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6esiree · 5 months

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Getting Dared to Call Them Daddy Pt. 2

Summary: You get dared to call Vox and Adam daddy.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly NSFW, angst, canon death. Beware of Adam’s part. Idk how I wrote all that out of a game of truth of dare, but I did and I don’t feel like rewriting it </3. Anywho, MINORS DO NOT READ!!!

Vox:

You had a life outside of the Hazbin Hotel, working at the entertainment district in Pentagram City. The casino you were employed by wasn’t exclusive, per se, but it might as well have been as it was a hot spot for overlords and other high-profile individuals. That’s how you became acquainted with the Vees, even though your shifts didn’t coincide with their visits half of the time. Tonight was an exception, however, and Velvette was in a particularly good mood.

Well, it actually took a few cocktails to get her there, but you weren’t complaining. She took a seat at the bar and mindlessly scrolled on her phone, only opening up when the alcohol settled in—nothing unusual. You were mentally prepared to have her talk your ear off about shit you couldn’t care less about, but she proceeded to surprise you by asking if you’d like to play a game.

Truth or Dare, Velvette suggested, leaving you wondering if you’d heard her correctly. It was easy to forget that everyone in this damned afterlife was normal to some extent, even an overlord like her. When she quirked a brow at you, motioning ‘Well?’ with her hand, you shrugged and said yes, never anticipating that she’d take the game further than most people did.

Velvette asked you to go first, so you did, glad that she settled for truth. You sucked at this game, and the last thing you wanted to do was frustrate her as you pondered endlessly over a dare. Anyway, as you whipped up an old-fashioned cocktail for a patron, you hummed, asking her to tell you something interesting about Vox. The man was a mystery to you, only ever uttering pleasentries instead of engaging in an actual conversation with you.

Velvette sipped at her drink, rubbing her chin in contemplation before shrugging and ultimately telling you that he wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface. Vox was charismatic, yeah, but he was also weak. Blinking, you slid the cocktail to the patron, taking your money and shooing them away. Everyone knew that Vox valued his image, Velvette continued, and that he’d do anything to preserve the persona he had meticulously crafted since he manifested in Hell, but there were some things that were simply out of his control.

“What? Look, I’m not trying to call you a liar, but that’s kinda hard to believe,” You responded honestly, “What do you mean, ‘Out of his control’?”

“Trust me, he’s absolutely pathetic,” Velvette said, leaning over the counter to whisper to you, “Regarding the rest, you can find out yourself—that’s if you aren’t a pussycat, of course.”

You peered down at Velvette, knowing damn well that if you chose truth, she’d never let you live it down. Her fingers tapped expectantly against the counter, waiting for your response as you bided your time by cleaning the dirty glasses you had neglected earlier. Truthfully, you were afraid of what she’d make you do, but you eventually sighed and muttered dare.

“I knew you had it in you!” Velvette praised you before adding the next part. “Go and call him daddy, I dare you. You’ll see how he’ll crumble like that,” She snapped her fingers, “When a babe like you calls him daddy.”

You dropped your head and carded your hand through your hair, immediately regretting your decision. How the Hell would you get around to calling one of the most influential and powerful overlords daddy, exactly? As you raised your head to look at Velvette, you hoped that she had your back if he reacted poorly.

“What if he—“ You started, but then you were interrupted by one of your coworkers.

Velvette sat back down, annoyed, but also too drunk to complain. Anyway, they asked you to whip up some cocktails for the other two Vees, practically begging you to deliver it to them, too. When you quirked a brow at them, asking them why you should do their job as a waiter, they started to ramble on about how they had accidentally pissed off Valentino. Ah, fuck. Not like you’d say no anyway, especially considering what Velvette dared you to do.

Instead of giving them a verbal response, you waved your hand in dismissal, letting your coworker know that you had them covered. They thanked you profusely before scurrying off to tend to another table nearby, leaving you scowling as you got to work. Velvette watched you work your magic, assuring you that everything would be ‘Fiiineee,’ giggling when you rolled your eyes.

“Look, if I’m wrong—which I’m not—I got you covered,” Velvette added, watching you step out from your post behind the bar, drinks in hand. “Oh, wow! I’ve never seen the other half of you,” She gasped, but you ignored her.

You were so fucked—that’s the only thought that circulated your mind as you leisurely made your way to the VIP section. The bouncer at the entrance, a friend of yours, regarded you with curiosity when you stopped in front of him. ‘What’re you doing here?’ He inquired as he stepped aside to allow you access into the area, but you told him that you’d tell him later, feeling slightly anxious upon spotting Vox and Valentino.

The two overlords were lounging around on opposite ends of their booth, Valentino characteristically flocked by attractive sinners as pink smoke wafted around them, while Vox sat entirely alone, an annoyed look on his face as one claw tapped incessantly at the empty glass in his hand. As you approached them, you made sure to straighten your back and put on a friendly face.

“Hey! Uh, I got a Sazerac and a Lemon Drop here—whose is what?” You announced, holding out the drinks as you tried not to dissolve under everyone’s stares.

“Ah, I didn’t know you waited!” Valentino tilted his head, practically undressing you with his eyes, “The Lemon Drop es mío, cariño.”

Typical Valentino, but you couldn’t be bothered to feel uncomfortable by him. Unfortunately, you got used to his advances, the only one who could instill some semblance of uneasiness within you being Vox. He interacted with you the least out of the Vees, after all, but you never bothered wondering why until now.

“Apparently someone pissed you off?” You said, huffing as he enveloped your hand in his while handing him his cocktail.

“Don’t even remind me,” Valentino scoffed theatrically, “This establishment is full of idiotas—aside from you, of course. Say, you should wait for us from now on.”

Goosebumps littered your skin as you turned around to hand Vox his drink, realizing that he had been watching you the entire time, his eyes unashamedly following your every move. He didn’t shy away when you met his stare, either, which made you doubt Velvette’s words even more. Fucking Hell, why did you agree to play such a stupid game?

“Well, you’d have to talk to my boss about that, you know,” You continued the conversation, trying to quell the anxiety in your stomach. “The last thing anyone wants to do is pay someone two salaries.”

“Oh, cariño, I can easily arrange that,” Valentino chuckled, taking a sip from his cocktail, “Mm, yeah. I’ll definitely be talking to your boss tonight.”

And that was the end of your conversation with the moth, especially as his attention was stolen by one of the sinner’s next to him. Now that you had to face Vox, you never wanted to cease to exist more than ever. In fact, you hoped the next extermination would take you if things went wrong as you handed the man his Sazerac, his signature smile consuming most of his screen as he accepted it.

“Is everything alright with you?” Vox asked as his claws brushed against your knuckles, savoring the way you jumped at his touch, “You seem nervous, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed in embarrassment, watching how he took a sip from his drink. You would have recovered quickly if he hadn’t thrown a pet name at you, the way he uttered sweetheart with that voice of his making you feel slightly pathetic. But you had to get over yourself, especially because you could feel Velvette watching you from afar, waiting for you to do something.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine!” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “What about you?”

Vox blinked, confused. It was now or never, you guessed, taking a seat on his thigh and draping your legs over him. His body tensed underneath you, never anticipating that you’d do something so bold, but he didn’t push you off.

“Uh, why wouldn’t I be alright?” Vox asked after a few seconds had passed by.

When he didn’t protest to you being on his lap, you placed your hand on his chest, but it was mostly just to steady yourself. However, you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt under your palm.

“I don’t know—you look sort of pissed off, I guess?” You said, feeling how he tried to steady the rise and fall of his chest, the act fruitless as his heart rate gave him away. “Velvette’s at the bar, Val is…being Val, and you? Well,” You gestured to the free space around him, “Do I even have to say anything?”

Vox rolled his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slithered one of his arms around your waist, holding you against him as he leaned forward to place his drink on the table in the center of the booth. A gasp escaped your throat—you couldn’t remember the last time someone held you against them like this. He was making it challenging to maintain your composure, especially as his hold remained on you as he sunk back into his seat.

“Look, I’m usually here outside of my own volition, alright?” Vox finally said, his free hand moving along with his mouth.

You hummed, making sure that he heard you. His response was total bullshit, you thought. There was nobody paying enough attention to him to ensure that he stayed.

“How? You can come and go as you please.” You said, speaking without thinking, “Everyone is too busy doing their own thing to even care that you’re still here.”

Vox’s eyes widened as you said that, and for a moment, you feared that you had overstepped. You were never so openly blunt, not even with Velvette, and you got along with her quite decently. On the other hand, this was your first real interaction with the man, so you dearly hoped you hadn’t upset him.

“I—shit—I’m sorry,” You quickly said, “I didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—“

“Oh, sweetheart, if I’m upset, it’s only because you’re correct,” Vox interrupted you, his eyes relaxing as he gazed at you. “Now, it’s my turn to give you a hard pill to swallow—how can you apologize for being so blunt when you sat on my lap without my permission?”

You paled at his question.

“Hey, I asked you something first,” You quickly countered, which made Vox chuckle.

“You know, I’m starting to believe that we’re both here for the same reason,” Vox said, his free hand settling on your knee. “What do you think?”

If you had understood what Vox was implying, he was here for you. He tagged along with Velvette and Valentino to admire you from afar, and that baffled you, especially as he always appeared so confident, so eager to get what he wanted. Maybe that’s what Velvette meant when she told you that Vox wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface, however, you still had yet to figure out how that made him weak.

Anyway, while Vox was correct, it was only to a certain extent. You had never thought about the man in any other way besides superficially, only sticking around him because of what Velvette dared you to do; but now that Vox had you in his embrace, his claws flexing against your hipbone, you decided that he was starting to grow on you.

“Hm, I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of admitting that you’re right,” You replied slyly, leaning in so you were chest to chest with him.

Vox stared at you with a large, toothy grin, pleased by your words. As you peered down at him, all you could think about was how perfect of an opportunity this was to turn the tables on him.

“But you’re correct…daddy,” You whispered, reaching up to trail your finger across his screen.

As soon as you called him daddy, you felt Vox’s screen warm up under your touch—so that’s what made him weak, you thought as you observed the way his face fell at such a simple word. Truthfully, it was satisfying to witness such a powerful man dissolve underneath you, but the feeling was short-lived. You blinked, noticing the way Vox sat insanely still. You snapped your fingers in front of him to see if he would respond, but he didn’t. Ah, fuck.

“Uh, Vox?” You said, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hi? Hey? Helloooo? Vox!”

Again, he didn’t respond. But you only started to grow concerned when the rest of his body began to warm up. Vox had a TV for a head, so maybe you had caused him to overheat? Your suspicions were confirmed when his screen suddenly turned blue, the phrase, ‘A problem has been detected and Vox has been shut down to prevent damage to his systems,’ on his screen, ‘The problem seems to be caused by the following file: Daddy.exe.’ Nothing could have prepared you for the way his length poked your leg, though.

And to make matters worse, the power went out. Great. Fucking great. Vox was hard and also temporarily out of order. At least Velvette was having fun, you thought as she howled in the background, somehow drowning out everyone else as they complained. You sighed, realizing that you couldn’t just get up off of his lap, not when you were shielding whatever dignity he had left.

So, you swiped the hat off of his head and fanned him to cool him down, even though your efforts were hardly making a difference. Meanwhile, you could hear your boss yelling in the background, ‘What the fuck happened to the power!?’ spotting her using the flashlight from the other end of the casino.

“The fuck is going on?” Valentino asked, standing up as he illuminated the area around you with his phone. “Vox, what the fuck? What’s wrong with you?”

“One moment he was normal,” You said, still trying to cool him down, “And the next he blue screened.”

Valentino took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke over his shoulder before leaning down to look at Vox. You’d heard through the grapevine that his vision was shit, and it was apparent in the way he took his time reading one simple sentence with narrowed eyes.

“The…problem…seems…to be…caused…by the…following…file…Daddy.exe,” Valentino slowly read aloud.

You tried not to shrink under his gaze as he turned his attention to you.

“Well?” Valentino asked, quirking a brow at you as the power suddenly returned.

“I didn’t know he’d…do all that when I called him daddy,” You muttered, hoping you hadn’t pissed off the moth. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it—I swear.”

Instead, Valentino tossed his head back, a hand on his chest as he laughed. “I can’t be mad at una cosita linda like you,” He said, petting your head.

Thank God, you mentally sighed.

Suddenly, you heard a ‘zzt!’ your head snapping to Vox. As his body jolted upwards and his face replaced the blue screen, you stilled your ministrations. Blinking, he looked at you with an undecipherable expression, seemingly recalling what happened. You quickly put his hat back on his head, opening your mouth to apologize; but then Velvette ran up to the booth, showing all of you how she got everything on video.

If you weren’t fucked before, you certainly were now, the way Vox turned to you and grabbed your jaw after she left communicating that. “As soon as your shift is over, you’re leaving with me,” He said, leaving no room for you to refuse. “Understood, sweetheart?” You nodded your head obediently, unaware of how he was going to destroy your insides later that night, forcing you to chant the word daddy as he did so.

Adam:

Ah, Adam. The first man alive. You had the displeasure of meeting him your first Extermination Day, and God, was he full of himself. It was satisfying dodging and escaping him, hearing how he cried out in disappointment when you sought refuge in the darkest crevices of Hell’s infrastructure. “Yeah, run away you fucking coward!” You heard his voice bounce off the brick walls, your hand over your mouth as you stifled your laughter. What a loser.

You continued to fuck around with Adam, though, taking advantage of his reckless fighting style. He hated how slinky you were, the way you effortlessly slipped away from his grasp when he thought he finally had you frustrating him. By the third extermination, you started to tease him, relishing in his poorly disguised groans—a meager ‘Fuck you’—as you brushed against him or touched his wings.

Adam could have killed you a long time ago, the first time you escaped his clutches being sheer luck; but he kept searching for you, locating you with ease despite the fact that you never lingered in one specific area. You were well aware of this, so when you, Angel Dust, and Cherri Bomb were drunkenly playing Truth or Dare the night before the Exorcists attacked the Hazbin Hotel, you let them in on your history with Adam.

Big mistake on your part, especially as Angel took advantage of this information to dare you to do something insanely stupid. “Dare ya to call him daddy,” he slurred, Cherri smacking her chest as she choked on her beer. “Are you trying to get them killed?” She asked between coughs. Your friendship with her was relatively new, but she liked you too much to see you go so quickly.

“Let’s see if you’ll remember tomorrow,” You rolled your eyes, but Angel was adamant that he would. “Hey, maybe we might be able to take him down if ya distract him.”

Angel didn’t forget, and for the first time since you arrived in Hell, you were afraid of what might happen. You couldn’t care less about the dare—the people you grew to love and care for were being directly targeted, and you didn’t want to lose them. If anything, the idea of calling Adam daddy only served to spur you on, even if it would ensure your death.

You stood alongside everybody else as the Exorcists poured into Hell from above, visibly gratified by the sight of so many sinners in one place. When Adam and Lute finally came into view, you made sure to wave at them with a smile. Lute was completely unaware of your past interactions, the scowl on her face a testament of that. Adam, on the other hand, looked oddly horrified.

You would only face him after Alastor’s shield was broken, having slain several Exorcists by then, the evidence plain all over your clothes. Adam was strangely unfazed by this, however, seemingly too busy being pissed off by your presence when he found you behind the hotel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Adam said as he spun you around, his grip on you piercing.

You heard the moment Adam landed near you, but you gave him the satisfaction of believing he had caught you unaware. Huffing, you shook his hand off of you, pushing him back with your foot. That pissed him off. It was easy dodging his attacks, though—too easy, you realized. You quirked a brow at him as the two of you practically danced around each other, creating the illusion that you were fighting.

“Fucking hello? Are you deaf?” Adam asked, swinging at you but completely missing.

“You might as well fight with the air,” You said, but then he knocked your spear out of your grip. No big deal, your hands would do. “Seriously, what do they teach you up in Heaven?”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Adam said, lunging towards you in frustration. “Come over here, bitch—gotcha! Fucking finally!”

Never anticipating that he would pull such a stunt, Adam managed to tackle you to the ground. Fuck, he was heavy, but you’d find a way to escape his grasp. This is what you thought until he pinned your arms above your head, placing his legs on either side of you and caging your body underneath him. For the first time since he met you, you looked at him with fear. You were stuck.

“Shit, as hot as this is, it’s time for you to die, babe,” Adam said, but you knew he didn’t mean it—the second part, precisely.

“Why now?” You panted, your heart beating violently against your ribcage.

“What? What are you talking about?” Adam asked, his eyes widening as you bent your fingers to touch his hand, which were holding your wrists together. “Hey—what are you doing? Fucking stop that—“

“You could have killed me a long time ago, you know,” You interrupted him, forcing your body to relax in his grip in an attempt to appear genuine.

Adam had a big mouth—everybody knew that. He would curse at every opportunity, the words, ‘Fuck,’ ‘Shit,’ and ‘Bitch,’ consisting of most of his vocabulary. But as he looked down at you, completely at his mercy, he had nothing to say. Not even a meager insult.

“I—“ Adam said, but that was all he had to offer.

You closed your eyes and exhaled, opening them after a few seconds. Angel’s dare echoed in the back of your mind, and you knew that you could weaponize it, but you needed to wear Adam down a bit more, his body too tense for your liking.

“Before I die, can I at least…see how you look like?” You asked, hoping it would work.

“You’re already looking at me right now, what?” Adam shook his head.

Of course he misunderstood you.

“Behind the mask, I mean,” You specified, trying hard to be patient.

“Oh.”

“Please?”

Adam looked over his shoulder, clearly hesitant. The fact that he was considering your request was a good sign, however, excitement blooming in your chest. After a minute or so, he turned back to you, sighing in defeat.

“I, uh—fuck, fine!” Adam stuttered, readjusting his grip on your wrists so he could remove his mask with one hand. “Don’t move, or I’ll, uh, kill you! Yeah.”

You nodded obediently, secretly curious as to how he looked like. As he held your wrists together with one hand now, Adam looked over his shoulder again, making sure that nobody was paying attention to you two. When he was satisfied, he tentatively reached up to grab his mask, his stare never leaving you.

You couldn’t help but notice how Adam’s fingers trembled. He looked so vulnerable, and that made your stomach feel a bit funny. You wanted to call him pathetic, but the way he slowly revealed himself to you squashed that urge. As much as he sucked, he was still a person, you realized, especially when his mask landed next to your head.

Your eyes darted across his face, taking in each and every one of his features. If anybody asked you to guess what Adam, the first man alive, looked like, you would have replied with ethereal. But as you took in the sight before you, he was…average, with pale skin, hazel eyes, ash brown hair, and stubble decorating his chin. Still, he somehow managed to mesmerize you.

“Are you done, uh, looking?” Adam stammered, turning away from you.

He was growing self-conscious under your gaze, and that made you feel…bad? Oh no, why did you feel bad? You noticed the funny feeling in your stomach was only growing stronger, making you nauseous. You had no idea what it was, but if you remained underneath Adam for a second longer, you feared that you’d discover what it was.

But before you could shut down whatever this was, you had to indulge yourself first, being the sinner you were. You also justified it by convincing yourself that he hadn’t been worn down enough yet.

“Kiss me,” You said.

“What?” Adam blinked, completely caught off guard.

“I said kiss me—are you deaf?” You said, throwing back his insult from earlier.

“Now why the fuck would I—I don’t want to—that’s crazy—“ Adam struggled to form a coherent sentence, nervously laughing in between his words.

“Kiss me, daddy.”

His grip on your wrists immediately loosened, shocked. You had him right where you wanted him, retracting your arms from above your head with a practiced speed, seizing his collar and bringing him in for a kiss. Adam gasped against your lips, but that was the only form of protest he gave you. Before you knew it, he had one hand buried in your hair, the other on the small of your back with the sole purpose of joining your bodies.

It was supposed to be a quick kiss, but you allowed it to progress, enjoying the feeling of Adam’s hands desperately clawing at you. Meanwhile, all he could think about was how he couldn’t kill you anymore. He was addicted to the way your lips wetly smacked against one another, your hands glued to his face and his face only.

Your body was starting to heat up, and so was Adam’s, you realized. “Fuck,” You whimpered, feeling his length poking at your thigh. When he took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, his hand cupping the space between your thighs, your mind instantly went ‘Nope.’ You were in the middle of a battle, for fuck’s sake.

“Adam, we need to—“ You said, separating from the kiss, but he just dived right back in.

You grabbed his face, forcefully pulling him away from you. Adam peered down at you with rosy cheeks and bruised lips, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked absolutely blissed out, even as his hand remained in between your thighs, your head falling back with a moan as he started to massage you through your pants.

“Stop!” You cried, grabbing his wrist and squeezing him harder than you should have.

“Ow—what the fuck!” Adam whined, retracting his arm.

When he looked at you like a kicked puppy, you rolled your eyes and sat up.

“We are not going to fuck in the middle of…this! It’s not right,” You said, trying to snap him back to reality. “Look around you, Adam!” You gestured wildly, regret immediately replacing the arousal you previously felt.

“Fuck, I’m so selfish. What if my friends are dead? And I could have saved them if I weren’t so busy—“ You stopped rambling when you noticed the expression on Adam’s face.

