#map packaging machine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

Text

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 12: Please Call Me Only If You Are Coming Home]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥳 Be sure to vote in our final poll, which will be pinned at the top of my blog per usual 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Homecoming” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What the hell do you need that for?” Cregan says to Helaena in the next aisle over, sounding alarmed. You are raiding a Kwik Stop just outside Colusa, California, following Route 20 west towards the Pacific Ocean. But when Helaena replies, her voice is perfectly soothing, lyrical, too serene for the way the world is now.

“It’s not for me. It’s just in case anyone ever finds themselves in need of one.” And this makes sense, even though you can’t see what it is she’s taken off the disorderly, ransacked shelves; Helaena is always picking up trinkets to keep stowed away in her burlap messenger bag until their utility becomes essential.

Cregan is relieved. “Oh, okay, gotcha. Whew, you almost gave me a heart attack there, Miss LaeLae…”

Ice is stretched out and dozing on the cool tile floor. Luke and Rhaena are keeping watch by the front of the store. Aegon is standing by the decommissioned Icee machine and showing Daeron which route he’s marked on his map and why.

“Why do I need to know this?” Daeron is asking.

Aegon snorts. “In case I get killed, dumbass…”

Fluttering pieces of paper hang taped to the glass doors of the empty refrigerators: Don’t go towards Sacramento; People in Santa Rosa killed my brother for his car; Andrew Lounsbury, if you see this we are headed to Aunt Sarah’s house, meet us there! Meanwhile, in your own aisle, Aemond is watching you as your fingers flit through packages of Starbursts and Jolly Ranchers and Life Savers Gummies, separating the trash from the ones that haven’t been opened yet. His expression is wary, uncertain. “What?” you ask him.

“Are you…okay?” Aemond says, low enough that no one else will hear.

Of course you aren’t; you keep walking into rooms and looking for Rio, and he’s not there. But you know what Aemond means. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Did I hurt you? Are you…” He steps closer, the blue of his eye gleaming with attentive, penitent concern, sins he is certain he must have committed. “Are you sore, are you bleeding at all?”

You smile, just the ghost of a curve at the edge of your lips. “No, really, I feel fine.” And in your body, this is true. There is a tension that has vanished from your muscles, a softness in your bones, not shards of glass shifting beneath skin but living things like the branches of trees, flexible, green, damp life awash within.

“I was trying to…you know…take it slow and be super gentle, but then…by the end…”

“Aemond, you did everything right.”

And he exhales all the iron-heavy dread he’s been carrying around since he woke up this morning to find you already gone—showing Aegon how to flip Bisquick pancakes as Cregan browned them in a skillet in the woodstove downstairs—and you realize how much you’ve scared him. “I’m really sorry about…” He touches his chin restlessly. “I should have asked you if you wanted me to pull out, I just got, uh…kind of…distracted.”

Your smile grows; now you can feel it in your eyes, warm and luminous. “It’s alright. I did too.”

He is hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t have told you to stop. And anyway, I think we’re safe.” But of course you’ve lost track of the days, and in your dark trance of grief and Tramadol you were entirely unaware of the rhythms of your body, pangs of desire or clear ample wetness, biological cues, primal timekeeping.

“Cool,” Aemond says, now trying to sound casual. “And next time…are you thinking that I should try to…maybe…just to be sure…?”

You shrug, then tell him the first thing that comes into your mind, that flashes in your skull like lightning bugs at dusk. “I’m thinking that life is too short and too rare to put effort into preventing it.”

Aemond’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t seem disappointed. “So we’ll see what happens.”

“If you’re onboard.”

“I’m totally onboard. I just want to take care of you. I…” He glances down at his palms—open, clean—and then looks back up at you. “I’ve never had anything that felt right before. Not my family, not myself, nothing. But this feels right. And it’s where I want to be forever.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” And this is what everyone thought: Jace, Baela, Rio. But you make the oath anyway, a hollow promise that echoes like a windchime.

“Me either,” Aemond vows.

You turn to leave the aisle and your backpack hits the shelf, knocking something off the top and onto the tile floor, where it lands with a thump. You gasp, and people come running; but it’s only a box of Honey Buns that was stashed somewhere too high for you to see. “It’s nothing,” you assure them. “We’re all okay, no need to get excited.”

“Death by Little Debbie,” Aegon says, chuckling nervously, his heart still racing.

You pick up the box and think of Rio with abrupt, violent clarity: he’s playing with French-speaking kids on the beach outside Djibouti City, he’s drinking cans of Guinness with you under a full moon on Diego Garcia, he’s reaching out from the pier to pet finless porpoises in Chinhae, he’s bleeding to death on a floor in Winnemucca, Nevada. Your vision is blurring with tears; your throat is knotted and scalding.

“I want him back,” Aegon says softly.

“I know. I do too.” You open the box of Honey Buns and pass one to Aegon first, then distribute the rest. There are only six total. Helaena tries to give hers to Cregan, but he rips it in half so they can share; Aemond insists you take the last one. You eat it wordlessly, sugar melting into your bloodstream.

“I think I saw a minivan down the side street,” Luke says as he chews his Honey Bun, waving his binoculars with his free hand. “It’s probably out of gas like all the others, but…”

“We’ll check it out,” Aemond replies, and everyone follows him as he departs from the Kwik Stop.

It’s a green Kia Carnival with a zombie trapped inside: once a young man in a Nirvana t-shirt, now a ghoul that paws at the glass with its oozing hands and licks the windows, long animal drags of a decomposing tongue. But the fuel cap is still closed, and while the van is turned off you can see the keys dangling from the ignition.

“Think there’s any gas left in the tank?” Daeron says brightly. The Targaryen beach house, following the indirect route you must take to avoid the cities, is about 250 miles from where you are now in Colusa. That’s two weeks on foot, or as few as five hours by car.

Rhaena goes for the driver’s side door. “Let’s find out.” She yanks on the handle to discover it’s locked. Cregan uses his axe to shatter the window, and the zombie tumbles gracelessly out onto the pavement, rancid skin and necrotic muscle ripping from its bones. As it crawls towards the siren call of fresh meat, Ice barks viciously and Cregan swings his axe. The blade slices easily through the monster’s skull, and its flailing, murderous limbs go still.

Rhaena reaches through the broken window to unlock the doors, climbs into the driver’s seat, and turns the key in the ignition. There is a blessed sound: the thunder of a living engine. “Half a tank!” Rhaena cheers.

Aegon gags as he opens the passenger’s side door. “Oh, it reeks so bad…”

“We’ll roll down all the windows,” Aemond says curtly.

“There are organs on the floor! What the fuck is that, a liver?!”

Aemond gives it a cursory glance. “Looks like a spleen.”

“I don’t want to sit near a spleen! I don’t even know what a spleen does!”

“Then throw it outside somewhere!” Aemond snaps. “You’re thirty years old, you can’t clean a minivan?!”

Aegon grumbles as he uses sheets of Burger King coupons from the glovebox to toss zombie guts into the grass. Aemond wipes down the hard surfaces with antiseptic. Luke keeps watch and Daeron shoots down several zombies as they lurch out of nearby houses and towards the Kia Carnival. You ask Helaena for the box of 9mm bullets in her messenger bag and she gives it to you. You load your Beretta M9, stow the remaining bullets in your backpack, and take aim at the approaching zombies to make sure you still know how to get into the rhythm, that you can still be a killer when the circumstances require it. You are out of practice, but you’re beginning to feel more like yourself again. Aemond brought you back. They all did.

When the minivan is as clean as possible, everyone hurries inside and Rhaena drives west on Route 20 under the afternoon sun. At the intersection with Route 53, Aegon directs Rhaena to follow it south around Clear Lake, then to take Route 29 west through rolling hills that were once filled with vineyards, wineries, music, weddings, horse farms. Now the land is hushed, and wild, and dotted with silhouettes that sway drunkenly and swipe at vultures when they try to gobble tattered strips of putrid flesh that unravel from bones like the bandages of a mummy.

The Kia Carnival rides Route 175 west and then Route 101 south, where the earth turns dry and rocky and barren, reminding you of northern Nevada and piling stones of heartache in your belly. In a place called Pieta—an old 1800s railroad depot, according to a plaque mounted just off the road—Rhaena slows down to get a better look at something that doesn’t make any sense. There is a souvenir shop of rocks and gems, now long out of business, and in a shed beside the main building hangs a gruesome specimen that you can see through the open doors. It has two arms and two legs, but it’s not a zombie. Its flayed flesh is a vibrant, healthy red; parts of the thighs and chest have been carefully carved away like cuts of meat are sliced from beef cattle. It is suspended on meat hooks. It is being butchered.

