambo-themed blanket.

You murmur as she stirs awake: “Bonjour, ma cherie.”

Cadi rolls over, blinking groggily. You don’t call her this often. It’s something you picked up from Willis when you were married. You have a vision—sudden, jarring, though not entirely unwelcome—of him pacing back and forth with Cadi in his arms, one month old, 1 a.m., Willis humming some Cajun folk song to lull her to sleep. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I called Cascade Stables, there’s a spot reserved for you.”

“What? Really?!” Her face glows, Christmas lights, the Fourth of July. “But you said…how…?”

You can’t take the credit. You won’t give it to Willis if it’s unearned. “Actually, Aemond offered to pay. So you don’t need to worry about anything. The house is fine, the car is fine. No need to sacrifice your birthday presents.”

Cadi sits upright and ponders you, enigmatic childish confusion. “Mom…is Aemond your boyfriend?”

Well, honey, at first he was just some stranger from a kinky personal ad and then he was a delicious distraction and now I fear I might be starting to want more from him, something not so temporary, something forbidden. But I don’t know who he is. “I don’t think it’s quite that serious yet,” you say instead. “Would you like for him to be around more?”

She shrugs, and you recognize it not as true reluctance but rather as feigned, self-preserving indifference. “Yeah. I mean, I guess so. He’s okay.” Then she adds: “What happened to his face?”

“I honestly don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Maybe he was in a war,” Cadi says, glancing down at her Rambo blanket, Sylvester Stallone armed and stern and shirtless.

“Um, yeah, maybe.”

“Can I have cake for breakfast?”

“No, you cannot,” you say, smiling. “But you can have some of Amir’s leftover jambalaya that’s still in the fridge.”

“Fine.”

“Get up. Get ready. Amir should be here soon, once he can watch the cakes I’ll drive you to school.”

“If you let me stay home, I could help you bake.”

“You definitely wouldn’t help. You’d just spend eight hours playing that Nintendo.”

Cadi grins. “Probably.” Then she rolls out of bed and shuffles towards the kitchen over the creaking, sinking floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, what the fuck,” you hiss to yourself as you park behind Willis’ sheriff’s vehicle—a Plymouth Gran Fury—which just so happens to be towing a 20-foot jon boat. You step outside into glaring 90-degree sunshine, slam the door of your Chevy Celebrity, and jog into the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office. You are carrying a white bakery box full of cherry cobbler muffins.

“Hey sugar,” Willis drawls when he sees you. The holding cells are empty; the electric fans are whirring. Heather Locklear is simpering from where her poster is taped to the wall.

You throw the bakery box down onto his paper-strewn desk. “What the hell is that outside?”

“My new boat,” Willis says proudly. “Picked it up first thing this morning.”

“So you can get a new boat, but Cadi can’t go to horse camp?”

He throws his arms wide, exasperated. Men love to make a habit out of being exasperated by things that should be obvious. “She’s gonna get way more outta that boat than from spendin’ a week brushin’ horses! We’ll be fishin’ in it together ‘til she starts poppin’ out her own babies. If Lake Verret ain’t a puddle of oil by then. You know I’ve had three deputies resign in the past ten days? Three! I’m bleeding manpower. I can’t compete. With overtime, they can make twice as much workin’ security on the rigs.”

“I thought you voted for Reagan and his energy independence.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want them drillin’ in my neighborhood.” He flips open the box, grabs a muffin, and takes a huge, messy bite. Crumbs go flying everywhere.

“Well, Cadi is going to get to brush those horses after all,” you tell Willis. “She’ll be gone from June 24th to July 1st. Just so you know.”

His forehead crinkles as he chews. “Where’d you dig up a spare $300?”

He gave me $400, actually. “A friend offered to pay. Kind of embarrassing that they stepped up instead of you.”

Willis ignores this jab. It is uncharacteristically combative of you; but you’re hot, you’re exhausted, you have a splitting headache, you still have four cakes to finish before noon tomorrow. Sweat rolls in beads down the slope of your neck, the curve of your back. It will evaporate once you’re back outside again, once the sun bakes it off you like nightmares fade in daylight. “A friend, huh?” Willis is more fascinated than annoyed. He gnaws on his muffin, contemplating you. “The only friend I know of is Amir the Queer, and he ain’t got nothin’.”

He does; he’s just squirreling it all away for San Franscisco. “Don’t call him that. Don’t be a neanderthal.”

Willis’ thoughts are elsewhere. If not Amir, then who? Who? He asks, smirking: “You got a petit ami, sugar?”

A boyfriend, he means, a beau, a lover, a partner, a suitor. Do I? “No,” you decide. “No, he’s just a regular friend. Really.”

Willis chomps on his cherry cobbler muffin. His smirk stretches into a grin. “Sure he is.”

“Okay. You called and asked for muffins, and the muffins have been delivered. Now I gotta go. I have a hell of an order to finish for tomorrow. Which reminds me…” You take the folded piece of yellow legal pad paper out of your shorts pocket and open it to read the address of the Targaryen residence. “Where is 1066 Loch Raven Terrace? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, that’s in a brand new development, real highfalutin, mansions and all. That’s where the Jade Dragon folks are livin’. You gotta go way down 401 towards Lake Verret. Turn onto Owlet, then Egret, then Loch Raven.”

You snatch a blue pen out of the mug on his desk—World’s Best Cop, it says—to scribble the directions down on your paper. “Great. Thanks. Why’d they name it that? We don’t even have ravens in Louisiana.”

“Maybe they got ‘em back in England and the Rockefellers want to feel right at home.”

You nod. This makes sense; this is a sufficiently egotistical explanation. You check the clock on the wall; it’s almost time to get Cadi from school. “You’re picking up Cadi tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. ‘Round 8:00, as usual.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Willis asks longingly, looking nowhere in particular: “Remember when we were gonna go to Mexico for our anniversary?”

“Yeah. And I remember when we didn’t.”

He shrugs, perhaps regretful, mourning some hypothetical versions of yourselves. “I got busy. I got lazy.”

“We would have ended up in the same place, Willis. It just might have taken longer.”

“Sure,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it. He’s reaching for his second muffin as you push through the glass door and step out into the sweltering afternoon sunlight.

Twenty minutes later, you’re rolling into your driveway: windows down, cicadas screeching, a flock of pelicans flapping by overhead, Cadi singing along to Jump by Van Halen. But when you cut the engine, you catch a glimpse of something strange in your rearview mirror. You have a visitor. He’s coasting down the driveway in his red Audi Quattro, displacing a grey wave of gravel. You and Cadi climb out of your Celebrity to greet him.

“Aemond?” you say, hands on your hips, a growing involuntary smile. You weren’t supposed to see him until Saturday night, until your talk about the future, a future you both disavowed before starting to get a taste for it. “What are you doing here?!”

“I only have a minute.” When he emerges from the Quattro, he’s dragging his neon teal duffle bag.

Cadi gasps. “More Nintendo games?!”

Aemond chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, not quite.”

Cadi groans dramatically and sprints off into the house, probably to devour an ungodly amount of baked goods.

“Don’t eat the Cap’n Crunch Treats!” you shout after her. “They’re for a customer!”

Aemond strolls over to you, wearing jeans, a white tank top, and his Adidas sneakers. His ever-present Marlboro jacket has been forgotten. His hair is a mess, he’s touching his chin restlessly; he really does look like he’s in a rush. “Hey,” he says softly, returning your smile.

You point to his duffle bag. “So you’re not here to tie me up.”

“Regrettably, no.”

“Cadi was really, really happy this morning to learn that you paid for horse camp.”

“I’m glad. Please don’t mention it again.” Aemond glances to his right and spies the alligator sunbathing a few yards away, a deep swampy green and fast asleep. “Oh, fuck!” He grabs your arm, pulls you to him, walks with you briskly towards the house. “You need to get that thing turned into a purse or shoes or something.”

You laugh. “She won’t go after you. She knows you’re bigger than she is.”

“I’m not going to take your word for it.”

In the living room, Aemond tosses his duffle bag on the couch, unzips it, and lifts out a Nikon F3 digital camera. Amir peeks out of the kitchen, flour and powdered sugar dusting his palms, his forearms, his cheeks. “What the…?”

“I need a white wall,” Aemond says distractedly, peering around. The living room walls are pink, the kitchen is mint green, Cadi’s room is yellow, the bathroom is a pale blue. Cadi watches as he darts around the small house, sitting at the kitchen counter and chomping on a ginger molasses cookie. Then Aemond snaps his fingers, remembering. He turns to you. “Your bedroom has white walls.”