He looked everything but apologetic, and God, did that piss you off. You quickly collected your spear from the ground and moved behind him, holding the weapon against his neck.

“Woah! Hey, babe! You don’t gotta do all that!” Adam panicked, his hands landing over yours, albeit putting no effort in pulling the spear away from his neck. “I’m sorry—you’re right—this is wrong and you—“

“Get up,” You demanded, kicking at his feet when he didn’t listen. “I said get up!”

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it!” Adam said, but he had to stop halfway into his ascent.

The man was taller than you, so there was no way he could stand up at his full height without risking getting choked.

“Hey, genius, I can’t get up without your fucking spear—“ He started, but then he felt the weapon abandon his throat.

“Get the fuck out of here,” You said, grabbing his arm and spinning him around.

“What?” Adam asked, his brows furrowed as he processed your question. “No, I’m not gonna leave. Do you have any fucking idea what just happened?”

You turned away from Adam, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You really hated yourself for what you were about to do, but it was the only way to get him to understand.

“So? Who cares,” You said.

“The fuck? I do, you stupid—ah, sorry, I’m not good at this kinda stuff,” Adam shook his head, frustrated. “But I…care, about you and whatever just happened.”

“I was only trying to save myself,” You said, but Adam wasn’t having any of it.

“Well, shit, you have a funny way of doing it,” Adam said, rounding you as he gauged your reaction. “Do you make googly eyes at every fucker who’s about to kill you, huh? Let them kiss you and touch you the way I just did?”

Screams pierced the sky, a reminder of everyone fighting right around the corner. You didn’t have the time to argue, especially as you thought about your friends, who were out there risking their lives while you were fucking around with Adam.

“I don’t want you, Adam. Okay? Get it through your fucking skull,” You lied through your teeth, seizing his collar and forcing him to look at you. “Look at what you and your dumbass army are doing! You’re slaughtering innocent souls that are fighting for a chance at redemption.”

Adam stuttered, a look of disbelief upon his face. While it pained you to see him that way, your words were exactly what he needed to hear. If you allowed anything else to happen between you two, you’d never be able to forgive yourself.

“But what right do you have when you’re here in Hell—“ Adam tried to counter, but you didn’t let him finish his sentence.

“I’m sorry, but you spared me out of your own goddamn selfishness, mercilessly killing other sinners because they weren’t me. I’m not special, and honestly, neither are you!” You continued, trying not to acquiesce as you heard his breath hitch in his throat. “You’re the Adam—so fucking what? I could never be with you, and you should’ve known that when all of your wives have left you.”

You bit your cheek as you pushed Adam away, trying not to apologize as his heart shattered into a million pieces before you. He could have killed you, but he didn’t, instead opting to watch you as you turned your back on him—just like everybody else he had ever loved. Little did you know that that would be the last time you saw Adam alive. “Did ya do it?” Angel joked as you observed his lifeless body, his face falling when you didn’t laugh. “Cause ya didn’t have to, but if ya did, uh, good job?” You eventually offered him a half-hearted nod. Hell had won, and Extermination Day had been cancelled, but you felt hollow as everyone brought you in for a celebratory hug.

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coco-loco-nut · 6 months

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Book Club

Pairing: The grid x driver!reader, Lance Stroll x reader

Summary: A wild goose chase ensues when you are at a meeting with your book club

requests are open (plz send some, i can’t keep only getting ideas while driving 🥺) masterlist

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“Guys, have you seen y/n?” Lance panics, rushing into the McLaren garage. It’s not the first time his girlfriend had disappeared from her garage but he’s always been able to find you a few steps away.

“She’s missing?” Lando leaped out of his chair. “Come on, Oscar, we gotta find her,” Lando drags his teammate out of the garage, following Lance to the Mercedes garage to find George.

“Any y/n sightings?” a very stressed out Lance asks.

“No, but now I am invested,” the Brit tags along in the search, hopping over to the Ferrari garage.

“Mes amis, you seem stressed,” Charles says, looking up from his book.

“Y/n is missing, Lance can’t find his girlfriend,” Oscar sighs, not sure why he isn’t leaving the group.

“No, we must join the quest, Charles,” Carlos says, clapping his teammate on the shoulder.

“Alright, only for y/n,” Charles, like oscar, begrudgingly agrees to join the ‘noble quest’.

Meanwhile, y/n is sitting on the couch, wearing a chunky cardigan and a pair of fashion glasses, sipping tea.

“No, Lizzy was clearly in love with Darcy even then,” Fernando waves his hands. This month’s book was Pride and Prejudice.

“Sure, Fernando,” Valtteri rolls his eyes.

The book club, affectionately called ‘The Old Drivers Club’ started when y/n barged into the Haas garage, claiming she needed their opinions and that she was tired of all the young drivers. Despite her being only 21, she found a home with some of the older drivers in the Paddock. The club consisted of her, Fernando, Valtteri, Kevin, and Nico. Lewis wanted to hold on to his youth, as he claimed, and Checo didn’t quite care for their gossip sessions.

“I still don’t understand how you can go from a 20 year old party animal to a 80 year old grandma overnight,” Kevin teases the young girl, bringing up a common point of conversation (usually her complaining about the younger drivers).

“And I don’t understand how you all don’t find Nico attractive? If I was ten years older, I would be all over him. God damn, what a fine man,” you swoon, causing the German to blush fiercely.

“Yes, yes, someone who could outshine Charles Leclerc in his prime,” Fernando dismisses it with the wave of his hand. You giggle and refocus on the book discussion.

“Nando,” you prompt him, silently asking him to go to the next topic.

“Alright, alright, let’s discuss what was probably y/n’s favorite scene, the confession scene. The second one, not in the rain,” Fernando says, and you shyly look down, the older drivers knowing you too well.

“Max, Checo, have you seen y/n?” Lance asks, even more flustered, half the grid behind him.

“Y/n? Why do you ask?” Max says, looking at his teammate.

“She’s missing!” Lando exclaims causing Checo to laugh.

“No, no. She’s with her book club, in the Haas motor home. I sometimes join them, interesting gossip, but not quite for me, no,” Checo says, looking oddly at the group.

“Her- her book club?” Lance asks, utterly confused.

“Si. Lewis has been invited too, but he claims he is too young,” Checo laughs to himself.

“Sorry mate, a book club?” George asks, a little offended he was never invited.

“And gossip? I’m a little offended I’ve never been invited,” Pierre gasps.

“Well? Is that all,” Max asks, wanting the group to leave his garage.

“Right, well I guess we go to Haas,” Carlos says, quickly thanking the Red Bull drivers.

“VALTTERI!” Your astonished gasp is heard from outside. Your group had moved on to what some think is the more enjoyable part of the evening, the gossip.

“Y/n! Oh thank god, we were worried sick,” Lando dramatically says at the doorway, having opened the door, revealing your group. The five of you look at the other group wildly confused.

“Worried sick?” You ask, looking at them.

“You were missing, I couldn’t find you,” Lance scratches the back of his neck, a little confused.

“I,” you pause before laughing. “Lancelot, you could’ve texted me,” you tell him.

“Why weren’t Pierre and I invited?” George asks, looking accusingly at your group.

“You don’t fit the criteria,” Kevin says, dismissing the question.

“And y/n does?” Pierre asks.

“Yes. When she sits upside down on your couch to gossip and complain about you all, and ask for life advice, then we might consider it,” Nico shakes his head.

“She is the founder of our group,” Valtteri points out.

“You also have to find young Nico attractive, more than current Charles,” Fernando teases, causing the young girl to blush.

“He was!” You defend yourself, and Carlos nods in agreement.

“Your girlfriend, mate. I’m surprisingly glad I tagged along,” Oscar says to Lance, pretty amused at the chaos.

“Out of curiosity, what is your next book?” George asks, your face lighting up.

“We are on a classics kick right now, so we are reading the No Fear version of Romeo and Juliet,” you say excitedly causing George and Charles to groan.

“We can’t join?” Charles asks again.

“Sorry, Leclerc, only room for one hot driver here,” Nico winks at you, causing your cheeks to redden.

“HEY!” most of the drivers in the room take offense to it, Lance mainly because the wink was directed at his girlfriend.

“Alas, if only you didn’t have a wife and kid, and I was ten years older,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“In another life, Mein Liebchen,” Nico sighs as well.

“Alright, I’m stealing back my girlfriend,” Lance pulls you away.

“Lancelot,” you giggle, waving goodbye to your book club.

“It is in these moments that I remember how young she is and how old we are,” Fernando sighs, Lewis taking your seat.

“My bones ache more and more each day, mate,” Lewis shakes his head.

“Welcome to our club, have the first act read by the next race,”

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darknight3904 · 4 days

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𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘌𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘨. 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯, 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦.

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 3.4 𝘬

𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Wade Wilson was never one to believe in fate. Why should he? He was immortal after all. But, here he stood, in The Void watching two variants stare at each other like they'd seen a ghost.

"Oh. My. God." He spins to face his new yellow-clad friend.

Logan glances over at him, a heavy scowl on his face.

"Careful, Peanut, you'll get wrinkles." Wade snorts, "It's her, the one I told you about...or well a variant of Mr. Deceased Anchor Being's lover."

Wade turns away from Logan, looking at the woman who seems to be working out how to murder his yellow-clad friend. Said friend looked like he was going to combust or faint, Wade wasn't quite sure.

"Can I just say, you totally kicked ass on that farm. Too bad that writer of yours killed ya off. How bland, dying at the end!"

"You're an annoying prick, you know that? The woman scowls at him

"Ha! Twin scowls, you and Wolvie are a match made in heaven!" Wade grins under his mask

"Not interested," Logan says almost too quickly before stalking off to the pile of alcohol in the corner.

The blood manipulator lets out a scoff, "Like you'd even be given a chance."

"Oooo hostile. I smell a spin-off. Maybe it'll even be longer than three chapters this time...maybe not! All I know is that it'll be chock-full of tension, romance, and a sprinkle of some good old-fashioned fucking."

"Shut the fuc-"

Eight months had passed. Eight months of being free of The Void. Eight months since an annoying red prick, with his equally aggravating friend, came into your life.

"Morning, Pumpkin." Wade greets you, with a nonconsensual "boop" to the nose.

"Don't touch me." You grumble, reaching for the fresh pot of coffee.

You add milk and sugar andtake a slow sip, savoring the flavor. Despite his mouth, Wade picked fantastic coffee flavors whenever he went grocery shopping.

"Caffeine, the way to a woman's heart." Wade sighs, sipping at his own mug.

"Don't you have cars to sell?" You ask, glancing at the clock which read half past nine

"It's Saturday, my day off." Wade grins, "Home all day, baby!"

"Fantastic," Logan mumbles, entering the kitchen.

"Morning, Wolverine." Wade greets the hunk of muscle

No reply leaves his lips as he nudges you aside, desperate for coffee as well.

"Ever hear of excuse me?" You snap, stepping a few paces to your right, nearly colliding with Wade.

"No," Logan says, sipping at his disgusting black coffee.

"And another great day starts. How many arguments today? I'm betting on at least ten." Wade predicts looking between the two of you.

"Twenty," Logan says

"I'm not giving you that much of my time, Logan."

His name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. God, even his face pissed you off.

"Don't stare too much, bub. You'll give me the wrong idea."

You want to throttle him. And no, not in the sexy way.

A cool fall breeze waves through your hair as you push the window in your room open. Laura was the perfect roommate and even lit an apple-scented candle before heading out for whatever she had planned for the day.

Not even the sounds of Wade and Logan arguing would ruin your morning as you snatch little Mary from her spot on Wade's bed. Depositing the ugly (affectionate) dog onto your own bed, you lounge next to her, a book balanced on your lap while one hand pets her little head.

"Mary, can you believe that Daenerys is bald in the book? Can't believe HBO left that out."

The little dog next to you lets out a snort, followed by a sneeze, followed by a huge glob of snot.

You groan in disgust and rush to the bathroom, needing to wash the dog snot off. You loved her, but sometimes that dog was disgusting.

"Hey! I'm shaving!" Logan huffs when you push him out of the way to access the sink

"I'm covered in dog snot." You explain, leaning over to wash your hands

"Shit. Knicked myself."

You look up at Logan who now has a small stream of blood running down his neck to his shirt collar.

"You're fine."

Sure enough, it closes up a second later and Logan grumbles a curse at you.

"Don't get your panties in a twist." You pat his shoulder, undeterred at the growl that leaves his throat.

"You stained my shirt." He says

"Uh, that was your blood, not mine." You scoff trying to leave the bathroom when he steps in front of you.

"Wouldn't have happened if you didn't shove your fatass in here to wash your damn hands." Logan glares

"You think it's fat? Thanks, I've been doing squats before bed."

You should've expected it really, yet somehow you're always caught off guard as his hands grasp your shirt, lifting you up and tossing you out of the bathroom and into the living room. The coffee table meets its end when you slam into it.

"What. The. Fuck." You groan, standing up and shaking wood chips from your clothes, one of them even pierced your arm, warm blood staining your shirt, "This was my favorite shirt."

You could just tell the blood to leave the fabric, it would be easier like that. But, this wasn't about ease, it was about principle. And the man in front of you? His principles were totally fucked up.

"Now we're even." Logan smugly says

"Okay, guys let's take five deep breaths And just reel it-"

"Shut the fuck up, Wade."

"Right, sorry. We can have our fight later, Peanut. I'm saving a special new knife for you."

Logan is distracted by Wade's babbling and caught off guard when you use your powers to pin him to the wall.

"Did you know your blood, moves faster than other people's?" You ask, tightening your hold on him when he struggles, "Makes it a bit harder to control, but I can make it work. After all, it's certainly fun to see you pinned down like this."

"Go ahead, bitch. Blow me up, pop my head off. It'll all grow back anyway." Logan snarls

"No one's popping anything. This is a new rug!" Al shouts from her spot in her recliner

You think about it, you really do. Blowing his leg off, or an arm, you'd done it only once before after he got too drunk and puked into one of your shoes just a month after escaping The Void.

"I have work." You mumble, letting him slide down the wall. You lean down to his level as he sits with his back to the wall, "Call me a bitch again and I'll rip your dick off and shove it up your nose."

"I'd love to see that. Have a good day at work, Pumpkin!" Wade calls as you disappear back into your room to get changed, ignoring Logan's disgruntled look.

Thedore's Books is one of the few places you actually like in this universe. You'd stopped in just a month after Wade pulled you from the void, planning to just buy a book to keep yourself busy. Your now coworker, Matt had convinced you to fill a job application out. Two weeks later, you were standing behind the counter, ringing books up.

"You know, you claim to suck at customer service, yet people leave Google reviews raving about you." Matt sighs looking at the computer screen, displaying another positive review

"I do suck. Some people are just too dumb to realize it." You say, fixing the display of this month's bestseller.

"Well, I wish I had this many five stars for service. The last good review I had was last month from that old guy." Matt groans

"Was he the one that smelled like sardines?"

"That, and he had a total hard-on the entire time I was telling him about the buy one get one sale."

"Gross." Your nose wrinkles in disgust

"Right? If you're gonna be a perv at least be a hot one." Matt says

You roll your eyes, "You are a desperate whore."

"Me? You're the one who raves about that roommate of yours? The big manly one who came in with that burn victim a few weeks ago."

You spin around in horror at the idea of "raving" about Logan.

"I don't rave about him!" You declare, "He pisses me off and I need someone to vent to!"

"Oh please. If he wasn't all over you, I would've hit on him the moment he walked in that door. His arms were bigger than my head." Matt sighs dreamily

"Logan isn't all over me." You shake your head, "And you're welcome to go for it. I'm pretty sure his sexuality is on the spectrum. Wade claims that he caught him watching gay porn like last week."

"Is Wade the cancer burn man or the old lady?" Matt asks

"Cancer man." You answer, cursing when your hand bumps a stack of books, sending them to the floor.

"Whatever. All I know is last time Mr. Muscles was in here, He was staring at your ass when you went to pick up a box to restock a shelf.

"You're delusional."

That evening you return to a peaceful apartment. Or well, semi-peaceful, no one was bleeding or missing a limb at least. Instead, an intense Mario Kart competition was taking place, to your amusement, Laura was beating both men who were cursing her out.

"A red shell?! Are you fucking with me?!" Wade screeches as Logan's character speeds past him.

"Pizza bites?" Al asks when you greet her.

You accept the luke warm food and plop down on the couch next to Laura.

"Nice." You compliment her as she crosses the finish line in first place.

"Don't compliment her, she's a cheater." Wade groans as he finishes in third place, "She blue-shelled me and stole my thunder. Then, P.T. Barnum here hit me with a red shell just now! Where is the honesty in this home?"

"Wade, that's just how the game is played," Laura says looking at him.

"Zip it, Jecki Lon, don't you have to be a Padawan in like half an hour?"

"There's something wrong with you." Laura shakes her head in dismay

"You're right. There is." Wade grins, "Now, I have an appointment with the mound of devil's dandruff in my room. You comin' Althea?"

Al gets up and moves faster than you've ever seen her move, following Wade down the hall, the promise of cocaine seems to have cured her old age.

"Wanna have a rematch, kid?" Logan asks Laura, ignoring you.

Laura turns to you, handing you Wade's controller, "Wanna play?"

"I'd never pass down a chance to beat this fool at anything." You grin, ignoring how Logan flips you off from the other side of the couch. Poor Laura, sandwiched between the two of you on this shitty Ikea couch.

Laura slowly stood up and collected the joy cons from the coffee table. Two hours of Mario Kart, many arguments, and an episode of The Office later, you and Logan were finally asleep. She turned around to stare down at the two of you, still sitting up but facing each other, asleep on the couch like the old people you were.

Nearly a year ago you had shown up in the void. Seeing one dead parental figure was a shocker but when Logan showed up with Wade, Laura thought she was seeing things. You had never mentioned your version of Logan and she had always assumed you just didn't have one. But, the instant hostility and the past eight months had her thinking otherwise. She had asked this new Logan if he had you in his universe. He of course brushed her off and told her to drop the subject.

Laura looked between the two of you wondering what each of your pasts were. She wondered if there was any possibility of getting back what she had lost so many years ago.

The sound of whimpering wakes you up the next morning. A sharp pain in your neck is the first thing you register as you open your eyes, the next thing is Logan's face a mere six inches from yours. He looks peaceful while he's asleep. Soft snores leave his nose and the pinch of annoyance that's normally in his brow is gone. You can't help but admire him, sure he was a pain in the ass but he was good looking at least. Fuck, he's got long eyelashes, why did men always have better eyelashes? It made you so jealous.

Logan's eyes flutter open and big brown eyes meet your own. For just a moment he stays still, keeping your gaze, he looks like he's seen a ghost.

Another whimper fills your ears and the trance is broken. You and Logan jump off the couch, putting ample distance from each other. You turn to your right to see Mary sitting at the door, gently scratching at it.

"I knew Wade wouldn't be able to take care of a dog." You sigh, "Hold on sweetie, I'll take you out, let me run to the bathroom first."

You slip into your shoes and clip the leash to the little dog, trying to ignore the fact that Logan is pissing with the door open and you can hear his fucking urine.

"Wait," Logan calls as you open the door

You turn and look at him in confusion as he pulls a flannel over that stupid tank top he wears too often.

"Wanna go grab coffee with me?" He asks

"Thought you hated me." You say

"Last night, before you got back, Laura asked me to try to uh be civil with you. Said she asked you to do the same." He murmurs

"I thought she was joking." You deadpan

Logan looks at you like you're stupid.

"Don't give me that confused kitten look." You sigh

"Fine, fuck off then" Logan grumbles

You watch as he begins to take his flannel back of probably ready to go back to bed. You glance down at Mary who looks ready to piss all over the floor, her little face wins you over,

"Fine, fine. You win, let's get coffee."

Sure enough, Mary is filled to the brim with pee and barely makes it down the many steps of the building. You stand there in the grass waiting for her to be done, Logan right next to you with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"That dog's like, 12 pounds, how is she still peeing?" Logan asks staring down at her

"Wade must've forgotten to let her out before going to bed last night." You sigh

"Yeah, all that cocaine must've rotted his brain," Logan says

"If there was anything left up there to rot. Did you know the other day he asked me if there were birds in Canada?"

A smile works its way across Logan's face and he shakes his head.

"I told him to fuck off and then he told me movie star Ryan Reynolds would know." You sigh

Surprisingly, Logan actually lets out a laugh at that. It must be shocking because even Mary looks up at him, finally done with her peeing episode.

"Who even is that?" He asks

"Does it really matter? Wade's full of shit anyway."

Logan agrees and then falls into step with you, slowly walking on the outside of the sidewalk. He watches you carefully as you compliment the dog who has picked up a stick half the size of her body. In his world, you had always loved cats more than dogs. He wondered if this version of you even liked cats, you were always cooing at Wade's dog like it was your damn kid.

"So where are we getting coffee?" You ask

"What?" He asks dumbly

"You asked so I figured you had a place picked." You sigh, clearly annoyed

Logan racks his brain for a good coffee joint. The best he can come up with is the diner Wade showed him once that sold it for 99 cents a cup. What was he thinking asking you out for coffee without a plan?

"What about here?" He asks, stopping in front of a Starbucks.

"Seriously? You roll your eyes, "We're in New York, there are a million local joints and you choose a shitty chain?"

