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mermaidgirl30 · 5 days

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✨Coffee Shop Date✨

Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Part 1 Part 2

A/N: They are so soft together, I can’t stand it 😭🥰 Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading and screaming about them with me 🩷 Enjoy, lovelies!

Chapter Summary: Joel takes you on a coffee date. The first official date after falling apart and finding each other again years later.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: Joel takes you on a cute coffee date, flirting, pining, so much flirting, slight angst, making up, talking about feelings and the past, falling in love, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics and @firefly-graphics

Joel stands in the fluorescent lights of his bathroom mirror, smoothing the gel with his thick fingers as he nervously taps his foot against the simple white tile. He can’t stop thinking about the moment he laid eyes on you at the lake, the sun rays making you look like an absolute angel as your smile glowed brightly all around him.

His breath hitched and his heart pounded wildly against his broad chest as you slowly appeared in front of him, standing just inches from his fingertips, enough to reach out and brush against your delicate skin. He knew the moment he saw you again that it was fate, destiny. His lost, wilting rose petal was now blossoming and colorful, and that made him sigh and draw a lazy smile on the edges of his mouth. He found you again, and this time he wouldn’t let you go. Not ever.

He lets out a long sigh and heads for the door, grabbing the keys to his Chevy as he feels the nerves starting to shake through his entire body. He needs to calm down, but he can’t because he’s picking you up. The first official date again since the breakup that happened so long ago. He wouldn’t fuck it up this time, he just wouldn’t.

By the time he pulls up to the front of your quaint little house and scuffs his leather boots against the wooden porch, he’s nervous as hell. Sweat pools down underneath the collar of his green button-up flannel, and his mouth feels like dried up sandpaper.

Before he knocks on your white painted door, he glances to his left and stops dead in his tracks. He sees the bright red blooms of vivid roses glowing like glitter in the midafternoon Texas sun rays. He sees you in them, your perfect blossoms blooming like they’d never been wilted or withered before.

A warm smile beams on his curled up lips as he basks in the presence of your lush rose garden. He always knew you’d bloom again.

He softly knocks three times on your door, nervously shifting his weight on the balls of his feet until he sees the silhouette of your shadow behind the half drawn blinds. When you open the door his breath gets caught in his throat and his eyes grow wide, his thick fingers curling against the pockets of his denim jeans. He thinks you look like the prettiest flower he’s ever laid eyes on.

You stand there blushing, the crimson of your cheeks blending in with the glossy pink lip gloss that’s painted across your full lips. Your eyes are dazzling, glittering diamonds that nearly knock him down to his knees. Your violet colored summer dress grazes the tops of your thighs, and your tan skin glows as bright as your gorgeous, flashy smile.

He’s almost lost for words watching you smile bashfully up at him, just like you did the first time you met him at Lowe’s in the flower department. You always were a shy thing, but sweet as cherry pie. His favorite girl.

“Hi,” you say quietly, blinking up at him with the flutter of your long eyelashes as your painted nails dig into the fabric of your soft dress.

“Hi, sweetheart. You look very… pretty,” he smiles warmly down at you as he watches you giggle.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, beautiful,” he breathes.

You blush even more, twisting your hips slightly as the fabric of your skirt blows gently in the breeze. He could get used to seeing this, seeing you all dolled up and eagerly waiting to be picked up for a date with him. He missed this, missed you.

“You ready to go?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Alright then. Coffee’s waitin’,” he laughs as he leads you to the passenger door, his hand resting on the small of your back as he opens the door and helps you inside, gently closing it as he makes his way to the driver's seat.

Once he’s buckled up and has the engine running he nods your way and puts the truck in drive, nervously running his thick fingers over the steering wheel before he drives off into the busy streets of Austin. He was more than ready for this date, ready to have you again.

It feels so weird to be in his truck again. In the passenger seat smelling his woodsy cologne, listening to his soft rock music playing over the speakers, watching him grip the leather steering wheel tightly with one hand as his other hovers outside the rolled down window. It feels… nice, like this is where you were meant to be. Back with Joel.

You watch his greying curls blow in the wind, fixate on his honey flecked eyes that flicker over to you every few seconds with a big crooked grin on his face. He looks so different yet somehow the same as you remember. He seems warmer, kinder, more receptive. And maybe time does change all things, but not the way you feel about him.

Before you know it, he’s pulling up to Houndstooth Coffee, your favorite coffee shop in Austin. When you make your way out of the truck and into the coffee shop, the atmosphere is buzzing with soft music playing over the speakers. Potted plants dangle in the large glass windows, sturdy stained tables sit lined against the open room, nature paintings hang neatly across every corner of the tan walls. You always liked the vibes in here. It’s quiet, relaxing, a great place to come and unwind. What made it even better was this was Joel’s favorite coffee shop, too.

“You wanna go grab a table, and I can go get us some coffee?” he asks as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Perfect. And let me guess, still a caramel macchiato kinda girl? Extra sugar, heavy on the cream?” He winks at you, and you feel the heat warm your cheeks as you smile up at him.

“Still remember my favorite drink, huh?” you ask curiously as you cross your arms over your summer dress.

“‘Course I do. Don’t know anyone else that has as big of a sweet tooth as you do, darlin’. Kinda hard to forget.”

You push him playfully in the shoulder, and he barely moves an inch. “Yeah, says the guy that drinks his coffee black,” you tease. “You won’t even try mine.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at you, his slicked back curls bouncing against the gel. “It’s too sweet for me, and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Guess so,” you say with a small huff and the pop of your hip.

“Hey,” he says as he steps forward and cups your chin, slowly releasing his fingers as he speaks low. “I don’t need sweetener. I’ve got you here, and you’re sweeter than any of them. My little shot of espresso filled with sugar.”

Your jaw drops open, eyelashes batting up at him as your cheeks burn bright red. He’s going to paint you completely crimson if he’s not careful, but you’ll allow it. You had a lot of lost time to make up for, and he could flirt with you as much as he wanted to.

You nod your head to the short line in front of the cash register, and he smiles back at you. “Be back in a minute.”