Cregan notes uneasily: “That ain’t an opossum or a bison.”

“I think it’s human,” Aemond says, horrified.

“Guess we’re not stopping for the night anytime soon,” Rhaena quips, then floors the gas pedal.

One of Aegon’s mixtapes spins in the CD player. From the speakers flows Somebody To You by The Vamps.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you see anyone now?” Aemond asks.

Luke speaks without looking away from his binoculars. “And for the fourth time, my answer remains no.”

After a night’s rest in a cabin at Camp Liahona Redwoods in Sonoma County, you followed California State Route 1 down the coast of the Pacific Ocean until the Kia Carnival finally ran out of gas just south of Olema, a small town founded in the 1850s. A ten-mile hike has brought you to the cliff where the fabled Targaryen beach house is perched with a few hours left before sunset. The ailing daylight is golden, the wave crests glittering, gulls cawing as they swoop through the salt-lashed air. From the road that twists like a snake through the slopes of Bolinas—thick with redwoods, Douglas firs, oaks, cypresses, tall grass that whips in the wind and tufts of eucalyptus—Luke is searching the property. It is less a house than a mansion, a museum, a monument, a work of art: sharp rectangular lines and glass walls, balconies, fountains, a pool, a garden.

Cregan whistles. “A place like that has to cost a million dollars.”

“Try fifteen million,” Aemond says distractedly, and Cregan gawks at him.

“Well, from what I can see it looks safe,” Luke declares, lowering his binoculars. “No zombies.”

“You really think they’re in there?” Daeron asks eagerly. “Mom and Criston?”

“Yeah, kid,” Aegon says, squeezing Daeron’s shoulder; but his voice is morose, like he knows he has surrendered to something, a path of least resistance, a hostile planet’s gravity. “Of course they are. Let’s go say hi.”

At the end of the driveway, the five-car garage is open. There is an Alfa Romeo, a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Ducati motorcycle, and a white Chevy Tahoe, which Aemond says belongs to Criston. And there are other items of interest mounted on the walls.

“Yes!” Daeron says as he runs to a quiver full of arrows for his compound bow. Aegon lifts a golf club out of its bag and makes an imaginary putt, getting reacquainted with the feeling of his hands on the grip.

“This is an iron,” Aegon says when he catches you watching him. In the shade of the garage, he pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up into his windswept hair. “It’s metal all the way through and gives you good control over the shot. Drivers are for long-distance, and wedges and putters don’t have enough power. But an iron is just right.”

“Are you going to teach me how to golf?”

Aegon grins, his first real smile all day. “You think you can handle it, SunChips?”

“I don’t,” you answer honestly, and he laughs.

“If you teach me how to shoot, I’ll teach you how to golf.”

“An unfair trade! My skill is useful.”

Aemond knocks on the door that connects the garage to the main house. “Mom? Criston?” There is no response; all of you wait for one, listening intently through the crashes of waves and reverberating gull shrieks. Ice begins to pace agitatedly and nudges Cregan’s hands. He looks at Aemond, half-fear and half-sympathy.

“No,” Aemond says. “No, she’s wrong.”

“She might be,” Cregan replies, steady and ever-agreeable. Helaena is wringing her small, gentle hands. Everyone is watching Aemond to see what they should do next.

He pounds on the door again, this time with a closed fist. “Mom, we’re home! Mom? Criston? It’s me! It’s Aemond!”

Still, there is no answer. Aemond tries the doorknob, and it turns unimpeded. It is unlocked. He opens the door, peeks inside, and then crosses through the threshold. The rest of you trail him like he has eight shadows, the last in the shape of a wolf.

You step into the living room: wide open windows, the ocean breeze breathing through the house. The air tastes like sand and saltwater, sun and blue skies. There are three-story glass walls that overlook the water, a staircase leading up to the next floor, pristine white couches, black end tables topped with vases full of dead flowers, grey marble floors, bejeweled golden crosses that glint cruelly in the bloody late-afternoon light, family photographs on the mantle of the fireplace. There are many pictures of Aemond, and some of Helaena and Daeron as well. You don’t see a single photo of Aegon. He notices you scanning the snapshots in the frames and looks away, ashamed.

“Mom?” Aemond calls, his voice ricocheting through the vast, open space, clinical like a hospital or a morgue. “Criston?”

“Grandpa?” Helaena says meekly. Cregan is clutching his axe and peering around vigilantly. Ice whines and paces, her strange yellow eyes glowing like flecks of gold in a stream. Rhaena tries to soothe her with ear scratches; Ice begins to howl, low long mournful sounds.

You catch Aegon’s attention when he glances at you again. “This isn’t right,” you whisper. “If they were here, they would have heard us by now.”

Aegon turns to his brother. “Hey, Aemond…”

And then there are footsteps from upstairs, slow and shambling. Everyone looks, and it appears at the top of the steps like a mirage or a night terror, like a wrathful god glaring down from Mount Olympus. Long, filthy strands of white hair hang from what is left of its scalp. Its gore-stained teeth are bared. Its eyes are cloudy like the poisoned atmosphere of another planet, one gasp enough to singe your lungs and infect your bloodstream. The snarls pour out ragged and rasping from its disintegrating vocal chords. The man was wearing a suit when he died, and the pale blue shirt is now splattered with crimson and bits of rotting flesh. The black leather shoes on its feet clop as the zombie descends the staircase with staggering, unnatural steps, its decaying arms grasping for the mortals who wait below.

Daeron says numbly: “Dad?”

Aemond’s eye is wide and dazed. Ice is growling. Helaena is screaming and fleeing towards the wall; Cregan embraces her and she clings to him. “Aemond? Buddy?” Cregan shouts. “How do you want to handle this?” And what he means is: Do you want to kill it, or should someone else? Do you need time to process what’s happened? How can we help you?

“Aemond?” you say. You touch his arm; he doesn’t react. Rhaena draws her Ruger but doesn’t shoot yet. She is looking to Aemond for permission. Luke is standing in front of Rhaena and forcing her backwards as the zombie nears the bottom of the staircase. Now you can smell it: dark wet rot, spoiled meat, blood and oily fat and organs putrefying in a threadbare patchwork of flesh.

“Dad!” Daeron wails, and he’s covering his face with his hands because he knows what this must mean for the rest of his family too.

“Aemond?!” Rhaena yells. “Aemond, what do you want us to do?!”

You reach for your M9 as the zombie’s leather shoes settle on the marble floor. This seems to shake Aemond from his paralysis.

“No,” he says. “I’ll do it.” He grabs his Glock and aims, but his finger hesitates on the trigger. And you can see the ghosts of the people who have died by his hands lurking in the crystalline blue of his remaining eye: Alys, Jace, Baela and her baby…and now Viserys Targaryen too.

In the lull, in the indecision, Aegon roars and swings his golf club. The metal head collides with the zombie’s skull. Weak corroded bone collapses; blood and brains the color of black mold leak out onto the polished marble.

“It wasn’t enough, huh?!” Aegon screams, then hits the zombie again. The corpse crumples to the floor, but Aegon isn’t done yet. “You couldn’t just fuck everything up when you were alive, you had to keep torturing us from beyond the grave, you sick bastard, you selfish prick, what is wrong with you?!” He whacks the carcass with his golf club again and again. “I hate you! I hate you! You deserved so much worse than this! We crossed an entire goddamn country, and Jace died, and Baela died, and Rio died, all so we could get back here, and now it’s all for nothing because you’ve destroyed everyone you’ve ever touched! I fucking hate you!”

Aegon strikes the zombie one last time—the skull is a pulverized soup of gore and bone fragments—and before anyone can reach for him, he has bolted up the steps to search the rest of the house. You find them in their final resting places: bones in the hallway interspersed with gold rings and a medallion of Saint Irene of Thessaloniki, bones in the shower pierced with stainless steel surgical screws from hip and knee replacements, bones in the master bedroom entangled with shreds of a bloodstained silk nightgown and long locks of auburn hair. Daeron is sobbing, and Cregan takes Helaena outside to the garden to calm down, and Aemond wanders through the rooms in shock. You don’t know what to say to him; you remember how nothing anyone said made a difference when Rio died. But Aegon is furious. He tears away from everyone and goes to his bedroom: racks full of CDs, neon green blankets, an acoustic guitar propped in one corner. Then he ravages his hiding places—inside drawers, under his mattress, on tiny shelves he carved into the walls behind golf and Green Day posters—and collects mint tins. Then he pours out the white powder inside onto his desk and arranges it into lines like contrails behind airplanes, like wagon trails across the earth.