“And of course he knows all about your bedroom,” Amir says.

“Come with me,” Aemond orders you.

“Okay…?”

“Cadi too.”

You and Cadi follow Aemond into the bedroom, Amir trotting close behind to satisfy his curiosity. Aemond shows Cadi where to stand against the wall, in a spot where the lighting is good, no shadows, no cracks in the paint, no paintings or photographs. He raises the Nikon and gazes through the viewfinder with his right eye.

“Alright, here we go…just from the shoulders up…yeah, look at me straight-on, just like that…big smile, one two three!” He takes a picture; you can hear the click. “Beautiful! You’re Cindy Crawford! Naomi Campbell! Linda Evangelista! Let’s go again…”

Cadi giggles as she poses: a few respectable smiles, a few silly faces, a few where Aemond asks her to act serious. Cadi says, with an exaggerated grimace: “Look, I’m Mom when Daddy tries to talk to her.” Amir guffaws from the doorway.

“Your turn,” Aemond tells you, waving you over. Aemond directs you like he’s looking for excuses to touch your shoulders, your waist, your face, making minute adjustments that can’t really matter. You’re good at the serious faces, but he’s not satisfied with your smile. “No, a real one. A real smile!”

“I am really smiling!” you protest.

Aemond lowers the camera and raises an eyebrow at you. “You can do better. I’ve seen it.”

And suddenly, effortlessly, you’re beaming.

“There you go,” Aemond says in approval, and snaps a few frames. “Done.”

“What do you need pictures of us for?”

“Just a little project I’m working on,” Aemond says, evasive. He ventures back to the living room without further explanation.

As Aemond zips the Nikon into his duffle bag, you go to the kitchen to see how far Amir has gotten with the Targaryens’ engagement party order. In a dozen different icing colors, he’s painted wildflowers—your favorite since you were Cadi’s age—all over the white buttercream frosting of the vanilla bean cake. You wrap an arm around his waist, rest your head against his chest. “You’re Picasso.”

“I’m a sad, single, four-eyes twink who lives with his Grandma.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

He laughs and smacks a noisy kiss onto your cheek. Aemond watches, amused, thoughtful. He has that same look he had when he walked in on Cadi and Amir dancing to Kyrie, like someone studying a work of art in a museum, something beautiful but arcane, crafted by a foreign stranger who’s been dead for centuries. You start chopping pecans for the hummingbird cake.

“Okay,” Aemond announces with a heavy sigh. “I gotta run.”

“Already?” Cadi says, more disappointed than she’s trying to let on.

“He’s a very busy man,” you tell her. “He’s an engineer. And a historian, too.”

“Just an engineer,” Aemond says, startled.

“Only a historian would think to quiz me about Napoleon to see if I was worthy of his time.”

“You should know something about the man your town was named after.” Aemond leans in close—smoke and cologne, sun and salt—and growls into your ear: “Bye, Cupcake. Taste you later.”

“Bye.” And you watch him leave with his neon teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder, so preoccupied you completely forget about the pecans. Your knife rests on the cutting board, your thoughts are tangled up in what you and Aemond need to talk about tomorrow. I want more than something casual. I do, I really do.

Amir whips you with a dishtowel. “Ho, we’ve got cakes to bake! Let’s go, let’s go!” And then he asks more sympathetically as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose: “How’s your headache?”

“Oh,” you say, only realizing it when he asked. “It’s gone now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The driveway is long and meandering, brand new but meant to look old, cobblestones lined with meticulously manicured hedges and beasts carved out of marble: bears, dolphins, horses, dragons. On the shores of Lake Verret, out of sight of the rigs and surrounded by towering gnarled southern live oaks older than the United States, you find the Targaryen family residence—manor? estate? chateau?—and park your Chevy Celebrity amidst a sea of Lexuses, Audis, Porsches, Cadillacs, and Alfa Romeos. There are willowy whooping cranes tiptoeing their way across the lawn. A blue merle Great Dane, gigantic and glaring menacingly, lurks behind the white columns of the wraparound front porch.

“That is not a house,” Amir says, gazing up at it through the windshield. “That is a castle.”

“That is where we’re going to make a lot of money if we can impress the Rockefellers.”

“Whoo hoo!” he cheers, climbing out of the car. “San Fran, I hope you’re ready for me!”

You’re dragging the coolers out of the back seat when you are descended upon by a herd of servants, dressed in black so as not to distract from the festivities, so they can fade into the backdrop, so they can become invisible. You and Amir have missed the memo. Your sundress is from Kmart: white with pink zinnias, a cheap and unextraordinary flower for an undistinguished woman from an anonymous town in one of the most impoverished states in the nation. Amir is wearing neon orange shorts and a (very tight) t-shirt from Queen’s Magic Tour that he found at a yard sale.

“These are the cakes?” the head butler asks impatiently, a grim-faced man with salt and pepper hair and spotless white gloves.

“Yeah, that box has the coconut cake, and that one has the key lime, and there are the Cap’n Crunch Treats, and…hey! Wait!” You watch helplessly as the fleet of servants ferry the boxes up the porch steps and into the house. You and Amir stare at each other as you stand abandoned on the cobblestones. “What do we do now?”

“Do we just…leave…?!”

“You made it!” Alicent cries, sailing out of the doorway and swathed in a flowing cream-colored gown. Her large dark eyes are bright and ever-shifting, almost manic; sunlight shimmers on her auburn hair. There is music pouring out behind her, thudding but indistinct, rumbling bass, heady guitar strums. “Come inside. You simply must come in.”

“Oh, we couldn’t impose!” Amir says, already inching towards the house.

“I’ll hear no more of that. You rescued me in my hour of need and I shall not forget it.” Alicent beckons you closer. Her smile is broad and radiant but tight, like she’s having to remember to keep it that way, like her muscles are beginning to ache. “Enjoy some hors d’oeuvres, at least. We have shrimp cocktail, miniature quiches, vol-au-vents, clams casino, Swedish meatballs, little smokies, deviled eggs with paprika, and lots of champagne! Quickly now. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Amir glances back at you as you follow him up the porch steps. “People, huh?”

The Great Dane stalks over to you, sniffs, growls deep and low. You freeze, not wanting to provoke it. Its eyes—muddy greenish-brown and swimming with a cunning hostility—remind you of an alligator’s, not the five-footer that idles on your lawn but one of the true monsters of the bayou, old and grizzled and always hungry.

“Vhagar, no!” Alicent scolds, pushing the beast’s massive muzzle away. You imagine it chomping on her hand until it’s gone: one bite, two bites, nothing left but gristle and blood. “No! Bad dog! Go away, go!” The Great Dane reluctantly retreats, glowering from behind a column. “I’m so sorry about that. I’m utterly mortified. She’s terribly unfriendly, but she doesn’t bite. Usually.”

“It’s fine!” you say, heart still racing.

“She belongs to my son. My children…their obsessions confound me. But as mothers, we’re powerless to stop them, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” you reply, thinking of Cadi’s wildness, willfulness; though trying to change her would feel wrong.

“Now I certainly owe you a glass of champagne,” Alicent says, billowing like a cloud into the house, her gold heels clicking on the marble floor.

You pass through the doorway and into a vast, crowded foyer, all white and gold: a massive crystalline chandelier, oriental vases and sculptures of men you don’t recognize, paintings on the wall, servants flitting around with trays of hors d’oeuvres. On one table is a tower of champagne glasses, each with a single red cherry marooned inside. Guests mingle in their sport coats and suits and taffeta and sequins, and oddly, none of them are talking about the couple whose engagement is being celebrated. They talk instead about ski trips, polo matches, oil futures, the Soviets, the Saudis, the godawful humidity in this misfortunate corner of the world that they can’t wait to leave. There are stained glass windows everywhere, scenes of suns, stars, sunflowers, dragonflies, lemon trees, sand on beaches. It’s cold, extremely cold, frigid drafts gushing from the air conditioning vents. A Dire Straits song pours not from a Panasonic boombox but from a stereo system with a pair of speakers as tall as you are, Sultans Of Swing. There is a baffling dual chorus clanging around in your skull: Nobody needs this. I’ll never be able to give my daughter anything like this.

Amir whistles as he peers around, eyes wide behind his tortoiseshell glasses. “This place must cost a fortune to cool.”