You find a quiet place in the far corner, a little booth that has potted pink tulips and a smooth wooden table top. You watch him order the coffees, giving the worker his name and debit card before he patiently waits to the side for the coffees to be made.

He flicks his eyes over at you every few seconds, a small crooked smile spread wide across his mouth. You have to look away to stop the butterflies flitting through your stomach. You can’t believe you’re here again with Joel, your past flame, but this time feels different. A good different.

When they finally get finished making your drinks, Joel comes over to the booth and sits opposite you. He gives a small grunt when he sits and hands you your iced coffee. “Here ya go, darlin’. One caramel macchiato for the pretty lady.”

You giggle and reach for the clear cup full of sugary goodness. “Thanks, Joel,” you smile. When you grab the cup your fingers brush against his, and there’s a moment where sparks shoot through your fingertips, swirling feelings that were always buried deep inside your body.

He smiles nervously at you, running a hand straight back through his tousled curls. His honey eyes shine against the sunlight that’s beaming through the glass window, and you can’t stop the blushing that’s permanent on your cheeks when you’re around him.

Joel takes a sip of his coffee, keeping those soft eyes on you as you take a sip of yours. Your dress suddenly feels too tight, and the insides of your thighs feel sticky and warm from nerves. Maybe the iced coffee will help cool you off, but you doubt it will. Of course it won’t because Joel Miller is sitting across from you, looking extremely handsome in his flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He always was a flannel guy, and that’s why you own so many flannels. Because they remind you of him.

You casually sip from your coffee, curling your fingertips over your violet material, trying to calm yourself down from being in the presence of Joel. He still had you just as frazzled as when you locked eyes with him at the lake. You really were still crazy about him.

“It’s kinda crazy bein’ back here with you. It feels…”

“Right,” you finish for him.

He chuckles, nodding his head as he takes another sip from the black coffee. “Yeah, it does feel right.”

You tap your thumb nervously on the plastic coffee cup and take a breath before you dive into any personal matters. “How’s Sarah doing?”

“She’s good, really good. She just graduated this spring. Took a job at the heart hospital in Austin,” he says proudly, his brown eyes glistening with fondness.

“So she did go with nursing school after all. Joel, you must be so proud!” you squeak excitedly.

He smiles and nods his head, the look of admiration filling his face. “That I am. Can’t believe my baby girl is all grown up. Gonna miss her,” he sighs with sadness ghosting over his doe eyes.

“Hey, she’s always going to be your little girl. Don’t forget that. And she chose to stay in Austin? That’s so great, Joel. See, she didn’t leave after all. I knew she wouldn’t.”

“Oh, you knew she wouldn’t?” he asks with one eyebrow raised high, making the wrinkles across his forehead crease into fine lines.

“I had my suspicions she’d stay,” you wink. He shakes his head and stares at you for just a second, assessing your soft features before continuing.

“So, what about you? Are you still at the same company you were? That one corporate job you were at.”

You shake your head slowly, playing absentmindedly with the straw that you bend back and forth. “No. Actually, I work for the city now.”

“Oh?” he asks all intrigued and interested. “Doin’ what?”

“I’m working for an environmental engineering company that operates off the lakes in Texas. I’m helping them keep track of the bluegill and catfish populations. You know, helping both the water quality and fish populations,” you say fondly.

He stares at you wide-eyed, a big smile curling over the edges of his lips. “Well I’ll be damned. That’s what you always wanted to do. You did it, you actually did it.”

You laugh and push your hair behind your shoulder. “Yeah, finally. I love it so much, you have no idea how much happier I am there.”

He chuckles and rests a hand on the table, looking at you with big brown eyes adoringly. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. I always believed in you. I knew that one day you’d get it. They’re so lucky to have you.”

Your eyes fog over with held back tears while you grip tightly to your cold iced coffee. He told you he’s proud of you. Joel is proud of you. That sentence alone makes you weak in the knees. Joel was always so supportive, and that’s one thing you adored about him.

“You’re… proud of me?” you ask breathlessly.

“Mhm. So proud,” he purrs.

He holds your gaze while tension buzzes around the room. There’s no other customers at the moment, no clattering coffee makers echoing around the room, there’s just silence. There’s only you and Joel. Two bodies locked in a heated stare, chests rising and falling in sync, and nervous breaths sharing the same little area.

The intense moment breaks when you nervously push a lock of hair behind your ear and thank him for the kind words. “What about you? What have you been up to lately?” you ask, flitting your eyes back up to his.

“Oh, the usual. Me and Tommy started up a new contracting gig. Been busy runnin’ the company and sometimes workin’ on custom pieces.”

“You still like to build things?”

“‘Course, darlin’. Actually, I started buildin’ custom guitars a while ago. Been keepin’ me busy, but I really enjoy it,” he says with a deep chuckle reverberating off his chest.

“Guitars, huh? You always did love playing. Bet they’re beautiful,” you gush, leaning your elbow on the wooden table with your chin resting on your knuckles, looking dreamily at the man with honey glazed eyes.

“Maybe I could show you them sometime? Think you’ll love ‘em. Might have one with your name on it.” Hope fills his voice, and his eyes light up with sparks burning like amber coals.

Did he make you a custom guitar? No. He wouldn’t have. But maybe…. Oh, he did.

“I’d love to,” you smile, watching the light shine brightly through his beautiful brown eyes.

“Okay then, it’s a date,” he beams.

The tinge of crimson is back on your cheeks, and your face physically hurts from smiling so much in one sitting. This is where you were supposed to end up again. Back at your favorite coffee shop with your favorite person who introduced you to this place.

After a few seconds of silent stares and warm smiles, Joel’s face grows serious as his brows knit tightly together. “Listen, I need to apologize.”

“Joel,” you say harshly, trying to stop him from what he’s about to say.

“No, jus’ hear me out. I’m so fuckin’ sorry for how things ended. I didn’t mean… I wish I could’ve jus’…”

You hold out a hand to stop him. “No, Joel. Don’t put the blame on yourself. It’s not your fault. It’s…”

“Please,” he pleads, looking at you with glistening eyes that beg for you to listen. Just looking at them alone makes you want to crawl across the table and sink all your weight into him. “I need to get this out. Please, jus’ let me do this,” he begs.