"Sorry, I don't have elite coffee taste." Logan growls, suddenly pissed off, at least he wouldn't go back to Laura without trying to get along with you. It wasn't his fault this version of you was so damn annoying.

You sigh and glance down at Mary who looks up at him. Why does he feel like he's being judged by not one but two women right now?

"How about...we go to Duke's? They've got awesome lattes and even give out dog treats." You suggest

Logan doesn't give a shit where he gets his morning coffee. The machine back at the apartment would've been his first choice but whatever Duke's was would be good too.

He can't help it, really. He doesn't want to come off as weird yet he finds him watching you out of the corner of his eye. You're so fascinating to him, even when you piss him off like you did yesterday.

Sometimes he feels sad about it all, his own universe, how he failed you. Yet, now here he was, savior of a universe and standing next to you again. The immediate hostility between the two of you, he couldn't place where that was coming from in himself. Sure, he had no idea what your version of Logan had done, yet he couldn't find a reason for his anger. Perhaps it was just that you were aggravating. The idea of you, or well a different version of you, was a bit mind-boggling to him.

He stands next to you in line and even lets you order for him. He insists on paying however can't help but regret it when he hears the total. Where does this place get off on charging these prices?

"I would've paid." You say as the two of you sip your drinks on the way back to the apartment.

"I asked you to come out with me. I was planning on paying anyway." He brushes it off

He can hardly believe it. You've been with him for nearly an hour and the two of you have yet to really get into a real argument.

"I've gotta admit this wasn't that bad." You say, he swears he hears a hint of happiness in your voice.

"See? Guess I'm not a total asshole." Logan finds himself saying

What was he doing? Surely he wasn't flirting with you?

You let out a small hum, "We'll leave that one up to interpretation."

Logan glances down at the dog that walks along happily at your heels. He swears it's mocking him, just the way it's owner would.

The droplets of rain that hit his shoulders have him looking up quickly.

"We'll be fine, the weather said no rain today." You assure

You're wrong, very wrong. Less than twenty seconds later, the sky opens up and he's drenched. He curses you out and you match his energy, telling him he's a total shithead. He reaches down and scoops the dog up, slightly cringing at the feel of her wet skin on his.

"Let's go." He grumbles above the storm.

"Well, well, look at you two," Wade comments as you enter the apartment.

"Eat shit, Wade." You grumble

Logan sets the dog back on the ground and Wade immediately starts talking to her in that baby voice.

"Can't believe you said there wasn't going to be any rain." He says

He means it as a joke, a gentle tease to ease some of the past 8 months of tension.

"Fuck off, we wouldn't have even been out there if you hadn't asked me to go out with you." You simmer

"You asked her out?! Peanut you should have told me."

Logan shoots the other man a glare that has him shutting up.

"Yeah well, we wouldn't have gotten caught in the rain if we didn't have to walk thirty minutes to your stupid coffee place." He finds himself saying.

What's he doing? He enjoyed the walk for crying out loud. But here you were annoying him again

"Oh please, you asked to go to get coffee and then didn't even have a place picked! Sorry, I had to pick up your slack."

You reach out and point an accusatory finger, tapping it harshly into his chest.

"Fuck off. I'll never ask again then." Logan declares, throwing his arms up in the air.

"Good." You say before stomping off to your room like some kid.

Logan groans and slumps into the recliner, ignoring Wade's comment about his clothes still being soaked through. You were insane, jumping to conclusions, and don't even get him started on the severe lack of humor towards him. It's like you were the bitchiest version of you the universe could've offered to him. What the fuck was he going to do?

Part Two

Woah, talk about a gear shift. A new Logan to write for, and a new version of Reader (an angry one, we'll get to that later *winks*)

If anyone is here from Promise, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope you also enjoy this series as well.

Quick housekeeping notes:

For purposes of this fic, Laura is the same one from Promise. She has lost both Reader and Logan (old man one).

This story will have a different tone than the last one due to this Logan being a different guy than Old Man Logan.

Blind Al has a three-bedroom apartment in this because I said so and I'm the boss. Logan rooms with Wade, Reader with Laura, and our queen, Al gets a whole room to herself.

This story will have a separate tag list from the one I used for Promise.

Please comment below to join it.

Tags:

@kellyxo1

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jyoongim · 8 months

Text

Themes: posessiveness, slight yandere behavior, mentions of cannibalism, softcore smut,

After 7 years the Radio Demon is back!

But things arent how he left them…

Vox has taken it upon himself to be in charge of all things media

Radio has turned to Video

And Alastor’s little darling aint in her place…oh that just wont do

Your relationship with the Radio Demon was like a match made in Hell.

Alastor was a wild card by himself alone, but you? You never failed to keep him on his hooves?

You had been in the media world looong before Alastor popped up in Hell, having the title (ironic) Media Demon but somehow he managed to bring back the old themes that were once appreciated.

Not those podcasts or vlogs the youth were so prone to do

But things from the good old days.

Things that were considered ancient in the sense of modern tech.

Radio; Talk shows and actual live broadcasts.

Alastor and you quickly rose in popularity in the media realm [(you had a sneaky suspicion it was because he was terrifying and people honesty clung to an overlord’s word)]

You and Alastor had separate broadcasts, but you worked perfectly in sync with one another. Until one day…the Radio Demon disappeared, leaving you to run your show alone.

You did what you could, but the people seemed to miss the charismatic broadcaster as much as you and soon you were approached by Video.

“C’mon y/n, This will be a great improvement to your brand.” Vox smirked as you sipped the tea you were offered. You frowned. You were aware that media came in all formats but you enjoyed the ‘old’ way. “I dont know Vox, i prefer to be out of the camera’s eye” you said. Vox had been begging for years for you to join his team and claiming it would ‘boost’ your reputation. You didnt need a boost. You were THE Media Demon. If anything, you knew it would boost HIS popularity.

“Radio is so old-fashion, video is the future! You should be up to date with these things” he said. You grimaced “i am well aware of the trends, but not everyone likes this new savvy way, it is good to have a little variety”

Vox was getting annoyed.

Having you on the Vees would not only boost his claim to fame, but it would boost his power.

“The people would love to see the Media Demon in the public eye. You use to sing right? How about music production? You would kill sales with that voice of yours”

He was trying to butter you up.

Everyone knew you were a renown singer. A popstar once. You only showcased it a few times broadcasting when it was late at night and were in a mood.

Alastor loved to hear you sing.

“If you made videos people, your image can skyrocket” he continued.

You set your cup down, standing, having heard enough.

“I appreciate the offer Vox, but I will decline. I quite like stereo” and with that you left.

You made your way to the Hazbin Hotel.

To Alastor’s radio tower.

You sighed as you sat and stared at the station.

Maybe i should take Vox’s offer you thought as you collected your topics and put your headphones on.

You turned on the radio and did a count set

“How ya doin tonight folks? Its your favorite radio host and tonight you are in for a treat!” you gave the daily Hell gossip and opened the line for discussions. Letting out a laugh from a few of the responses you finally sighed “I have been offered the damning chance to retire from radio” you started. “I am sure you are all aware that I am fabulous of course, but i mean reverting to video can you imagine? And the audacity of Vox to even suggest just a thing. I think i do quite alright for a media connoisseur” you giggled.

As you chatted away you were unaware of the dark presence manifesting in the tower.

“Dial in im opening the lines to hear your opinions”

You listened in

“I think it could be good to switch it up!”

“Youre the Media Demon you could crush anything!”

“Y/n youre incredible!”

“Video kills the Radio star!”

You were about to chime in when a deep static like voice sounded

“I think you mean Radio killed the Video star”

Your eyes widened and spun around to see Alastor

“A-Alastor?”

His devilish smile sharpened as he pressed a button to cut the lines and removed your headphones “its been a while darling”

You couldnt help yourself as you launched at him for a hug.

You quickly recovered and let him go, stuttering “oh oh im sorry but w-what are you doing here? I-i thought you were gone”

Alastor grinned, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a kiss to it

“Ooooh mon cher i could never stay away from you”

You blushed.

Alastor pulled you into an embrace, his grip a little tight

“So what it is i hear of you forsaking radio?”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #Alastor x reader #hazbin vox

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jarofstyles · 3 months

Note

Please write us some extreme pda like I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but I love it 😩 like they’re out at a bar and all of their friends are disgusted and annoyed but they’re just so in love they can’t keep their hands off each other 😭😭 like just lots of kisses, neck kisses, lap sitting, whispering to each other, giggling, hair playing etc 🥰

Oh I love a sickly PDA couple but only in books bc I’ll probably vom if I see it irl. So sure!

Here is a bit from Leather and Lace since we just finished them up.

Check out our Patreon!

——

“I can’t believe you’ve turned to mush.”

“Shut up.” Harry grumbled, holding Y/N closer on his lap. His chin rested on the dip in her shoulder, lips pried away from the chaste kisses he’d been giving to her throat. It was probably obnoxious but Harry really didn��t care. His indifference to what people thought went soul deep. All he really cared about was Y/N, if he was being honest.

And maybe the milkshake she’d promised him on the way home for prying him out of her bed. That was a topic he went back to a few times tonight.

“Oi, be nice.” Y/N laughed, placing her hand on top of his ringed one to squeeze it lightly. There wasn’t much heat behind her words, merely defending Niall so he wouldn’t be complaining as much to her.

“Thank you. Feels like m’constantly third wheeling now. Knew he had a hard on for ya, but I didn’t expect him to turn into a good old fashioned loverboy.” The man scoffed. Harry merely rolled his eyes, jaw setting slightly as he narrowed his gaze.

“We are not the only people here. Y’know that, yeah? There’s like, a dozen of your friends here. You can fuck off if you’re annoyed. Not my problem.” He hammered in the point with a smirk, kissing the girl’s cheek a few times to make him screw his face up in disgust.

“I was trying to be nice, you old grouch! Even being loved up you still find a way to be mean t’me.” Their friend pouted before sticking up his middle finger, excusing himself to get another drink.

“Baby…” Harry whined slightly, tapping at her cheek to encourage her to turn it. “He’s finally gone. C’mere.” There was no chance of her scolding him as he pressed his lips to hers. They were slightly sticky from the virgin strawberry daiquiri she’d been sipping on -extra maraschino cherries- and sweet to the tongue as he hummed happily against them. This was precisely what he wanted. People to fuck off and leave him to love on her.

Y/N was soothed by his touch, a light giggle muffled by his lips as he turned her slightly in his lap so he could kiss her properly. He’d behaved well enough- for Harry, anyways- so she wasn’t going to get on him too much. He hadn’t wanted to go out, as usual, so she’d bribed him with the promise that he could love on her as much as he wanted- but he had to keep it PG-13. Her fingers brushed through his hair, shivering slightly as his fingers dipped under the hem of her dress.

“Mm… careful.” She sighed, but made no effort to stop. As much as she wanted to be proper, it was hard to want to stop him as he touched her. She played it cool most of the time but she was just as far gone for him as he was for her.

“M’very careful with you, Butterfly.” He nipped lightly at her bottom lip. “Even when you beg me not t’be. But I’ve suffered these people long enough. If you want me t’be nice, I need my kisses.” His voice was quiet enough to not disturb the other people around. His sweet words were reserved solely for the girl who held his affections. Especially the dirtier ones.

“H!” She grinned against his mouth, leaning further in to kiss him again. Wrapping her arm around his shoulder, she leaned into him with a dreamy sigh. Hot fingertips ran over the silky skin of her inner thigh, moisturized to the gods in her shower routine today for this exact reason.

“I can’t help it, you’re always so soft. So sweet…” he cooed. “Want t’eat you up. Torture sitting here when all I want t’do is sit you on my cock to keep it warm while you talk t’me. That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

Harry never did play fair. Holding back the whine in her throat, she huffed instead. Giving his hair a little tug, she tried her best to look menacing- as menacing as she could in her pretty lilac dress he’d picked out especially for her tonight. “It is, and you’re bein’ mean to me by mentioning it. We can’t here.” Even if the thought made her hot between her thighs, it was too risky.

“I know. We should go home so we can.” The man was trying to coax her and knew where to hit it where it hurt, but they’d barely been out with friends since establishing themselves as a couple.

“Not yet, I’m sorry.” The pout on her face made him forgive her, even if there was still a hint of bitterness over the fact. “They begged for us to come out and it’s only been two hours. One more and we can go home, okay?”

Harry answered with a grunt, hiding his face in her throat again while he resumed with his throat kisses. As much as he wanted to leave, he wanted to make her happy even more. The weakness was real when it came to his Butterfly. Even more so because she’d paused her social tendencies for him. “Okay. But you’re gonna have t’make it up to me big time as soon as we get home, okay?” He was plotting for sure. “An hour straight of making out, a little feel under the dress, maybe a little begging with that cute pout for me to take it off. You know how I like it.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing

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bluberryfields · 1 year

Text

This is what happens when you're raised by TV and trained in literary analysis

Beyond the crushing heartbreak of that finale, one thing in particular has stuck with me when I look at it in the context of S2 as a whole.

He lays out their relationship, "We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

He then turns his head away and says, "I mean, the last few years, not really."

He pauses here, facing the interior of the bookshop. Really looks it up and down.

Turns back, "And I would like to spend" before choking on his words and looks toward the window. He can't finish saying something like "And I would like to spend eternity with you" because that's too much, too fast, for both of them.

But it's that "last few years" bit that has firmly lodged itself in my very broken brain.

According to Gaiman, it's been "a few years" since the end of Season 1. Armageddon has been averted. Heaven and Hell have reluctantly retreated. Crowley and Aziraphale have been effectively cut loose from their "sides," leaving them to form their own side.

So at the start of Season 2, we get a glimpse of the “fragile existence” they have carved out for themselves. To me, the biggest difference that we see is how they exist together in front of others. Going to the coffee shop, the pub, and the other shops along the street that Aziraphale has lived on for over 200 years. And don’t forget how they act in front of Nina, Maggie, and sweet, dim Muriel.

At the coffee shop, Aziraphale stammers a bit when Nina asks who Crowley is, but he still seems to have affection in his voice when he says, "We go back a long time."

Compared to Shakespearian "He's not my friend! We've never met before. We don't know each other!" panic, this is an incredible difference.

Of course, each time, Crowley is cool and cheeky and does nothing to indicate that they aren't a pair. Though, of course, he does deny it when Nina asks about Aziraphale being his side piece. “He’s not my bit on the side! He’s far too pure of heart to be anyone’s bit on the side.” And refers to him as an “Angel [swallows]I know.”

When they go the pub, Crowley's joy at doing something together in public that they do not normally do is super cute, including his cheeky order for Aziraphale's sherry. Then, when bringing the drinks over to the socially trapped Aziraphale, he greets Mr. Brown with a truly adorable, "Hello" and a signature DT smile. Then upon hearing how “excited” Mr. Fell is to host the meeting, he looks down and says, “Oh? You astonish me.” while Aziraphale sips his sherry and squirms.

We also watch as Crowley follows Aziraphale as he goes to each shop and talks to the owners about the meeting/secret ball. In theory, Crowley has no reason to tag along, and he certainly doesn’t help sway anyone who doesn’t want to/can’t go. He goofs around at the magic shop. He splays out on the bench, chin on hand, looking for all the world a husband waiting for his wife to pick out a dress at the department store. They are so married it’s ridiculous.

Finally, their behavior in front of Muriel while inside their sanctuary. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, somehow looking supremely comfortable on the old-fashioned furniture. He folds up those gloriously long limbs and presses himself as close as possible.

He smiles and plays along with Aziraphale’s coaching of Muriel in her disguise. Calls him Angel and asks to speak in private. And at the end, during the awful wait while Aziraphale talks with The Metatron, Crowley cleans up the shop and tells Muriel that he and Aziraphale will need some “us” time after all this. No beating around the bush.

Without oversight, they can be openly together and happy. But Heaven just can’t let that happen.

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dcxdpdabbles · 6 months

Note

Excuse me? I really love your work and I was just wondering if we can get another chapter of Passion for Fashion?? I really love that but no rush whether or not u wanna. (Also, I'd love to see the Batfam or croc or anyone be educated WHAT KC actually is lololol I just think it would be fun.)

Danny stares at the man across from him with barely concealed bemusement. Red Robin hides behind his menu, muttering about all the pizza toppings.

It seemed pineapple was a must, and he fought not to wrinkle his nose as various people shot their table side glances. He's noticed the staring since they changed, but Danny is tired of the lingering gawking.

He gets that his date looks suspicious in his get-up, but it's not the worst.

They had to stop at a second-hand store, where he went in to buy a trench coat, a pair of large sunglasses, and a fedora, per Red Robin's request. While inside the store, Red Robin somehow produced a blond wig and some makeup, changing his features just slightly so that he appeared to be a different person.

They both stop at a local gas station to change outfits and finish their prep work in the bathrooms.

Danny had gone in sweats, a stained shirt, and mismatched shoes—he had not been expecting a date—but when he left, he came out wearing an experimental style Dan had found.

It was called Corp Goth, and he secretly adored it. Maybe Sam was onto something when she said a pure black offit made anyone attractive.

It was a form-fitting black jeans, a top with a darker shade of black long-sleeve shirt, and a flowing black trench coat. Dan had included various jewelry pieces, with strict instructions on where to put them so that the style was "balanced," it gave him the slightest hints of old-style rock aesthetics.

Danny felt good about his clothes until Red Robin saw him. He didn't think he was that bad-looking, but if it caused the other to run into a streetlight, Danny would hate to think what other less kind people would say.

"Would Hawiian be alright?" Red Robin finally asks, his voice just a tad bit high. Is he that nervous to be seen by people?

Danny raises a brow. "If that's what you like. I'll do whatever you want me to."

The other teenager—is he? He looks older now with his make-up—a few years—and makes a strange choking sound. "Okay."

"Alright. So now that we know what to tell the waitress when she comes here, can we return to the fact you broke through my window?" Danny asks, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs to get comfortable.

A girl nearby chocks on her water, making Danny's head snap in her direction. Her friends quickly pat her back and urgently speak to the blushing girl. When he confirms she is all right, Danny returns his gaze to Red Robin.

He is taken aback by the sharp attention now being aimed at him. Yes, he can't exactly see the other eyes behind those dark sunglasses, but he feels the heavy stare all the same. "I want to discuss your connection to Killer Croc and the Infinite Realms."

Danny considers it. On the one hand, he can't talk about his secret mission, but on the other, he needs to find some information about this place. He's gotten bored wandering around, tinkering with things while the fashion contest dragged on.

They have been here for months and have made no headway in helping Batman. Heck, Danny has yet to even see him. If anything maybe this guy will know some information.

But he thinks he shouldn't lay all his cards just yet. So, he needs to bend the truth a little.

"There isn't much to tell about Killer. He was involved in our kidnapping a few days ago. I guess they hired him without explaining what the job was since he came to apologize for almost trafficking us." Danny shrugs, thinking over his answer as he takes a small sip of his soda, missing his mouth slightly. He quickly catches some of the spilled drink with his tongue, mentally debating himself for being so clumsy. There is a gasp from the same girl three tables away.

Danny fights the urge to sink into his seat as he ignores her. "He said he sells drugs, not people. How he tracked us down is anyone's guess, but since he came all the way in person, I figured I should invite him in and offer him a drink."

Red Robin tilts his head. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would you invite him in and offer him a drink?"

"Ugh, 'cause it's good manners?" Honestly, did big-city folks really have no sense of being civil? Amity Park has a small population, but there are enough people to be called a city, and none of them have ever been confused by the idea of being invited in for a drink.

Red Robin considers this answer before he leans forward. "How about your connection to the Infinite Realms?"

Here, Danny carefully selects his replies, ensuring that all his answers are accurate, just not in the way the others will get. "You can say it was my parents, but mostly my mom. She was the one who made the final step and connected the family to the Realms."

"Your mom? Where is she?"

"Dead," Danny whispers, thinking of his own mom, whom he hasn't seen in weeks. He wonders if she or his dad has noticed him missing yet. If they have reported it.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Red Robin looks down at his hands in silence in a show of respect. Danny can appreciate it. However, that doesn't last long before he lifts his head again, this time with a stubborn little tilt to his mouth.

"That wasn't a full explanation of how the Infinite Releams involve you or your brother."

Danny shrugs. "It's how we got our meta powers. The portal to the other side opened on Dan and me, triggering our ice and glowing eyes. We've been inside it a few times, but the portal sealed shut the last time. We haven't been able to go back."

"That's why you here," Red Robin says in great realization. "Gotham has enough death in it that it helps your powers."

Not really, but they can work with that. Danny smiles, putting one finger up against his lips, and Red Robin is true to his name by turning a lovely red hue. Danny hasn't seen anyone blush that hard since Jonny 13 when the other asked him out on a date.

It's cute.

"That and it's also the cheapest living city. Dan really has his heart set on being a fashion designer so we need to save money on fabrics and stuff."

"You're his model. Have you always wanted to go into modeling?"

"Not really. I like mechanical engineering more. Maybe when I finish helping Dan, I'll look for a school to apply to." Danny shrugs, leaning forward to give the other a smirk.

Star once told him that Danny's slow up and down was his best flirting technique after he had done her math homework for her. In return, she agreed to help him get better at dating.