“I Teleftaia Epithymia.” Alicent struggles with the pronunciation; she speaks slowly, effortfully. “It’s what my husband named the house. What we named the house, I mean. It’s Greek for The Last Desire. As in, no one could possibly want anything more than what this home can offer. Isn’t that poetic? I’ve fallen quite in love with it.” Still, there is that slight nervousness to everything she does, that over-eagerness to please, that restless rushing fidgeting. She wears large gold teardrop earrings that she keeps touching. “We knew we’d have to build something here for the new project on the lake. My son is overseeing it, and he’ll have to spend the next year here, at least. It’s a big step for him. It’s the first drilling operation he’s been given command of. And he—”

“Alicent!” A man comes striding through the crowd. He has shoulder-length pale blonde hair and is wearing a black pinstripe suit, a business suit, authoritative but not joyful. He doesn’t notice you or Amir. You don’t exist to him yet. “Where the hell is the ice sculpture? You said there would be an ice sculpture.”

“It’s on its way, darling. I already called.”

“It should be here now!”

“Viserys, please.” Alicent’s voice is low, embarrassed. “The driver got lost, you know our address is new. They stopped at a payphone and rang us and I straightened it out. They’ll arrive any minute.”

“They better,” the man grumbles. “It’s her family’s crest, for Christ’s sake. We need that ice dragon.”

“This is my husband,” Alicent tells you and Amir, forced smile, pleading eyes, trying to pivot. “Viserys, do you remember the wonderful people I told you about? From Hummingbird Bakery?”

“Bakery?” He seems to have only a vague recollection and even less interest. His gaze is already wandering to other guests. He flashes a grin and waves at a few middle-aged men in grey suits.

“They saved me. They were able to bake us six beautiful cakes with only two days’ notice.”

“And Cap’n Crunch Treats,” Amir adds.

Now Viserys Targaryen does turn his attention to you, and his forehead knits into perturbed wrinkles. His cool blue eyes skate over your Kmart dress, your forearms still dotted with flour and frosting, your cheap pink flats with bows on the front. “It’s a pleasure.” Then he looks to Amir—orange shorts, too-tight shirt that stops at his navel, dogwood flower in his hair—and seems to startle a little. “Alicent, you didn’t mention…uh…he’s…oh well. Too late now. It can’t be helped.”

You and Amir share a glance, polite smiles pasted on your faces. Alicent is abjectly horrified. “Viserys, he’s extremely professional.”

“There are the Lannisters. I must be off.” And the Targaryen family patriarch unceremoniously departs. You and Amir pretend to admire the stained glass windows. Alicent picks at the beds of her fingernails, her rings jangling against each other, her eyes misty.

Criston appears out of nowhere, wearing a white suit with a zebra print shirt underneath. Today his single earring is silver to match. He glides a hand around Alicent’s waist and leans in so close that his nose brushes her fiery hair. “What? What do you need?”

“The ice sculpture people—”

“I’ll wait outside for them,” Criston says, and departs as swiftly as he arrived.

“Please allow me to give you a quick tour of the house,” Alicent says, recovering somewhat. “I’m so grateful for your help. And things keep happening that only make me feel more indebted.” Then she hands each of you a flute of champagne, spins on her heels, and leads you out of the foyer.

Each room is a different color. The living room is red, furniture of lush velvet and Italian leather, bookshelves tall enough to need ladders, a brick fireplace that they’ll never use. Through a pair of French doors you can glimpse a garden and a pool with a water slide. The dining room is a cheerful butter yellow. The kitchen is teal, and like all the rest of the house has stained glass windows to match; these are shaped like a cathedral’s and run all the way up to the ceiling. Servants have arrayed your cakes on the counter, each with a label handwritten in cursive and a set of knives to cut it with. A plate of Cap’n Crunch Treats has been tucked away back by the stove like something they’re a little ashamed of.

Everywhere she goes, Alicent introduces you and Amir to the guests she crosses paths with. “Have you met these heavenly people from Hummingbird Bakery yet? Yes, they’re local, true Louisianans! I see you’ve already helped yourself to a slice of the key lime cake. Isn’t it just fantastic?! And a gorgeous shade of green! It’s so peculiar, you won’t believe what this sweetheart has living in her yard, a real-life alligator…”

You whisper to Amir: “Are we her pet poor people?”

“You might be. I’m proudly undomesticated.”

“Christabel!” Alicent shouts jubilantly as the girl scrolls into the kitchen. “There you are, dear! Come see your cakes.”

Christabel complies, shy but agreeable, peeking out from under a shock of feathery blonde bangs. She wears gleaming diamond earrings and a very bridal white one-shoulder dress, showing quite a bit of skin; you notice that some of the other guests milling about the kitchen cast her judgmental smirks. Christabel asks Alicent, as if she’s afraid of the answer: “He’s not here yet?”

“You know how busy he’s been,” Alicent says, apologetic. You think, remembering the drunk man from the holding cell: Yeah, busy committing misdemeanors. “Those rigs…the S&P 500…anyway, he’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, let me get you a piece of cake. You’re disappearing, love.”

Christabel skims a palm down the front of her dress self-consciously. “Alright. Just a tiny one.” Then she acknowledges you and Amir. “You must be the masterminds then. Alicent told me all about you.”

Amir says: “About our excellent service and reasonable prices?”

“Yes.” Christabel isn’t skittish like Alicent, but there’s a sort of pensiveness to her, an impression that she is eternally woolgathering. Now she looks at you in particular with a small, warm smile. “And about how beautiful you are.”

Amir laughs at your stunned expression. Me? Beautiful? And the only other person to call you that in years has been Aemond, tangled up with you on your bed in your falling-down house, and you aren’t sure if that counts. “Oh, um, thank you,” you manage. “I really like your dress.”

“Really? I fear people think it’s too…revealing. I liked it fine this morning when I put it on. I didn’t have any notion it might not be suitable. Now I’m feeling like an idiot.”

“No, it’s so nice!” you say, pained for her, one misfit recognizing another. “I never would have thought there was anything wrong with it.”

Alicent gets a plate from the pile on the counter. “What flavor would you like, Christabel?”

“Whatever this one is.” She points to the vanilla bean cake, adorned with Amir’s frosting flowers. “Isn’t it stunning, with all the colors?”

“Amir is the artist,” you say. “I love wildflowers.”

Alicent asks: “Did you have them at your wedding?”

No one bothered. No one remembered. “I wanted to.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely, Christabel?” Alicent passes her a slice of vanilla bean cake. “Wildflowers? It would be different. Everyone has roses or lilies or something. But wildflowers? I can’t recall ever going to a wedding with wildflowers. Especially if you’re going to get married here. It would fit with the scenery. This place is so exotic, so untamed!”

Christabel nods, taking nibbles of her cake. “Wow, this is delicious! Yes, wildflowers. We could use them for the bouquet, and the corsages…”

“Now we just need a venue.” Alicent sighs. “We’ve had such a terrible time trying to find a good place. Somewhere historic, but not rundown or unsavory. I mean, you can’t get married on an old plantation or something. Bloody hell. How tone-deaf would that be?”

“Very tone-deaf,” Amir concurs.

“There’s a church across the lake in Belle River that you might like,” you say. “The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens. It’s a historic site, I believe. It’s not very big, but it would make for nice pictures.”

“There’s an idea!” Alicent chirps, then she is stricken as a woman walks into the kitchen. Her fair hair is tied up in a messy bun. She wears a white t-shirt stained with dirt, denim overalls, and Converse Chucks. There is a bluish-green chameleon perched on her shoulder, goggling at everyone with its rotating, conical eyes. “Helaena, put your dress on.”

“Dreamfyre doesn’t like the silk. She won’t sit on my shoulder if I’m wearing it.”

“Helaena, it’s a lizard.” Alicent is exasperated. “Go upstairs, stick it back in its cage, and put your dress on, now.”

“Fine,” Helaena mumbles before wandering off.

“Oh, is that the ice sculpture?!” Alicent cries, peeking out into the foyer through the kitchen doorway. “At last! If you’ll excuse me…” She scurries off to attend to it, Christabel trailing her like a shadow.

You put your empty champagne flute in the sink. “I need to go find a bathroom.”

“I need some shrimp cocktail,” Amir replies. “Do you think I should try to explain the evils of gentrification to people?”

You giggle. “Yeah, definitely. Start with Viserys.” You part ways, Amir headed towards the foyer, you journeying down a mysterious hallway that adjoins the kitchen. The walls are flame orange and decorated with portraits of grave blonde people, each with an outlandish name etched into the plaque beneath its likeness: Baelon, Alyssa, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Aenys, another Alyssa, Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya. “This family is so fucking weird,” you mutter to yourself as you continue down the hall.