You try to stop him. “Aegon, wait, please don’t—”

“Get the fuck out,” he hisses, and for the first time you see the cold reptilian sheen of something like hate in his eyes. “You don’t have to pretend to love me. I can be alone. I’m used to it.”

“Aegon, I’m not—”

“They’re gone. You can leave too.” Then he slams the door and locks it.

~~~~~~~~~~

While Aegon is upstairs getting high and Helaena is downstairs inventorying supplies in the massive walk-in pantry, the rest of you use shovels from the garage to bury what is left of the bodies in the backyard, unceremonious shallow graves, the soil too rocky for anything more elaborate. Rhaena uses her jagged sliver of slate to mark stones with their names and a few kind words about each of them; but Viserys’ stone is left blank. Then Rhaena returns inside to help Helaena prepare for dinner, while Daeron inspects the perimeter of the house with Cregan and Ice. Luke uses a telescope near the pool not to gaze up at the rising stars but to study the neighboring properties.

Aemond murmurs as he stands in front of the four graves: “I should have gotten here sooner. Maybe I could have saved them.”

“You still have a family,” you say, begging him to believe that there are things worth living for. “You have Aegon and Daeron and Helaena, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan. And you have me.”

Aemond stares out over the Pacific Ocean. The sky above is red and lavender, fire and dreams. “How do we get to Diego Garcia?” He is only half-joking.

“Well you just find a boat and row about 10,000 miles that way.”

He sighs and drags his trembling fingers through his hair. It has always been his job to know what happens next, and now he doesn’t. Gulls squawk and wheel in the air. His right cheek glistens with tears.

“I never saw the ocean until I joined the Navy,” you say, and Aemond looks over at you, curious but not wanting to react in the wrong way and scare you into going quiet again. He’s always mining for details of your past, and you’re endlessly evading him. But perhaps you have been too secretive. He wants to know these things because he wants to know you, and you have no idea how long you’ll be here to shed your mysteries. If a story dies with you, it dies forever.

“Really?”

“Yeah. My mother…Mama, I always called her Mama…she went to Virginia Beach a few times while I was growing up, and that was her favorite place in the world. But she never took me with her. She’d go with my aunt or my oldest brothers. So when I got to basic training on the shore of Lake Michigan, that was the closest thing to an ocean I’d ever seen, and it absolutely amazed me.”

“Lake Michigan,” Aemond repeats, trying not to sound like he’s mocking you.

You smile. “And then of course I ended up in some more impressive places. But compared to Soft Shell, Lake Michigan was a whole different planet.”

“Soft Shell?”

“Like softshell turtles. They’re one of those animals that are so ugly they’re almost cute. We have a lot of them in Kentucky. Well, we used to. Maybe people ate them all when the food ran out.”

“Soft Shell, Kentucky,” Aemond says. “What was it like? I mean…I know you left, and I know you had good reasons…but I’ve never been to Kentucky. I’ve never really been to Appalachia period.”

“It’s beautiful. You get all four seasons, and you’re out in nature all the time, and it feels old, like hardly anything has changed there in thousands of years. You feel connected to the earth. I loved the forests and the mountains. I don’t think I realized how much I loved certain things about where I’m from until I’d been gone for years. I didn’t leave because I had to get away from Kentucky. I left because I had to get away from who I was when I was there, you know? Someone lonely and helpless. But how my family was isn’t Kentucky’s fault.”

“No,” Aemond muses. “I suppose not.” You begin walking together back towards the house.

“Ready for more bad news?” Luke asks, and gestures for you and Aemond to peer through the telescope. Aemond lets you go first, and immediately you see what Luke means. There are zombies in the surrounding hills, and not just a few. There are hundreds, stumbling around aimlessly and posing no current threat; but you are not safe here.

“We don’t have enough people to defend ourselves,” Aemond says once he’s taken a look, tapping his chin in that way that he does when he’s fearful but trying to hide it.

“No, we don’t,” Luke agrees.

“And there aren’t many natural resources here to subsist on. Even the fishing prospects aren’t great without a boat or a pier.”

“Right,” Luke says.

You wonder if Aemond is thinking the same thing you are. He might not know what has to happen next, but you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dining room table—large enough to seat twenty—is illuminated with candles, meticulously arranged with china and silverware, and cluttered with canned soups from brands you’ve never seen before: Amy’s, Pacific Foods, Health Valley. There are cases of Perrier and San Pellegrino to drink, and bottles of Chateau Lafite Rothschild red wine. Everyone else is here except Aegon. You are just about to go find him when he comes rushing down the staircase and into the dining room. He is wearing clothes from his closet here: a salmon pink polo that emphasizes his sunburn, khaki shorts, a white puka shell necklace, Sperry Bahama sneakers. The left shoe just barely fits over the bandages still protecting his healing left leg. There are fingerprints of white powder on the front of his shirt.

“Oh, look!” he announces. “Isn’t this precious? A family dinner?”

“Aegon, please sit down,” Aemond says briskly.

“Come on, it’ll be just like old times. We have all four of us kids, and then…Rhaena, you can be my dear departed Grandpa Otto, you just have to scowl at everyone…and Luke can be Criston.”

Luke is confused. “What—?”

“No no no! Don’t worry. It’s a very easy part. All you have to do is gaze worshipfully at Aemond and talk about how brilliant he is. There’s really not much to it, and honestly you do a lot of that already. And then…” Aegon floats by you, skimming his palm down the length of your hair. Something about the weight of his hand gives you goosebumps: careless, careful, fleeting, intimate. He sighs: “My beautiful, tortured mother.”

“Aegon, sit down,” Aemond orders.

“Father!” Aegon cries out suddenly, spotting Cregan at the head of the table. Cregan looks around the dining room, baffled. “You’ve joined us! How unusual! Did your Titanic replicas spontaneously combust? Did the world end? Well, actually, it sort of did…”

“Buddy, I have no earthly clue what you’re trying to—”

“Now this is a tough part,” Aegon says forcefully. “Patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty, big shoes to fill! But don’t worry, I’m here to help. I’ll give you your lines. All you have to do is repeat after me, okay?”

Cregan studies him and does not assent.

Aegon slams both palms down onto the table. “You’re so fucking stupid, Aegon. You’re a humiliation, Aegon. Why can’t you be smart like Aemond, or sweet like Helaena, or obedient like Daeron? Why did my firstborn child turn out to be such a fucking waste?”

“I’m not going to say that,” Cregan replies quietly.

“Say it,” Aegon seethes.

Now Daeron is weeping between spoonfuls of Amy’s tortilla soup straight from the can. “I want to go home.”

“We are home,” Aemond says.

“This isn’t home anymore, Aemond,” Daeron sniffles.

Aegon is still trying to feed Cregan lines. “Have you found a wife yet, Aegon? No, of course you haven’t. You’ve got hands like a rat and a disposition to match. You’re an overgrown vermin, you’re a plague to every house you enter. Who would fuck you out of anything but greed or pity?”

“Aegon, please stop,” Aemond pleads, wincing and rubbing his forehead.

Helaena folds her arms atop the table and rests her head on them, hiding her face. Luke and Rhaena keep their eyes downcast. Daeron reaches for a bottle of red wine, but Aegon swats his hand away.

“Nope. Illegal. You’re not 21.”

“Aegon, seriously, I’m so over that joke—”

“Shut up. You can’t even get a tattoo without parental consent.”

“Our parents are dead!” Daeron shouts. “They died terrible deaths and they’re never coming back and you’re making everything worse!”

“Then get rid of me! Put me out on the street and I won’t be anyone’s problem anymore! I’ll get murdered or eaten and it’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you!”

Helaena breaks down sobbing, and before Aegon can register what’s happening Cregan scoops him up off the floor and throws him over one broad shoulder. Then Cregan lugs him upstairs as Aegon struggles and yowls and punches at Cregan’s back, all in vain. You can hear a lot of commotion and then finally Cregan reappears, sweat beading on his brow but otherwise composed.

“I tied him to his bedframe with an extension cord,” Cregan says. “I don’t think he’ll be making any more trouble this evening.”

“Thank you,” Aemond replies, defeated.

“If he’s going to be up there all night, he’ll need water and food,” you say. “And enough blankets to make sure he’s warm.” It gets chilly when the sun goes down here, as low as the 50s. You grab two bottles of Perrier off the table and stand to bring them upstairs to Aegon, but Cregan gently takes them out of your hands.

“I’ll make sure he’s well supplied, Miss Chips,” Cregan insists, and you are convinced he thinks he’s doing you a favor. He doesn’t want Aegon to have the opportunity to upset anybody further. And yet a part of you is undeniably disappointed.

Aegon has been gone for ten minutes, and you miss him already.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Aemond’s childhood bedroom, a huge, impersonal, spartan space, the very few pieces of furniture all in the same color scheme of white and navy blue, you cannot say anything to bring his family back to life, or his friends, or the possibilities of what his life might have been before the dead began to walk. But you remember what he did for you when Rio died and you were sinking in dark, numb despair, and so you take Aemond’s hands and place them on your body—skimming under your t-shirt, circling around your waist—offering yourself like a sacrifice that you both desperately need, like a shot of antivenom that will only buy you hours. He draws you into his lap, and beneath your palms and your lips and your thighs, you can feel him coming back to you, filling up with light like a horizon at dawn.