“Okay,” you whisper, clutching the edge of your soft dress as you wait with bated breath.

“I made some very poor choices over the years. I was selfish, wreckless, so fuckin’ stupid. I didn’t mean to put all my problems on you. That wasn’t fair to you. And all those stupid fights that meant absolutely nothin’ were my fault.”

You catch his wrist and curl your fingers around his tanned skin, looking up at him with furrowed brows and parted lips. “Don’t you dare put all the blame on yourself. It was both of our faults. I was in a toxic job, and I brought that stress home to you so many times. I blew up in your face night after night from all that weight I was keeping on my shoulders. It was me who started half the fights. I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve left that job long ago when it was affecting our relationship.”

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head at you. “No, sweetheart. Don’t even try to apologize. I was goin’ through so much shit with Tommy and Maria, and then there was Sarah I was tryin’ to keep a grasp on, and then all that shit with the company goin’ down and all the whiskey I was drinkin’. I was in the wrong mindset. I should’ve never hurt you the way I did.”

He looks like a wounded puppy dog that just lost his family the way he’s looking at you now. His teary doe eyes shooting holes through your beating heart, and you have to keep yourself glued to the seat you’re in. The temptation to crawl into his lap and give him a big hug right now is so very overwhelming.

He always loved when you got in his personal space and threw your arms around him when he was sad. It was his favorite way to be soothed. The way you’d run your fingers through his tousled curls and whisper sweet, calming words into the shell of his ear. He may be a strong man, but he was always so weak for you especially when you were his favorite person that could fix all the broken pieces and mend him back together.

You cling harder to his wrist, but he doesn’t even try to pull away. He just stares with watering eyes while his lips form a tight line. It breaks your heart seeing him like this. “I was the one that told you to leave, Joel…. That rainy night in February when I threw the keys in your face. I didn’t mean to. I was just so… mad. I shouldn’t have done that. I regret it. I was a mess, we were a mess. But I feel like I was the one that ruined it. And then… then…” You can’t even finish your sentence without tears falling down your cheek. You’re embarrassing yourself in front of Joel, in front of the entire coffee shop. You wish you weren’t so emotional about all of this.

“Oh, sweetheart. No. Don’t do that, it’s not your fault,” he coos softly, reaching a hand up to catch your falling tears while his calloused fingers linger on your delicate skin. His eyes are so soft like golden retriever eyes all wide and gentle. You want to just slip into them and sink forever.

“I should’ve never ran out that door, should’ve come right back. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. Maybe my life would’ve looked different if I did. But I was a coward. I jus’ couldn’t get myself to face you. So I decided to leave you alone. And then almost a couple years after that I met Tess.”

The name Tess makes you cower back in your seat, his large hand falling back to the table as it leaves your weepy face. Tess. The other woman he fell in love with.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was all rainbows and butterflies with her ‘cause it wasn’t. But there was a time I did love her, too.”

“Oh. Mhm,” you hum, looking down at your feet scuffing against the clean floor, trying your best not to cry again.

“Look, I’m not tellin’ you this to hurt you. I’m doin’ my best to explain jus’ what all went on. That day we moved to the neighborhood, I had no idea you were livin’ right across the street. If I knew, I don't think I would’ve… I wouldn’t have bought it,” he sighs as he takes a deep breath.

You can’t look at him, can’t make yourself even speak because you know you’ll be a puddle on the ground if you even try, so you just let him continue while you curl your toes underneath you. “When I saw you that first day when I was movin’ furniture out of the movin’ van, I was wrecked. I even dropped a vase when I saw you. Glass went all over the kitchen tile. Tess thought I had a stroke or somethin’, but it was just seein’ you again after all those years that killed me.”

You purse your lips and nod, remembering all too well how you dropped the glass of milk in your kitchen when you saw the two of them together. And it hurt, it still hurts to think about. You guess that wound never fully healed after all.

“I felt so awful and guilty about everything. And it was so fuckin’ hard to watch you day after day. Walking to your mailbox, leaving your house, walking in your kitchen at dinner time when your window was wide open. I jus’… there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t want to walk over and sweep you up in my arms. God, I really wanted to every single day. But then there was Tess. And I made a promise to her that I swore I’d keep.”

You feel a tear fall like rain down your cheek when you hear those words, but Joel’s right there to pick up the pieces. He reaches his arm out and places his large palm over your hand, making you look up from under your soaked lashes.

“Do you remember that day I helped you up off the ground in front of your mailbox?”

“Yeah, how could I forget,” you whisper with a quiet sniffle.

“After you walked back inside, I somehow ended up on your front porch. I stood there for over ten minutes jus’ waitin’ to knock. I wanted to. I knew you were cryin’, I knew I was the reason why. I jus’ wanted to make the pain go away, but I realized I couldn’t ‘cause I made a promise to Tess. So even though that killed me, I walked away. I didn’t knock. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I never would’ve been able to let you go…”

Your eyes prick with fresh tears, and you tremble out some scattered words. “No, I understand. You’re a man of your word. You loved Tess. I couldn’t fault you for that. And I was so selfish to want you all to myself again, but I realized that couldn’t happen because she was yours,” you choke out, feeling the weight of the world press deep into your chest.

“I loved her, but I also realized I never stopped loving you, too. I should’ve realized sooner that it was never supposed to be her, it was supposed to be you.”

Your mouth drops open and your heart thunders in your chest. “What did you just say?” you gasp.

“It was always you, sweetheart. It jus’ took some time and healing to realize you were it for me. There was no one else. There still isn’t anyone else. It’s jus’ you…”

“I… Joel…” you mutter mindlessly.

Before you know what’s happening, Joel slides out of the booth and pulls you to a standing position. His deep chocolate eyes gaze longingly into your eyes, and the words are off his tongue before you can digest them. “I still love you.”