You find a bathroom, but there’s already a hoard of glamorous, ornamented women waiting outside of it. They’re chattering about which is the superior place to take a holiday, the Canary Islands or the south of France. They stare at you like you’re vermin, a nutria or a raccoon. You keep moving.

At the top of a spiral staircase, you find another hallway. The first door you try is a home movie theater complete with a popcorn machine, neon signage, several rows of seating and a plethora of bean bag chairs. Behind the second door is a bedroom, but it’s not unoccupied. You are greeted by the sight of the man who must be the groom. He looks much like he did when he was detained in a holding cell of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: slicked-back hair, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, flushed cheeks, tiny shorts, flip flops. He’s hunched over a desk with three lines of white powder on it. There’s an HP computer—something you’ve never seen in person before—in one corner of the room, a television and collection of hundreds of VHS tapes in the other. His walls are black and cluttered with posters of punk rock bands, the Ramones, the Clash, the Misfits, Minor Threat, Social Distortion, Bad Religion. His Akai stereo is blaring Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys.

“What?” the man says agitatedly. There’s powder on his fingers and his nose. “What? What? Who are you? What do you want?”

“Um, sorry, I was just…uh…” There’s some kind of rodent running around on his unmade bed. Its fur is a sandy yellow color, its body freakishly long and four legs stumpy. What the fuck. “I was looking for a bathroom.”

He blinks, muddled recollection. “You’re the cake lady.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Delivering cakes.”

“Oh. Right.” He points directly across the hall. “There’s a bathroom.”

“Okay, great, thanks.” He starts snorting another line before you’ve even shut the door.

You spend a minute or two in the Targaryens’ lilac-colored bathroom, paintings of the night sky hung on the walls—comets, moons, stars, galaxies—and amethyst geodes on the sink, a stained glass window with a scene of a lavender field. By the time you navigate back down to the kitchen, the man is there. He’s eating a Cap’n Crunch Treat, cocaine still streaked across his pink face and caught in his wisp of a mustache.

“You did this,” he says. “I know you did. It’s too good to be anyone but you.”

With his hand that’s not holding the Cap’n Crunch Treat, he’s cradling the lean rodent against his bare chest like an infant. “What is that? A weasel?”

“It’s a ferret. His name is Sunfyre.” The man nods to a photograph pinned to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like miniature oil rigs. There are two people in the frame, a woman and a girl, their cheeks squished together as they laugh on a pink sand beach of some topical island you’ll never visit. “That’s my dad’s first wife.”

“He’s divorced?”

“Widowed. She died in a car accident.” He taps on the girl in the picture, perhaps Cadi’s age. “That’s my half-sister Rhaenyra. She’s an Olympic fencer. She lives in the Lake District and fucks our uncle.”

You shake your head. You must have misheard him. “She what?”

“Yeah, I know how it sounds. I’m not kidding. She lives in a castle and fucks our uncle and has kids with him. Fucking sick, man. And I’m the screwup? Because I like coke and strippers? I’m supposed to feel bad about that? Bite me, Viserys.” He grabs a second Cap’n Crunch Treat and gestures for you to follow him into the foyer. “Come on. You need some champagne.”

You chuckle. Mental or not, there’s something likeable about him…though you can’t say you envy Christabel. To be married to someone like this man must be hellish. Now, to be married to someone like Aemond… “I’ve already had a glass.”

“Okay, well I need some champagne, and I don’t want to go out there alone.” His flip flops slap noisily against the marble floor as he plods out of the kitchen. He looks back to see if you’re following, and then you hurry after him. The heir to the Jade Dragon fortune weaves through the crowd, ignoring everyone and being ignored in return. In the packed foyer, he plucks a flute of champagne from the tower and chugs it. He eats the cherry and holds up the stem. “You know how to tie these with your tongue?”

“No, I definitely do not.”

“I do,” he announces proudly. He shoves the stem in his mouth, wiggles it around for a while, accidentally swallows it and has to hack it back up. He spits the cherry stem onto the pristine white floor, attracting a few grimaces. “Wait. Wait. Let me try again.” He reaches for another glass of champagne. The opening notes of Asia’s Heat Of The Moment boom from the speakers.

You give him a sympathetic smile. “Pre-wedding jitters?”

He snorts. “I’m not the one getting married.”

“Wait, you’re not?”

He cackles, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I already have a wife. Stephanie, she’s a princess from Monaco. Right now she’s in Ibiza or something. I haven’t seen her since New Year’s. This New Year’s? Last New Year’s? I’m not sure. Maybe it was the Grand Prix. I remember a lot of confetti.”

You gape at him. “So who’s getting married?”

“My brother Aemond.”

“Who?!”

He points with his Cap’n Crunch Treat. Across the foyer by the front door, Aemond is grinning and accepting congratulations from a gaggle of men in suits: black, grey, navy, tan. Aemond himself is wearing emerald green, dark and luxurious and striking and expensive, because he’s a Targaryen who’s marrying a noblewoman and he’s an oil tycoon and a millionaire and he is most certainly not single and not looking to change that.

“You fucking liar,” you hiss.

The man with the coke in his mustache peers over at you. “Huh?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from Aemond. You feel scarlet rage soaking into you drip by drip, you feel the blood turning hot beneath your skin. You shouldn’t be this upset over a man you barely know, you don’t understand why you are. Except part of you does, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s humiliating beyond words. Of course he’s marrying someone like Christabel. Of course he’d never choose me.

Aemond bids farewell to his well-wishers, and as he turns away from them his right eye catches on you. From across the room, his face shifts from disbelief to astonishment to horror. His jaw drops open. The flute of champagne he’d been clasping shatters against the marble floor. Immediately, a flock of servants materialize to clean up the mess. You flee from the foyer to the living room, through the French doors, into the garden. It’s midday and hot as hell, humid, swampy, suffocating to the British aristocrats that fill the house. You don’t see anyone else outside. You run past the swimming pool and through cobblestone trails bordered by blue cardinal flowers, orange coneflowers, coral honeysuckle, resurrection ferns, maypops, white sage, firewheels, magnolias, cinnamon ferns. You stop at the edge of a fish pond larger than your kitchen and glare down into the water, trying not to let tears blur your vision as glimmers of scales—red, orange, black, white, gold—dart beneath the transparent rippling water.

I have to go back inside. I can’t leave without Amir. I can’t leave without formally saying goodbye to Alicent and thanking her for her hospitality and licking the boots of these people so they’ll throw just enough cash at me to keep a roof over my daughter’s head.

You hear hurried footsteps; Aemond appears on the cobblestones. He’s found you, but that’s as far ahead as he’s planned. He holds his hands open, not knowing what to say.

“You told me you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s your fiancée, that’s worse, don’t you get how that’s worse?!”

“Okay, this looks bad, but it’s not what you think—”

“You’re marrying her, right?” you demand, and he hesitates. “Right?!”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, and it feels like knuckles to your stomach.

“Then you’re a liar and a cheater.”

“It’s not…it’s…” He gestures frantically, not knowing how to explain, how to translate it into words you’ll understand. “There’s not an expectation of fidelity.”

“Does Christabel know that?”

“That’s the thing, that’s what you don’t get, it’s not like that between us. We don’t discuss it, we’re not…” More vague, frenzied gestures. “We’re not…um��” He groans, rubbing his scarred forehead. “We’re not fucking. At all. Nothing close to it. It’s not a physical relationship yet.”

“But she doesn’t know about me.”

“No, God no, of course not.”

“So she thinks you’re…abstinent…?”

He sighs, defeated. “I don’t know. I don’t really care, honestly.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping with her?”

“Because we can’t until we’re married.”

“I’m sorry, are you Pilgrims?! Are you time travelers from the 1400s?!”

“It’s her family’s standards,” Aemond says. “It’s not uncommon for women of her…status.”

“Girl,” you pitch at him. “She’s a girl. How old is she? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen.”

You’re furious that she exists; you’re furious on her behalf. “And she’s planning her fairytale wedding while you collect local women to act out your kinky fantasies with.”

“One woman,” Aemond says softly.

“What?”

“There’s one woman currently. Just you.”

You shake your head, swiping enraged tears from your cheeks. “Why are you marrying her?”

“It’s sort of an…arranged thing.”

You stare at him. “Someone set you up?”

“My father knows her father. They think it’s a good match. Her family needs money, my father wants ties to the nobility. She’s one of probably five people on this planet that he would approve of. And she seems enthusiastic about it, so it’s happening.”

“Aemond, that is an insanely bad idea.”

“I have to do it.”