“I’m still here,” you whisper as he throws you down onto the bed, eases himself into you, carries you away like a ship coasting out into open water. I don’t ever want to be anywhere but here.

Aemond holds you after, ensnared in sweat-damp sheets and entwined fingers, and he confesses: “I knew it was possible that they might not still be alive. Logically, I knew that. But it was like I never allowed myself to feel it. And now it’s…it’s…it’s all at once and it’s too much. I can’t fathom that I’ll never see them again. But I don’t even have time to mourn. I need to figure out where we’re going next.”

“Aemond?”

His lips to your forehead, his voice a drowsy murmur: “Hm?”

“I have to tell Rio’s family what happened to him.”

He pulls back to look at you. “You want to go to Oregon?”

“What if Odessa really is safe?”

At first he is bewildered; then he begins to consider it. “Criston’s Tahoe is in the garage. If we siphon the gas left in all the vehicles, we might have enough to get us halfway there.”

“That’s a lot better than none of the way there.”

“We’ll all have to vote on it. The trip will be dangerous.”

“Everything is now.”

“Almost everything,” he teases, his hand sliding down between your legs, taking you far away again.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, you find Aegon at the cliffside smoking one of his Marlboro Golds, slow meditative drags, eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep. That’s alright. He can nap in the Tahoe. Rhaena won’t need his directions for a while; you’ll stay northbound on Route 1 for 200 miles before cutting inland as you near the Oregon border.

You sit down on the sandy, shrub-strewn ground beside Aegon and wait for him to speak. It takes a while, but you don’t mind. You’ve always had patience; you’ve always been a better listener than someone who fills silences.

At last Aegon says: “I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“Then stop.”

He smirks bitterly, glaring out into the sunrise, orange light like fire on his sunburned face. “You make reinvention sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy. But it is simple. You decide to get out, and then you do it. You don’t let anything convince you to give up or change course. The only way out is through.”

“I have a proposition.”

“I’m still not interested in fake dating you.”

He cackles. “No, it’s something else.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

Now Aegon is serious. “I don’t ever want to split up again. Not in a year, not in ten years, not in twenty. Never.”

You smile as you watch the reflection of the dawn in his eyes, murky faraway blue like oceans all across the globe. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of commitment.”

“I want to take care of you until you die. I want you to take care of me until I die. And that’s as far as commitment goes with me.”

“Deal.” You offer Aegon your hand.

He shakes it. “Deal.”

Two hours later, Criston Cole’s white Chevy Tahoe is loaded high with supplies—including several of Aegon’s golf clubs and his acoustic guitar—and heading north on Route 1, a Fall Out Boy song from one of Aegon’s mixtapes blaring through the speakers:

“When Rome’s in ruins

We are the lions, free of the Colosseums

In poison places, we are antivenom

We’re the beginning of the end…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and wait for the sapphire-and-gold Bay Area to become the misty, primordial emerald green of the Pacific Northwest.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

201 notes · View notes

anomaly-hivemind · 3 months ago

Text

Permanent ☆ Trafalgar Law x Reader | Kinktober Day 1

Summary: you’ve been consistently getting tattooed by Law and he’s oh so attractive, today’s the day you make your move.

Word Count: 2902

Tags: vaginal fingering, mutual pining, finger sucking, workplace inappropriate, squirting, light degradation, oral (male and female receiving), tit sucking, reader has various piercings.

It is time to get yet another tattoo, on your upper thigh which you have been planning to get for at least a few months now. You had called your favorite artist a whole two weeks in advance so you would have the best appointment slot. You knew that this specific tattoo would take a long time, probably most of his shift and you may or may not plan to take as many breaks as needed so you can have plenty of time to talk to the sexy worker you had gotten to know over the few years of getting tattoos.

You had schemed beforehand as you picked a nice but sexy underwear and bra set, a pair of sweatpants that were pretty loose-fitting, and a black crop top for extra flare. All you had to do now was catch his attention more than that of a regular client and you had all of your getting to the shop to come up with that plan.

You walked into the shop and smiled softly when you saw it was nice and empty; you sat patiently in the lobby until you saw him. You get up and smile at him, while subtly looking him up and down, looking at the many visible tattoos on his arms and hands that showed from his short sleeve shirt. You didn’t notice how long you were staring because he clears his throat as a silent way of telling you to stop looking at him so hard, before walking away. This wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Your face grew hot as you followed after him into the back room that you had gotten to know pretty well. He closes the door after you walk into the room and sit down. He was watching you with tired eyes.

“You got everything…” You asked a bit awkwardly.

“Of course, I do,” He put on a pair of gloves and sprayed down the metal tray table before he started to unpack some of the tools. He looked at you expectantly waiting for you.

“What?” You gave him a knowing smile, you wanted him to say it out loud.

“Take your pants off, you should know these things already…”

“Buy me dinner before you ask me to strip” You hold back a chuckle before doing so and fold them up on the chair on the wall, making sure to sway your hips a bit when you do. When you look back at him he was definitely taking a peak at the panties you were wearing.

“Shush.” He rolls his eyes and grips your thigh roughly, the cool air against your bare skin causes goosebumps to form on your legs, and his hands so high up on your thigh make a shiver go down your spine. He carefully wets your skin then starts to shave the little hair you have there at the moment, then cleans your skin with an alcohol wipe.

Your leg tensed as he pressed the transfer paper to your leg and his hands traveled over the large space. He made sure the stencil was tight and flat on the fat of your thigh, he was focused on getting the image to transfer.

His large… strong… hands.

… rubbing your upper thigh…

“Y/N-ya you’re tense,” He said, as he pulled the wet paper from your skin, and walked to dispose of it.

“O-oh sorry,” You stutter out trying to calm yourself.

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous, it’s not going to be nearly as painful as your spine tattoo,” He said. Little did he know your nervousness wasn’t from the tattoo you’d soon be receiving but the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about his hands groping and caressing all over your body. He takes the needles out of the packaging, sets up his pen and gets ready to map and outline the tattoo.

“Ready?” You nodded and squeezed your hands together as he started the machine. You were actually a little nervous now, you weren’t all that sure why, you had countless tattoos, as Law mentioned earlier some much more painful than others. The needle made contact with your skin and you were met with the usual hot prickly sensation. He started to fill in the parts of the tattoo slowly and made sure to get the small details its proper texture.

You both sit there in dead silence, aside from the faint music that plays in the lobby. The fact that you both were not saying anything was going to drive you up the wall so you decided to break that silence and speak.

“So not to like to distract you or anything but could you distract me… you know, so I can, um, not notice the pain.” You stammer on your words as you try to set your plan in motion.

“Sure what do you wanna talk about?” From there you began talking about any and everything, food, future tattoos, shows, blah, blah, etcetera, etcetera.

“... and that’s why we broke up,” you said, finishing off the sordid tale of your previous relationship. “So… are you in a relationship or something?”

“Nah, I’ve been single for a while,” He answered and you internally cheered, perfect timing for you to make your move, you took it as a sign from the universe to strike.

“So um, what’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” You asked quickly. Law was silent for a moment as he traced over the inner lines of your tattoo.

“I guess, I’ve always wanted to have a pet polar bear.” He said it like it was some casual statement. It took you off guard if you were being honest.

“Why a polar bear?” you raised an eyebrow and he just shrugged not actually knowing why he wanted that.

“Okay you can take a little break, all that’s left is the shading. Law said getting up and taking a drink from his water bottle.

“You wanna know something I’ve always wanted to know?” You asked, taking a deep breath as you summoned all your courage.“ I’ve always wanted to hook up with a tattoo artist, in the chair,” You bit your lip nervously, almost afraid to look at the man so you don’t.

Law let out a laugh, “That’s kinda kinky Y/N-ya,”

“Haha, yeah I guess so…” Damn you thought. Abort mission, I repeat ABORT MISSION!

“But I guess at the same time it sounds kinda hot,” He said, making eye contact with you and your heart skipped a beat. You blink a couple of times as if that was going to help you hear what he said better.