He's not sure how well her lessons had gone, seeing as he still struggled to get a date back home (with the living anyone), but he thinks some of it was right since Red Robin goes even redder, if that's possible.

"Enough about me. How did you get involved in smashing widows and looking tasty in spandex?"

"I-um- well funny enough I-" Whatever he was going to say is lost as a figure jumps down from the darkness, landing on their table. Danny yelps, pushing himself away, but in doing so, he falls backward since his chair is not meant to be leaned like that.

He crashes to the ground with a swear, closing his eyes at the impact. The back of his head stings a little, as Danny slowly cracks open his eyes and stares upwards- at...a man in a bat suit?

"Moby Dick! Are you Batman!" He gasps, finally feeling like they are about to make a step forward in their mission.

The man glares down at him before grunting. "Red Robin. Retreat to cave."

"But-"

"Now"

Then he throws a smoke bomb on the ground. Danny leaps up, but both men are gone by the time the smoke clears. "Wait! Mr. Batman, sir, I need to talk to you!"

There is no reply, just the girls filming with their phones and the sound of speeding cars. Danny kicks the ground. "Oh come on!"

When he wanders home, he finds Dan lying face down on the ground with various ice cream tubs surrounding him. On some pieces of paper are various-sized hearts, the initials "DF + KC" inside them.

Dan is singing heartbreak sounds into the carpet, muffled by his tears.

"Dan, man, have some dignity. You knew the EverBurning for like ten minutes."

The muffled crying gets louder, and Danny rolls his eyes. He slumps onto the couch with a sigh. "Listen, I think I got a lead on Batman. It's a man dressed like a bat. How hard can it be to find him?"

His clone-turn-twin raises one hand, pointing to a smashed button Danny missed when entering the living room. Upon closer inspection, he is startled to find out that it's a miniature microphone and tracker. There is a very tiny symbol on the side.

"Did Red Robin bug our house after breaking our window!?" he asks in outrage as Dan nods. "To think I flirted with him!"

Dan sobs louder. "I tried flirting with the best tail I have ever seen in my life and you got a date with a stalker! We're going to die alone!"

Danny really hopes they finish this stupid mission soon. He's getting tempted to let Clockwork's bomb take him.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #fashion for passion #Part 5 #Dan is in the trenches #He found the bug after cleaning the glass #Bruce interrupted Tim's date #Danny unknowingly looking mind numbing hot

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everythingne · 6 months

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ one and two - chapter one (ls2)

Your father, the President of The United States, has decided the only way to keep you ‘tame’ is up have you married off… to a Formula One driver..?

logan sargeant x first daughter!reader, smau and short fic // fc: yasmin barbieri

tws: arranged marriage,

previous / next

yn.fdotus

liked by logansargeant, luis.fsotus, flotus, and 749k others...

yn.fdotus: taking a break from washington to see my collab with @ amaricarter at @ nyfw !!! aaaa!! geeking out a lil bit <3 all my hard work has finally paid off friends... many tears were shed xx

flotus: so so proud of my little girl!! cannot believe the woman you've grown into <3

user1: yn slaying in and outside of dc fr fr

user2: YESSS SLAY YN!!!

luis.fsotus: no pic credit :(?

⤷ yn.fdotus: this is for eating my panera >:(

⤷ panerabread: girlie dw we can hook u up with more <3

⤷ yn.fdotus: i love u panera <3<3

potus: so proud of you my little star!

user3: not her acc getting recommended to me bc logan sargeant follows her omg.

⤷ user2: no sameeee but i loveeee yn

user5: non-american f1 fans who love yn like this comment actually?

liked by 856 others...

user4: THATS MY FIRST DAUGHTER!!

“This is so stupid.” you grumble a complaint into the air, looking over at your mother as she laughs from where she sits in the William’s VIP room with your father and older brother-- both Santino Colombo, your father going by Santino and your brother going by Santi.

“He’s a nice young man!” Santino defends his actions as if he isn’t asking you to do the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. You have to pretend this guy who you have never met before is your boyfriend. Now, okay, you knew a bit about Logan because you’d been a fan of his for years because of your father’s love of Formula drivers, and Logan was the only American to get points in like… twenty years. You and Logan had followed each other on socials long ago when this first 'arranged marriage' thing was brought up. You'd spoken occasionally since, but nothing too serious. A flirt here or there, a joke, then mostly just formalities.

It wasn't that you didn't like Logan, he was a fine guy and easy on the eyes but it just felt... weird, to be forced into this.

With you being the more rebellious of the two of his kids, you had to be ‘locked up.’ Which was so stupid, your twenty six year old brother was a big party boy in college. Your father having paid off so many people to be hush about his drunken idiocy. But now he was already on his way to becoming a law firm CEO with a pretty wife and two daughters and you were a little fashion student who just had her first ever big break, never having done hard drugs or got the cops called on you like dear old Santi.

But you were a girl, something to be protected, and big breaks meant it was time for you to settle in the eyes of America’s leader.

And thus, your father got in contact with the Sargeants through Dalton somehow during your fathers candidacy. And now a year and two months later you were expected to be visiting your ‘secret boyfriend of two years.’

“He’s a wonderful guy,” Santino huffs at your obvious distaste, “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I thought he was going to be bad for you, you know.”

“You didn’t even ask me! What if I had a boyfriend!”

“You didn’t.” Santi says after a sip of his champagne, “and, if you did, Dad would’ve just had you marry the guy you were dating.”

“If he passed the dad test.” you complain, making your brother laugh while your father just rolls his eyes. You don’t have time to say anything else because he’s standing up to greet James Vowles, the team principal of Williams, and you follow suit.

"So this is the woman Logan's been keeping a secret?" James grins and you realize, yeah, okay now it's time to act.

"Sorry he kept you in the dark for so long, Mr. Vowles!" You smile, glancing over James' shoulder as you speak to see who can only be Logan approaching, "Logan does speak very highly of you."

"As he does you." James nods, stepping back to allow you to happily pull Logan in for a hug. None of this is rehearsed. None of this is planned. Logan's arms slot naturally around yours life he was sculpted from the same marble, and your head fits perfectly under his chin. When you both step back, you let out of a soft giggle with flushed cheeks and try to not see the obvious overjoyed expression on your fathers face.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

Logan's drivers room is neat, tidy, but small. He lets you take up the somewhat comfy couch while he pulls his fireproof over his head with his back to you. You both have sat in silence for the past five minutes, your parents whisking you off to the 'comfort' of Logan's room so you both could bond.

"So." Logan turns around once he's fully changed into his racing gear, and you try your hardest to make sure your eyes don't wander because god damnit did those fireproofs have to be so tight?

"So?" You echo with a tad more curiosity in your tone and Logan pops down next to you.

"I was told we need to have a consistent story to not get caught." His eyes meet yours breifly before he's looking away, almost bashfully as his hand comes to toy with his hair, "but I have no idea what that should be."

"You were born in Fort Lauderdale, right?" You ask, and when Logan nods you grin, "Alright, here it is, we were neighbors growing up. Your brother and my brother were really good friends, since I think they're the same age? We tagged along with the older brothers. When you moved we lost contact, but, when you started racing in Formula I got in contact with you via Instagram and the rest is history."

"Childhood best friends seems American enough," Logan grins and a laugh barks out of you that you aren't expecting. A smile pokes at his face and he looks away, almost like he's shy about making you laugh, which is only solidified by the blush you notice on his cheeks.

"Alrighty then, childhood best friend." You tap his thigh with your heel from where your legs are crossed, eyes peeking up as someone knocks on the door.

"Come in," Logan calls, his hand going to rest on your knee before none other than Alex Albon pops open the door with a very curious Lily behind him.

"Oh! Good." Alex steps in, letting Lily in before the door clicks shut. You can see Logan send Alex a confused look before the Thai driver opens his mouth and just says whatever comes to mind.

Which is, "How the fuck did you rizz her?"

"Alex!" Lily whacks her boyfriends arm and you can't help but burst into laughter, hiding your face in Logan's shoulder as you do. You miss whatever defense Logan throws at Alex because of the feeling of Logan pulling you closer by your thigh. It shocks you how much his touch feels like fire against your skin.

"All her," is what Logan says when he turns to you and the smile that crosses your face is natural as you shrug. Lily comes over to introduce herself, leaving Logan and Alex to bicker as she pulls you into a carefully coordinated hug.

"It's so nice to have another girl in the Williams garage." She says as she steps back, and you stand to continue the conversation a bit further away from whatever argument Alex has undoubtedly pulled Logan into now. Logan's hand squeezes your wrist when you walk away, a small fleeting touch, and it makes your cheeks red.

Shit. Why was he making you so flustered?

yn.fdotus

liked by alexalbon, logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 787k others...

yn.fdotus: hot girls ditch f1 for affogato 🩵

tagged: lilymhe

lilymhe: @ logansargeant can u fight.

⤷ logansargeant: i think alex would kill me if i even breathed wrong next to you, so no.

⤷ alexalbon: i would. i would.

user1: NO FUCKING WAY??

lilymhe: LOML !!!! <3<3<3

⤷ yn.fdotus: UGH I WOULD DIE FOR U STOP <3

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liked by yn.fdotus

"Are we like soft launching it?" You ask Logan as you wait for him to be called out to race, he's been fiddling with his sleeve for the past five minutes in agonizing silence. So you try and get his mind off the upcoming race.

"What?"

"Us, are we just gonna like... kiss after the race and be caught by cameras? Or try and like... be sneaky with it? Like pretending we're hiding from cameras but letting them catch us and whatnot."

Logan blinks, his hand falling from fiddling with his sleeve to his lap where you've laid your legs over. ("So you can get used to how close we have to be for media," Logan had suggested.) His hand comes to rub small circles just above your knee as you lean back against the back of the couch.

"I... is there one you prefer?" He asks, pulling out his phone to do what looks like texting someone back, "I can do either, I just don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"I think teasing it would be really cute," you smile and he nods, asking for you to explain, so you burst into a long list of ideas. Fleeting touches, hugs that last just a bit too long to be platonic, pictures of gifted bouquets and hidden faces for 'date nights' and early mornings. He smiles at you enthusiasm as you explain every little minute detail, and then he just takes one of your hands in his and presses a kiss to the back of it.

"Just tell me when, and I'm yours." He whispers, and you try to ignore the obvious affection in his eyes that has your cheeks warming up.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

Logan scores points. You're not even sure what place he ends up in, but you just know he scores points by the way Williams is cheering. You can even hear Logan laughing over his radio and your heart is in your throat as you join Lily in jumping up and down in excitement. Both Alex and Logan has gotten points, for the first time this season.

Your feet carry you, Lily pulling you along, your family laughing as you're brought to the garage and away from them. She detaches when Alex is out of his car, happily extending an arm for Lily to attach to his side as he holds his helmet in the other.

You, however, stop dead in your tracks.

Logan's tugging off his balaclava with the biggest smile on his face. The crows feet of his eyes tight with the smile that pulls them in, same with the way his cheeks puff out in happiness. You can't help but feel a blush on your face at the sight of him, sweaty, and yet with that amazing post-race glow your sister had joked about.

Holy shit, it really was a thing.

You feel cameras on you as you slowly make your way over, finding your footing like a fawn until Logan spots you and-- if possible, his grin grows even wider. You smile, quickening your steps until your pressed firm against his chest. His broad shoulder blocking the light as his arms encircle you, protecting you from the world as he dips his lips down to whisper.

"You can't look at me like that if we're soft-launching." He laughs and you follow suit, arms tight around his waist as you quickly reply,

"I'm just so proud of you, you drove really well today."

His arms tighten a bit more and you assume this is the whole, hugs that are a bit more than platonic bit. When you step back, he keeps his eyes on you and one hand on your back as Alex comes over to celebrate with him.

Later that night, a text lights up your phone,

'if you want a full miami day, tomorrow ill pick you up around nine?"

And the giggles that leave you are genuine as you throw yourself out of bed to pick out some clothes for the list of activities that Logan has planned.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

tag list (comment to be added, and thanks for those who are already on it !)

@hiireadstuff @tigerlily789 @minkyungseokie @woozarts @motheraiya @uzisplanet @struggling-with-delia

#logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargent x reader #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one fic #nicole wrote this

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 1 month

Text

A Night Forgotten

Part Six

This is going to be a longer one

He looked at the drink on the table, seeming intrigued. Picking it up without permission – he still had that bad habit of thinking the world was his oyster and he could pearl dive any time he pleased, regardless of personal space or property rights – he held it to the light and look up at it. One dark brown eyebrow cranked up with interest. Then, he took a sip from her straw, seeming to savour the flavour a moment, measuring it across his palette. When his curiosity was satisfied, he put the drink back down in front of her.

“Interesting,” was all he said.

This was all very typical Erik.

“What did you mean by what you’d said earlier? And don't give me any half-baked answers like the last one,”Emoni demanded, taking up her new drink and sucking down a mouthful.

He shrugged and nudged his chin towards the barge. “Vegas is the city of vice and sin, Daniels. Did you really think I was only interested in coming here for a wedding, especially knowing you were here – having fun without me?”

Her heart thumped into her throat. She took another sip for courage. "R-really? And why's that?"

His gaze moved back to hers, locked on and held hard. A simmering heat warmed up those inky-black orbs that stared into her soul and a small confident smile graced those luscious lips. "You know why."

Emoni now knew what a deer in the headlights felt like. A nervous energy radiated out of her tummy and flowed across her limbs, making her hands shake. She put the drink down and refused to look away.

“What are you saying?”

Emoni required full disclosure. No games. She wasn't built for innuendo. With her, direct was always better.

“What do you want with me?”

With slow, purposeful movement, Erik uncrossed his legs and leaned into her. His knee wedged between hers, and his hands leaned on the arms of the lounge chair Emoni sat in outside of the ballroom, caging her. His mouth moved with clear intent towards hers, stopping as he pillowed very softly right over them. It was an almost-kiss. His half-lidded eyes looked directly into hers without flinching.

“I want you to have the best damn night of your life with me. I want you to let go and tap into your wild side…explore Sin City and forget morals…”

Emoni blinked slowly at him and then she parted her lips to speak.

“…And?”

“…I want to fuck you.”

She’d never been more scared of sex in her life than she was in that moment. Even her first time had been comfortable. She’d planned that night out in detail after all, fully prepared. Since then, She’d only been with two other men – one a short summer fling, and the other a toxic relationship. After they'd failed, She’d sworn no more until Mister Right came along.

Erik was staring at her in the face right now, telling her that he wanted to fuck her, and the heat in his eyes said it would be to within an inch of her life. Emoni knew his reputation, she knew he was skilled and hung and… oh my God, it didn't matter that he had a potential witless fiancée back in Wakanda waiting - Emoni wanted him! She felt like she’d been waiting all her adult life for this moment. It was terrifying.

She gathered her courage. Could she do this? It was crossing some serious moral lines that she’d once upon a time, when she’d been younger and more naïve, believed in maintaining at all costs. She didn’t understand why she was struggling with this. After all, she did plan on leaving tonight with some random fine ass man!

Yet, it hadn't been her who'd made the proposition. Erik was the engaged one.

“What about that potential fiancé of yours back in Wakanda? And that model chick back in Cali?” Emoni challenged.

He frowned a bit. “What about them?”

Emoni shoved on his shoulder and tsk'd. “Aren’t you engaged?!”

“No, that’s where you have it all twisted. They want me to marry this woman back in Wakanda but at MY request, I want to find my own suitable princess. Fuck all that old fashioned bullshit.”

It was her turn to frown. “What does that even mean?!”

Erik shrugged. “She's obviously not someone I want to marry. She feels the same to be honest. She’s got her own shit going on with some dude she’s into.”

Now, Emoni was getting angry. “So, you thought you'd just go on out and get a piece of your own while the cat is away? Any port in the storm - that it?”

That infuriating smirk crawled up his dimpled cheek. "Not any port, no. A particular one, yes."

Her jaw fell open. "You're unbelievable! You have the audacity to just…"

{ Kiss }

Emoni didn't get any more out as he leaned forward the rest of the way and kissed her for the first time. Her toes curled. She thought her head was going to explode from the pleasure. Seriously. Holy shit, Erik Stevens could kiss! Emoni wanted to curl up in his lap right then and there and let him kiss her until the end of the world rained down upon their heads. His lips were plump and soft, his tongue tasted sugary and it slithered into her mouth so skillfully she almost fainted. The little breaths he released shot straight to her drenched folds. It was the type of kiss she’d had wet dreams about.

“You're using me,” Emoni trembled against him as he pulled back a bit.

“I'm not,” he vowed, very assured.

She shook her head as he dipped over her lips with peppering kisses.

“What is this if not using, Stevens?”

His tongue slipped past her open mouth and twined with hers. He growled, and she heard it over the music in the background. She felt it in her ribs.

“You're thinking too hard – again,” he contested. “Stop. Just feel.”

“This is crazy,” Emoni whimpered. “You'll hurt me.”

Erik pulled back to stare deeply and intensely into her eyes. Emoni searched his gaze, this overpowering emotion between them strong.

"I won't. Come with me," he took her hand, and backed up to give her room to stand with him. He tugged, and Emoni flowed up into his arms, which held her tight to his muscular frame. He smelled incredible – a spicy, musky cologne that tantalized her senses. His lips hovered over her ear again like he did on the dance floor.

“Be mine, Emoni. Let me show you. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Oh damn, fuck, shit, I’m doomed, aren’t I? Emoni thought.

Gathering her purse, she threw a last look over at the dance floor as he led me away.

———

The interior of Erik’s sports car with butterfly doors was pristine and smelled like him. They zoomed off away from the wedding, the garter Erik removed from Emoni’s thigh wrapped around his gear shift and his mask resting atop his head. Emoni clutched onto the handle above her seat and clenched her thighs together. It was something about the speed and the way Erik maneuvered the car that turned her on. A few stray curls had slipped from her up-do and fell into her eyes. She looked pleasantly disheveled.

“Have you ever been a passenger princess before?”

“H-huh?”

Erik gave Emoni a quick glance with a chuckle. He reached out to turn down his music so she could hear him better.

“Have you ever been a passenger princess?”

Emoni slowly nodded her head, “I’ve ridden passenger side with my ex many times—”

“No, no. Have you ever been a passenger princess?”

Emoni pondered his words, too intoxicated to think straight. She finally understood what he was asking her and a fresh wave of arousal showered her. This was going to be a long night of fucking and sucking for the both of them.

“I—no. No, I can’t recall that I have…”

Her chest heaved up and down as she watched Erik take his free hand to grip her knee closest to him. He forced her leg apart and his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of her inner thigh.

“Take your panties off and give them to me.”

“What do you plan to do with them?”

“Keep them. Enough questions, Emoni. Remember, relax and just enjoy.”

Emoni exhaled and went to work taking her red lace panties off. She slowly held them out for Erik to take and he plucked them out of her hand before taking a quick whiff and placing them in the front pocket of his cotton dress shirt. Emoni sat there with her mouth unhinged and wide eyes.

“This is what’s gon’ happen. You’re gonna cum from my fingers like a true passenger princess, and you’re gonna clean the mess you make off of my fingers. Understand?”

“Erik—”

“For the duration of our evening of naughtiness, Miss Emoni, you are to refer to me as daddy. Your Highness is good too…”

Erik stroked her chin quickly before making a turn. So many rules to his little game. What if she wanted to make some rules too?

“…okay. And if I don’t?”

“Easy,” Erik cut his dark eyes at her, “You’ll get a spanking.”

“As if—”

“Emoni, I’ve waited for this moment for a very, very, very long time. I’ve wanted to do things to you…things you wouldn’t be able to handle. One of those things is putting you over my knee and spank that impertinent ass. Stop with the questions, okay? Breathe.”

She was stunned to silence.

[ Relax ]

Emoni exhaled and relaxed into her seat. She giggled to herself while staring out of the window.

“Maybe I am prudish. Who am I to deprive myself of a good time? Even if that means being a bad girl.”

A slow, sly smirk crept up Erik’s face.

“So, when do we get to cement my position as passenger princess, daddy?”

Erik almost slammed on his breaks. Emoni brought her knees to her chest and teased Erik while inching her dress up past her thighs. He was fighting the urge to take his eyes off the road. The smooth, shiny flesh of her beautiful legs had him drooling. The sight of those petite ankles, the slim width of her feet and their pretty arches, along with those adorably painted toenails made him uncomfortably aware of his growing erection. Shit, he'd never been a 'foot man' before, but he had the feeling that after tonight, he was going to be a convert to the cause. Every inch of her body would be revealed to him soon enough and he couldn’t wait to taste and touch.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Tell me more,” Emoni cooed, blinking her eyes seductively with a bite of her lip.

“Your intellect turns me on. When you’re mad you make the cutest face and I just want to nibble all over your cheeks. You always smell amazing. I wish I was your first instead of that dumb ass nigga all those years ago. You make me feel all types of ways and I just—I just—”

Erik turned his gaze toward her.

“You just what?” Emoni questioned.

{ Say It }

“I’minlovewithyou.”

The words came out jumbled as if he were forced to say those words. Emoni stared at him unblinking.

“…Did you just say that you love me?”