“You’re marrying her because your dad told you to?!” You explode. “Are you serious?! Everyone with the sole exception of Amir told me to stay with Willis, my friends, my family, my neighbors, my bakery customers, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly, my goddamn mailman, my father was in the hospital dying of lung cancer saying that his last wish was for me to never get divorced, and I still went through with it because I knew it was the right thing to do and no one was going to stop me!”

“I don’t want to talk about Willis,” Aemond snaps.

“Well, he’s kind of an inescapable aspect of my existence, so if I can get over it I’m sure you can too.”

“I hate that guy,” Aemond seethes, and you have no idea how to respond. You gaze down into the pond and watch scales and fins and tails fly like bullets beneath the surface.

“Those are the biggest goldfish I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“They’re koi,” Aemond scoffs.

“Oh, is that what they teach people about at Imperial College in London? Fancy fucking fish?”

“Don’t be a bitch to me, just…just give me a second, I didn’t think I was going to have this conversation until tonight, this is not how I wanted it to go.”

You say quietly, betrayed: “You’re a robber baron.”

“What? Like Vanderbilt or Rockefeller, that kind of robber baron, that’s who you think I am?!”

“That’s who you are! You hoard and exploit and use and pollute and destroy! I don’t destroy things, I create them!”

“You bake cupcakes!”

“And I don’t hurt anyone by doing it!”

“You are so goddamn delusional, you are completely insane—”

You start counting out crimes on your fingers. “I don’t kill people, I don’t endanger the Earth, I didn’t irrevocably screw up Ketchikan, Alaska—”

“So I’m terrible because I want to bring jobs to your pathetic, dead-end town?! Because I want there to be a few less pregnant teenagers and more high school diplomas? That makes me a war criminal, that puts me right up there with Jaruzelski or Pinochet?!” He realizes what he’s said when he sees the wounded fury unfold on your face. “Oh fuck. Come on, I didn’t mean you.”

“No, you just meant people who are exactly like me in every way.”

“You know what? I take it back,” Aemond says, knife-sharp, wrathful. “I did mean you. Because you are wasting your life here, and you’re too stubborn or too scared or too much of both to recognize an opportunity to have something more. Don’t you think you deserve better? Don’t you think your kid deserves better?”

“I built something here, I made a future for myself and my daughter here, and you’re going to work our people to death and poison the lake and then pack up and leave when it all goes wrong because that’s what oil tycoons do! The opportunity is for you, not us! More mansions, more champagne, more coke, more demented pets!”

“Then leave! Get in your car and drive back to your sad, structurally unsound house and live happily ever after with whatever braindead barbarian you marry next.”

“I will,” you pitch back. “Enjoy being married to your marquess.”

“She’s not a marquess. Her dad is the marquess. She won’t inherit the title until he dies.”

“Enjoy being married to your future marquess, you pretentious prick.”

“Women can’t be marquesses. They can only be marchionesses.”

“Yeah, you’re so smart. I’m really impressed. At least I don’t have to tie people to beds to delude myself into thinking I have some semblance of control over my life.”

You storm through the garden and back into the house as Aemond watches you, violently disappointed. You yank open one of the French doors and slip into the midst of the festivities. Illustrious guests are still mingling, toasting, boasting, scrutinizing you skeptically when they notice you at all. In the archway between the living room and the foyer, Amir joins you, sipping a flute of champagne.

“Hey, ho! Did you get lost? Did you find the cellar where they keep the bodies of their political enemies?” He has eaten so many hors d’oeuvres he’s basically waddling. “You look stressed. How about a nice shrimp cocktail?” He follows your eyeline to where Aemond is trying to sneak covertly into the living room through the French doors. Christabel intercepts him, relieved that he’s finally arrived, beaming, sparkling, entirely unaware of any conflict. Aemond conjures up a smile, fond yet guarded. She doesn’t touch him, and he doesn’t touch her either. He clasps his hands behind his back instead. “Is that…?!”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s…?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Amir says. “Oh.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes wide and shellshocked. “We should have made him buy all of us Nintendos and a week at horse camp.”

“I want to go home.”

“You got it, let me just grab a few more of those Swedish meatballs—”

“Amir,” you say, tears brimming in your eyes. “I really want to go home.”

“Okay, okay.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, smacks a kiss against your temple, walks with you towards the front door. “Then let’s go home.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you

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thelightsandtheroses · 5 months

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2. soak up the sun

Let's Get Lost Chapter 2 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, refereneces to past drug addiction, discussions of food, small mentions of various insecurities and body image, passing reference to alcohol, Frankie and the reader are parents to a toddler, past break-ups. Word Count: 2807 Notes: Thank you for the lovely feedback so far - it's meant so much to me and I hope you enjoy this update. I have a lot planned for this fic. The chapter title is from Sheryl Crow's song of the same name.

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There’s nothing quite like a breakfast buffet. Whenever you travel, you can’t help but judge the hotel, judge the entire stay by the quality of the breakfast. If the coffee is good, if the food is fresh and tasty, if it feels welcoming … that’s the magic formula - for you, at least.

After an inauspicious start to your vacation, you’re hoping that the breakfast will be a silver lining, that you can recharge before trying to resolve the room situation.

It was hard to sleep last night. You were so aware of Frankie on the other side of the pillow barrier, so anxious over everything that had gone wrong. You couldn’t play your sleep stories or calming music and your room and bed felt so unfamiliar.

You need to relax.

You need to hold things together for Lia and Clara, because this week is about them and not the messes of your current state of mind or relationship with Frankie.

Clara is holding Frankie’s hand and happily pulling him ahead as he tries to guide her to the right place.

When you arrive in the veranda, you can see Lia, Benny, Will and Sophie, Wil’s wife, as well as Santiago already occupying a large table. Lia waves you over with a smile.

She immediately pulls you into a hug as you approach and you’re hit with your friend’s comforting presence, her familiar scent of coconut and vanilla. “Finally,” she says, “Now we’re all here.”

You look over to see Frankie giving Santiago a one-armed hug before Santi pays attention to Clara.

“Clara, look at you,” he says, adding in Spanish, “you’re so tall now, huh?” He nods cordially to acknowledge you as you sit next to Sophie.

“Heard your flight got delayed?” Will asks calmly, his arm casually resting on Sophie’s chair. Sophie’s intelligent and smart and incredibly pretty to boot. You do get on with her, but you can’t help remembering Will and Sophie’s wedding every time you see then. It’s an automatic, almost Pavlovian response that leaves you with a dry throat and sweaty palms. You’re sure she remembers that night too. It was a real lowlight for you and Frankie after all.

You hope Benny’s wedding will be an improvement.

Surely it can’t be any worse than Will’s?

You break out of your reverie and look over at Will, answering his question, “Yeah, it wasn’t that bad. Only a couple of hours in the end.” You can’t mention the room debacle yet and judging by Frankie’s subtle nod to you, he’s in agreement with you on that. “How’s the coffee?” you ask, the hope palpable in your voice.

“Amazing,” Sophie says, “Really good quality and fresh.” She winks at you, clearly remembering your breakfast litmus test.

Well, that’s something then.

Fifteen minutes later, you’ve almost finished your first cup of coffee, Clara is eating her eggs under her Tio Santi’s careful supervision. It’s funny watching Santi with her; he never struck you as particularly paternal, perhaps because he never seemed to put roots down anywhere, but Clara adores him. She adores all of Frankie’s close friends. Benny is brilliant with her, so’s Will.

Despite Frankie having less and less contact with his biological family over the years, he’s given Clara the gift of his chosen family. You can’t pretend to understand the bond and brotherhood between Frankie, Will, Santi and Benny - it runs deep. It’s enough to know that they’re his brothers. They’ll always be his brothers.

You take a bite of your own breakfast, daring yourself to relax just a little. Sophie’s right - the coffee is good.

Hope loosens the tight thread around your stomach just a fraction.

“What’s your plan for today then?” Lia asks. ”Just settling in?“

“I think someone wants to go to the beach,” you say, indicating Clara.

“A beach day sounds great. We should all go, before things get hectic.”

“Thanks,” you say in a low voice. “What do you need from me over the next few days? I know I’ve been a shitty bridesmaid recently, so just tell me what you need.”

“Right now? We’re good. I’m just so glad you’re here,” Lia says.

It’s peaceful. The steady rhythm of waves flowing and withdrawing barely conceal the soft giggles you can hear from Clara with Frankie a few meters away.

Next to you, Lia and Benny are sunbathing. Lia is lounging against him, a glossy magazine in one hand and what you suspect is a frozen strawberry daiquiri in the other hand. The two of them look like models; skin glowing in the sun, colour coordinated swimwear and sunglasses in place. They’re perfect for each other.