“You think so?” That means he's downright… and you should ask if he’s down because all the signs are pointing to you asking him. Your brain was yelling at you to make the move for your lustful dreams to come true.

“I mean, yeah, from my perspective, I can’t say I haven’t thought about how hot a client was,” he said, coming back over to you. “Pinning them up against the chair, and tasting their pretty skin… especially if they have a tattoo on their neck-shoulder area” he whispered, his hot breath tickling your ear, and the tattooed skin of your neck-shoulder. His warm, soft lips pressed to your skin, trailing down to the dip in your shoulder.

“Is this a part of your fantasy?”

“Definitely, this and then some more,” you whispered. Law’s hands trail up your body, coming up under your shirt and grasping your breast. You inhaled slightly as he began to knead your tits while kissing and sucking your neck.

“A-ah.. Law,” You whimpered softly as you enjoyed his touch, melting into his will as he took your top off. Not much of a second later he took off your bra, casting it to the side along with your shirt.

“Ever since I did these I’ve wanted to suck on your tits, they’re so perfect,” he said, his lips coming around your hypersensitive pierced nipples. He gave it a preliminary suck before taking in more of your breast, you let out a breathy moan as his tongue wrapped around your areola and his tongue piercing teased your erect buds.

A shiver runs up your body as you watch him, switch between your nipples, making sure each one gets a fair amount of attention. His yellow eyes locked on to your face as he showed off his tongue, causing you to wonder how good it would feel just a bit lower.

Law’s hand came up to your opposite breast, his fingers rolled and teased your nipple. His other hand drifted down to rest upon your mound. His fingers traveled to the underside where there was significant wetness.

He let out a Low chuckle after pulling his mouth away from your breast. His fingers teased your clothed entrance.

“So wet and over your panties as well,” Law said, smirking up at you. He gives the seam of your panties a quick tug off your skin.

“Well, I told you this was something I fantasize about…” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder. You feel like you're dreaming and at any moment it'll all be over, so you gotta make the most of it and try to tease him back and make him feel what you're feeling.

You snaked one of your hands and reached for his pants and you zipped them down. Law straightened up as you leaned forward to lower his pants and boxers. His erect cock sprang forth, bobbing in the air in front of you. You readily wrapped your hands around him and took his tip into your mouth. He let out a hiss as your tongue wrapped around his tip.

You eased him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing around Law’s shaft. You worked your way down his length nice and slow, and Law’s fingers came to rest against your head.

“You seem pretty eager, didn’t know you were such a slut, Y/N-ya,” Law said lowly, as he pushed your head forward. You gagged a bit as his length slid its way down your mouth. You swallow the dripping saliva forming in your mouth, doing so elicits a groan from him.

“F-fuck,” His head lolled back, and he closed his eyes. You bobbed your hand along his cock, swirling around the head. You took his dick out of your mouth to pepper kisses along the tip and shaft your hands stroking him gently. You pressed a kiss to his warm, heavy balls and began sucking on those too.

You were on a mission, pleasing the man in front of you, in hopes that you'll get to do this kinda thing again sometime. You wouldn't mind slurping the soul out of Law. Might even get a discount on your tattoo.

Switching back to gobbling his cock, you could tell he was starting to get close by the way his breath hitched and his balls heaved a bit. He began to rut into your mouth and you let out a little moan. His hips thrusts became jagged as hot ropes of cum landed on your tongue, you pulled away and the rest landed on your face.

He began to loosen up as he calmed down from his peak. Then he moved to grab one of the paper towels to help clean his liquids off your face. At first, you thought that was it and that you both were getting ready to stop and go back to the tattoo.

“Sit down” he tells you what to do and you put up no fight and do what he says. His fingers curled around the band of your panties and you lifted up off the seat so he could slip them down all the way, careful not to touch the fresh unfinished tattoo.

As he bent down to come face to face with your uncovered pussy you felt a little self-conscious.

“No point being nervous now, I know you put those whorrish panties on for me. Now spread those legs.” Law said, pushing your legs apart. His fingers ran up and down your slit, slipping between your folds with ease.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ slut. I bet you were wet before you even got here, just imagining the things you wanted me to do to you.” Law’s breath tickled, and you could feel yourself clench around nothing.

You let out a soft whimper as Law licked a stripe up your cunt, his tongue piercing stimulating your clit. Your hips jolted forward at the pleasure and you couldn’t help what noises escaped your mouth. He began sucking and teasing your clit, his tongue making circles around your sensitive bud.

You run a hand into his messy hair, gripping his locks tightly and trying to find a way to pull him forward. You wanted more, in fact, you needed it as soon as possible.

“Please… “ you whined as you looked deep into the eyes staring back at you. He looked half lost on the sauce but he definitely heard your plea loud and clear. He was drinking your juices with such fervor that you never wanted it to end. He licked his lips before slightly pulling away to speak.

“Please what? Use your words and ask for what you want,” you could feel his warm breath fanning your cool pussy as he spoke.

You swallow back a whimper before speaking and blush. “P-please, use your fingers, please touch my pussy,” you looked away from his burning gaze for a moment.

“See things are so much clearer when you use your words,” he places a few kisses over your clit that then turns sucking on it lightly. He used one hand to keep your leg open and his shoulder to keep you from closing your legs.

He lazily slides his tongue up and down your folds and he takes his free hand and pushes the first finger in. You could already feel your toes clench from the way his mouth has been all on you and now he was starting to reach the deeper spots with his fingers.

He adds a second finger in and starts to thrust his hand out of your cunt. He started off slow, making sure to angle his wrist every time he pushed into you.

Keeping a steady pace, his fingers every once in a while curling up to tease your pleasure points. You melt into his hand movements, trying to will yourself hold still and not fuck yourself on his hand like a dog in heat. You were soaking, giving his fingers little resistance when he decided to go faster.

He was practically finger fucking you with his long slender fingers. He was watching you attentively as he pleasured you and best in the sounds and look you had he was doing plenty correct.

Law sat up and went back to slurping on your breast. You jump up a bit. His fingers hit your g-spot and his thumb rubbed your clit in just the right way. It was getting too much, you could feel your climax reaching. Your legs began to quiver.

“That's it, let go for me” he bites on the fat of one of your breasts, leaving a mark then switching to your pierced nipple.

“Oh shit!” You hissed as you felt your walls clench around his fingers. You fall back on the chair and he puts his focus on making you cum with his fingers. You closed your eyes as you felt the heat start to hit you.

Closing your eyes, you let out a choked moan, that Law quickly covers with his unoccupied hand. Your body convulse as you coat Law’s hand in your wetness. You drench the seat as your orgasm turns you into a sprinkler. Law starts to slow down his fingers before pulling out. When you open your eyes you feel a bit dizzy and like you could go right to sleep. You look over to Law and look and just watch him.

He brings his finger to his lips and licks up your juices. His arm was wet with your slick arousal and he was looking at you with a smirk. Cleaning off his hand with his mouth almost made you want to do it all again. But maybe some recovery time would be the smarter thing to do.

“Didn't take you as a squirter.” he grabs a towel from the back to clean you off. Then he cleaned everything else that was in the splash zone.

“It's like fifty/fifty of it happening for me,” you said breathlessly with an attempt to laugh.

“Guess I got lucky,” he shrugged and put his boxers back on.

“Maybe some other time you can get even luckier,” you almost snorted your way into embarrassment. Law lets out a chuckle and puts his pants back on.

“Oh yeah?” He puts a new pair of gloves on and you get up to grab your top, bra, and underwear.

“You technically have my number already so yes.” You get ready to put your clothes back on but he stops you.

“Stay like that for a bit.” You weren't sure if he was even asking but you dropped your clothes back down in the other chair anyway.

“Do I get a discount for this then?” you gesture to the tattoo he was getting ready to go back and continue.

“...maybe.”

323 notes · View notes

marlynnofmany · 9 days ago

Text

Preferred Speed

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

The cargo bay was full of people and packages. This was, they told me, how things used to be in the old days.

“Only four deliveries to the same location is simplistic,” Zhee declared with a flick of his antennae. “There were days when we had six or seven, and Sunlight or Mimi would be sent out too.” He flicked his antennae in a different direction at the missing honorific. “She wasn’t the captain then.”

“Sounds busy,” I said. “Was that Pockap’s idea?” I’d only spent a short time under the previous captain’s leadership, but I didn’t have much positive to say about it.