He pulls you into his broad chest, and his calloused hands connect with the sides of your face. His lips meet yours and suddenly the world fades away in the background. There’s no more outside voices, no more sideways glances, no more anything. There’s just Joel’s lips on yours, burning through you like wildfire.

You part your lips, allowing him to slot his tongue in, tasting that strong black coffee taste that you’ve always loved. You loved it because it was Joel’s signature taste, his scent, his essence. And you realize now you love him. God, you never stopped loving him. He’s the one, he’s always been the one.

He breaks away from the kiss, but you stay clinging to his flannel while his calloused thumbs trace light circles over your cheekbones. “God, I missed you,” he breathes, resting his forehead on yours while his soft brown eyes melt into yours.

“I missed you too, Joel. So much,” you murmur against the greying scruff of his jaw. “Stay with me…” you whisper against his mouth.

He hooks a strand of hair behind your ear and traces his thumb gently over the shell of your ear. “I’m not goin’ anywhere this time, sweetheart. This time I’m gonna be the man you’ve always deserved. We’re gonna take it slow and we’re gonna do it right. I’m never hurting you again, do you understand?” he asks with serious brown eyes and knit together eyebrows.

“I understand, Joel. This time we’ll make it work. We have to, I have to. I don’t ever want to lose you again,” you whine as you fall into his chest, his large arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

“And you won’t lose me. Not this time. Not ever. You’re mine, baby girl.”

You smile into his chest and breathe in his mahogany cologne you’re so familiar with. “Joel?” you ask, your voice getting cut off from your face being buried in Joel’s flannel.

He cups your chin and pulls your face up to his slowly. “Hmm? What is it, pretty girl?”

“You’re still my infinity, aren’t you?”

He chuckles softly and nods his head. “Sure am, sweetheart. Forever and ever…”

You fall back together, lips melding into one, bodies wrapped around each other. It took falling apart and healing to make it back to him, to the love of your life. You may not know what’ll happen tomorrow, but at least you know Joel will still be there holding your hand through it all.

This was exactly where you were meant to end up. You and Joel were for forever. Like he said, infinite.

“I love you, Joel Miller. My infinite…”

Tagging those who read the other parts 🩷 @laurrrra @amyispxnk @lotusbxtch @honey-dip-24 @sawymredfox

@orcasoul @laramc-02 @chewie-bars @axshadows @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@littlevenicebitch69 @persephone-girl @syd-djarin @tammythr @stylesispunk

@morallyinept @thundermartini @solllaris @jessthebaker @vie-is-punk

@hoeruiner @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @survivingandenduring

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #no outbreak au #joel miller fluff #joel fluff #lots of fluff #joel x female reader #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction

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starkeyisthelastname · 4 months

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idk if you write for JJ or anything but if you do could you write something like shy!innocent!Reader x JJ and reader wants JJ but she’s super and nervous to tell him that she’s horny

I most certainly do write for JJ! 🥰

You were raised a kook. Your father never wanting you to go anywhere near the cut. But being best friend’s with Sarah Cameron had you hanging around her boyfriend, John B and his friends. JJ had caught your eye from the moment you saw him. You knew your father would never approve. A dirty boy from the south side, who’s never had more than $40 to his name. You didn’t care about any of that, though. You loved being around JJ, even if you were a little shy.

The two of you sat on the porch of the Chateau, JJ smoking a blunt while you nervously sat next to him. Your pretty hands, placed in your lap as you watched him blow out the smoke. The cut off t-shirt he wore exposed his tan arms, his blue eyes red and glassy as he looked at you.

“You good, cupcake?” His voice soft.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the fluttering in your private parts from the way was looking at you. You wanted him so bad and you just couldn’t find the words to say it. “I.. feel funny.” You stuttered.

JJ put the blunt out, his brow raised when he turned back around. “Like sick? Do I need to call John B and the others to come back?” He asked.

Shaking your head no, you played with the jewel on your manicured nail, trying to spit out what you really wanted to tell him. “Down there.” You pointed towards your special parts, trying not to make it obvious.

JJ caught onto what you were saying, his eyes widening as he noticed your dress rising up as you unknowingly gripped at your little sundress from nervousness. He caught glimpse of your pretty pussy only covered by damp pink lace. He adjusted himself in his cargo shorts, looking back up at your beautiful self.

“You want me to touch your pussy, cupcake?” He asked, watching your cheeks turn pink.

You nodded your head slowly, biting your lower lip as JJ’s lips turned into a smirk. He adjusted his at to fit on backward’s, patting his lap when he got adjusted. “Don’t mind if I do.” He teased.

#jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank smut #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank blurb #rudy pankow #obx smut #obx

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multi-kpop-fanfics · 5 months

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Cheol struggling to relinquish control after leading on tour so you offer to take one thing off his mind (read: tying cheol to his bed because I wanna hear him whine and see his cute eyebrows while he tries not to come xx)

tw: sub!seungcheol, soft dom!reader (fem), bondage, marking, nipple play, praise, body worship, established relationship, mentions of unprotected sex (pls stay safe) - minors dni.

happy birthday @delicatewerewolfsoul ilysm🥰

"Is it really necessary to do that?"

"Yes. Otherwise you'll try to think of a million ways to turn things to your advantage." You tighten the cuffs around your boyfriend's wrists, mentally thanking yourself for buying a bed with metal bedframe instead of a wooden one.

"But you like it when I take care of you!" Seungcheol pouts, testing the endurance of the handcuffs. "Damn, these are stronger than I thought."

"Babe, I know you're a person fit to lead people, but I want to take care of you as well." You shush him with your pointer finger on his lips. "Now lay back and let go of your worries, okay?"

He gulps heavily and nods affirmatively, his torso relaxing on the bed.

You were smart enough to get rid of his t-shirt during your earlier make out session, otherwise it would have gotten in the way with his hands tied to the headboard.

You climb over him and flash a sickeningly sweet smile before leaning down to press a slow peck on his lips. Seungcheol lifts his head to chase your lips, but you softly push him back.

"I know you can behave, Cheol. So please, for your own sake," you ghost your lips over his jawline, "Behave."