It hits you suddenly; you’re surrounded by couples. Even Santi is off flirting with someone by the water.

You scrunch your toes into the golden sand and exhale slowly.

It’s hard to stop your brain thinking about work for the first few days of a holiday; you find your fingers automatically twitching as they want to reach for a phone or laptop to check emails and messages.

They can cope without you. You know that. It’s just your anxiety, just the corporate machine and it shouldn’t matter. What you should be thinking about is your family, is Lia’s wedding, being a good bridesmaid, a good mother, a good friend and co-parent with Frankie.

You think back to your conversation with the hotel staff before coming to the beach. It turns out there is no alternative room for you or Frankie until the final night of your stay. The hotel is fully booked, so unless one of you stays somewhere else then you’re stuck in the same hotel room for most of the week.

It’s not fair on either of you to be somewhere else either - not when you’re both in the wedding party, both Clara’s parents.

It doesn’t feel like you have much of a choice.

You’re not sure how to tell Frankie about the conversation you’ve just had with the hotel. It isn’t your fault, not technically, but somehow it feels like another in a long list of failures.

You watch your daughter building a sandcastle. She looks so happy; half covered in sand and clapping her hands in delight as Frankie carefully lifts the sandcastle bucket. You hold your breath for a second in the hope that one particularly shaky looking turret holds out.

She’s having a great time at least. That’s what you really wanted.

You put your book down, standing up to go and join the two of them.

“Hey Clara, mum’s here,” Frankie says, waving you over with a smile. You can’t help but notice the way sand has slightly stuck to his thigh while he’s been building the castle with Clara and how he’s already unbuttoned his shirt by a scandalous three buttons.

“Hi sweetie,” you say, “that is an amazing sandcastle. Did you build that one all by yourself?”

Clara purses her lips, deep in thought. She looks at Frankie and then at you and for a second she nods then shakes her head. “Daddy helped.”

“Only a bit,” he says kindly.

“Yeah, I can tell someone with an engineering background has been involved,” you joke which earns you one of Frankie’s best smiles. It’s one of the dazzling ones that made you fall in love with him the first time.

“Did uh, everything go okay with -” Frankie begins as he stands up, grimacing briefly and covering it immediately.

“We can talk about it later,” you say, smiling unnaturally brightly and quickly looking at Clara and then the others.

Frankie immediately understands your implications - you watch a range of emotions dance across his eyes before he settles with a similarly bright but false smile.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says. “We’ll be fine. It’s just a week, right?”

You smile weakly and nod. There’s always the bathtub, maybe Frankie was right about that.

You can hear music lightly playing as you and Clara walk back into the hotel room. She’s stifling a yawn, clearly already tired from the day’s events so far. There’s just enough time for you to have a quick shower before you head out for the early family dinner you have planned.

Frankie and you have discussed it in depth and spoken to the hotel babysitting service but you agreed to save that for wedding related events. There’s no reason the two of you can’t work it out between yourselves the rest of the time and ensure at least one of you is with your daughter. Plus, the whole idea’s about giving Clara that family holiday, right?

Frankie’s reading on the bed and looks up at the two of you.

“Hey guys,” he says as Clara immediately bounds towards him.

“Daddy!” she cries, as though they have been separated for weeks not a couple of hours.

He shakes his head, raising an eyebrow at you.

Your only response is a quick shrug. “Do you mind if I have a shower before we head for dinner? I’m thinking if we both use the bathroom before we put Clara to b-well, you know where -”

“Sounds like a plan. I had a shower when I got in, so it’s all yours.”

“Great.”

Frankie places his book face down on the bed and diverts his attention to your daughter.

You loiter for just a moment before heading to the bathroom; you’ve been looking forward to this shower all day. The hotel bathroom is well appointed to say the least and the fancy, rainfall shower with all the attachments and luxurious smelling shampoo has sung to your sun and sand stressed body.

You start to feel relaxed as you wrap the white fluffy towel around your body and continue your self-care routine. Why not allow yourself some small indulgences while you’re on holiday after all?

It’s then you realise that you forgot your clean clothes. You were wearing your beach clothes when you walked into the bathroom; your costume is now hanging up to dry after all, taunting you slightly, and your cover up is sheer and oh, you have made a definite mistake here.

You feel the heat rising as you try and think about what to do.

“Frankie, can you just shut your eyes a minute?” you ask, pursing your lips as wrap the towel tighter around yourself.

“Why?” Frankie calls from the room then you hear him make a slightly embarrassed sound as he clearly figures it out. “I mean, it’s okay. It’s fine. Just uh, just tell me when.”

It’s fine, you think, you used to date after all. He’s seen you so many times in far worse states. For a second you remember how things used to be between you and Frankie. At one point, you wondered if there was a surface in your house you hadn’t been with him on. He seemed to take that as a challenge when you asked him.

You can almost hear the echoing laughter and memories as they sweep over you, a wave of emotion, regret, sadness and then finally a sad tang of bitterness.

You take a deep breath. “Okay, now,” you say and then you open the door.

He has his eyes covered with one hand but he has a wicked smirk and you can’t help but wonder if he is peeking, if he thinks you still look … no, this isn’t healthy.

You shuffle around in the towel to try and discreetly change, almost tripping over one of Clara’s toys on the way.

The clatter makes Frankie straighten slightly.

“False alarm,” you say, voice low as an unspoken tension fills the room.

“Good,” he says, one hand still casually covering those eyes.

You finally pull your trousers up and tug the light white top over your shoulders.

“Okay, it’s safe now.”

“Great.” He looks over at you with a slight smile. “You look good, cielo.” The old nickname slips out and his eyes widen, panic filling his face.

The tension in the room thickens. Somehow it feels like you’re in two realities simultaneously; one where Frankie is still yours and this one – the one where there’s scores of shared memories, pain and change between the last time he called you cielo.

You can’t even remember the last time he called you that.

It’s not as though you knew it was the last time after all.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, not sure whether to acknowledge the name or not. “You’re not doing too bad yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, his cheeks fiercely colouring, then he stands up from the bed - your bed. “We should go get some dinner, huh, Clara?”

The early dinner serving is filled with families like your own. You take a sip of your soda and look out at the beach ahead of you. You think you can see Lia, Benny and the others in the distance, still taking full advantage of their time away from it all.

“You could have got a drink,” Frankie says suddenly and quietly. He looks down and away from you as you look over at him.

“I have a soda,” you reply, furrowing your brow.

“I saw you reading the wine list and the cocktails and - it doesn’t bother me.”

“Frankie, it’s fine.”

“I’m just saying, it won’t upset me or anything, or trigger me. I-I’m in a good place, right now.” He looks at you with his deep soulful and hopeful eyes. You believe him, even fighting against that tiny anxious voice in your mind that remembers the past year.

That doesn’t mean you feel particularly comfortable drinking around him right now though.

“I don’t want a drink tonight,” you say finally, “but thanks, Frankie, for saying that.”

He shrugs. “‘S nothing.”

“No, it’s not. It’s - I’m - we’re all really proud of you, you do know that right?”

His cheeks colour slightly. “You shouldn’t have to be,” he says finally, before turning his attention to Clara in a clear signal the conversation is over.

“I was thinking about the itinerary you sent through.”

“Okay?”

“You didn’t allow yourself much time for yourself.”

“I’m a bridesmaid, Frankie, any time I’m not with Clara, I should -”

“How many books did you bring with you?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“It really isn’t.” Frankie takes a forkful of his rice. “So, how many?”

“Four.” It had been wilfully naive. A combination of the books you kept hearing Lia and other friends talking about, books you’d wanted to read for so long but had gathered dust on your bedside table, and finally one of them was a stress induced purchase at the airport bookstore for the sheer audacity of your flight being delayed.

“Four books?”

“I probably won’t finish any of them.”

“Why not? You’re not on your own here with Clara and Lia doesn’t need you for every moment you’re not with our kid. I’m here too, sweetheart, so read your books and do it all. Spend tie with Clara, do the wedding shi-stuff, wasn’t that the whole point of this?”

“What about you?” you ask gently, “You should - you should have the same too. I know things have been tough and trust me, if anyone deserves a vacation -”

“We both do.”

“Okay.”

You both watch Clara cheerfully spooning spaghetti and then meet each other’s gaze again.

“I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“Me too.”

“I can’t imagine it’s easy. Maybe I should have got a twin room with Santi.”

“Like he would have let you block his chances with a holiday fling,” you joke.