“Among other things,” Zhee agreed.

“Hey Zhee, we’ll get back to the ship first!” announced Blip with a wide grin on her fishy face. Blop did stretches behind her, next to a hovercart carrying a heavy-looking crate.

“You will not,” Zhee said with serene confidence. “I will be here well-rested long before you appear.”

“You say that now!” Blip bantered back. “But I think you’ll find us lounging on the ramp when you return.”

Blop finished his stretch and threw a mischievous glance at Paint. “We definitely won’t be the last to arrive.”

“No fair,” Paint complained, clutching her own small box to her chest like a scaly child. “You all have longer legs than me.”

I said, “I could give you a ride if you want. I have the hoverbike.” (I did. I was looking forward to it.)

Paint regarded the old-but-serviceable machine like an untamed horse. “Maybe?”

I brought up the map on the handlebar screen. “Your spot is along the main road, right? That’s an easy stop on the way to the observatory. And your package is small enough to carry while you hold on.”

“Isn’t there room in the storage compartment?” Paint asked hopefully.

I didn’t even have to look. “Nope. Mine barely fit. If we could get both in there, Captain Sunlight probably would have just had me deliver both.”

“Both what?” asked the captain from the doorway, hearing her name.

I explained, “I’m going to give Paint a ride to deliver that package, since she can carry it while it won’t fit in the bin.”

“I see,” said Captain Sunlight. “Very resourceful. And very brave of you, Paint.”

Paint sighed unhappily. “It sure is.”

Mur followed the captain in, chuckling. “Better you than me. Enjoy the speed.”

“I can drive slowly if you want,” I told Paint.

Paint stood as tall as she could, which wasn’t very. “No, I don’t want to hold you up. Regular speed is fine.”

“Great to hear,” said Captain Sunlight with a clap of her scaly hands. “Everyone take your places; we’re about to land.”

We all got ready. Blip and Blop maneuvered their hovercart to be near the front; Zhee shouldered in next to them with his bundle worn like a backpack; I got onto the hoverbike and Paint reluctantly climbed up behind me.

“Have fun!” Mur called with a wave of a blue-black tentacle. “I’ll be doing meal prep with Eggskin, thinking of you.”

I could hear the scowl in Paint’s voice. “I hope it’s something stinky.”

The intercom chimed with the landing tone, just in case we were distracted by bickering or something. A subtle change in engine tone, and we were there.

Captain Sunlight opened the bay door. Blip and Blop scrambled out, yelling cheerfully after Zhee when he used their hovercart like a springboard to jump ahead.

While they all ignored the captain’s reminders to be careful, I drove down the ramp at a sedate pace with Paint’s hands clutching my shirt, and we were out into the alien city.

This was a nice-looking one. Very sunny and clean. The spaceport was right next to a public thoroughfare, which felt weirdly trusting after the tight security at some other places we’d visited. Apparently all the screening for ne-er-do-wells was handled before landing here, or they just didn’t expect any trouble. Either way, it looked safe and pretty, with single-story architecture that reminded me of sandcastles made of porcelain. Everywhere were rounded walls with domed tops, tapering from the bottom like someone scooped the material together. Then turned it glossy white with lots of intricate patterns, and translucent bits where it got thin enough for the sun to show through. Most of the pedestrians were either Strongarms or Waterwills, and I wondered whose culture had come up with the design. Maybe both together.

I was maneuvering the hoverbike onto the convenient skyroad that passed over those pedestrians, and thinking idly about whether there was a different word for people who walked without proper feet, when I noticed how tight Paint’s grip had become.

“Should I slow down?” I asked over the wind. “Or would you rather walk after all? I can pull over.”

“I’m okay,” Paint said, a little tense. “Pretending we’re on the ground. I don’t have to look. Enjoy your crazy human death wish.”

I laughed and shook my head, but didn’t bother to argue. She wasn’t going to enjoy speed or heights no matter how eloquent I was about it.

So I did enjoy the ride, on the nice wide skyroad made of a transparent material that was probably a Waterwill design. Most of the single-person scooters and bigger buses hummed along slowly, though there was plenty of room to weave past them and admire the view of the city while I did. Those porcelain walls got really colorful farther out, and most of the walkways were tiled in colorful squares.

Much too soon, the map showed Paint’s destination up ahead, and I took an off-ramp down to a lovely little public park. There was even something like grass, though the vegetative lumps that passed for trees didn’t cast much shade.

“We’re here,” I told Paint. “Your location is right over there.”

After a pause that was probably Paint prying her eyes open and taking in the surroundings, she let go and said, “Oh good. Thank you.”

“Package okay?” I asked. Hopefully it hadn’t gotten squashed.

“Yes, it’s fine. I’ll meet you back here, right?” She slid shakily off.

“Sure thing,” I agreed. “Shouldn’t take me too long. Enjoy the sun after you drop that off!”

Paint smiled the honest smile of a cold-blooded lizardperson under a warm sun. “I will!” She trotted off with a wave, and I zoomed up the onramp back into the sky.

I drove much faster this time, and it was great. The road got even emptier as I reached the edge of the city, which, for our purposes, was conveniently close. The observatory rested on a hill outside of town. I wondered if the telescopes and whatnot inside had trouble with the city glow, but when I looked for streetlights, I only saw little downward-facing things that I’d taken for security cameras. Maybe this city didn’t glow much at night, at least not in an upward direction. Pity we were doing the delivery now and I wouldn’t get to see it. Though, I reflected, I’d likely enjoy this skyroad less in the dark.

The road sloped down to meet the ground when it ran out of buildings, and I zipped past more tree-lumps on the way up to the observatory. It was built out of porcelain too, looking extra thick and sturdy.

An Earth-style doorbell seemed very out of place, but it was at knee height on me, so that tracked. I rang it and got the package out of the storage bin.

A thick chunk of wall pulled inward then slid to the side with a thud. “Hello!” said the client, a Strongarm with vivid red coloring and a pointy squid head like Mur. I glimpsed another in the background that was a roundheaded coral pink, and much less chatty than this one. “Thank you so much for the delivery! I hope the drive went well? No traffic or accidents or whatnot?”

I handed her the box, which was large but lightweight. “No, it was nice and easy. Nothing to slow things down, and the view was lovely.” This delivery didn’t require a signature the way most of them did, so I wasn’t sure how much conversation I was in for now that my job was technically done.

“Good, good,” she said, juggling the box with a random assortment of tentacles. “Oh, is that one of those really fast vehicles? I could never! I hope they pay you enough for the risk.”

I smiled. “The pay’s just fine, and it goes at a good speed for me.”

“So bold and daring. Here! Take this for your troubles.” She set the box inside, then grabbed a little bag that looked like commercial snack food. “These are the best, and I just cannot stop eating them. You’ll do me a favor by taking a bagful.”

From inside the room, the other Strongarm yelled, “Give two.”

“Yes, quite right. Have two.” A second bag joined the first.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting them graciously. The label held a posing Strongarm that suggested I check with Eggskin’s species database before trying any. Their food was usually pretty compatible, but I wouldn’t want to be wrong.

“My pleasure! Have a lovely day, and a safe drive back!” She waved three tentacles and fairly pranced back inside before slapping the door close button. Even after it shut with a thud, I could make out her excited voice talking about the package.

I put the crunchy snack food into the now-empty storage bin, and sped off down the hill.

There was nobody out there, so I upped my speed from “reasonable” to “enjoyable,” and made it back to the park in no time flat.

“That was fast!” Paint said as she scampered over. She’d actually been lying on one of the lower tree-lumps like a fence lizard soaking up the sun, which was adorable and not something I was going to comment on.

“Yup, and I even got food as a tip.” I opened the bin and showed her a bag.

She grabbed it in delight. “These are the best! Pockap used to get them, and he’d never share!”

“Help yourself,” I said. “I got two.”

Paint made delighted noises and opened the bag to crunch a mouthful happily before folding it into the storage bin and settling into place.

I caught a whiff of seafood, like low tide during the peak of summer. Maybe I wouldn’t bother asking Eggskin if I could eat it.

“All set?” I asked.

“Yes,” Paint said decisively, getting a solid grip.

I scooted the bike gently toward the ramp. “You can have both bags. If Mur likes them too, you could bribe him to trade with you on the next delivery.”

“Ooh,” Paint said. “Thank you. I might do that. Or I might just eat them.”

“Your choice,” I said, then zoomed up onto the skyroad. I tried to go slowly, but I was pretty sure Paint closed her eyes anyway.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#everybody's getting in on the pranking today #page three of five #having fun with it #and this story is a calm little slice-of-life #only time will tell what next week holds #my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #science fiction #writeblr #writblr

54 notes · View notes

yooglefics · 3 months ago

Text

The casual type: 05 . The art of paying attention