"F-Fine." He grits his teeth to suppress a moan when he feels your mouth nipping at the skin right between the column of his neck and his jaw, knowing he'll wake up the next day with raging red marks.

You continue descending your mouth over his neck, licking and sucking on his skin until you hear your boyfriend whine.

"Never thought you were able to make a sound like that." You raise your head, chuckling at his neediness.

"Stop it." Seungcheol pouts and turns his head away from embarrassment.

"Hmm, I don't think I will." You giggle and lick your thumbs, placing them over his nipples to rub them in slow circles.

"Oh fuck," he rolls his head back on the pillow, his cock twitching under your stomach.

"Already so worked up, baby? That's cute."

"Y/N, please, don't stop touching me, fuck."

You smirk and let your fingers dance over his taut abs, tracing every ridge and curve of the well-defined muscles. You can feel them contracting with every touch you deliver and it only gets more intense the lower you get.

You decide to put your boyfriend out of his misery and strip him of his sweats and boxers in one go, gasping when his cock slaps against his stomach, rock hard and dripping precum.

"Oh, you poor thing."

"I said stop mocking me!" Seungcheol whines even louder, his body thrashing forward.

"I'm not! I didn't know how bad you had it until now!" You defend yourself, feigning innocence.

"I've created a monster, haven't I?"

"Perhaps." You grin and hook your fingers on the elastic band of your panties, sliding them down your legs and throwing them away somewhere in the room.

You take his cock in your hand, giving it a few pumps before lining it with your soaked entrance. You slowly lower yourself on his shaft, letting out a long drawn moan when you fully sheathe yourself, your walls clenching around his thickness.

"Mmm, God really gave you the best dick in the world." You drag your nails over his lower stomach.

"And He gave you the best pussy in the world, fuck." Seungcheol moans, his gaze heavy with lust, only for you.

"Good thing you're dating me then."

#svthub #scoups smut #scoups fluff #seungcheol smut #seungcheol fluff #svt scoups #choi seungcheol #svt smut #svt fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #seventeen #answered✨

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month

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1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

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

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

Word Count: 6.6k

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“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defending you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. You hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

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

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natailiatulls07 · 9 months

Text

The golden trio Pt 5

Lando Norris x female!reader

Carlos Sainz x female!reader

Max Verstappen & Female!reader & Charles Leclerc

Summary - Being bestfriends with two famous formula one drivers is never easy, but what will happen when you get involved with yet another formula one driver??

Warning - a cringy pick up line, cheating, slight argument and swearing

A/n - I’ve been ill all weekend so I have just been getting some things done so you are getting loads this weekend

There is also kind of a time skip half way through, but you’ll know when 🤍

How is everyone feeling about todays Grand Prix?? 🥹

The golden trio

Text (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

Hey, are you lighting cause I make you McQueen 😉

Lando Norris are you trying to use a pick up line on me?? 😳

Of course darling, just trying to shoot my shot

Well in that case if you want to shoot your shot, take me on a date

Tomorrow 6pm I pick you up

Do I get to know where we’re going Mr Norris??

Nope. I’ll see you then 😘

See you tomorrow 6 pm 🤍

yourusername has posted a story

Gossip Groupchat (White: Reader) (Red: Charles) (Blue: Max)

Hey Bee, me and Charlie have found a new film wanna do a movie night tonight??

Yeah! It looks like a great film, we think you’ll like it 😁

Oh I’m sorry guys, I have a date tonight…

A date?!

With who!??

Um…Lando 🤭

Wait what?? Has finally come to his senses and remembered that night?!

Idk, he sent me a very cringy pick up line to shoot his shot

Yeah and then what??

I then said if he wanted to shoot his shot he should take me on a date so yeah he’s picking me up at 6

Ohhhh so that’s why you were busy all day

Yep, I was getting my nails done and doing some last minute pieces

Well we’ll probably see you just before you leave so I won’t give you the talk just yet 😇

Now I’m considering sneaking out 😅

Don’t you dare young lady!!

lando.jpg

Shooting my shot for her 😍

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 63,935 others

username I want dates like this 😩

username Lando taking photos of their date is just to make us jealous 😤

= username Well it worked 🫤

charles_leclerc Don’t forget about her curfew

= lando.jpg Of course, don’t want to get on the big brothers bad sides 😳

= username Overprotective brothers!!!

Texts (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

I had a great time last night, thank you 🥰

Of course, I had to win you over and I hope I’ve done that 🤞🏻

You were successful in winning me over

Yayyy!! Wanna do it again some time?

I’d be a fool to turn that down 😅

yourusername

Monthly dump 😚

Liked by carlossainz55 and 63,826 others

username Not Y/n posting Lando’s back like we don’t know who she’s dating like girl we know, it’s okay 😂

username The food is making me HUNGRY!!

username She’s just like us, posting the ‘worst’ photos of her bestfriends lol

landonorris Who’s that in the McLaren hoodie?? 😏

= yourusername Idk but he uses some cringy pick up lines 😃

username Not Max being an iPad kid 🫣

f1gossip

Spotted: Lando Norris sharing a kiss with another girl whilst Y/n L/n is seen shopping on the other side of Monte Carlo

Liked username and 2,383 others

username Isn’t Lando and Y/n a thing??

= username Yeah…

= username That means he’s cheating on her 🫢

= username Yeah…

username Why?? Lando why??!

username No I can’t, I just can’t today no!!

username He continues to fuck up my ship! FUCK!

Texts (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

Baby I’m so sorry!

No you can’t go ‘baby’ me. No not after you go and kiss another girl Lando.

It’s not what it looks like, please let me explain

Go on then explain why you were passionately kissing another girl in your car

Seen 4 mins ago

I can’t, I’m so sorry darling

Please it didn’t mean anything to me honestly

Baby? Y/n??