“That’s why there’s always a bathtub option.”

“Absolutely not. Besides, this is family, right? Benny’s your family, Lia’s as good as mine. And this one,” you indicate Clara. Your daughter who has her dad’s eyes, so many of his features, and yet, so much of yourself too. She’s a blend of the best of you both, you think. “You’re both my family.”

“Same,” he says, looking up at you carefully, “That’s never changed.”

There’s a silence.

“Sweetheart, what do you want to do tomorrow?” you ask Clara, even for her babbling to break the moment.

She takes a deep breath and places her fork down on her plate. Frankie suppresses a giggle at her serious expression. “Well,” she begins.

The two of you raise your eyebrows at each other, the tension broken. The moment’s passed.

You feel muddled on this vacation. There’s something about Frankie looking at you in his vacation clothes, glowing with sobriety and adoring your daughter that makes you feel …. something. Something you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t feel about him.

Tag List

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#frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #fic: let's get lost #frankie morales x you

151 notes · View notes

dollfaced-erin · 5 months

Note

Ngl the sugar daddy jing yuan reader fic lowkey intrigues me, like why did Jing Yuan resort to something as finding a sugar baby? Was he stressed over something as well? A relationship problem? Was he that lonely?? I feel it would be nice to explore!

i love this request. it took me a while to find the right songs and good scenarios, but i got you covered, bby ! I MIGHT NAME THIS SERIES THO ! it's a WIP obv unless until i finish the main storyline and will take longer time to accommodate to unlike the main story (and that one already takes an eternity) do enjoy the treat !

Taglist : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy , @chibiduck , @hermosacolibri , @la-diablas-thingz , @farelady-fate , @everi-eve , @shadowfoxey , @helloyuki , @immahuman , @samptlay , @boomie-123 , @airentia , @eden-absorbed

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊 ! : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴀᴜ , ᴊɪɴɢ ʏᴜᴀɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ , ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏʀʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ'ꜱ ᴄʀᴀᴅʟᴇ

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 ! :

ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ , ᵃⁿˣⁱᵉᵗʸ , ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵉˡᶠ ʰᵃʳᵐ , ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵍˢᵗ, EXTRA LONG.

Another day...another report.

Scratch that. There were hundreds of reports on his desk as is. And they were piling as time grew on. Not like it would ever stop. They just kept adding up, accumulating like the spam emails in his iMac monitor before him.

And his secretary was of no help either. Sure, she did her work mighty fine ! Being on time, punctual, taking all the calls and planning his meeting and fixing up his schedule. But that makes him feel more annoyed than ever.

She's just too punctual. And she expects him to be like that too.

She was always rushing him to do his work, always nagging him on and on to pay attention to the business proposals, to look over the reports, remind him again and again that he had lunch with the Lead Researcher from that growing Space Research Centre built under the name of one of the most well-known geniuses known to mankind.

Herta's Space Research Centre...and her Lead Researcher who was currently managing the Centre on her own... Asta...

What time was the meeting again...?

"Remember ! You have a meeting with Lady Asta from the research center at 2pm this afternoon ! Don't be late ! It's a crucial investment !" He heard Fu Xuan's voice ring in his mind.

Oh...2pm. He had time before that.

He sighed in his chair, leaning back into his leather chair as he ran a hand through his messy silver hair. Lazy golden eyes glanced at the time showed on the standby mode on his monitor...

"1 : 45..." he read aloud, his voice carrying his lazy tone through the silent room.

He thought about it.

1 : 45 ?!?!

He never bolted out of his seat faster than he ever had before.

"Hahaha !" The man laughed as Jing Yuan retold the tale of the earlier day. A hand landed on his back, slapping it playfully as his friend found humor in his troubles.

"Don't laugh, asshole." Jing Yuan said, a frown of frustration on his lips. But it slowly curled up into one of amusement seeing his friend like this.

"You're really finding my concerns entertaining, don't you ?"

"Sorry, sorry. My bad." The man said, raising his cup of alcoholic beverage to his lips, sipping it elegantly.

"But then, what happened ? You rushed out of your building to the meeting place. Did you see Lady Asta ?" Blade asked, looking at his friend with a smirk on his lips.

"Oh, you bet. I found her as soon as I got there. But fortunately for me, she had just arrived herself. So, I wasn't too late, nor did I make her wait." Jing Yuan said with a relieved sigh.

The two were meeting up in quite the high-class bar. Somewhere that had classical music playing, dim lighting, expensive drinks of the finest quality, quiet chatter and the clinking of glasses and extravagant attire. It wasn't your average bar. Heck, there were barely any ruthless drunkards in places like this, those who caused ruckus when they drank too much.

"But Fu Xuan, that girl..." he pondered, shaking his head at the mention of his secretary. "She really needs to learn how to loosen up and stop asking me day after day when will I hand my company over to her."

"Oh ? She's blatantly asking you to make her the heir to the corporation ? Very...brazen, of her." Blade said with a furrow of his brows and nodded his head.

"It doesn't get any easier, Blade. Believe me." Jing Yuan sighed.

It was just another day in his life. He was the CEO of one of the top companies in the country, or even the world ! The Xianzhou Alliance was branched into 6 franchises under one brand, though usually known individually. Fanghu, Luofu, Zhuming, Xuling, Yaoqing, and Yuque.

And Jing Yuan just happened to be the CEO of the Luofu branch, also being the youngest and one of longest reigning ones at that. Not only that, he was known for his good looks, his intellect and gentlemanly manners.

Blade just happened to be his friend from college and was the main mechanical engineers for the bigger productions of the company, building his name to be known far and wide for a man as young as him. He was known as Yingxing, formerly. A nerdy young man that loved art.

But after a certain incident, he dyed his hair black and changed his alias to Blade before joining a group of debt collectors that made quite the name for themselves.

The Stellaron Hunters.

Jing Yuan sighed, raising a hand at the bartender for another glass of bourbon. He needed a little more liquor to forget the tension that night.

"So, of course the meeting didn't end there, right ? I heard that Herta was planning on opening a university to give opportunities to more...brilliant minds. Perhaps they wanted to collaborate with the Intelligentsia Guild ? Heard they too opened up a new university recently." Blade asked, pouring another glass of Koshu sake for himself.

He wasn't too much of a fan of the harder liquors. He loved to savor his drinks and take his time relishing in the bitter taste. Like the little things around him. He loved to watch drama unfold, especially if he wasn't involved in it.

Even better if he was the cause behind it.

But he wouldn't do that to Jing Yuan. His dude needed a break. Especially since they have known each other for a couple of years now.

"Yeah." Jing Yuan said, nodding his head at his friend. "I suppose you could put it that way. Lady Asta wanted to meet up to ask about the funding for the research in the space station. Now that you mention it, I think she also said something about investing for the university ?"

"I don't know anymore, Blade..." Jing Yuan sighed, hand over his eyes. "After that meeting i came back to more papers and reports. Then tomorrow, the meetings and the negotiations...the business proposals, photoshoots and interviews and not to mention the stalkers recently. Fu Xuan is literally gonna snag my ass one day if she really thinks I'm as incompetent as I look, I swear to the Aeons..."

He let out a tired chuckle, leaning over and setting his elbow on the table. His friend looked at him worriedly, knowing that it might not sound like much, but for Jing Yuan to openly admit his problems like this...

"Why don't you ask her to loosen up your schedule ?" Blade asked him softly, a hand on Jing Yuan's back.

"And listen to her lecture me about time management ? I'd save at the very least 2 hours of my time reading reports." He chuckled dryly, shaking his head and pulled his hand away from his eyes.

"That's not gonna work, Blade. She'll say I have nothing better to do in my time anyway...I go home with those uncompleted documents but I still have to keep thinking how I'm going to arrange my thoughts for tomorrow."

Then they heard a small commotion. There was a man slamming his hand onto the table, and a young lady before him. She looked firm and resolute, not even flinching as the man before her expressed his distaste and anger to her.

"For the last time, I'm saying no. I told you, I don't have the money for it !" The young lady said calmly, her hands spread in front of her to exaggerate her point.

"You brought me here, and then expect me to sign up for Herta's Space Research school to study biotechnology under Madam Ruan Mei ? Do you have any idea how crazy the fees will be ?" The girl asked again, folding her arms over her chest as she merely glared at the man that stood in anger before her.

"Plus you know that I'm already struggling with fees in the Yaoqing Academy is already crazy enough. And that's with scholarship. I'd then have to pay Yaoqing for stopping halfway and my scholarship, then pay the registration fees of Herta's school."