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader Wordcount: 3,354 words Genre ( for the whole series ): AU. College!verse. Strangers to friends with benefits to ???. Eventual smut. Hurt / comfort at times. Fluff for cute friends. Summary: ( Series ) • Hobi and his girlfriend set you up with a friend of hers to help with whatever happened months back. However, no one really expected things to end the way they did. ( Ep. 05 ) • Sometime the little details mean more than people think. More info under read more.

Includes ( this chapter ): The squad<3. Subin my love. And other new characters. A kind of out of nowhere jump in time ( just a few weeks ) because the writing just flowed like that, I don't know what to tell you. A mini-drama ( this is the spoiler I posted on ko-fi the other week ) and a bigger drama. Author's note: so… I'm sorry this took so long to be updated Y_Y As you may know, inspiration hasn't been too good these days, but after some lovely comments and knowing people are interested in this story, I finally finished this chapter, so thank you! Also, let me know if you figured out what the drama was before the end, or if you had a theory about it, etc. Hopefully you like this one, and remember to leave a comment, reblog, send an ask, follow or what not, to help my motivation. Thank you for reading <3

“Kang Subin, queer and honorable member of the divorced parents club.” Is how your roommate introduces herself friday night, pointing to the latter as the reason she is only now, a month after classes started, arriving to campus and the city in general.

She says her dad insisted on doing a year abroad as he did, assisting to his Alma Mater and hopefully fall in love with the city to move full time with him. And she did love it… a little too much. She admits the change of scenery was liberating, she could be a totally different Subin from the one in Seoul, and sadly that meant neglecting her notes and putting at risk her art history degree.

You're glad to note she will be joining you ( and some of your friends on occasion ) for classes, since she managed to keep her notes high enough to not lose her first semester. And then you spend the weekend getting to know each other, practically becoming friends overnight. Subin says it must be a you thing, and shaking your head no, you confess essentially begging the administration for a roommate because you're stuck with silly boys and all girls hate you because you aren't cool like them. She laughs, asks if that means the plan is making everyone hate her too and be stuck with you. And you freak out a little, but her laugh keeps flowing across the dormroom and you know she is joking; you know that things would be fine.

Monday arrives and between classes, you continue to give Subin small tours of the campus, mostly the art building and where all the vending machines are.

“There's more than I thought, could you make me a map?” She jokingly asks.

“I'll ask Jungkook for the one we made last semester,” you know he has it because it was offered to Yoongi before.

“Hey, y/n!” calls Taehyung, appearing at the other end of the hall with Yoongi, and when he asks “you got some gum?”, you know they were just on a smoke break.

“Oh, hi, Tae. Nice to see you.” Sarcastic tone all over it, “are you having a nice morning?”

He rolls his eyes and Yoongi laughs at his side.

“Sorry, I'm actually not. And I'm running late,” still you give him a look and as a little kid he repends. “Hi, you guys look pretty today, as alway.” He adds before you can argue anything, and only then Subin chuckles, understanding this must be part of your dynamic. “Do you happen to have some gum for us, your lovely friends?”

“Yes, actually.” Taking one strap off, you move your backpack to your front, looking for the little package they keep stealing from. “Here,” you hand one wrapper to Tae, who starts running in the other direction immediately, screaming how much he loves you. And a “nice to meet you!” to Subin.

Everyone laughs, Yoongi turning back in your direction after Taehyung disappears down the hallway.

“You want one?” You ask and before being able to stop yourself, you add, “Is cherry, though”

“Of course it is,” he smiles and you look away, pretending it's only to search for another one to offer Subin. Memories of friday’s night invading your psyche and shyness your whole body.

Well, that's your own fault.

“Thank you,” she says, looking at the two of you while unwrapping it. “I'm Subin, by the way, the new roommate.”

“Oh, she actually found one!”

“Just hoping she doesn't abandon me too,” you pout and Subin wraps one arm around yours.

“Never.”

“Yoongi,” He introduces, thumb pointing to himself and then behind, “And that was Taehyung, but I guess you'd meet the whole squad later.”

“Ah, yeah. I've been told she collects cute guys.”

“Did someone actually say that?” Yoongi asks when you're not even surprised.

“Yeah and when I asked about girls she looked relieved,” subin goes on, “I actually wanted to know, you know.”

Yoongi and you laugh, “someone doesn't like competition,” both say in unison.

“I told you, they lied.”

“Well, I can't really say that yet. I've to look first,” Subin insists, walking through the cafeteria's door. And it doesn't bother you because it comes from a place of curiosity and not horniness. No shame to anyone, your friends are hot, but you've known them for so long and know they have other great attributes that sometimes it feels superficial and it bothers you.

Besides, as a friend, you need to keep their egos just high enough to be healthy for everyone involved.

“Listen, kids,” calling for the table's attention, you stand in front of them, “this is Subin, my—”

“New roommate?” Asks Jungkook, remembering the text you sent, and you nod excitedly.

“That's Jungkook, he is in music and sports.”

“Which ones?”

“All. Some. We don't have time for that,” you joke, but only continue with the rest of his introduction after the youngest clarifies is soccer and box this year. “Oh, he also takes an art class with Taehyung and I, and now you, this semester. You know Tae from earlier, the one who keeps stealing my gum.”

“You're the one that tells me to not show up to class with cigarette breath!” He pushes back against accusations.

“I think she wants you to buy your own,” Jimin suggests.

“Or quit,” adds Hobi and the table laughs even more.

“That’s Hobi, the group's mom.” Tae offers after.

“Does that make Mai the dad?” Jungkook asks, with a serious expression on his face.

“I'm telling her so,” Yoongi says, already phone in hand and texting his best friend.

“You'll have to meet Mai later, she is great,” you continue, “but Tae is in arts. And Hobi and Jimin, are both dancers,” index finger pointing at their direction as you say each name, “and well, you already know that's Yoongi, he is in music too.”

“And the last new guy, right?” Subin remembers from your talk earlier after she met him for the first time, “I guess I took your title.”

“Are we enemies now?” He jokes, “I was about to offer you my chair, but now I don't know.”

Again, laughs all around and before anyone can think about the sitting arrangement too seriously, Jungkook is standing up, saying he needs to go back to the house before his next class.

“Oh, you are the biker from friday!” Subin exclaims as Jungkook’s helmet comes into view, everyone turning to look at her, “can't believe I forgot to ask you.”

And then five pairs of eyes are on you, all but Yoongi's, since he doesn't need an explanation.

“...What?” Asks Tae, finally.

“Had to call her to my rescue because I lost my key and from the hallway's window I saw someone drop her off on a motorcycle,” she explains, “that's when the girl told me about you collecting cute guys.”

“But that wasn't me,” says Jungkook.

“Yeah, you weren't with us that night. We were all at the house, so who was it?” Ask Jimin, and the curiosity in his voice makes you nervous. You have never lied to them, and starting right now without preparation is terrifying.

However nothing compares to the feeling on your stomach when Yoongi answers, “it was me, actually.” And without a beat, your friends are looking at him now, “What?”

“You what now?” Mister interrogation Tae goes on, “Why were you together? What time was it? Was it late?”

“You were alone? Why?” Asks Hobi.

“We can't hang out now?” You ask back, wasn't he who set you up in the first place? And yes, it didn't turn out the way they planned it, but wasn't the whole premise to get to know Yoongi?

“Not what I meant,” he corrects, “Just… you didn't say anything.”

“Well, you guys canceled, what were we supposed to do? Not do anything just because you weren't with us?” Yoongi answers before you.

“And we just hang out, you know, eat junk food and chat. Nothing to write home about.”

“Aww,” coos Jungkook, sliding his arm over your shoulders, “does that mean you missed us? You really love us, uh?” you pull back, sticking your tongue at him and pushing him towards the exit, telling him to hurry because if he is late to class you aren't covering for him again.

Thankfully, that's enough to get them off your back and Subin’s arrival provides better entertainment through the lunch hour, as your friends don't hold back on their questions to get to know her. And you're glad they seem to like her as much as you do.

“So… should I've not mentioned the bike thing?” worries Subin later, when everyone has left and is only her and Yoongi at the table.

“Don't worry about it.” He reassures her, offering a tangerine slice when she doesn't return the smile. “Seriously.”

Is not her fault, he thinks. He can't blame the guys either for wondering and going into big brother mode as soon as they hear you're hanging out with someone, since the prevalence of that is not the best right now. And although he does feels bad about keeping things a secret from them, mostly Hoseok, who Yoongi himself give the “you better be careful with what you do with my best friend” talk, it consoles him a bit to know that the both of you are on the same page with what you have.

Maybe if they knew it wouldn't be a big deal, he thinks. Better him than anyone else, right?

