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bunnys-kisses · 6 months

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bets made (and mistakes happened) - a restaurant au

john 'soap' mactavish

cw: restaurant!au, one night stand, smut/pwp, cocky!soap, bets/wagers, dirty talk enemies-to-lovers, (accidental) pregnancy, semi-long

bunny says: like this fic? leave a comment! really like this fic? suggest your own! reblogs are always welcomed!

you could stand toe to toe with whoever got in your way. you REFUSED to be talked down to like a dog. you were a good sous chef, you didn't need the guy who washed the dishes to tell you how to do your job! you could've KILLED john.

and he probably would've let you. he wanted to see those blunt nails of yours dig into his throat. he'd take it as a challenge and give you the same energy. he'd probably grin as you like a madman before he could finally sink his teeth into you. he had been wanting to for years.

so in order to keep some semblance of peace in the kitchen, chef price sent you two out in the back for a smoke. you sat on the milk crate near the door and john pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

"i like yer fire." he said.

"i wish you'd go to hell." you replied.

he chuckled and shook his head, "yer too sweet. i'm surprised you didn't poison me when you had to show tonight's dishes to the rest of staff."

"i didn't expect you to count as staff. it was meant for the other cooks."

he put his hands on his hips, apron on and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth he tilted his head to the side and chuckled, "i'm staff, bonnie. more of the backbone than you are."

you stood up, and got close to him. you were facing each other and painfully close. you plucked the cigarette out of his mouth before you took a inhale of it. he looked at you in shock as you placed it back in his mouth. you turned away from him and said, "how about this, soap. you come to my place, we see who's the better cook."

he stood up a little taller and asked, "what do i get when i win?"

you narrowed his eyes at his words, you amped up the stakes. you replied simply, "i'll let you sleep with me."

the cigarette almost fell out of his mouth from the shock. he soon took it out his mouth and exhaled, "nah, nah. really, what is it?" there was a smile on his face. he leaned in a little bit to you.

"i told you... you, me, sex. do i need to spell it out for you?"

he laughed, "oh yeah. that's a good prize, that sweet cunt." he closed the gap between you two and took your chin in his hand, he held his cigarette in the other, "deal. maybe i can finally put ya in yer place. talkin' big game for such a little girl." he shook his head. he pulled away to have another drag of his cigarette.

the first thing you noticed at the end of the week. john 'soap' mactavish didn't taste like an ashtray when he kissed you. currently it was friday night, the only night you two had off, and john had just won your little bet.

he had you up on the kitchen table with his hand spread out on your thigh, pushing up your dress. his lips were on yours and you tried your best to NOT melt into the kiss.

when he pulled away he pressed his forehead to you and said, "how was that?"

"it's a bet, it shouldn't matter how i feel." you replied as you kept your arms around him. his laugh pulled something in you when you were so close to him.

you expected him to make some pasta with packaged noodles and a jar of sauce. you had seen what lunches he brought. but instead in your tiny apartment, he made you a scotch pie with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth the entire time. even with the ash, it was still the best thing you had ever tasted.

he knew he won because you couldn't hide the expression on your face fast enough after the first bite. when he laughed,you hit him then went in for seconds. who would've thought the annoying dishwasher could cook this.

"how?" you asked.

he put a finger over his lips, "family secrets. only shared through marriage, doll."

after the meal, then he took his dessert. his winnings from your bet. and in all fairness, if/when he was going to fuck you, he'd rather he did with after you had a good meal. it was going to be quite the energy waster.

you broke the kiss and looked at him, those big blue eyes stared back at you. you held his face for a moment to stop him from leaning in again. you said, "i'm not fucking on a table i got from goodwill."

he chuckled, "of course, my majesty. would you like for me to fluff the pillows first." then made a noise when you squeezed his face.