"Imagine having to go to some prestigious, preppy place filled with studying, that I don't even have time to go work to buy myself dinner." The lady stressed with a shake of her head.

"But this is your opportunity !"

"I...I cant afford it..." she admitted softly.

Jing Yuan's gaze softened as he looked at this troubled lady. He wished he could help, watching her being pressured like this. But he wasn't a charity... if he helped her, many more would come to him for the same reason...

But it was a waste that a beautiful young lady like her didn't get the opportunity she deserved. She looked like she was well-versed in studying, and going to Herta's university would secure her a bright future working with the Intelligentsia Guild, or Herta's Space Station or the research facility, or even the IPC !

"I cant keep dating someone who doesn't have standards, (Y/n). My family will look down on me ! And I'm always paying for you when we go on dates, you never spend for me !" The man said with anger present in his tone. Then the young lady before him bit her bottom lip, her eyes trailing off somewhere else.

"Wh-what did you expect from dating me ? You know I'm poor. I work part time at a cafe, juggling assignments, bills and chores. I...I cant always have the luxury of spoiling you ! And you yourself wanted to go on dates, promising me that you'll handle the bill." The lady said, tears in her bright eyes.

"Or not you'll never go on dates with me !" The boyfriend exclaimed, making the girl, (Y/n), feel even guiltier.

Then he slammed his hand again on the table. "Enough ! We're over. I cant keep dating a leech who'd do nothing to improve her life even when there's a path !"

Then the man stormed off, leaving the lady alone and humiliated in the middle of the expensive bar with all eyes on her. She didn't care about that, she was mainly troubled on the fact that she'd have to cover the bills herself...

'How interesting...' Jing Yuan thought to himself as he looked at the pitiful lover.

She was a beautiful young lady, perhaps around 22 years old ? She seemed pretty young. Perhaps she's in the middle of pursuing a degree ? To change majors means she must be pretty early into the registration. Foundation, perhaps...

She looked very ordinary, unlike the others in this bar. She had beautiful (h/c) hair, the brightest (e/c) eyes that shone under the warm lights of the bar. But she looked tired. She was broke. Wallet, and heart.

Jing Yuan couldn't hold back anymore. He didn't like seeing a young woman as innocent as hardworking as her getting dumped just because she didn't have the money. What kind of asshole does that, anyway ?!

Jing Yuan got up from his place, ignoring Blade's voice of questions as he walked over to the young woman who sat alone.

"(Y/n), right ?" Jing Yuan asked, and she looked up, those bright (e/c) eyes, glistening with tears as she sadly looked into his warm honey eyes.

(Y/n) seemed startled and quickly wiped her eyes. "Yes, th-that's me." She said, nodding her head.

"See, I don't do this often, but..." Jing Yuan started as he sat before her. "I'm quite certain the entire establishment heard what happened between you and...well...your...ex lover...?"

He grimaced a little at the word 'ex', knowing it must still be a touchy subject for her. But she didn't seem to mind and just nodded her head.

"Yeah, I saw this coming, obviously." (Y/n) said with a light chuckle. "I knew we weren't going to work out. But he was persistent, constantly egging me on and on to date him, that one day I just said yes."

"Well, it seems like you're going through a rough patch, and I know you just want to head home and sleep it off. So, I want to help you out." Jing Yuan said, taking the bill on the table and reading out the receipt list.

"Let me pay for tonight."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened as she looked at him, blinking owlishly as she heard his offer. This...this random man was willing to pay for the receipt ? The orders she didn't even indulge in ? She felt guilt eating away at her stomach, making her fidget in her seat.

But what choice did she have...?

That's right. She didn't.

So she nodded her head.

"Wow, didn't know you could be quite the gentleman, oh CEO Jing Yuan." Blade said as his friend came back after seeing off the woman named (Y/n).

Jing Yuan nodded his head, feeling a light blush dust his cheeks from the teasing manner of his friend. But he brushed it aside quickly, composing himself to wish away the blush as quickly as it came.

"I just couldn't leave her there. It would be quite...distasteful." Jing Yuan said, taking his seat back next to Blade.

"Mm...but she was quite the catch, wasn't she ? Too bad she ended up with a sorry excuse as a boyfriend as him." Blade said with a laugh, his Adam's apple bobbing as his voice rumbled.

"She was indeed beautiful, yes." Jing Yuan said softly, nodding his head as he reminded himself of the young woman. "It was funny how she didn't even recognize who I am. Most young women would."

He caught Blade smirking at him at which he quickly composed himself with a fake smug smile back on his lips.

"Anyway..." Jing Yuan said, looking at Blade with raised eyebrows. "How are things with you and...Dan Jia ?"

Blade immediately was caught off guard with the question, his pale face dusted with a red blush that went all the way up to his ears. Dan Jia was one of the heirs to a multi-billion organization that was partnered with the Xianzhou Alliance, more known towards their love of arts and entertainment.

And Dan Jia was the woman that had loved him before and after his change. The only person who understood and still stood by him no matter, and it wasn't like any one could oppose her, anyway.

"A-ahem...Dan Jia and I..." Blade stuttered, turning away for a moment as he slowly sipped at his drink.

"We...got engaged." The male said and Jing Yuan glared at him.

"And you didn't even tell me ?" "I was going to when you were in a more chill mood ! Don't blame me trying to be considerate of your feelings !"

Then Blade got an idea. He smiled widely, looking at his friend before uncharacteristically clapping his hands, something he did when he had a mind-blowing revolutionary thought. Usually it meant good news for the company, or friends, so Jing Yuan was very intrigued to hear.

"How about you find a lover ?" Blade asked with a pat on Jing Yuan's back.

Jing Yuan had never heard a solution so stupid from this former engineer before. He sighed, and slapped a hand onto his forehead.

"No no, hear me out for real here." Blade said, trying to pull back Jing Yuan's interest. "If Fu Xuan says that you have nothing to do in your free time, find someone that can act as something to fill in time you need. You cant put hobbies, because hobbies are meant to be something to be done in your free time."

"But what if you had a commitment ?"

Then Jing Yuan looked at Blade like he made the best idea ever. That actually made so much sense ! But...

"What if I get even more stressed from it ?" Jing Yuan asked, looking at Blade.

"Based on the trends right now, students are more frequently found on dating sites, and you could start from there. Give Fu Xuan some reasons to throw her off the scent and make sure she doesn't schedule every second you manage to breathe in the aircon of your private office." Blade explained again, his hands making and tracing gestures onto the surface of the bar top.

'Students, huh...? Perhaps...he might even...' Jing Yuan wondered.

"You mean, be a sugar daddy ?" Jing Yuan asked with a raise of his eyebrow, and his friend laughed.

"Not necessarily." Blade said. "Give it a feel, take on a few blind dates. You have nothing to lose. If it doesn't work out, tell it straight, then proceed to leave."

"You know how happy I am with Dan Jia. Perhaps it's also time for you to find someone too, Jing Yuan."

So he followed the advice of his friend. Blade was right, he didn't have much to lose if he played his cards right and used his professionalism right.

He downloaded the dating app. And to make things look a little easier to filter the horny, money-hungry women who never left a shred of decency on their profiles, he put on the status of 'CEO. In need of a sugar baby, willing to spend time with me.'

He kept swiping left, left and left. The ones he swiped right on were also just as unsavory, so he kept searching. Until he saw this one account he felt drawn to.

And swiped right.

After a bit of talking, they decided to meet up at a student friendly cafe as to not pressure her. He was feeling quite peppy about it, a light blush of happiness on his cheeks as his feet tapped impatiently on the wooden floors of the cozy cafe.

He made sure to dress casually, a mere dark grey sweater and a pair of white slacks. His hair was still in it's usual messy style, but he tried to make himself look a little presentable, tying it up into a ponytail. It was still messy, but he tried.

He was meeting up with a young lady who was a student in need of help for her tuition loans and apartment bills she couldn't handle on her own. But though she reached out to him, she was often times hesitant to find a 'sugar daddy'.

His heart was pounding in his chest. He never felt this excited before. It had been long since they started talking and she was finally comfortable with meeting him after so many times of denying.

Then he saw her. The girl he was waiting for, shyly enter the cafe with reddened cheeks as she tucked back her (h/c) hair that fell over her face from lowering her gaze so much.

"M-Mr. Jing Yuan..." She greeted as she pulled the seat before him.

"Miss (Y/n). What a pleasure."

He had been searching for her all this while, and he finally found her.

#dragon's cradle #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #hsr #hsr jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #dollhouse mailbox

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