“I did…didn’t I?” Erik chuckled nervously, “uhh—”

[ Say It ]

“I love you too!”

They were at a red light. Both Erik and Emoni stared into each other’s eyes.

BEEP! BEEP!

Erik blinked away suddenly and floored it. Emoni’s head collided with the seat. She glanced over at Erik, catching his eye. Both of them giggled.

“I’m so in love with you, Emoni Isabella Davis. DAMN. It feels so good to say that. I’ve been dying to say that to you.”

“We’re in love,” Emoni said with a whimsical laugh, “love! I’ve wanted to tell you how much I love you for so long! What a relief!”

“I know, right?! Such a relief.”

“I love you Erik N’Jadaka Stevens,” Emoni said cheerfully.

“And I love you, my precious Emoni.”

Erik’s hand slipped between Emoni’s thighs and she gasped with excitement. His touch was electric. Like a zing she felt it from head to toe. Her chest thrust out and she grabbed onto his wrist. The tips of his thick fingers feathered over her plump outer lips. She hadn’t waved in over a month and for a second she wanted to refuse his hand out of embarrassment but it just felt too good. He grunted like a primal animal when his fingers tore away from her moist center.

Erik inspected his fingers and neither of them could believe how much arousal seeped from her opening. She’d never been that wet because of a man. You’d think she used lube to get herself that slick. Slowly, Erik sucked on his fingers. Emoni whimpered at the visual.

“Fuck,” Erik licks his lips, “Spread your legs more for me, baby…”

Emoni opened up wider and watched Erik’s hand creep between her legs again. This time, he parted her lips to feel further in between. His middle finger flicked upward on her clit and her back arched from the seat. Erik maneuvered the car through a tunnel with the windows down and one hand on the wheel. Erik couldn’t believe how wet she was. Emoni could feel herself climaxing already. She threw her head back, shut her eyes tightly, and closed her thighs around Erik’s hand.

The pulse under her skin began thrumming with speed. She felt a little dizzy from his intimate touch. They were simpatico in their desires for each other, it seemed. Maybe she wouldn't end up quite so devastated from this in the morning. She hoped, anyway. She was feeling as bold and sexy as she had while drinking that cocktail at the reception, and although she had little experience, she’d done enough reading on the subject, and seen plenty of porn. Emoni knew what might work, and she rolled with it, allowing the buzz from the alcohol to chase away her inhibitions.

“You just came for me…already? Mmm…you needed me, baby…I’m the only one that can make you feel like this…”

“Yes, please, daddy, stick your fingers inside…”

“Like this?”

Erik slipped two fingers deep – his middle and ring finger – groaning as he fit his fingers into her powerful passage. She expanded and lubricated his digits more the deeper he went. With each decent, her walls would clench. Emoni didn’t know this, but Erik’s dick was painfully hard. It was morning wood times a hundred. Hard and unyielding. Pulsating with a need to be freed. Balls tight with an unbearable lust to be emptied. More precum than he��d ever witnessed staining his briefs.

“Oh, shit, that pussy feels amazing, Princess. Damn, this pussy is nice and fuckin’ wet.”

“it’s so deep…oh, fuck…daddy…right there…more…unh!”

Emoni’s legs spasmed with her second release. This time, she creamed all over Erik’s fingers. Jolts of pleasure came over her body the more Erik finger-fucked her. He didn’t stop, he needed to see it again. He pulled into a parking spot outside of a Karaoke club and unfastened his seatbelt swiftly. Erik brought Emoni’s seat all the way back and he leaned over her body to capture her lips. His tongue snaked into her mouth while his thick fingers pumped in her deeply. The flesh of her cleavage bounced, she was breathless, and her eyes were closed tight.

Erik broke the kiss to watch her face. Emoni’s eyes slowly slid opened and her gaze connected with Erik’s.

“Watch me…I want you to watch how beautiful you look cumming for me,” Erik pulled down the mirror so she could watch her face, “You look like a goddess, baby. So beautiful…so wet for me…such a good girl…”

Emoni blinked back tears of pleasure. Erik couldn’t keep his mouth off of her. He was attacking her neck now like a wild beast, licking and nibbling all over her flesh. His lips made its way to the tops of her breasts, the sensation mixed with his fingers going in and out of her causing her to moan out loud. The windows are rolled down, surely someone heard.

“Daddy! You’re making me cum again!”

“Cum, baby, let it out…that’s it…”

Emoni tore her eyes away from the mirror and smashed her lips into Erik’s. One hand fisted the front of his cotton dress shirt while the other squeezed his bicep like she was trying to pop a muscle. When the last bit of tremors wore off and their kissing stopped, Erik’s fingers gently slipped out of her opening. Emoni dropped her eyes down to his hand and couldn’t believe how much cream coated his fingers.

“Suck.”

Emoni parted her glossy lips and Erik’s fingers sat on her tongue. She wrapped her lips around his fingers and suctioned while staring into his dark eyes.

“I can’t wait to have you, Emoni. I’m so hard right now…”

His fingers left her mouth and Erik raised her seat into its original position. He fixed her dress and smoothed a few curls from her eyes.

“Where are we?” Emoni asked, still on cloud nine from that amazing foreplay.

“Karaoke. I want to watch you sing.”

“Wait…Erik, I’m a terrible singer! Why can’t we just go back to your beach house and fuck?! This is embarrassing…” She covered her face with her hands.

“Remember what I said, this is a night to let loose and have the best fucking time of your life. Stop worrying about being perfect all the time, Emoni. Come on.”

Erik made sure he was decent before leaving his car and walking around to open Emoni’s door. She grasped his hand and Erik helped her out of her seat, fixing her dress and hair before retrieving her hand bag. He closed the butterfly doors and led the way towards the entrance. Emoni’s heart was hammering away at her chest. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this in front of an audience.

———

Emoni was about to experience Karaoke the Vegas way. They entered a vibrantly lit bar decorated with neons of all colors. Although she was nervous, she actually loved the vibes already inside KAMU Karaoke. Erik guided her towards an open high-top table next to the karaoke stage. He pulled out her seat and startled her by picking her up and placing her on the stool.

Erik took a seat across from her, rolling up the sleeves to his cotton button down and undoing the first two buttons so he could loosen his tie easily. Emoni couldn’t look across at Erik without clenching her thighs together. He gave her a knowing smirk as if he could read her mind.

“You want another drink?!” Erik asked.

“Uhh—how about shots?!”

“Shots?! You sure?!” Erik gave her a scrutinizing look with his thick lips twisted, “Whatchu want?!”

“Chilled Patron shots with a lime garnish please!”

“Ooh, my kind of girl!” Erik reached over to caress her chin with his thumb, “I’ll be right back!”

Erik hopped down and headed towards the bar.

Two months ago, if anyone would have told Emoni that she’d one day be the recipient of Erik Stevens’ sexual interest, and that she’d actually crave him back, she would have laughed herself silly. Now, she wasn't finding the idea so funny. Provocative? Certainly. Humorous? No.

Erik had returned with four shots, carefully placing them down on the table before taking his place across from her again. They each grabbed a glass, toasted each other, then tapped it on the table before knocking it back. It went down smooth and the taste of the lime on her tongue was an added bonus.

For several long seconds, they stared at each other – Emoni was caught off guard and clearly surprised by what had transpired between them. Erik smirked with amusement at having thrown her for a loop again. His eyes drifted lazily down her form during that momentary pause, appreciating her beauty. He surprised Emoni by reaching across and tugging gently on a curl.

“Take down your hair.” Erik commanded.

Emoni gave Erik a nervous glance before reaching up to remove the pins that held her curly updo in place. When she’d retrieved the last pin, Emoni placed them in her bag and shook her curls out with her fingers. Chocolate-brown ringlets framed her face and fell into her eyes. She looked over at Erik expectantly as heat crept over her melanated flesh.

“Different,” was what he came up with, and Emoni could just barely make out what he said over the noise around them.

She scowled at him. That wasn't the word she’d been hoping to hear. 'Beautiful,' 'amazing' or maybe even 'tasty' would have been much more appreciated. 'Different' was safe and utterly unflattering. Sheraised an eyebrow in displeasure.

“Quite,” She said louder and with a bitter tone so he'd hear her, and then she rolled her eyes.

He knew exactly what to do to piss her off.

[ Relax ]

Emoni exhaled and a calming sensation washed over her body.

Unexpectedly, in that same moment, that familiar voice of his sent a shiver up her spine. “Different and delicious, Daniels.”

She nearly dropped the shot glass.

“Drink every drop for me,” he bade in that same compelling tone, “I want to taste it on your lips and tongue later.”

Instantly, the flash of desire warmed her lower extremities, making that fluttering in her stomach kick up a pace. She felt her nipples tighten at the thought of what was to come.

Oh, no - absolutely not a mistake coming here tonight.

“Are you gonna go up there?!” Erik raised both of his brows at her.

“I don’t know. There’s too many people here!”

“Emoni. Get your fine ass up on that stage and have some fun! Trust me, nobody will laugh or make fun of you, baby. And if they do…I’m knocking ‘em out.”

Emoni looked over at the stage and giggled at two drunk white girls singing Spice Girls- Wannabe. Her eyes moved over the crowd of people and most were cheering them on and singing along while others were too drunk to care. Emoni knew she could do it. She’d presented in front of a larger audience before at work and during her college days. With a final exhale, Emoni finished her shot and stood up from her stool carefully. The two girls exited the stage and that gave her the opportunity. She gave Erik one look and he gave her an encouraging smile with a tilt of his head.

Emoni walked towards the stage and took her time climbing the short staircase. Instantly, she could feel people watching her. She walked up to choose a song, tremors in her fingers a reminder of how nervous she was. Emoni found a song and grabbed a mic before turning to face that room full of people. Erik was standing closer, a reassuring look in his eyes that gave Emoni a boost of confidence. The song started and the crowd instantly started vibing to the classic.

You've been waiting so long, I'm here to answer your call

I know that I shouldn't have had you waiting at all

I've been so busy, but I've been thinking 'bout

What I wanna do with you…

She cleared her throat a little and gave a nervous nod in Erik’s direction when he shook his head for her to keep going. Suddenly, she felt like she could do anything. One look at him and she forgot all about how afraid she felt.

I know them other guys, they been talking bout the way I do what I do

They heard I was good, they wanna see if it's true

They know you're the one I wanna give it to

I can see you want me too

Now, it's me and you…

Emoni was swaying her hips to the sultry beat, giving off seductive energy, locking eyes with Erik, and not once did she stumble over her words.

It's me and you, now

I've been waiting (Waiting)

Think I wanna make that move, now

Baby, tell me if you like it (Tell me if you like it)

It's me and you, now

I've been waiting

Think I wanna make that move, now

Baby, tell me how you like it!!!!

People were out of their seats, wolf whistling and clapping. From the looks of it, she was the most entertaining that evening thus far. Some men gave her hungry looks, some women envied her, and the others were so excited they sang along to the lyrics. Erik couldn’t contain his smile and his utter shock. Emoni Davis was having fun and cutting up. She strutted over towards Erik with her adorable self and started singing to him with the sweetest voice and her finger pointed at him. Erik’s eyes grew wide and his smile widened with his dimples popped out.

Baby, I’ll love you all the way down!

Get you right where you like it, I promise you'll like it (I swear)

Just relax and let me make that move (It's our secret thang)

Keep it between me and you!!!!

It's me and you, now (Oh Yea-a)!!!!

I've been waiting

Think I wanna make that move, now (Move now)

Baby, tell me if you like (Tell me if you like it)

I’ve been waiting! I’ve been waiting!

The music faded and Emoni covered her face while the audience cheered her on. She couldn’t believe she did that. Emoni gracefully exited the stage and she held out the mic for Erik to take.

“It’s your turn now, Stevens. Let’s see you get up there and sing!”

Erik challenged her with a single brow raised and a slight smirk. He snatched the mic from her hand, brought it to his lips, and leaned in towards her face.

“Watch how I outdo you.”

Emoni folded her arms sassily with a scowl and a smirk. Erik slipped past her and to that stage. She was about to witness Erik Stevens singing. She needed to record this. While he searched for a song, Emoni rushed to retrieve her phone. She made it back in time when a song she recognized started playing. When she realized what it was her eyes lit up and she started giggling.

Yeahhh yeah—yeahhhhh!!!!

Girl, I wish that I could spend time with you each and every day

Playing all my love and emotions that's the thing that's got me open

And I don't know what it takes to let you know you're my girl

To let you know you're my baby

And even when they say we won't stay around

If they only knew that we were meant to be together

Forever and ever whatever there's no better thing

Me and you girl, that's why I write you love letters saying!!!

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it…

Erik sang to his heart’s desire with his eyes closed and a hand to chest. He knew all the words without even looking at the screen. A true Millennial. He had all the black people in the room jamming. Emoni Could only imagine a twelve–year–old Erik singing to this and writing love letters.

Sometimes I want to be the one you be checking for, can I get a second for me

Me and you to be alone tell me if you think it's wrong

Love is nothing but the time it takes you to say I'm on your mind

Let me tell you I'm always there, oh yeah

Let's get a little time away, go to the movies on a Saturday

Meet me at the finish line so I can tell you one more time

Girl, you know I'm not scared to let you say that…

Erik was down on his knees singing to Emoni! She was stunned. Everyone made too much noise, almost drowning out Erik’s singing.

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it!!!

He dropped the mic and threw his hands up while the room erupted with applause. This man could do no wrong. He left the stage and walked up to Emoni. Erik grabbed her chin and pressed his lips into hers. They tongued each other down, both unable to contain their laughter. They returned to their seats while the next person took the stage. Emoni fanned herself while staring at Erik.

———

“What did you mean by different?”

They were both seated on top of the front of his sports car sharing French fries from In-N-Out and staring up at the crescent moon. They needed to eat something to soak up the alcohol.

“You have a different aura about you when you’re less wound up and tense, Emoni. I’ve awakened something in you that’s been locked away far too long. I’m sorry you had to feel like you needed to tuck some of the best parts of yourself away because of that stupid nigga. I see your potential, even beyond your beauty. I always have.”

Emoni tucked her chin and blinked away tears. She hated being so vulnerable. It was definitely the drinks. She gathered enough courage to look at him again.

“Thank you,” She gave him a warm smile, "You’re the only man to ever see me as more than just my physical appearance. You challenge me and your cleverness and natural born leadership turns me on more than that pretty face and those plump lips of yours. And don’t stare at me like that, Stevens, I just might leave a wet spot on this car…”

He sat up straighter, encouraged by the fact that she'd taken that much effort to pay attention to him.

“…When you laugh with true sincerity it sounds nice, you have impeccable table manners, are well organized, and you smell rather pleasant on a regular basis." She counted them off once more and then nodded, satisfied. “There, we're done.”

All of her compliments were rather touching, honestly, but one in particular grabbed his attention.

“It's Wakandan. Custom.”

She blinked. "What is?"

“You said I smell rather pleasant. It's my cologne. It comes from Wakanda, and is tailored so that everyone smells whatever they most desire from me,” he explained, hopping off his car and approaching her side. She looked ready to melt by the time he'd bent down in front of her and leaned over her, putting his neck near her nose. “What do you smell?”

Her warm breath panting against his neck sent electric tingles down his spine.

A beat later, she had her nose pressed against the lee of his throat and was taking deep, drawing breaths in and sighing in pleasure on the exhale. When she moaned in longing, Erik thought he'd never heard a more desirable sound, and his body reacted by going hard and tight. "What do you smell, my princess?" he coaxed, placing his mouth next to her ear, caressing the delicate skin with his soft lips. “Tell me,” he whispered, in a dark, enticing tone.

She began to pant, and her hands crept of their own accord to grip his shoulders. With a light pressure, she dug her nails into his skin.

His heart began to pound hard in his chest.

“Sandalwood, cinder ash, wine, and…red roses.”

Ghosting his lips up the side of her throat, he sighed, pleased by her imagination. “Beautiful. That's your idea of love-making, Daniels. How you see it…with me.”

“Hmm?" she asked, slowly coming back into herself, pulling away from his collar. Her grip on his arms eased up. "Love-making? With you?”

Erik wanted to set a sultry tone that would linger with her thoughts after this round was over.

“The scent is meant to evoke your passion and trigger your unconscious desires for me,” he explained in a soft murmur. “Black satin sheets and silver moonlight…you want me to dominate you, but you want it done seductively at first then rough. A warm fire and wine…you want things between us to burn slowly and smolder before we lose all control and overindulge in each other.”

“…I haven't been able to unwind in, well, a long time.”

Emoni was embarrassed to admit.

“That's because you play too little and work too hard,” Erik agreed.

“I can't help it,” she breathed a frustrated sigh. “There's always so much to do, and it's hardwired into me to get it all done!”

“As your boss, I command you to ease your mind. You can loosen up a little," he tried to sooth her. “Just forget the world outside for now. Relax and enjoy this.”

He gently placed his lips over the curve of her neck and shoulder, leaving small, barely-there kisses as he went. With a quick swipe, he touched his tongue to her warm skin. She was powdered with honey dust, a delicious treat he hadn't expected, and which explained how her skin sparkled under the light. Underneath it though, she tasted as if she'd just stepped out of the ocean.

The flavour had his chest going tight and sent his dick straining for its freedom.

Mine.

If anything could have confirmed for him the truth of what his heart and body had been telling him for years, that right there had done it.

“Tell me something you’ve always wanted to do but you never did out of fear.”

Emoni pondered.

“Uhm…oh! I’ve always wanted a belly ring but I’m too scared to get it. It’s such a sexy piercing, you know?”

“Hmm, I like belly piercings. You should do it.”

“Oh, no. I think I’m good.”

“Emoni, c’mon, ma. You could get one tonight.”

“Tonight?!” Emoni looked up at Erik with wide eyes.

“Okay, how about this,” Erik ate the last fry, chewing it and swallowing before he spoke again, “If you agree to get your belly button pierced, I’ll get a tattoo. Whatever you want.”

“…whatever I want?” Emoni pointed to herself.

That didn’t sound too bad. She loved the idea of deciding what Erik should get tatted on him.

“Yes. Whatever you choose, Baby girl.”

“Okay. Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

Erik grinned at her before reaching out to grab her hand. He walked her towards the passenger side and helped her in before sliding across the car to his side, causing Emoni to laugh.

Drunken nights with the Prince of Wakanda was absolutely glorious.

———

They stepped inside of a parlor and was greeted at the front by a receptionist. Erik inquired about piercings and a tattoo and luckily they had artists on staff that evening. Emoni was allowed to chose what ring she wanted to decorate her navel. She wanted to find the cheapest option since Erik was the one paying for the service.

“This one looks okay.”

It was a simple piercing. Nothing too flattering. Erik frowned slightly.

“I don’t really like that one. Are you sure?”

“I—I don’t want to get something expensive, Erik.”

“This one looks really nice. Very sexy…”

“What?! This is too much—”

Erik gave her a look, “Moni. Stop it. I’m treating you.”

Emoni rolled her eyes, “So, you’d buy me something like this?”

Erik pointed to a dangling belly button ring with 14K white gold diamonds. Emoni gawked at him.

“Erik…that costs 2700 dollars…”

“Okay, we’ll get that one then—”

“I MEAN…you’re offering…”

The receptionist giggled.

“You’re a trip. Just admit you want me to spoil you.”

An impish glint appeared in her gaze, followed by a very wicked, sultry smirk. "You’re going to spoil me, Stevens.”

Erik blinked in astonished exasperation.

"…Beautiful," he murmured, moving in to feast upon her luscious mouth. "You're so fucking beautiful, Daniels." He groaned, losing himself in the singe of his blood from her touch and flavor.

“We’ll take this one,” Erik pointed to the expensive piercing through the glass.

The receptionist retrieved the belly ring and Erik whipped out his wallet to pay for everything. Afterwards, they sat down in the lobby until they were serviced.

The artist is from New Orleans. Emoni could make out the inspiration from The Big Easy. Anxiously fidgeting, she looked around, admiring the photos and art. Erik stroked her back to calm her down.

“What was in those drinks? I can’t believe I’m about to do this shit—”

“Ready?”

A heavily tatted Asian woman with hot pink hair walked out to greet them. Erik and Emoni stood up and he grabbed her hand as they followed the woman towards the back of the shop. She was led over to a table for her to lay back on. Emoni spotted the tools she planned to use and almost freaked out if it wasn’t for Erik calming her down.

“My name is Suzie. I’ll be taking care of your piercing. Beni, the shop owner, he’ll do your tattoo. Did you read over the paperwork thoroughly?”

“Yes,” Emoni gave Suzie a nervous smile, “Sorry, this has me feeling nervous.”

“It’s alright. Believe it or not, belly button piercings are relatively painless when you’re relaxed. Too much anxiousness can make it uncomfortable. It’s important to stay calm. I mean, you definitely should because there are risks. Let’s take a look at your navel…”

Emoni went to lay on her back on the table and she remembered that her underwear was no longer in her possession. With wide eyes, she glanced over at Erik and they both burst out into a fit of laughter. Suzie watched the exchange with confusion and a smirk on her face.

“So…I’m not wearing any panties. Is there something I could cover up with?”

“Oh! Sure,” Suzie giggles, “I have a pad I can place over you.”