"i'm saying because the fucking thing will break." then let go of him. he backed up enough for you to get off the furniture and head towards the bedroom.

he trailed behind you, his cock stood at full attention in his jeans as he get his first glimpse of your bedroom. while he noticed that there wasn't much life to the decor of the walls. he did notice that your bed was unmade and looked very comfy.

but what drew his attention was the sight of you undressing. he watched you zip down the button of the dress. you stepped out of it then quickly got your underwear off. he was barely out of his socks by the time you were naked. your curves glowed under the light of the city outside.

you sighed and approached him, "i guess i have to do everything, huh?"

he was brought back to reality and stepped back, "you don't have to do shit, love. i just need you to lie there and look pretty. if you really wanted to put on a show, make the girls bounce a little." he chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head. he showed off his lean body and caught you staring a moment before he went to his jeans.

soon both of you were naked, and you led him onto your bed. you kicked the covers further down the mattress as you laid in bed with the other man. you kissed once more trying hard not to fall for him with each linger of his fingertips across your back.

he held you like a protective force, even if his words were often biting. he wanted you. in a carnal, lustful kind of way. the kind that sent shivers down your spine.

his hands roamed your backside, his cock twitched against your thigh as you continued to make out with him. finally that cocky mouth of his was quiet.

you pulled away soon after and placed both hands on his chest. he looked up at your curiously and you gazed down at him. those blue eyes were like dark like rocky seas as you rubbed your knee up against his cock. he hissed through his teeth.

"careful, doll." he said quietly.

you held his face once more and gave him one last kiss before you moved away and got into his lap. your ass rubbed against his cock. the sensation made him exhale deeply to try and hold back a moan.

he placed his tattooed hands on your hips. you always did find his tattoos quite appealing. you did have a dream once where he was shoving those digits inside of your pussy. at the time it made you want to put bleach in your eyes. but now... you were second guessing it.

"like this?" you asked.

"oh yeah. i love a good girl on top." he purred as the two of you began to move your bodies against one another. his eyes closed for a moment as he pressed his head into your pillow. he was drowning in the scent of the strawberry shampoo you used often. he could get whiffs of it at work when you walked by, but to be smothered in it made his cock hard.

you placed your hands on his chest and leaned forward so his cock was pushed inside of you at an angle. you panted which was accompanied by his own heavy breathing.

"feel real good. like a glove." he said, heavy on the accent, "like two pieces the same puzzle. you and i, doll, are meant to be."

"one night." you affirmed.

he chuckled as he dug his fingers further into your hips. he watched you take all of his cock and replied, "that's what they all day." before he started to meet your pace more aggressively.

the bed creaked from your movements. the heavy thrusting of sex in the cramped room of your one bedroom apartment. you funded this life through cooking and you got out cooked by a dishwasher.

you should hang the apron up already!

the thought made john smirked as he felt his cock deep inside of you. he wondered for a moment if you could still run a kitchen while caring for his brats. but that thought was pushed away from the intense rush of pleasure through his body. made his head feel full as he got closer to orgasm.

"shit, soap. ah." you moaned.

he gave your ass a slap and chuckled, the sweat dripped down his back, "you can't get enough of me. you just love it so much. you love me."

you groaned, "in your dreams." the sex was amazing. you could feel the sweat on your brow as you rutted against him. your nails dug into his pecks as you moved.

he hissed through his teeth and drove his cock deeper into you. he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. nothing like a feisty chef to get his blood pumping! with a spark on inspiration, he took you by the hips and rolled you onto your stomach.

he lifted your hips up with ease and pounded away at your cunt with vigor. the angle took the air out of your lungs, you could feel his ramming against sensitive areas. your legs were practically in the air!

the angle was amazing for both of you and soon you were gripping onto the mattress under your head.

"who would've thought scotch pie would've let me fuck ya." he laughed as he scratched at your hips due to the force he was holding you.