I love you sweetheart

Twitter

username Lando Norris you are gonna need to hide from Max and Charles once they see what you’ve done mate 😳

username He has fucked up so much!

username I bet she’s devastated, poor girl 🥺

username Every thing is okay, everything is okay, everything is okay… we’re fucked

Text (Blue: Max V) (Orange: Lando)

Look I’ve tried to talk to Y/n but I’ve just fucked it all up I’m sorry

Yeah you can say that again. Mate if you’ve come here trying to get cut of any slack you might want to think again

I know, I just wish I didn’t do it

Yk that girl LOVES you, she has been the happiest she has ever been since she started getting hate but you fucked that up

Yeah

Charlie and I have tried to get her out of her bedroom but nothing so you gotta think of something and fast

I will, I’m sorry

I know you’re sorry, please don’t think that me and Charlie hate you because we don’t

Thank you, she’s lucky to have you guys

We’re just abit annoyed that she has been hurt once again

Tag list: @eviethetheatrefreak @janeholt3 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @namelesssav @amalialeclerc @eugene-emt-roe @skepvids @ravisinghs-wife

#formula one #formula one x reader #charles leclerc #lando norris #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #carlos sainz #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles lechair #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #red bull formula 1 #forza ferrari #mclaren racing

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allisie · 4 months

Note

Hi, I love your writing ❤️

could I request something for Nate? like he and the reader are fighting and she gets hurt because he scared her and then he apologize? thank you 🥰

Simply Us

nate jacobs x reader

Euphoria Masterlist

NB // for some reason, when asked to write kinda angst stuff, I almost never follow script.

⚠️ warning ⚠️: Nate being a closer representation of his tv counter part, talk of insecurities, nate choking reader,

"Your fucking him aren't you. You trap me into this picture-perfect relationship and then go open your legs behind my back. Huh," Nate whispers into my ear. I had just gotten back from hanging out with Fez all evening at the convenience store.

"Jacobs what the fuck are you talking about," I ask.

"I should have known you're just like her, just repackaged. At least she looked the part of my perfect girl. At least she had the decency to do that much work in the relationship," Nate continued, his voice getting louder. Nate put his hands on the counter in front of me, effectively trapping me as he pushed his body onto mine.

"Why are you saying this? I didn't do shit. What are you talking about? I love you and you alone," you whisper, turning to face him. Placing your water on the counter.

"Did I say shit about love....... and you should be the first to know you don't need love to fuck someone. How can I ever trust you again" Nate moved his hands to my head.

"That's the thing with relationships, nate. You have to trust the other person in the relationship," I reply, my eyes searching his face for any signs of him believing my words.

"And have I ever, tested your trust. Tell me, when have I ever made you question my love for you," He asks, his hands moving to my neck. His eyes stared into mine.

"First month into dating, you still left flowers in Maddy's locker every day. Drove her to school, stayed at her house when you got wasted drunk," I state without a second of hesitation. Nate made me feel second to Maddie early in our relationship, and I would have left if it wasn't for the night he realised that I wouldn't stay if he didn't stop.

"Shut the fuck up," Nate shouts, "That was forever ago."

"Two hundred and seventy-nine days. You have no idea what it feels like being in a relationship with someone who loves someone else, but what else would I expect from THE NATE JACOBS, STAR QUARTERBACK, you will never have to feel how I felt," I shouted back.

"Shut the fuck up, you don't know what your talking about, you don't know me," Nate replied, his grip around my neck tightening.

"But I do, Nate. I have loved you since I was ten. Before Maddy, before you decided to become the buffest guy in the grade, I loved you when no one knew who you were in school. Then it all changed in one summer," I reply softly, my eyes filled with tears and my hands around his wrists.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP! YOU KNOW NOTHING!!" Nate shouts, his face turning red and his grip on my throat increasing.

"THEN TELL ME! OR AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH!! MAYBE I SHOULD GO GET MADDY!" I shout back before reaching up and slapping Nate across his face. Nate grip loosens around my neck as he tales a step back, and I move, putting more distance between us.

"I swear to god, I will kill you," Nate states after regaining his bearings. His eyes locked onto me.

"Do your worse. Just know that I love you until my last breath," I respond, tears falling down my face.

It was a couple of hours before we could look each other in the face. My neck had started to bruise in the shape of Nate's hand, and his face was scratched from my nails. I hid away in his bedroom while he sat in his bathroom. Walking out of his bathroom, Nate sees me sitting on his bed, my clothes exchanged for one of his shirts, and my hair pulled out of my face.

"Your hurt," Nate whispers.

"It doesn't matter, are you okay. Did I hurt you," I respond as I start to get out of bed.

"Yeah, I am fine. Let me take a look at you," Nate states, making his way over to me before I could even put my foot on the ground. He gently moves my head so he can see my bruising neck, "That looks serious. It's starting to bruise badly."

"I'll just cover it up. It's fine. You didn't mean it," I whisper as I wrap my arms around his neck.

"Stop justifying that shit. You should be running from me. Why are you so calm right now?" He asks before I pull him down into a kiss.

"I love you," I whisper again his lips.

"Your fucking crazy, you know that right,"

"Isn't that why you love me tho," I say, pulling him into another kiss.

"I am sorry," Nate whispers.

"I know," I whisper back.

#nate jacobs x reader #nate euphoria #nate jacobs fanfic #nate jacobs hc #euphoria masterlist #euphoria #nate jacobs #nate jacobs imagine #euphoria x reader

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honeys-hotties · 4 months

Note

ok this is kinda specific but can I request a julien fic where she's not sure if the reader is into girls and they're all out and a random guy hits on the reader and jb pretends to be her gf to get the reader away from him. and the reader plays along and kisses jb so she gets her confirmation and then they just confess their feelings ugh 🥰🥰🥰

i love this request!!! sorry it took me sooo long my loves, i've been absolutely overwhelmed with everything recently, but this one has been in the works for a bit and i'm so excited to get it out!!

My Type-Julien Baker x Reader

julien baker x fem!reader, sorta angsty? but happy ending (of course!) not proofread so i'm so sorry in advance, but i wanted to get something out tonight!

word count: 2727 💗

“When do you want me to pick you up?” Julien asks, her voice coming from the phone propped up on the coffee table. You’re sitting on the couch painting your nails while she watches through the screen, her face close to the camera on the facetime call.