Suzie went to grab a pad and Emoni lifted her dress up to her chest. Erik’s eyes raked over her exposed flesh. He couldn’t wait to have her. All of her.

Suzie draped the pad across her, placed new gloves on her hands, and began sanitizing the area thoroughly. Emoni glanced over at Erik and he gave her an encouraging nod with two thumbs up. Suzie used a surgical marker to mark where she’d pierce. This was a good chance for Emoni to make sure the piercing location is where she wanted it to be.

The moment of truth.

“Breathe in…”

Emoni inhaled and Suzie pierced the area.

“Breathe out…”

She exhaled a shaky breath.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Suzie asked.

“No, actually,” Emoni chuckled, “it was quick I could barely register the pain.”

“Good. Now, there will be some discomfort. Be careful with certain garments. Use a mild, fragrance-free soap or saline solution to gently clean the area around the piercing. You can also try a saltwater mixture of half a teaspoon of sea salt per cup of water to remove dried secretions. Avoid twisting or rotating the jewelry while cleaning, as this can cause irritation and introduce bacteria. Rinse the area thoroughly and pat dry with a lint-free cloth or clean, disposable paper towel. Don't rub the area dry. You can also soak the area in a sterile saline solution for 5–10 minutes daily. Don't use alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, bacitracin, or other ointments, as these can slow healing or irritate the area. Any questions?”

That was a lot of information at once, but Emoni understands what she needed to do. She was given a bag filled with items to start her cleaning process since she didn’t have anything handy until she got home.

“I think I’m good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It looks good on you. If you guys want, you can head back to Beni.”

“Thanks,” Erik helped Emoni off the table. They both admired her new body jewelry in a mirror before exiting. They entered the next room and it was dimly lit with a reclining leather chair. Beni had just finished setting up what he needed and then he looked up at the pair with his pure hazel eyes. He stood at 5’7 with thick curly brown hair and tattoos covering his entire body. He shook Erik’s hand first and then Emoni’s.

“I’m Beni. So, what are we looking to do?”

Erik pointed to Emoni, “She’s deciding tonight.”

Emoni smiled brightly, “What’s your pain tolerance?”

Erik cocked his head and smirked at her before lifting his dress shirt, revealing tiny raised scars, “Emoni…really?”

“Jesus, my brother,” Beni stared in disbelief, “scarification?”

“Yeah. So to answer your question, baby girl, I have a very high tolerance.”

Emoni hadn’t seen Erik shirtless in years. She was rendered speechless. Erik wanted to know what she was thinking, but that could wait until they were alone. For now, it was time for a tattoo.

“Snap out of it, gorgeous. What do you have in mind for me?”

Emoni blinked away from him and looked at Beni, “Uhm…my name. Get my name tatted.”

“Simple. That okay with you?”

Erik gave a half shrug, “Fine with me. Where do you want your name?”

Emoni couldn’t tear her eyes away from his body. She wanted to feel the raised bumps against her fingertips. Skimming each one like braille. It was so fascinating and sexy at the same time. And don’t even get her started on his muscles—

“Princess?”

“Oh—uhhh—right bellow the V-cut,” She pointed to the area while looking at the physical display of hard work in the gym and discipline in the kitchen. It was his lower right side, only visible if he were naked. Discrete.

Imagine sucking his dick and staring at your name inked into his flesh, Emoni thought.

“You’re so naughty. I know exactly why you want it there,” Erik chuckled, “Fine with me. Let’s get to it.”

Erik made himself comfortable and Emoni sat on a stool at his side. Beni placed the transfer paper onto Erik’s skin and afterwards he began tattooing.

“Tickles a little,” Erik smirked with his eyes closed.

It took about thirty minutes and when Beni finished, he let Erik take a look.

“The best decision I’ve ever made. Permanent and meaningful.”

Erik tugged on Emoni’s hand, drawing her closer and crashing his lips against hers. They tongue kissed ferociously and Erik’s hand made its way between her legs again, stroking her pussy lips. Emoni whimpered into his mouth and held onto him tight, trembling from head to toe even in the aftershocks. Finally, when the sensation became too much, she took her hand from his shoulder, smoothing it down his arm, and silently requested he remove his hand from between her legs before she made a mess. He complied easily, refusing to break off from the kiss quite yet, however. Wanting more…

“Not here,” Emoni gave Beni a look but he was too busy cleaning, probably used to this.

Erik groaned in disappointment.

Pulling away reluctantly, he looked up at her. There was desire in her eyes. Her quaking hand was still holding onto his wrist and she was struggling to regain control. All he did was stroke her outer lips. Obdurate, steadfast, tenacious Emoni Davis had finally let her barrier down. With shimmering chocolate orbs for eyes, and candied lips, she looked positively edible… and scared half to death.

@hearteyes-for-killmonger @imagining-greatness @chaneajoyyy @uzumaki-rebellion @lisayourworries @ratedbadgal @bombshellbre95 @cancerianprincess @dameshaemonique @6lack-1otus @thickemadame @thickeeparker @stinkalinkkkk @ehniki @electrixt @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @bxolux @sweet2krazee @seyven89 @ispywithmylileye @geemamii @unbotheredblackchild @nubianbabee @adoreesun @blackpinup22 @nayaxwrites @cocoa-puffs @dersha89 @honeytoffee @thickianaaaa @modelmemoirs @why-wait-4-eventually @queenfaithmarie @angelicniah @soulfulbeauty19 @aijha @novaniskye @callmemckenzieee @blowmymbackout @lahuttor @momobaby227 @blackerthings @kenbieee @princessxotwod @palmstreesallday @kokokonako @coolfancyone @soulsparker @richgirlaesthetics

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #erik killmonger

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that-student-that-has-homework · 7 months

Text

Pretty Girl - Portgas D. Ace

I read this lovely little snippet by @mrsoharaa and felt the need to know what would happen next. Written with permission!

Check out my MasterList for more of my writing!

To be fair, Marco actually wasn’t teasing him this time. He’d been nose deep in a book and was just as deep in his thoughts when he’d made the request.

“Hey Ace, can you go and call” the first division commander squinted at the book, trying to recall the words but was clearly too distracted to, “can you call-we-what was-just call your pretty girl for me yoi?”

He wasn’t teasing him this time.

Ace had just simply had enough.

//—----------

It had started in the morning? maybe afternoon? who knows what time it was…after some good old fashion pirate revelry until who knows what hour of the evening.

He’d woken up in some weird kinda angle on some random corner of the ship, with a bit of a headache. So like any other day, he made his way over to the kitchen to get some food to fix his problem. After all, if his head hurt, he probably just needed some food, right?

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the slick Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates,” the Division Commander in question blinked at his Fourth Division counterpart, his lips pulling up at the strange greeting.

What’d he mean by slick though? Just thinking about it made his head squeeze, so he decided to push it off until he had some food in his system.

“Thatch, I’m hungry,” he declared as he slumped himself on the kitchen counter, throwing his bottom half on a stool there, “gimme somethin’ to eat.”

“Comin’ right up,” the cook shot him an amused grin as he went about grabbing his disgruntled younger brother-in-arms some food.

“Hungover?” The question came from Ace’s side, where the head doctor sat, sipping on a cup of…well it wasn’t alcohol.

“Huh?” The younger man just blinked, trying to get the fog out of his brain. “Nah.” He rolled onto his side to better face his older brother. “Just got a headache.”

“Sounds like a hangover to me yoi,” the doc grinned over the rim of his mug.

Ace didn’t pay him much mind though, waiting for his food to arrive.

Though his silence seemed to encourage his companion, “especially with how much you drank last night.”

“Wasn’t that much,” he ruffled his hair in hopes to alleviate some of the pounding in his head.

“It was enough that you called a certain someone ‘pretty girl.’”

A moment of silence passed as Ace continued to aggressively knead at his scalp. His mind very sluggishly processing Marco’s words…he was just about to fall asleep again with how much his he-

HE DID WHAT?!

That blew all the fog and grog out of Ace’s brain and body, as he all but sprung to his feet in shock. The medic in front of him offered him little more than his usual lazy, lopsided grin.

The vertigo hit him right as the adrenaline wore off, and he was clutching to the counter to save himself from smacking into the ground. His grip only tightened as he heard footsteps from the other side of the counter rejoin them.

“Yo Ace, I fixed you a plate for your pretty girl too,” he chirped sliding over two plates, “if you wanted to go and deliver it to her.”

It had been a while since Pops had clobbered him, but the memory of his audacious, disastrous, flirty remark hit him much like one of Pops’ fists did. Of all things, he only came up with pretty girl?

He-just-urgh-just-just where was his hat when he needed it? He resorted to using his hands to hide his face from the other two commanders. He didn’t need to see them to know they were grinning - they were just oozing with entertainment.

“Ah don’t worry slick,” he could hear Thatch’s voice getting closer, “I’d say she took it well enough.”

The way the cook only barely got his sentence out before he and Marco broke out into snickers said otherwise. Ace grabbed his plate of food and moved to find a different corner of the massive galleon to eat in.

For the next few days, the different commanders would wink, snicker, smirk, borderline leer at him whenever you were in his general vicinity. They weren’t subtle about it, given pirates were generally as subtle as a sea king on land. They didn’t have to say it out loud for him to hear it though:

“Pretty girl.”

The behavior spread to the rest of the crew like wildfire. He’d have compared the spread to some nasty disease, but those usually knocked people out. Unfortunately this one seemed to rile them up, everyone seemed overly eager to be able to poke at him for his drunken declaration. By the end of the week, even the swabbies were in on it. They weren’t as bad as the commanders, but…ugh. Just…anyhow you’d think that, after a week, it would become old news, but no.

Nope.

Not this news.

Seems everyone on this damn ship was a gossip. Grown ass grizzled pirates, reduced to giggling gossiping gaggles of gremlins. The Second Division Commander couldn’t go for more than a few hours without hearing some kinda comment, or getting some kinda look.

Even pops was in on it now!

He’d found out when the old man had grinned at him, what was worse was that it was a good-natured grin. He wasn’t teasing him…but what he said to him, as a kind of encouragement, had left this poor son of Whitebeard feeling more flustered than ever.

Unfortunately all his attempts at getting the crew to cut it out were falling on deaf ears. His fellow commanders in particular had no problem ignoring his requests and continuing to tease him, which of course emboldened the rest of the crew.

Of course the worst part had to be…well, there was no way you didn’t know about what was happening. After all, you always put on an unbothered face, but he knew it had to be making you uncomfortable. After all it wasn’t like he’d ever followed up on that pretty girl comment while sober. Though he wouldn’t deny the little amused simpers that you’d put on whenever your fellow crew mates would leer at him had his heart doing little flips.

Anyway…

Things had finally died down a bit, with Ace getting some peace of mind. People had finally gotten bored. Meaning he could probably try…y’know…approaching you while sober…

Well they’d mostly died down…

//—--

“SHE IS PRETTY ALRIGHT?!” Yeah he’d had enough. “Do none of y'all have eyes?!” He raged on, over a week’s worth of agitation erupting from him violently.

“So what if I called her pretty girl?” There was a kind of catharsis in seeing the First Division Commander staring at him bug-eyed. “It wasn't a lie!” He threw his hands up in agitation. “That's for sure.”

“Uh A-”

“Like you all don't state the obvious sometimes!” He pointed an accusatory finger at everyone who was in the infirmary…which wasn’t much, but Thatch hadn’t left yet and he was one of the guys that teased him the most!

“A-”

“And!” He was burning up the whole place and there was no stopping him. “I never said she was my pretty girl! I just said she was a pretty girl!” Little flickers of fire left his shoulders. “And she definitely is pretty!” He flexed his fingers. “Gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, all the words that mean that!”

The Second Division Commander’s chest and shoulders heaved from the way he was panting after his rant. Man it felt good to get it off his chest.

He shook his head, getting the remaining frustration out before rolling his shoulders out. He felt a whole lot better. He stretched his neck, before turning to look at his stunned fellow commanders.

“Hey Thatch, I’m hungry,” he grinned, “can you make me something to eat? Or should I just go raid the fridge?”

That seemed to snap the cook out of it, “keep yourself out of my fridge and out of my kitchen hotshot!”

“Uh…Ace,” the fiery man turned to look at the medic that had sparked this outburst.

“Oh Marco, what did you need again?” He’d asked him to do something before mentioning you.

“It’s no problem yoi,” strange, the doctor seemed to be looking behind him.

Was there someone behind him? The young commander turned around -

Shoot.

He hadn’t said anything negative! But dang what he said sure as hell was damning. He must sound like a total creep. Just going on and on about how pretty he thinks you are. Could someone just launch him into the sea?

It didn’t help that the most unrelenting of the division commanders were here to see this horrifying display. They weren’t ever going to let him live this dow-

“You think I’m pretty?” You asked, hope pulling your lips up tentatively. “Even while sober?”

Ace managed to nod at that.

Gosh he felt stupid. This wasn’t how he wanted to do it. Why was he so trash at trying to compliment you?

“Well I think you’re pretty too,” you gave him a good-natured smile, “so there, we’re even.”

“Really?” Gah! Why was that the first thing out of his mouth?

Oh gosh it was so cute the way you fiddled with your fingers. You only ever did that when you were nervous-you only ever did that when you were nervous.

“I mean,” you grinned, “haven’t you ever looked in a mirror Ace?”

Ace was sure he’d turned his face to fire at that point. He was here fumbling over his feet like a baby dear, and you were so smooth, you might as well be polishing the deck with wax.

“Um, in case that wasn’t clear,” you continued, “yes, really Ace, you’re pretty.”

Thatch let out a low whistle then, “well would you look at that,” he grinned, “a pretty boy for a pretty girl.”

“Stop teasing him Thatch,” you sighed, shooting the cook a look, “you’ve all teased him more than enough already.”

“Yo,” the longtime resident of the infirmary called out to you, “I was actually going to send Ace to find you yoi.”

“Oh did you need something Marco?” You walked further into the room, passing by the stunned pretty boy.

“Were you busy today yoi?”

“Not really, why? Did you need help?”

You thought he was pretty too?

Would you consider, maybe, going out on a date? He couldn’t help but stare at you as you continued to talk with his First Division Counterpart. He wasn’t about to ask you here, in front of these jerks, but maybe later…

Maybe later…

When you were sitting on the bow looking up at the stars that dotted the night sky. He’d ask you.

And you’d say yes.

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

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pitchsidestories · 7 months

Text

Girls Girls Girls II Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1782

a/n: You guys really came through with so many great requests for Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x Reader. We hope you understand that we can't write them all straight away but we'll try to do as many as we can. Based off these two requests. <3

The atmosphere in the Barcelona club was electric. Every movement done inside of it felt like a promise to an eventful evening with endless possibilities. Like a blank canvas waiting to be painted with scenes of the night.

When the clock stroked midnight, Mapi Leon curiously asked her girlfriend while nodding in the direction you were standing: “Have you seen the beauty over there?”

“Are you talking about the girl sitting at the bar?”, Ingrid Engen wanted to know smirking. The Spanish woman replied grinning:” Yes, the one with an old-fashioned in her hands.”

“She’s gorgeous.”, the midfielder admitted blushing at the sight of you in a stunningly black jumpsuit.

Innocently Mapi played with a loose string of her hair:” Her glass seems almost empty; do you think we should talk to her?” “I think we should order her a new one.”, the Norwegian suggested warmly.

Enthusiastically the older woman responded:” Yes, I agree.” “I’ll order.”, Ingrid decided. Smiling sweetly at her girlfriend the Spaniard answered: “Thanks.” Afterwards she approached you with a flirty smile:” Hi.”

“Oh hi.”, you gazed surprised at the two very beautiful women in front of you. Interested the tattooed one wanted to know:” Enjoying your drink?”

“Yes, I know the barkeeper, she and I go to the same Uni, so she always makes something special out of it.”, you told her. She acknowledged that remark with a lifted eyebrow:” Oh, you do?”

“Yes.”, your cheeks turned hot under their attentive eyes. Casually Mapi went on:” What are you studying?” “The arts, I love to paint.”, you answered passionately.

Delighted the Spanish woman muttered:” So you’re an artist.” “I am. Your tattoos are so pretty. What are you and your girlfriend doing? Sorry, I think you’ve not told me your names yet.”, nervously you licked your lips.

The older woman of the two introduced themselves: “I’m Mapi and that’s Ingrid.” “Nice to meet you both, I’m y/n.”, you remarked in an honest tone.

A big smile lit up Ingrid’s face: “Nice to meet you too.” “Thanks for the drink.”, you mumbled gratefully lifting you glass with them before taking each a deep sip. Cheerfully the Norwegian waved it off: ”You’re welcome.”

After you three savoured your drinks, Mapi confidently took your and her girlfriend’s hand:” Do you want to dance with us?” “Sure.”, the liquor making you bold in your reply to her question.

Happily, Ingrid got up from the chair she was sitting on a few seconds ago: “Really?” “Yes, let’s go to the dance floor.”, you said self-assured.

The defender couldn’t help but to observe the reaction of your Uni friend:”Your barkeeper friend doesn’t look amused.” “Oh. But she’s in a relationship.”, you promptly explained.

A sign of relief crossed the older woman’s face:” So she’s got nothing to worry about.” “Exactly.” “Come on.”, impatiently Ingrid pulled both of you to the place people were already dancing.

“Coming!“ You immediately started moving to the music. The rhythm of your bodies in perfect synchronisation. You completely lost focus of your own body, captivated by Ingrids elegant and Mapis more powerful movements.

Mapi winked at you, pulling you close so she could whisper in your ear; “An artist and a good dancer as well.“ You bit back a smile, relieved that your reddening cheeks wouldn’t be visible in the dim light; “You two are not bad either.“

“For football players maybe.“, Ingrid added with a laugh. “Football players?“, you echoed in surprise. “Yes, for FC Barcelona.“, Mapi stated calmly. Your knowledge about football might have been limited but you did know about the Catalan club.

Lost for words, you could only mumble; “Wow.“ Ingrid used your moment of speechlessness to change the subject. “Want to come with us to our place?“, she asked, a carefulness in her voice in case she crossed a line. “Sure.“, you answered without hesitation.

Smiling, Mapi took your hand in hers; “Don’t worry. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.“ “No, I want to come with you. Really.“, you assured her, shaking your head. You refused to let the night end that early.

Ingrid took your other hand; “We should leave then.“ “Yes, let’s go.“, Mapi agreed, leading you both out of the bar after you gathered your jackets and purses.

You were surprised when they opened the door to their apartment to you. It was modern and chic but also very homely at the same time. You immediately felt welcome; “Your apartment is beautiful.“

“Thanks. Ingrid decorated it.“, Mapi grinned proudly. Her girlfriend cheeks went pink; “For the most part.“ “Almost the whole part.“, the defender corrected her amused. You let your gaze wander around the room for a bit longer and commented; “I love it.“

“I know it’s late but would you like some coffee?“, Ingrid offered politely. You smiled; “Yes, I’d like one.“ “I’ll make you one.“ “Thank you.“ “No problem.“, Ingrid waved it off and got to work. You sat down at their kitchen table. While you waited, you took out your notebook and started scribbling into it.

Some of your creative energy needed an outlet. You failed to realise that Mapi took the chair opposite you and watched you draw. Only when her beringed hand reached out for the page, you looked up at her. “Can I see it?“, she asked innocently.

Quickly, you covered your sketches with a hand; “No, I’m not done yet.“ Mapi tried again, giving you her best puppy eyes; “Come on.“ “Later, promise.“ “You should know that I’m very impatient.“, she warned you jokingly. You laughed; “Oh, I’ve noticed.“

“Hey. Rude!“, the defender complained. Ingrid gave her girlfriend a knowing look as she set down three cups of coffee; “No, it’s true.“ Mapis jaw dropped in feigned offense; “Ingrid!“ “Yes?“

But before the couple could continue to bicker, you closed your notebook and wrapped your hands around the mug; “Thanks for the coffee.“ “You’re welcome.“, Ingrid smiled sweetly.

After you tasted the coffee, you announced:” It’s delicious.” “Do you want to stay overnight?”, the defender asked you curiously. Her and the Norwegian looked expectantly at you when you exclaimed:” Sure. Why not?” “Perfect.”, Ingrid sighed. B

Blushing you mumbled:” “If that’s okay with you.” “It’s.”, the midfielder nodded placing a light kiss on your lips sealing the oral invitation to stay tonight at their place.

Instinctively one hand went to your lips which were still buzzing from the excitement: ”I’ll stay then.” Gleefully Mapi clapped into her hands before kissing you aswell:” We hoped you’d say yes.”

In the morning the Spanish woman noticed, her voice still full of sleep:” Ingrid, she’s gone.” “Yes, but she left a note with her number, she had to go to uni.”, the younger football player explained, showing her the note you left, on the other side was the sketch you did of them the previous night.

Impressed Mapi whispered:” So that’s what she was working on.” “It’s stunning.”, Ingrid admitted beaming. Suddenly wide awake the defender told her:” Give me her number. I’m going to text her.” “Here you go.”, the midfielder responded cheerfully.

Pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, the Spanish woman replied:” Thanks.” “Did you ask her to come to our next match?”, a hopeful smile was on Ingrid’s lips.