"shut up!" you whined as your back arched. with a few more stokes of his cock, you both came. your mind went blank. you came so hard that you honestly forgot that he wasn't wearing a condom and had dumped a bunch of his scottish seed into your aching cunt.

this wouldn't be a problem later, right?

a month later you're sitting on top of the toliet with a pregnancy test in hand. your hand over your mouth as you watched the test read positive.

for a second you tried to rationalize that it COULDN'T have been john who got you pregnant. not that blue-eyed, mohawk having, smug dishwasher! but you sure as hell weren't pregnant before your night together.

you pulled your hand away from your face and putt he test down on the counter. you cupped your middle and sighed. you had no choice but to tell john about it. he was going to find out eventually.

you sent him a text message, 'soap. need to talk. urgent." then put the phone down. instantly you were on the phone with him, when you heard his voice you broke down. the normally cocky john sounded sincere as he asked what was wrong. you composed yourself for a moment and wiped your eyes and said, "you are your stupid scottish cock got me pregnant."

there was silence on the other end for a moment. he then said, "anythin' ya need, doll. it's yours."

you swallowed and replied, "you and some more scotch pie." you felt your heart do a somersault.

"ay." he said, "already got the scottish in ya."

xoxo, bunny (might do a sequel, let me know!)

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kckt88 · 26 days

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A Dragon's Heart IV

Summary:

Viserra gives birth, the family stick together when an old threat tries to stir up trouble and the day finally arrives when two loves can be together properly.

Warning(s): Angst, Swearing, Child Birth, Mild Violence, Drama, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Lactation Kink, Oral Sex, (M Recieving), Anal Fingering, Aegon Being A Drunken Idiot.

AEMOND x O.C

Word Count: 7250

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Aemond paced relentlessly up and down the corridor, his heart pounding in his chest with every scream that echoed from the chamber where Viserra was giving birth.

Each cry of pain felt like a dagger in his heart, and he cringed, feeling utterly helpless.

"Stop your pacing, lad," Daemon's voice cut through the tension, firm but not unkind. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Aegon, who was sitting nearby with a faintly green tinge to his face, nodded in agreement. "It’s making me sick just watching you."

Aemond barely heard them. His entire being was focused on the sounds coming from the room.

But then, amidst the cries, he heard something that made him freeze in place—Viserra was screaming for him.

"AEMOND"

The door to the chamber opened suddenly, and Helaena’s head popped out. Her usually serene face was filled with urgency. "Aemond-" she said. "-She's calling for you."

Before Aemond could react, both Daemon and Aegon placed a firm hand on his back, pushing him towards the open door.

Helaena stepped aside to let him pass, her eyes soft with understanding.

Aemond took a deep breath and entered the room, the door closing softly behind him. The sight that greeted him nearly took the breath from his lungs.

Viserra lay on the bed, her face pale and glistening with sweat, her silver hair matted against her forehead.

She looked exhausted and in pain, but even in this state, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Without hesitation, he rushed to her side and took her hand. She clung to him desperately, her eyes brimming with tears.

"It hurts," whimpered Viserra, her voice strained.

Aemond swallowed hard, his own eyes stinging. "You're doing so well, Viserra," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Don't leave me," she begged, her grip on his hand tightening with another contraction.

"I won't-I promise" Aemond promised, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

He wished he could take her pain away, wished he could do something, anything, to help her. But all he could do was be there, hold her, and pray that this would end soon.

Rhaenyra, who was standing on the other side of the bed, dabbed Viserra’s forehead with a cool cloth.

She gave Aemond a reassuring nod, though her eyes were filled with concern for her daughter. "You're almost there, Viserra," she encouraged gently. "Just a little more."

Maester Gerardys, who was positioned at the foot of the bed, glanced up from his work and nodded in agreement. "It’s time to push, Princess."

Viserra groaned in response, the pain almost overwhelming. Aemond could feel every ounce of her strength as she squeezed his hand so hard that it felt like his bones might break, but he didn’t care. He would endure anything to be here for her.

Helaena stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, a comforting presence amidst the chaos.

Aemond grimaced in pain as Viserra’s grip tightened, but he stayed silent, focusing all his energy on being her anchor.

"Keep going, you’re so close," Rhaenyra urged, her voice calm and steady.

"The head is out," Gerardys announced, a note of relief in his voice. "Just one more push"

Viserra gritted her teeth and gave one final, mighty push, using every ounce of strength she had left. The room fell silent for a heartbeat, and then the sound of a baby’s cry filled the air.

Aemond felt tears spill from his eye as he heard that tiny, precious sound.