“Umm, what time did Phoebe want to meet us there?” you ask, carefully applying a second coat.

“I think sometime around 9?” Julien says, smiling at the sight of you, deeply concentrated on your manicure.

“Okay” you say, capping the bottle and blowing on your freshly painted nails. “Do you wanna come over and get ready with me before we leave?”. Julien nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that sounds fun. When should I come over?” she asks, getting even closer to the screen. You pick up the phone, careful not to smudge your nails, and laugh at Julien’s expression, her face giant on the screen. “Oh, I don't care, maybe around 7? I can order a pizza or something?”

“Sounds good princess” she nods. “I’ll see you then. You smile and blow her a kiss before hanging up the phone and grabbing a bottle of clear nail polish to go over the red painted onto your nails with a smile.

Julien, however, is much less relaxed. As soon as you hang up the phone, she lets out a huge sigh and immediately calls Phoebe and Lucy to vent.

“Guys, I’m literally going over to her house to get ready with her, which really means watching her get ready, and I don’t know if I can take it.” she says dramatically. “She’s just so gorgeous and smart and funny and cute but I don’t even know if she’s into girls and I feel like I’m going to fuck up and make things SO awkward and if I ruin our friendship I don’t know what I’ll do and I just-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there” Phoebe cuts her off. “First off, that girl is definitely not straight.”

“Oh one hundred percent,” Lucy chimes in. “Remember when she was auxing when we were at the beach and she played girl in red? And when she and I talked for like an hour about Portrait of a Lady on Fire?”

“Yeah, or when all of us were like, collectively drooling over that Angelina Jolie movie? Honestly, shoot your shot JB.” Phoebe encourages, Lucy nodding along.

“I don’t know guys, I really don’t want to fuck up our relationship. I mean, other than you guys, she’s my best friend in the entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Julien, even if she was straight, which for the record she’s definitely not, she would never, ever hold your feelings against you.” Lucy tells her seriously, Phoebe agreeing with her.

“I guess so.” Julien tells them. “Alright, I love you both, I’ll see you at the bar tonight.” Julien waves to the pair before hanging up, dropping her phone onto the table, and dropping her face into her hands.

When you answer the door you’re fresh out of the shower, fresh faced with wet hair, wearing an oversized Green Day shirt, and tiny shorts, and Julien feels like she’s about to have a heart attack.

“Hey, you” you say, giving her a tight hug before opening the door further and letting her inside. “I just called, pizza should be on its way soon!” Julien can hear music playing faintly from your bathroom, and is acutely aware of the smell of your body wash and the fact that you are wearing very little clothing.

“Yeah, sounds good.” she says, walking inside and taking her shoes off, before following you into the bathroom where your makeup and hair products are spread out over the counter. She sits on top of the toilet and watches you dry your hair while you tell her about your day and the drama between some of your friends, looking at you like you hung the moon. Satisfied with your hair, you drag her into your bedroom and sit her down on the bed, pulling different hangers out of the closet.

“Okay, so I have this dress I thrifted,” you tell her, holding up a short, black dress. “It has this really cool neckline, and I was thinking I could do my layer necklaces and those black heels?” You show her another hanger. “I have this skirt too, though, and I thought I could wear it with that red top and my leather jacket? And my boots?” Julien stares at you blankly, but really she’s just picturing you in the clothes you’re holding up and trying so hard to keep her cool. You gently wave your fingers at her. “Hey, earth to JB, you okay over there?”

She starts, and stares at you for a second, blushing wildly. “Oh, um, I don’t, I mean, I think they would both look good.” she stutters, glancing down at her tattooed hands which are fidgeting in her lap. You roll your eyes playfully, laughing gently at her words.

“But which one would look better?” you ask, waving both of the hangers in her direction. “I was kinda leaning towards the dress, especially cause then I would match your shirt, but I really wanted your input!” Julien flushes again at your words, before nodding her head in agreement.

“I um, I think the dress would look really gorgeous on you.” she manages, and you beam at your words, heading into the bathroom to change and leaving Julien a flustered mess on the edge of your bed. Reminding herself of Lucy and Phoebe’s encouragements, she tells herself to get a grip and get over herself, taking several deep breaths as she waits for you to come back.

When you return, fully dressed and putting on your jewelry, Julien swears she can feel her heart stop. You pause, slightly self conscious under her gaze, and cast your eyes down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “What, um, what do you think?” you ask her, slowly meeting her eyes with your own.

“I think you look stunning” she tells you, voice full of sincerity. “I mean, shit, you’re easily one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.”

You flush at her words, and smile at her before grabbing your jacket and sitting down beside her to put on your shoes. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen too, JB.” you tell her, and miss the way her face burns at your words. “Ready to go?” you ask her, straightening up and grabbing her hand, pulling her into the living room as she nods. “You sure you’re okay with driving?” you ask her, grabbing your keys and phone while she ties her shoes.

“Of course I am,” she reassures you. “You just focus on having fun tonight, okay?” You grin at her, and the two of you chat about the night ahead all the way down to her truck, where she holds the door open for you before climbing inside herself. As soon as the car starts, she hands you her phone, and you pull up the playlist she had made for the both of you, singing along to the music the whole way to the bar. Julien has her hand resting on your knee as you speed through traffic, and you have your window down, the cold, nighttime air rushing through your hair.

Once the truck pulls into a parking space outside the bar and Julien opens your door, grabbing your hand and leading you into the bar, things start to speed up. Once the two of you find Lucy and Phoebe, making your way over to the booth they had claimed and greeting them with tight hugs and cheek kisses, Julien offers to get the three of you drinks, and after she leaves, Phoebe pulls you onto the dance floor. You throw your arms around Phoebe’s neck and she guides your hips to the music, the two of you a giggling, sweaty mess under the flashing lights and blasting speakers of the club. After Julien returns with your drinks, you pull Phoebe towards the table and slide into the booth, leaning up against Julien who lays an arm across your shoulders as you sip your drink.