Putting away your phone and with the excuse of going to the bathroom before class, Subin and Tae follow their journey to the second floor without you and without suspecting anything. As you walk in front of one of the classrooms, a hand wraps around your forearm and pulls you in.

“What th—!” scream is interrupted when you recognize Yoongi. “You almost gave me a heart attack! I could've punched you.” And with adrenaline still running through your body, you actually push his shoulder with less force than you first intended.

“Ouch.” He rubs the place you hit, dramatically, as he explains, “Sorry, I panicked. There were people around and I didn't want to scream your name”

“Yeah, we should be careful after what happened at the cafeteria. Good save, by the way.”

“You own me,” he quickly returns.

“I do not,” you deny, crossing your arms, “You were the one insisting on going into the parking lot, I told you to leave me at the gate.”

“Well, forgive me for being a gentleman.”

You laugh, “and modest.”

Yoongi smiles, relaxing his body against the wall beside the door, “are you telling Subin about us?” he asks before you can question him about why he asked to meet.

Uncrossing your arms, you fiddle with your nails instead, scratching the acrylic paint off of them. “What is your opinion on that?”

“You can't answer a question with a question, miss.”

“Well… I don't know.” Is your final answer after a few seconds of silence. “She is cool and I really think we’re going to be friends and maybe I can gossip to her about you.”

He chuckles at that.

“And also she said sorry and asked if it was supposed to be a secret.”

“Really?” Yoongi sounds surprised, “She asked me that too earlier and I told her to not worry.”

“I feel bad about it because it seems like she is actually worried she messed up,” you share, “maybe I should just come clean. Only to her, at least. But of course not, if you don't want to.”

“No, it's okay. I think is good you have someone to talk to. And she seems nice.”

You nod in agreement, relieved you don't have to start hiding things from Subin as soon as you two met.

“Also,” Yoongi goes on, holding your hips and bringing you closer to him. You allow him to without much thinking. “It was nothing to write home about?”

“What?”

“Friday night, you said that earlier.”

“Did your ego get hurt?” You tease.

“No. But I didn't know you were a liar.” he throws back and you laugh. “I'm going to call you Pinocchio now.”

At that, you gasp, “stop giving me nicknames!”

And your attempt to pull away is just that, an attempt, because between laughs he holds you closer. “But is funny. And all of them are true.”

“They aren't.”

“Are so.”

“I don't like you.”

“That's not what I got from friday.”

“Yoongiii—.” you gasp again, his laugh louder this time.

Wanting a clarification stops him from dumping his phone back into the duffle bag and so, throwing the strap over his shoulder, he makes his way over to Chris and other teammates.

“Are you ready to go?” His roommate asks, and Yoongi nods, “good, I'm just waiting for Ha-ri.”

“Hey!” As they turn around, it is not difficult to recognize her as one of the cheerleaders since she is carrying her pom-poms and all, but is only as they continue talking that Yoongi realizes who she is, “sorry, I was saying goodbye to the girls and planning for next practice.”

“Don't worry, babe.”

“You must be Yoongi, hi,” she waves her free hand enthusiastically enough the pendant on her bracelet makes a jiggly sound, catching his attention “welcome to the university. And the team. Go, Bears!”

She seems nice, Yoongi thinks, “Go, bears!” first in the air, he chuckles in response before they all make their way to the parking lot and to Chris’s car.

The drive home is short and filled with questions about his last school and the reason he transferred, which Yoongi manages to give simple and vague answers that satisfy Ha-ri’s curiosity. It definitely helps that he has been questioned about it more than once the last few weeks, giving him more than one chance to practice before today.

The more weeks pass, the less people ask. And soon the mystery of his arrival is pushed to the side as people decide to talk about his accomplishments in the basketball games.

Every now and then someone recognizes him as an ex Tiger's player, and asks why he changed teams, but before anything can get to deep, a “well, now you are on the right team,” or something alike is thrown his way and he couldn't be more glad for the rivalry between the universities.

For what is worth, the change has proven to have been a good decision. Of course he is nostalgic for the past and he misses hanging out with Mai more often, but he has friends, basketball and music. He has even been planning to perform at school events with Jungkook as he did with Jay back then.

It feels like he is starting to build a new life, and it wasn't as difficult as his brain told him it could be.

With chuseok around the corner the university starts to plan the events for the weekend and some professors feel generous enough to give extra credits for participation. Others just used it as an excuse to make the assignments related to it, that's his and Jungkook’s case.

Yours is the first one, because getting a good grade for hanging out with your friends sounds too good to pass out. That's why for the last few days you have been following them around taking pictures and notes, preparing your article about their performance Saturday night.

“Are you done?” Yoongi asks from his spot at the end of the bed when you take the headphones off, the ones he made you wear so he wouldn't have to listen to himself on the interview recording.

“Yep. I only need Kook's side and I'm done,” end of the sentence elongates a bit, arms in the air as you stretch your back.

“How long for him to be here? I need him to go over something before he eats and gets a food coma.”

“I'm glad you're already prepared for that,” you giggle, “Because he is not even seeing my texts.”

“He is still busy?”

“Yeah, kissing someone for sure. Does he think I don't have things to do too?”

“Like making out with someone too?” he jokes, putting his guitar down on the bed, deciding to take a break too.

“Why? Are you jealous?” you tease, trying not to laugh and is surprising when you're met with a serious expression as you spin around on his desk chair.

“I thought the rule was to tell if there were other people.”

“I'm just kidding,”

“Wow, a comedian.” he rolls his eyes, and you know he is only pretending to be annoyed.

So, you push. “I'm funnier than you, don't get mad.”

“Cocky.”

“What, you don't find confidence attractive?”

“Oh, I find a lot of things about you attractive.”

Touche; you think as a smirk appears proudly on his face and makes you turn around, shy reaction at the security of this voice.

And he laughs. Of course.

“Shut up, Yoongi.”

“If you want to kiss me, just do it,” he only has to stretch a bit to pull on the chair, making you turn to him again and bringing you close.

And you do kiss him.

Not only to erase his stupid and attractive gummy smile, but also because you've missed it.

With projects and exams, with Yoongi not only being in a different major but also in his third year, hanging out only the two of you hasn't happened as much.

You don't mind. You understand that is not a priority and there is something relaxing about it being an unspoken agreement, something that you truthly appreciate.

But you would be lying if you said that you didn't miss Yoongi's lips against yours and the way his hand cups your cheek, still gentle as he tries to lead the kiss.

Looking for closeness, your hand finds balance on his tight, making you contemplate ditching the comfiness of the desk chair for a sit on his lap.

“Is pizza night, baby!” breaks through the house before you can make another move, making you jump and pull away on instinct. Moving out of Yoongi's reach, even hitting the desk with the back of the chair as you stand up in record time.

“Careful,” he murmurs and you don't understand why he isn't freaking out. Even dears to chuckle.

“Min, come out!” another voice calls out.

“That's not Jungkook,” you say as a matter of fact, your brain still in shock.

“I'm starting to think he stood us up.” He stands up, looking at his phone still without texts from the younger guy, “Wanna meet my roommates? They have pizza, apparently.”

And your empty stomach makes the executive decision to hide your shame, and disappointment, in exchange for some food.

You're introduced to Jin first, who introduces Namjoon while taking the knife out of his hand with a “let hyung do it.”

“I swear he never lets me hold a knife for more than five seconds,” he says and you find it adorable, but Namjoon seems genuinely confused and maybe a bit hurt by it.

You wonder what more there's to that. But before you can ask anything, a third roommate comes out of the kitchen, “Is for your own good and the wellbeing of everyone involved,” he says, making your whole body tense as the familiar voice rings through your ears.

“That's Chris.” Jin says, and you almost answer that you know, but for a second it is even hard to breathe.

Nevertheless, you don't need to say anything, because your silence is everything Yoongi needed to confirm that an introduction isn't necessary and in fact, you'd probably rather forget about him.

Because is him.

The guy who hurt you.

A/N: I missed writing this! again thank you to anyone who has show interest one way or another, you're the reason this chapter was actually finished uwu♡. A/N 2: I'm working on the intros for the characters that aren't part of the squad, and sometimes I ask for your help with fc's suggestions or names, so... that's something to know if you're interested. Send a tip on ko-fi and get some rewards!!

♡ Tag list: @n33mesis , @mggv97 , @wobblewobble822 , @bbou-doir , @m00njinnie , @nariee02 , @sexytholland , @itsmina29 , @ktownshizzle , @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d , @kimtaehussy .

➪ 01 ・ 02 ・ 03 ・ 04 | ➪ Tag for TCT verse | ♡ Join a tag list | ➪ Main masterlist. | ➪ Pinned

87 notes · View notes