Cheekily Mapi grinned at her: “Maybe.” More serious she added:” It just feels right with her, right?” “It does.”, the Norwegian nodded, pressing a kiss on to her girlfriend’s head.

Since that fateful night at the bar, you’ve met Mapi and Ingrid quite a few times, so naturally you accepted their invitation to come to one of their game, the defender was still injured, while the midfielder was in the starting line of today’s match.

In a low voice Jana Fernadez spoke to you after you sat down next to her:”Y/N, have you seen the photo of you three in the car going around on the internet?” “What? No, I didn’t.”, you answered stunned by that news.

Seriously the younger woman continued:” You might want to look it up.” “Thanks for telling me, Jana.”, you muttered. She gave you an empathetic smile and a pad on the shoulder:” You’re welcome.”

Only a couple of minutes later Mapi showed up with two drinks in her hands, one for her and the other for you, the defender was quickly followed by Alexia:”What did Jana show you?”

“This, they took photos of us three and put them online.”, you revealed, showing her what Jana had hinted at not that long ago. “Wait, let me see.”, Mapi urged you and took a closer look on what the photos were picturing. “Here.”

Mapis brows furrowed as she took in the clear photo of you three together. There was a hint of worry in her eyes when she turned to you; “I’m sorry. I don’t know how or when they took that.“ “We need to tell Ingrid.“, you decided, too many thoughts rushing through your head.

Again, the defender tried to catch your eye; “Ingrid will be fine but how do you feel about it?“ You shook your head, replying blankly; “I’m good.“ “Are you sure?“ “Yes, what do you think?“, you asked her.

Mapi tilted her head before answering; “I don’t mind people knowing that I’m with two pretty girls.“

“And me neither.“, Ingrids voice interjected. She smiled softly at the two of you, her hair still damp from the shower she took after the game. Mapi laughed; “I told you she won’t mind.“

You were silent for a few seconds, only now realising that these two people loved having you in their lives as you loved having them in yours. “Let’s put our own picture out there.“, Ingrid suggested, turning on the front camera of her phone. You smiled; “Alright.“

“Yes, come here. Let’s take on.“, Mapi said and pulled Ingrid towards her. With you in the middle, the two football player pressed kisses on your cheeks for the photo.

Proudly, Ingrid showed you the shots. “Okay, should we title it Girls Girls Girls?“, you asked with a smirk. The Norwegian smiled back at you; “What’s more fitting than that?“ “Yes, we’ll take that one.“, Mapi agreed, taking her girlfriends phone and hitting the post button.

There was nothing you could do but stare at the two women you had come to love so easily. The buzz of your phone in your pocket tore you out of your trance.

It was the first like on your post and it was from your bartending friend who watched you three leave on the first night you met. With a grin you thought back of the happy coincidences that led up to this moment. It must have been fate.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso community #barca femeni #ingrid engen #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen imagine #mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #Spotify #mapi leon x ingrid engen

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

Text

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

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

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

Word Count: 8.7k

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💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

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

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

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

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

“How many pills?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Fosco asks.

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

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

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

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

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

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

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

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Honey—”

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

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

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

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

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

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

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

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

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

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

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

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

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

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

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

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

“I’m aware.”

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

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

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

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

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

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

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

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

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

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

“Well, he was there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

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

“I can’t,” you whimper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dio mio, what happened?”

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

“Are you sure—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

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

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

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

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

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

“And I’m still here now.”

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

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

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

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

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him. “The roof?”

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

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

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

“Probably married to someone worse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

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

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

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

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

“Who is it?”

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

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

“For you.”

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

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

“How did you get these?”

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

“Maybe they are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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blakeprentiss · 30 days

Text

crash & burn

emily prentiss x surgical resident!fem!reader

what happens when your one night stand ends up on your operating table?

warnings: angst, surgery, blood, smut, mention of drugs/drug use, alcohol & drinking, mentions of (fake) major character death

a/n: repost from my previous blog about 3 years ago but also slightly edited. based off of my grey’s anatomy knowledge so there are definitely inaccuracies also one of my fav things I ever wrote

(gif is mine)

“incoming trauma! y/l/n, you’re on it with me,” your attending yelled. nodding at her as you made your way to the door, you grabbed a gown and threw it on. a rush of excitement coursed through you, with this being your first real trauma you were working. working the ER was always hit or miss, with everything that had swept through the emergency room doors during your previous rotations either ended up cleared from needing surgery or were “all hands on deck” situations, which usually ended up with every resident fighting for at least three surgeries. and you never seemed to be picked for one.

you had been itching to get into an OR for weeks, as being on the ICU rotation stopped that from happening. technically, you were doing simple procedures on patients when they needed to be done, but you weren’t able to actually operate. and that’s what you loved to do most.

silently wishing that this trauma would need surgery, you jogged out of the e.r. and met your attending at the ambulance bay. “what do we have?” you asked, watching as the paramedic opened the ambulance doors.

“agent emily prentiss, fbi, 40 years old; penetrating stab wound to the lower abdomen, weapon still lodged in place, already coded once in the ambulance,” the paramedic rattled off.

“is that a chair leg?” you asked, mouth open. something about this patient was off, you couldn’t figure it out.

“table leg, actually,” the paramedic said, shaking his head.

“that’s good, it’s the only thing keeping her alive right now,” the attending said, scanning the agent’s body. “what are her stats?”

you didn’t hear a word either of them said, eyes focused on the unconscious woman in front of you. she looked so familiar. and you also recognized her name. “emily,” you muttered, eyes widening when everything came back to you.

“can i buy you a drink?” a dark-haired woman asked, sitting down next to you with a smile. “sorry, i know that’s a bit forward,” she said softly. “i’m emily. and you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“oh, thank you,” you blushed. “you’re pretty hot yourself. not to be too forward or anything,” you smirked. “i’m y/n.”

“it’s nice to meet you.”

her laugh was like a drug, you heard it once and were instantly drawn closer. if you weren’t careful, you’d get addicted. “thank you,” she beamed, brushing her hand over yours. “so, about that drink?”

“i’d love one,” you murmured. “thank you.” emily squeezed your hand, calling over the bartender and ordering two glasses of red wine. “how’d you know red was my favorite?” you asked curiously, taking a sip.

“lucky guess,” emily shrugged, changing the subject. “so, what do you do for work?”

“oh, i’m a surgical resident at the hospital downtown,” you smiled. “what about you?”

“i, uh, i work for the fbi,” she murmured, smiling sheepishly. “nothing too crazy, though.”

“that’s actually pretty cool,” you laughed. “what about the fbi brought you to boston?”

“i’m just here on business,” she spoke softly. “trying to find something for my team.”

“have you been here before?”

“once, a long time ago,” she sighed, looking down for barely a second. “but, that’s in the past. and i’m all about the present.”

you giggled, sipping your wine. the night carried on in a similar fashion, more and more drinks purchased as the conversation traveled. from favorite books to dream vacations to childhood fears, you two talked about nearly everything.

and as the night grew longer, emily ended up in your apartment. shirts ditched in the entryway, emily leaving sloppy kisses along your jawline as she carried you to the bedroom.

she placed you onto the bed, hands trailing down your sides. a soft moan escaped your lips, eliciting a laugh from hers. “you like that, don’t you?” she teased, hands moving up your thighs. one, two fingers inside of you, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust. her tongue swiping your entrance before her lips encased your clit, your vision nearly blacking out. pulling her hair, emily’s moans sent vibrations straight to your core and pleasure through your veins.

it wasn’t long before your hips bucked into her face, her tongue tasting every bit of you as you came.

and then you were on your knees for her, worshipping her body like it was the last time you would ever see it. which, it technically was. but that was the last thing on your mind as your tongue swiped her clit. she groaned softly, squeezing your breasts as if to tell you to keep going. and you did, until her cum was dripping down your face.

emily leaned down, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into her arms. “thank you for this,” she whispered, smiling softly. “i really needed it.”

“of course,” you murmured. “and you can stay the night, since it’s so late.”

“thank you,” she sighed, rolling over. “goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, emily.”

emily said she would stay. and not even an hour later, she was running out of your house like she had just seen a ghost. she had said something about a work emergency, then proceeded to give you a quick kiss as a thank you for the night.

and as your apartment door closed, you assumed that was it. it was a one night stand, you would never see her again. and you were fine with that.

“something wrong, y/l/n?”

“oh, no, everything’s fine,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“alright then, let’s get her to the OR.”

***

“on my count, we’re going to pull out the wood,” dr. canning said, looking at you. “ready?”

“ready,” you responded, leaning over and grabbing the top of the leg.

“one, two, three.”

you and canning pulled it out as quickly as you could, leading you to hand it to a scrub nurse. “bag this and get it to the police upstairs,” you ordered, shifting your attention to emily.

“scalpel,” canning spoke, taking the blade handed to her and extending the cut that the wood had previously made in order to get better access.

there was so much blood pooling in her abdomen, it honestly scared you a bit. not because the extent of her injuries were so severe - after all, you had seen much worse. it was because you knew the person on the operating table, and even if it had been just one night, you hadn’t stopped thinking about her all day. but, it’s not like you knew her, so it didn’t matter. right now, she was your patient. and as far as you were concerned, that’s all she would continue to be.

“where is all this blood coming from?” canning yelled angrily. it seemed that no matter how much suction there was, more blood would keep pouring out. “hang another unit, she’s losing blood too quickly!”

“wait, i think i found the source,” you muttered, lightly pressing a finger to her pancreas, eyes widening as the blood stopped momentarily. “there’s a small cut on her pancreas!” you yelled.

“nice catch, y/l/n,” canning said, handing you sutures. “go ahead and finish up.”

you gasped softly, slightly taken aback by the order. nevertheless, you smiled under your mask and took the sutures. delicately, you were able to carefully fix her remaining injuries.

together, you and canning worked to make sure there was nothing you two were missing. closing her up quickly and carefully, you both headed into the scrub room to clean up.

when canning asked you to go tell her team about the surgery, you agreed rather eagerly. there was no reason for you to do that, it shouldn’t even matter whether you met them or not - there was no way you’d ever see them again.

“we’re under strict rules not to let anyone see her except for agents hotchner and jareau,” your attending explained to you, scrubbing her hands under the water. “understand?”

“yes ma’am,” you replied. “what should i tell them?”

“ask for agent jareau, and tell her that agent prentiss is stable and ready for transport to bethesda when they’re ready.”

nodding quickly, you exited the operating room and made your way to the waiting area. upon arriving, you stood out of view for a moment, taking in the people in the room.

a brightly dressed woman - who’s outfit did not match the tone of the room - leaning against a taller man. a skinny guy sat next to another blonde woman, who looked too uncomfortable - even for a hospital. an older man sat away from everyone else, fiddling with a rosary and murmuring what could only be a prayer under his breath. and then there were two, one taller man and one shorter woman, whispering to each other in the corner of the room.

this was her team, her family.

it felt odd that you were about to tell them how you saved her life, despite them not even knowing you two had hooked up barely 24 hours ago.

“excuse me, i’m looking for agent jareau?” you asked shyly, stepping into the room.

the woman standing stepped away from her teaming, giving them all a small smile. “why don’t we speak in private?” agent jareau suggested, nodding when you agreed.

you both stepped into the hallway, away from her team’s prying eyes. “agent jareau-”

“is she alive?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

“yes,” you murmured, the blonde woman sighing with relief. “agent prentiss is stable for now, and she’s ready for transport when your team is.”

“thank you,” agent jareau whispered, tears in her eyes. “thank you for saving her.”

“it’s no problem,” you smiled, watching as the woman walked off.

making your way back to emily’s room, you passed the waiting room, expecting to see smiles and joyous remarks. instead, you found the team in tears. the strangest part was what agent jareau told them.

“she never made it off the table.”

those words followed you all the way back to emily’s room, your mind spinning with what that could mean. it’s not even like it was your business, you two slept together once and nobody even knew. it didn’t matter, so you pushed it to the back of your mind.

you didn’t dare stay in her room for longer than you had to. as soon as you finished checking emily’s post-op vitals and making sure everything was in order, you left, shutting the door behind you.

instead of walking away - like you knew you should - you just stood in front of her room. not watching her, but just staring.

“you know, that agent has quite an interesting life” canning said softly, coming up next to you. “agent hotchner had asked me how long until she was cleared to leave the country.”

“did he say why?” you asked, looking between canning and emily.

“something about a paid vacation, but i don’t believe him,” she laughed. “apparently they’re profilers, but i didn’t need to be trained in behavioral analysis to know he was lying.”

“agent jareau told her team that she died,” you said quietly, staring at emily’s unconscious figure.

“damn,” canning sighed, looking ahead as well. “well, i know i wouldn’t want to be caught up in all of the trauma that’s bound to leave. i feel bad for her.”

“yeah,” you sighed. “me too.”

phones beeping after a few minutes, you and canning looked down, frowning. “there’s another trauma, y/l/n,” she said, looking at you. “let’s go.”

sighing, you took one last look at emily. she was still as beautiful as that night in your apartment, maybe even more.

turning around a moment later, you followed after canning

maybe it was a good thing emily had fled in a hurry after all.

#criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #mine*#fic*

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iheartmapi · 1 month

Text

ARCADE ANTICS

Mapi x Fem! Reader

Summary: As Barça’s current season is ended you and Mapi leave for Ibiza, together you decide to go on a date at the Game Arcade nearby.

TW: possible bad translated Spanish, one mention of a seizure, slightly suggestive at the end.

Fluff.

Word count: 1,545.

Together with Mapi you had decided on taking a trip to Ibisa, in a way celebrating finally having some free time to yourselves since this season has ended. You two wasted no time beating around the bush and packed everything that was necessery for your journey.

As expected the weather on Ibiza was nothing but hot during the summer, most of your time there was spent lounging together on a Yacht, drinking in the golden sunlight and each others company.

As of now you were laying comfortably on a plush lounge chair on the Yacht’s terrace, your sunglasses perched on your face while the sun kissed the uncovered skin of your body and face. You closed your eyes and sighed softly, listening in to the sound of the waves gently rolling over and seagulls screeching somewhere in the distance. The short moment of your intense concentration was finished when you felt the familiar touch of one’s soft hand upon your shoulder, you opened your eyes and turned your head to look at your girlfriend, Mapi was holding two bottles of what seemed to be some juice.

“Thirsty, Tesoro?” Mapi asked with a silly smile gracing her gorgeous face. Her damn smiles were quite literally contagious, because no matter the situation whenever you saw the ends of her lips curling upwards something in you just instinctively made you smile as well. “Can’t lie, I am” you answered, Mapi just handed you the bottle meant for you before moving along to sit down on your lounge chair, you immediately sat up to make some space for her. Your pupils swiftly moved across the letters on the juices label, “blueberry and pomegranate”, it read, classic but with a dash of avant-garde with the pomegranate element. You popped off the bottle cap and took a test sip, it was pretty tasty, a sweet and tart mix. “These are quite tasty, we’ll definitely have to get more” you started watching as Mapi sipped on her own juice as well, “Obviously, after all I only ever pick out good things” Mapi rolled her eyes playfully, “You sure about that?” You raised an eyebrow still smiling “Don’t you remember that God awful hard candy you brought home that one time?” Mapi puffed out her chest “Are you going to bring that up till my last days? My good taste disappointed only one time!” She defended herself, “I’m sure there were many more times-“ before you could finish Mapi cut in “Cállate la boca!” ‘Shut up!’ she laughed, “Alright…sorry Mapi, I trust your good taste a 100%” you chuckled, leaning in closer to her, “That’s what I like to hear” she answered.

Your arms wrapped around Mapi, resting your head on her shoulder as the two of you embraced one another, “You know I was thinking…” Mapi started in a quiet voice “I wanna take you out, like on a date” that caught your interest “Oh yeah? Any particular idea you’ve got?” You asked, “There’s this Game Arcade, it’s pretty nearby actually” Mapi added, you raised your head, now looking straight into her eyes “Game Arcade? Wow…pretty 80’s Mapi” you joked, “What are you calling me old-fashioned? I’ll have you know Arcades are FULL of fun” She put her hand on her chest feigning being offended for dramatics, you couldn’t help but laugh at your girlfriends humorous antics, you patted her arm “I was just joking babe” after a moment you added “I know if we’re thinking fun then you’re the person to go to” Mapi smiled at your comment “I’m flattered, querida”

You spent some extra minutes together on the yacht before changing into some fresh clothes and heading for the Arcade. Together, you and Mapi walked through the streets hand in hand talking about everything and nothing..occasionally pointing out some places and views you passed by which you’d definitely want to visit some time. Finally after a not very long period of walking you arrived in front of a medium sized building, it generally didn’t stand out too much save for a couple of game posters in front and a neon coloured sign that said “LA ARCADA” in a funky font. Mapi turned to face you, “What about this…we’ll play some games and whoever loses buys dinner today” she challenged you, you raised an eyebrow before smirking and shaking her hand “Deal.”

The two of you entered the building, inside you could really feel the spirit of the 80’s, the walls were dark as well as the flooring and dim lighting, neons flashed everywhere, emanating from the countless of Arcade cabinets, you looked over at Mapi, you could tell that right now she must’ve felt like a little kid in a candy store, she was observing every corner of the Arcade with clear excitement in her eyes, “Come on let’s play something!” She pulled on your hand, dragging you to the game machines. The two of you stopped at a random one, you took your place and Mapi did hers, carefully you pressed “begin” and the screen faded to reveal the first level of the game, it seemed to be a simple 8-bit type of game where you walked around some dungeons and fought with monsters. You and Mapi began your rivalry, playing the games and talking with each other, mostly making comments about the game…About good 10 minutes later you and her reached the final level..the summary that flashed on the screens revealed you to be the winner of this round, “Aw look at that…I think I’ll be getting free dinner today” you teased, Mapi just rolled her eyes “Bite your tongue, you’ll see I WILL beat your ass in the end” Mapi then took hold of your hand again, you walked through the countless aisles filled with bright flashing machines…soon you felt Mapi poking your arm “Babe! Look! Isn’t that one of those dance machines?! Come on I need to try that one out!!” She stated, her excitement rising unbelievably.

Mapi took her place, reading the neon-purple coloured instructions that were on the screen, afterwards when she seemed to get the hang of what you were supposed to do she looked at you over her arm “It’ll be fun trust me!” She urged you, you couldn’t deny her…especially not when she was being so adorable being happy over a simple Arcade game. Many fits of laughter followed after the two of you started the games, the first time on those things was definitely something else..ultimately Mapi won that one.

Now you two were back on the prowl searching for fun games again, your eyes scanned everything, but it’s fair to say that all of that technology gave you a slight colour seizure…then you saw what appeared to be a game of Donkey Kong, “Hey Mapi, you intrested in that one?” You pointed over at the cabinets, Mapi nodded and you made your way over to the final game of this date. “Well Mapi…let’s see who’ll buy dinner today” you giggled “You better get your wallet ready now” Mapi answered with an almost Cheshire grin on her face.

It was three minutes into the game, you and Mapi were so focused and passionate about this game, “What?! That’s not fair I dodged that barrel!” Mapi yelled frustrated that something seemed to bug a little, “Games not about being fair my love” you joked laughing at her outburst…the ultimatum was that..Mapi won somehow, after the summed up points flashed on the screens she turned to you with a wide smirk, “I told you!” She started hysterically jumping up and down and also humming some funny little winners chant of hers…the sight amused you, but in the best way possible, after all her happiness as your happiness..even if it meant you paying for dinner today. “Alright Champ…it’s time for dinner isn’t it?” You linked hands and made your way out of the weirdly old but fun place. For a quick moment you stood still together thinking of a place to eat at. “What about that place we passed by earlier? I believe it was called Tapas y Vino or something like that..” you suggested, Mapi thought for a second before agreeing “I think that’ll be great, guapa”. With that your ending destination of this little date was the restaurant.

You took a seat in the small garden area of the restaurant (of course you paid for the meal as you agreed) enjoying the now setting sun of Ibiza with Mapi while eating a hearty dinner..quiet jazz music and people’s conversations filled your ears, the sky was fading from an orange-y colour to a more violet one, the view looked beautiful but you were sure that the most breathtaking one was seated in front of you, her mouth stained with some sauce from her meal as she joked about the game Arcade from earlier..maybe she was a goofball, but she was your goofball and you were the happiest to have her in your life. And so you conversed, laughing and smiling. Mapi gave you a piece of her dish when you asked her about how she was enjoying it, you chewed the food..raising your brows ever so slightly.

“It’s actually quite delicious…not as delicious as you though”

“For Christ’s sake we’re in public…”

#mapi leon x reader #mapi león #barca femeni x reader #woso x reader #fc barca #barca women #woso community #woso fanfics #fanfic #fluff #wlw

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roosterforme · 9 months

Text

The Intern Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley had an easy way about him that you appreciated. Working for him all summer sounded promising, and you were determined to make it fun for both of you. But as you dipped your toes into getting to know one another on the flights from San Diego to Lisbon, you ended up closer to him than you ought to be, both conversationally and physically.

Warnings: Language, brief mention of drugs (eventually 18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

"I still can't believe someone is paying me fifty thousand dollars to spend my summer on a yacht," you mused as the private Cessna jet gained altitude over the California desert landscape.