“Having fun out there?” she asks, her face extremely close to yours in order to be heard over the music and chatter of the club. You nod, grinning, and gesture towards Phoebe

“She’s taking charge,” you say, laughing. “I’m just along for the ride.” Phoebe winks at you, pulling you into her side and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal and laugh. Lucy laughs loudly at the pout on Julien’s face at the loss of contact between the two of you, and Julien rolls her eyes, before quickly excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, Julien splashes water on her face, exhaling deeply and trying to talk herself up. The images of you dancing with Phoebe, the ones of you getting ready earlier, and every single second you had spent with her played in her head as she spiraled into a haze of overthinking and self-doubt. How could someone like you ever fall for someone like her, she wonders, but before she can get too deep into her own head, Lucy barges into the bathroom. Seeing the questioning look on Julien's face, Lucy cuts her off before she can ask:

“I know you too well, JB. I know you’re in here overthinking, but you need to be out there making a move.” Julien tries to protest, but before she can even get the words out Lucy cuts her off again, holding out a hand. “Don’t even try to give me any of that ‘she’s so out of my league’ bullshit either Julien, you two are made for each other and you know it. Now snap out of it and get your ass out there. Go get your girl!”

Julien grins ruefully at Lucy, thanking her for the pep talk before heading out of the bathroom to find you.

Meanwhile, you had wandered over the bar to get another drink for you and Phoebe. Julien was acting weird, barely making eye contact with you ever since you two had arrived, and you were stuck wondering if you had done anything wrong. When she had left the table, you had wanted to go after her, but Lucy insisted that you should stay, that she would go check on Julien. Phoebe had encouraged you to get another drink, so you were sitting in front of the crowded bar while the drastically overworked bartender made his rounds. You were so absorbed in what was happening with Julien you didn’t notice the guy next to you that had been ogling you from the second you sat down, until he opened his mouth.

“Hey you, come here often?” he asked, and you cringed internally, before tuning to find the man. He wasn’t unattractive, but his sleazy pick up line coupled with the stench of alcohol on him and the fact that he was way too close to you turned you off completely to the man. Well that, plus the fact that you already knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t him.

“Um, not really.” You said politely, before attempting to turn back around. The man’s hand on your shoulder prevented you from doing so, though, and you felt panic rising up within you. You tuned out whatever he was saying, searching frantically for Lucy, for Phoebe or Julien behind him, but with no luck.

“Like I was saying,” the man continued. “A pretty girl like you really shouldn’t be here all alone. Let me buy you a drink, then maybe we can keep getting to know each other at my place.”

You felt fear closing over you, your friends were nowhere to be seen and this guy was relentless. “No, really, I’m not interested.” you told him as calmly as you could.

“Why not?” he asked, grinning horribly at you.

“I’m not available.” you hear yourself say, to which the man scoffs.

“That’s what they all say, but I don’t see anyone here for you-” but the man is cut off by a firm hand sliding around your waist.

“Sorry about that, baby.” Julien says, pulling you protectively into her. “Line for the bathroom was crazy long. Who’s this guy?” she asks, pointing to the man whose slimy grin had slid right off of his face. Relief rushes through you at the feeling of Julien’s hands on your hips, and you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Don’t worry about it, honey.” you tell her, melting back into her arms. “This is, Matt, was it?” The man scowls.

“Mike, actually.” he responds, gruffly. Julien sticks out her tattooed hand.

“Mike, hi, I’m Julien. Her girlfriend.” she says gruffly, her voice and hands on you sending a wave of heat through your body. “And you’re obviously making her uncomfortable, so if you could leave, that would be great.”

“No, you know what, we were having a good time before you interrupted.” Mike scowled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m her fucking girlfriend.” Julien snaps at him, before pulling you into a strong kiss. You relax into her, throwing your arms around her neck and she pulls you in by the waist, standing between your legs and tilting your head gently upwards to meet her lips. You kiss her back feverishly, until she abruptly pulls away and steps back. “He, uh, he left.” she tells you, running her hand across her mouth. “Sorry about that.” she mutters, before turning on her heel and running out the door, leaving you sitting at the bar, speechless.

You stare at the spot where she disappeared into the crowd, heading for the door for a moment, before jumping up and stumbling after her. You pass by the booth with Lucy and Phoebe who are sitting, staring at you with smirks on their faces.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lucy asks, smiling gently as you get closer. “Go get your girl.” Phoebe whoops at her words, and you roll your eyes playfully at the two of them, before turning towards the door and hurrying out into the cold air. Once you stumble outside, and walk a couple feet down the sidewalk, you see Julien in the alley, leaned against the bricks with a cigarette in her hand. You walk slowly towards her, watching as she takes shaky drags from the cigarette in her hand.

“Hey, Jules.” You call softly to her when you’re a couple feet away, and she slowly meets your eyes with her own red-rimmed ones. “Why are you crying?”

“Fuck, I’m so, so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, you just looked so uncomfortable and I wanted to make sure you were safe but I wasn’t thinking and-” but you cut her off, surging forwards to kiss her again. Your hands fly into her hair and she drops the cigarette, crushing it under her boot before pulling you in by your hips. She runs her strong hands up your back and bites your bottom lip gently, causing you to moan into her mouth, tugging gently at the roots of her hair. Moments later, you break away, panting, and she rests her forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” you tell her, placing a finger to her lips when she begins to protest. “You did save me, and you showed me that you feel this too.” you gesture between the two of you. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for like, forever!” you tell her breathily, giggling at the incredulous look on her face.

“Me?!” she asks. “I thought I wasn’t your, uh, your type, I guess”

“Well, you thought wrong.” you say, before lacing your fingers with hers, smiling at the beautiful grin that breaks onto her face. “Let’s go tell Lucy and Phoebe good night, and then you can take me home.”

Julien steals one more quick kiss before squeezing your hand gently and pulling you after her back into the bar, laughing as you stumble, and thanking her lucky stars she had been wrong about you.

#julien baker x reader #boygenius #julien baker #honey writes #phoebe bridgers #lucy dacus

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