Bradley turned and looked at you from his plush leather seat across the narrow aisle and smirked. "You needed the money that badly?"

"Don't play games," you told him, and he laughed. "My point is, I would have done this for free just to get Ted off my back."

His fingers tightened a bit on his armrest, knuckles growing white as he closed his eyes and said, "Now you tell me. My department budget could be looking a lot fatter right now if it wasn't for you."

You could feel the airplane leveling out as the flight attendant, a woman named Melissa, stood and made her way back toward the two of you. "Oh please," you groaned, earning one of those grins from him that made you feel light inside. "I know how much the shareholders make, Mr. Bradshaw. It's not like it's not listed on the Nasdaq Composite if you dig deep enough."

"Can I get anything for either of you?" Melissa asked.

"I'll take an Old Fashioned, please. Hold the cherries," you replied while Bradley just shook his head in a jerky motion.

When Melissa disappeared behind the black curtain, you asked, "Why are you so tense? Have a drink and relax."

He huffed out a laugh. "It's eight in the morning. A drink is not going to help me."

You leaned a little closer, and his gaze definitely dipped down to your unzipped sweatshirt. "Don't tell me you're into something harder?" you asked, already thinking you'd be disappointed by his answer. You'd been there and done that. Hung out with and dated guys who were users, and it was not something you wanted to be around. Even out of your sorority sisters, there were only a handful who weren't high all week during grad school.

Bradley looked at you with alarm. "I'm absolutely not going to allow drugs on the yacht, Ivy League."

"Good," you replied right away, already feeling more at ease as Melissa dropped off your cocktail. "Thank you."

But she was looking at Bradley now as she said, "Please let me know if I can get you... anything."

He waved her off as you took a sip of your mediocre cocktail. Melissa had gone a little heavy handed with the bitters, probably because she was too focused on your hot boss to measure things correctly. "Take a sip," you told him, reaching across the aisle with your glass. "You look like you need it."

He grunted and accepted the drink, and a few seconds later, he had downed the whole thing. "Thanks," he whispered. "I hate this part of traveling to Europe for Avio. The flights are going to take forever."

You narrowed your eyes at him and took back your empty glass while he white knuckled the armrest again. "You were an aviator, Mr. Bradshaw."

When he looked at you again, his cheeks were a little flushed as he softly said, "You don't have to call me that. Bradley is fine."

"Bradley," you said with a smile, and his face softened a little bit. "Why don't you like the Cessna? I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also hoping for something at least a little more luxurious from Avio, but it's not that bad."

He shook his head at you, something you were pretty sure you were just going to have to get used to for the summer. But his mustache twitched as he licked his lips and said, "Maybe chartered flights are normal for you, Ivy League, but I got used to being the pilot. Of something much less comfortable than a Cessna Hemisphere. So this just feels inherently wrong to me. I mean, I just drank a cocktail."

"Inhaled," you corrected. "And technically it was my cocktail," you said, waving to Melissa and holding up the glass and two fingers.

"Semantics," he grunted. "I miss my Super Hornet right now. Not only were there no drinks, there wasn't even a bathroom."

You watched Melissa duck behind the curtain again, probably to forget how to make a cocktail again. "Well, we'll be there soon," you told Bradley.

"I doubt these pilots can do Mach 2, so not fast enough for me."

You sighed, knowing this would probably be a lot easier for him if you could get him to drink a second Old Fashioned, but when Melissa dropped two more of them off, they were both garnished with a cherry. "I asked you to hold the cherries."

"Oh, yes. Sorry," Melissa muttered. "I can remove it for you."

"I'm allergic, so I'll actually need you to remake mine," you replied, and Bradley started to hand his back as well.

"Remake hers, and mine too," he grunted, suddenly looking far less nervous about the flight as he made to stand up. "Fresh glasses and everything. I don't want cherries anywhere near her." You looked up at him in surprise as he kind of rolled his eyes and followed Melissa. "I'll make sure she does it right," he whispered, and you watched him walk up to the curtain, as confident as he usually was.

"Thanks," you replied, even though nobody was there to hear you now. Well, he had promised he'd do everything he could to keep you safe and comfortable. You watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, and you pressed your lips together. That blue Oxford shirt was the exact best color he could possibly wear, and you wondered if he knew it or if it was an accident that he chose it.

When he met your eyes, you didn't look away. You didn't really care if he knew you were checking him out. Until you did. Because when he walked back with two new drinks, you realized how little you knew about him. "Here," he grunted, voice deep and raspy. Then he clinked his glass to yours before sinking back into the aisle seat opposite yours again and buckling his seatbelt once more.

"Thanks for doing that."

He smiled at you. "Can't lose my intern on her first day. Especially since I've never had one before."

You perked up, loving that you'd cornered the market. "I'm your first intern?"

"Yeah." He was back to downing his drink and looking miserable now, practically throwing the empty glass aside in favor of gripping the armrest. Abandoning your drink after one sip, you stood and stepped over his outstretched legs, his eyes following your every move as you eased yourself down into the window seat next to him. "You okay?" he asked, looking a little amused now that you were just inches away from him.

"I am, but you're not," you told him with an air of authority. "Just relax," you added as you took his hand from the armrest and held it in both of yours. His brown eyes went a little wider, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something. Probably question what you were doing. But you said, "You'll feel better in a few minutes," as you worked your thumbs along the pressure points in his big, rough palm. And then he closed his eyes and without a word, he leaned back in his seat with his hand cradled in yours. Soon he was sound asleep.

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

Bradley woke up to an almost pleasant humming sound all around him. His hand was warm and wrapped up in something soft, and when he opened his eyes, your face was just a few inches from his as you slept. His body thrummed with something akin to desire as you pursed your haughty lips in your sleep, long lashes grazing your perfect cheeks.

Shit. His hand was resting on your body, fingers tangled up with yours and wrapped in your designer hoodie. His knuckles were pressed to the soft skin which was exposed between your high waisted pants and your damn sports bra. And based on the way the plane was started to descend, he'd taken a five fucking hour nap all cuddled up with his intern. With Ted's goddamn daughter.

Hands off. He'd been telling himself to keep his hands off of you, and just a few hours in, he was literally doing the exact opposite. But you'd been sweet to him, carefully massaging the pressure points in his hand until he was able to fall asleep. You must have drifted off then, too. And now he was loath to remove his hand from your body or look away from you.

He needed another fucking drink. Or several. He leaned carefully over you, and sure enough, he could see the New York skyline coming into view through the small window. And he could smell your perfume. And that was when you opened your eyes, immediately sitting up a few inches and nearly bumping noses with him.

"Sorry," he grunted. "I was just trying to see where we were."

"Where are we?" you asked, your voice soft and a little rough from sleep. Jesus, he liked the way that sounded.

"Almost to New York. Want me to ask the pilot to circle back to Philly so you can wave to your alma mater?"

You laughed and sat up a little more, arching your back, but you didn't immediately let go of him. "No, thank you. I've only been gone for a week, so I'm sure the City of Brotherly Love is enjoying this break."

Bradley found himself continually laughing at your words, but now you were looking at his hand all linked with yours, so he started to pull his free. You didn't stop him, and when you looked up at him, you even asked, "Did you sleep okay?"

He nodded his head once. "I did. Thank you. For making me feel better."

You sat up the rest of the way and stretched, and he had to look away as you said, "A good intern is good at everything."

Your words weren't dirty, so why the hell were his thoughts? He should be trying to find out more about your father, not imagining you wearing a fluffy white bathrobe while you drank an Old Fashioned sans cherry next to his bed. He was miles away in his mind when the plane touched down on the runway before taxiing to the refueling spot. His stomach was growling wildly now as Melissa walked back and offered them a very late lunch.

"I didn't want to interrupt anything," she said, looking between you and Bradley like the two of you had been all over each other. When she turned away to get the salads and sandwiches ready, you climbed over him to use the bathroom, and Bradley watched you ignore a phone call as you went. He also realized that he'd have to tread very carefully around potential clients over the next few weeks. It was one thing for Melissa to make a comment like that, but it would be something entirely different if a line like that got back to Ted.

While the plane was refueled and the pilots switched places for the longer flight from New York to Portugal, you and he ate in companionable silence. You'd returned to your seat across the aisle, and you ignored another call before tucking your phone away in your bag. Bradley also used this time to drink a gin and tonic in the hopes he'd be able to sleep again, slightly afraid you wouldn't join him on his side of the aisle to make him feel cozy again.

"We'll be taking off again in five minutes," Melissa informed him as she cleared away the meal and brought pillows and blankets. Your phone was out again now, and you ignored yet another call as Bradley shook his head.

"Are you going to keep me up at all hours of the night on the yacht yelling at your little boyfriend on the phone?"

You scoffed and looked right at him as you said, "I don't date little boys. Are you going to keep me up calling your wife and kids back in San Diego?"

He didn't want to laugh at the way you talked to him and kept him on his toes. He also registered that the way you'd let him hold your hand while he slept had only come from a platonic place if you were just now asking if he was married. "I don't have a wife or kids."

"Why not?" you asked, leaning on your armrest with your tits smashed together. "You could be married. If you wanted. You're tall and you have all your hair."

"Are those the only prerequisites?" he asked, trying not to look anywhere other than at your face. God, your little bikinis were going to be the absolute death of him if he didn't get fucking laid soon.

"No," you replied without missing a beat. "You're smart, too. Handsome. Tons of money. And you seem nice. Good manners. You make me laugh. Seems like someone would have snapped you up off the market by now."

His cheeks felt warm again as he tried to figure out how to answer. You'd just complimented him nine different ways, and he was reeling a bit. "Because I was in the Navy. Nobody in their right mind would trust a Navy guy with that level of commitment."

"Why not?"

"They lie and they cheat," he said, repeating the lines women had been telling him since he was twenty two. "Nobody you'd want to settle down with."

But you didn't look convinced as your smile tilted a little higher on one side. "Are you a cheater?"

He knew somehow he wouldn't get away with speaking anything but the plain truth to you from here on out. "No."

"I didn't think so." You looked satisfied as you settled back in your seat, about to snuggle under your blanket. The sky was a little darker now, and there was nothing below except for the Atlantic Ocean.

He had a slight buzz from the gin, and he felt a lot better than he had earlier this morning. He reached for his bag and pulled out his laptop before crooking his finger and coaxing you back to the seat next to him. "We have a little work to do, Ivy League."

While he expected you to complain, you didn't. Rather you popped out of your seat with your pillow and blanket, climbed over him and settled in the window seat once more. "What is it?" you asked eagerly, and when he logged in to his email account, he saw something from Ted right away. Just a reminder to keep himself on track.

"I'm going to teach you a little bit about the Avio software we will be marketing, so by the time we land in Lisbon, you'll know as much as I do."

You curled up with your pillow and blanket and looked at him, your words doing more to him than you probably intended. "Don't test me, Sir, or I may end up knowing more than you."

"You're a brat."

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

This time when you woke up, it wasn't to Bradley's touch or his brown eyes. This time it was to Melissa's laughter and Bradley's soft voice. "When are you flying back to the states?" she asked him as you cracked your eyes open.

"Not any time soon," he replied smoothly. "We have a lot of work to do."

"Well I hope I'm on your flight back," she said flirtatiously as you propped your head up.

But Bradley wasn't paying attention to her now as he turned your way. "You're up," he mused, and you just nodded, wishing you'd had time to shower or check how you looked before he saw you. "We'll be landing soon. And then we'll get you and your designer luggage to the yacht."

You watched Melissa roll her eyes at you before she stood. "I'll be right back with coffee and some breakfast."

"Hold the cherries! Please!" you reminded her, just to be obnoxious. When she pretended she didn't hear you, Bradley chuckled. "You know, it's kind of refreshing being given an attitude. Is this how you feel when I give you one?"

His eyes went a little wider. "Don't make me call your father."

"I thought you valued your intern," you replied with a smirk. "So don't make me spread that nasty little rumor around Avio that you went to the University of Bumblefuck."

"Virginia," he snorted.

"Whatever."

Melissa dropped off mugs, a carafe of coffee, cream, sugar and pastries. "No cherry," she said blandly as you reached for a blueberry muffin.

"Much appreciated," you replied as you peeled back the wrapper and took a nibble while Bradley ate an apple danish in two bites before he poured coffee into both mugs. Clearly the two of you were hungry. You also had no idea what time it was. You had to put your phone on silent since your dad wouldn't stop calling you, even though you told him you'd talk to him when you got on the yacht.

"How do you take your coffee?" Bradley asked as you silently chewed. You went to reach for the creamer, but he pulled it away and looked at you.

You swallowed down your muffin and said, "Cream and sugar, but you don't have to do it. I should probably be doing it for both of us."

He shrugged and got your coffee fixed up exactly the way you would have made it yourself, as he said, "You and I will be working in close proximity, and I feel like this is the kind of detail I should know."

"Well how do you take your coffee?" you asked, but he set down the cream and sugar without adding anything to his. "Black, no sugar."

"Black, no sugar," he confirmed before taking a sip. You watched the alluring scars on his neck as he swallowed, once again surprised that he wasn't married. He didn't seem as helpless as your father, but he seemed like the kind of person who should have someone warm at home when he returned from work each night. Someone to look after him.

You took a sip of your own coffee and smiled, because it really was perfect, especially for something that was made on an aircraft. "Thank you."

"Any time," he responded, and you eased back in your seat and looked out the window as the Portuguese coastline came into view. You drank your coffee and picked at the muffin, watching as the very early morning sun made the Atlantic Ocean glitter. There were marinas filled with yachts and sailboats, and you wondered if Avio's was amongst them.

"Were you on the yacht with my dad last year?" you mused as the plane dipped lower in the sky.

Bradley set his mug down, and maybe it was just you, but his features suddenly seemed a little guarded. You'd always been good at reading people, which made it easy to get a favorable response when you needed one. But he'd never looked at you this way before. "For a few days. One of my buddies from the Navy was there too. Jake Seresin."

You blinked and his expression was neutral again. "The name sounds familiar."

Bradley laughed as the plane touched down. "The face will be familiar, too. Soon enough. He's champing at the bit to get onboard for a few days here and there this summer."

You set your mug down as well and said, "Don't worry, Sir. I'll dazzle him to bits during the dinner parties."

Bradley's nostrils flared, and his pupils grew wider. "I don't doubt that."

When you laughed, he smiled before looking down at his hands. "Well, Bradley, I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get on the yacht. I wonder what kind of caviar the chef will serve for lunch."

You unbuckled your seatbelt, prompting him to do the same. "There are different kinds of caviar?" he asked, one eyebrow raised as he picked up your tote and handed it to you.

"Don't embarrass me, Bradley. The other interns will all laugh at me behind my back."

But he just shook his head as he moved to the side and said, "After you, Ivy League." So you led the way to the front of the aircraft, thanked both pilots and Melissa, even though she clearly didn't like you, and you climbed down the stairs onto the warm tarmac.

You shouldn't and absolutely couldn't keep reacting to Bradley the way you were, but when he placed his hand on your lower back and said, "This way," you nearly moaned. You looked up at him as he tried to guide you toward the waiting limousine. "Go climb in. I'll grab the bags."

"I can get my own bags," you insisted.

"I know you can, but you have nine hundred of them, and I'm still hungry, and I can do it faster."

"Fine," you replied, and you could feel his gaze on your back as you walked toward the driver who was holding the back door open for you. "Thank you." As you slid across the leather seat, you watched Bradley effortlessly lift multiple pieces of your luggage at the same time while you bit your lip. What the hell was it about him? You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he was enjoyable to watch. His voice made you feel a little fuzzy. He was raw and genuine like your favorite pair of well worn Levi's which were tucked away in your Dior suitcase he was carrying with one massive hand.

You looked away. You counted to ten. You already knew this was going to be an issue, so you weren't sure why it was hitting you now. When you glanced his way again, he was bringing his own two, nondescript pieces of luggage to the limousine trunk, and then he was sliding across the seat next to you.

"Twenty minutes to the marina from here," he murmured, his hand coming to rest on the seat next to your thigh. "And then we can get to work."

You pursed your lips. "I was under the impression we would be playing, too."

He chuckled as you started to look through the compartments next to the seat. "We can play a little bit."

You opened what turned out to be an ice chest, and ran your fingers along a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon. "We can start with this," you said, pulling it free from the ice and holding it up.

He was looking at you, not the bottle, but that little twitch of his mustache was his tell. Even though his eyes seemed stern, he held out his hand, and asked, "Think we can finish it in twenty minutes?"

You smiled brilliantly as you handed it to him. "Don't ever ask me that again."

"Sassy," he muttered, unwrapping the foil and slowly twisting the cage loose before wiggling the cork free with his big hands until it popped. "Here you go."

"No," you insisted as the driver pulled out onto the main road. "You first. Drink to a successful summer."

Bradley nodded once and took a sip before handing you the bottle. His eyes were on your lips as you pressed them to the bottle where his had just been. "To a successful summer," he echoed, his voice a deep rumble as the city went by in a blur. You couldn't stop smiling, and neither could he, and approximately eighteen minutes later, when he helped you out of the limousine, his cheeks were flushed pink.

"Is that it?" you asked, very slowly removing your hand from his as two men rushed your way in matching gray shorts and navy polos. There was a massive yacht with Down to Business lettered across the back and Avio Technologies along the side.

"That's it," Bradley confirmed, slipping his black sunglasses on as he reached to shake hands with the two men who introduced themselves as Antonio and Nikolai. Bradley told them your name, and they both took your hand in turn. "She's my intern for the summer," he said smoothly, and then they started to unload your luggage.

"Let's go," you said, glancing back at Bradley as you started down toward the marina gate, and then he was right next to you again with a few long strides. "I hope you can find your Armani swim shorts quickly, because that pool is calling my name."

"I can, actually. One of the benefits to only bringing two suitcases." He helped you over the gap, and as soon as you were on the yacht, you felt at home. You knew this was going to be the summer you needed.

"Let's go meet the captain," he murmured, his hand finding your back again.

"Do you think he has more champagne?"

"Ivy... it's nine in the morning."

"I'm still on San Diego time."

Bradley paused for a beat while he did the math. "It's one in the morning back home."

"Exactly," you told him with a little pout that you knew wouldn't actually faze him. He just smiled as he guided you past the pool you couldn't wait to jump into and an enormous jacuzzi. You walked through a dining room that could seat twelve people and past a fully stocked bar. It was like the best offerings from your sorority house and your dad's estate all rolled into one.

"Welcome aboard!" boomed a voice with a French accent. "We've been expecting you. I'm Captain Marcell." He was probably in his sixties with gray hair and a matching beard, and he reminded you a bit of your favorite professor at UPenn.

"Pleasure," you replied, shaking his hand after Bradley told him your name.

Next to him were lined up two friendly looking women, one with short brown hair and one with long brown hair. Beatriz and Lucia, the stewardesses, would be taking care of everything you needed. And next to them was an attractive man wearing a bit of a scowl.

"I'm Rocco. The chef. I can make anything. I don't like changing the menu at the last minute."

Oh, you liked him already as you shook his hand. And then your heart fluttered as Bradley said, "I need to speak with you about removing any cherries from the yacht before we leave the marina."

"Cherries?" Rocco asked, scowling deeper.

Bradley glanced at you as he removed his sunglasses, and his mustache twitched. "Yes. Can't have any onboard. That applies to the kitchen and the bars. My intern has an allergy."

"I'll take care of it," Rocco replied before turning away, and you'd never been more certain that someone would take care of something in your life. Then Captain Marcell handed Bradley a folder.

"Rough itinerary. Weather report for the week. List of phone numbers. Please let me know how long you'd like to spend in each port. I can of course adjust anything as needed. Now if you will select your cabins, Antonio and Nikolai will deliver your luggage."

"Thank you," Bradley replied, handing the folder to you. "You're in charge of this. Now why don't we head down so you can choose a room?" He nodded his head toward a wide set of stairs.

You walked down to the lower deck, and once you and he were alone again, he pointed to the left. "The sooner we get settled, the sooner the swim trunks come out?" you asked softly.

"Something like that." His soft chuckle was right behind you as you stopped at a mint green door with gold trim.

"Is this my room?" you asked, placing your hand on the doorknob. There was a little keypad next to it.

"If you want it to be," he replied. "Or, there are three others you can choose from."

"Which one are you taking?"

His eyes flitted from your face to a spot a little further down the hallway. "White door."

When you turned to investigate, you saw a pink door directly across from that one. "Wouldn't it be easier if my room was near yours?"

"Probably." His expression was neutral, but that damn mustache was giving him away.

"I'll take the pink one."

"Very good. I'll get the room codes from Beatriz, and I'll tell them where to deliver the luggage."

"Great," you replied, still standing close to him, but he didn't move.

"Perfect," he said, brown eyes focused on yours. The hallway was narrow, and now he was placing his hands on his trim hips, taking up even more space. "Try not to get into too much trouble while you look around."

Finally he turned toward the stairs, but you called his name right away. "Bradley?" He glanced back over his shoulder with a questioning look. "Thanks for mentioning the cherries."

"Sure," he replied easily. "I got you, Ivy." Then he was walking back up the stairs and out of sight.

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

We are about to set sail. Let's get into a little trouble. Let's have a little fun. Already feeling a little tension between Bradley and Ivy League. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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