His whole body trembled as Maester Gerardys carefully lifted the newborn and declared, "A healthy boy”

Viserra reached out with trembling arms, and the babe was swiftly wrapped in a soft cloth and placed on her chest.

She looked down at her son, her expression one of pure, unfiltered love. Aemond could hardly breathe as he gazed at them, his heart overflowing with a profound emotion he had never experienced before.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to Viserra’s temple, then to the baby’s soft head. "You did it," he whispered, his voice choked with tears.

Viserra looked up at him, her eyes shining despite her exhaustion. "We did it," she corrected softly.

Aemond could only nod, too overwhelmed to speak. He reached out, gently touching the tiny hand of his son, who grasped his finger with surprising strength.

As Viserra lay cradling their newborn son, a sudden, sharp pain shot through her, causing her to wince and gasp.

Aemond, who had been utterly entranced by the sight of their child, immediately snapped to attention, his heart seizing in his chest.

"W-What's wrong?" Aemond asked, panic creeping into his voice as he leaned over her.

Maester Gerardys, who had been preparing to clean up, paused mid-action and quickly moved back to Viserra's side.

He pressed his hands gently on her abdomen, his expression growing serious. "There is another babe," he announced, his tone a mixture of surprise and urgency.

Rhaenyra swiftly stepped in and took the baby boy into her arms, moving towards the end of the bed, her face showing a flicker of concern.

Helaena moved to Viserra's other side, taking hold of her free hand, her touch warm and reassuring.

Viserra's eyes filled with tears as she shook her head, her voice trembling. "I can't-I can't do it again."

Aemond bent down, his forehead touching hers, his voice filled with a fierce determination. "Yes, you can," he whispered urgently. "You are blood of the dragon, and you are the rider of Vermithor. You can do this."

But the pain was overwhelming, and Viserra's resolve wavered. She let out a desperate scream, her face contorted in agony.

"I'm going to cut your cock off, I swear!" she yelled at Aemond through gritted teeth.

Despite the situation, Aemond couldn't help but feel a pang of amusement beneath the waves of worry. He squeezed her hand tightly, his voice steady. "Just one more, my love. Push."

Viserra summoned every last ounce of strength she had, digging deep within herself.

With a final, agonizing scream, she bore down and pushed, her entire body trembling with the effort.

The second baby emerged, but the room fell eerily silent. Aemond's heart sank as he exchanged a terrified look with Rhaenyra, who still held their newborn son close.

The fear in her eyes mirrored his own.

Viserra's exhaustion turned to panic as the seconds ticked by, the silence unbearable. "What's happening? Why can't I hear the babe crying?" she cried out, her voice rising in hysteria.

Aemond tried to soothe her, though his own fear was clawing at him. "Gerardys is doing all he can. Please, just stay calm," he urged, though his words did little to ease her growing distress.

Viserra's panic surged, and she began to struggle, desperate to reach her child. Aemond and Helaena had to hold her down to keep her from getting up.

She wailed and sobbed, her cries echoing through the chamber as the moments stretched into an eternity.

Then, at last, a loud, piercing cry broke through the tension, filling the room with a sound that brought immediate relief.

A collective sigh echoed from everyone present as Gerardys looked up, his face relaxing into a smile. "The babe is a girl," he announced.

Viserra let out a shaky breath, her eyes wide with desperation as she extended her arms. Gerardys swiftly wrapped the tiny, fragile girl in a soft cloth and passed her to Viserra, who all but snatched her daughter from his arms.

The baby was so small, even more so than her brother.

Aemond, kneeling beside Viserra, noticed the unusual patterns on their daughter's upper arm and over the back of her shoulder.

The marks were faint, but unmistakably there, a shimmering pattern of muted green and bronze that looked like dragon scales.

Viserra’s eyes, still wet with tears, searched Aemond’s. "Will she be okay?" she whispered, her voice tinged with concern as she gazed at the scales.

Gerardys, who had noticed the markings as well, offered a reassuring nod. "We will need to conduct further examinations, but for now, there doesn't appear to be any immediate cause for concern."

Viserra, her heart swelling with love and relief, smiled down at her daughter. "She is our beautiful little dragon," she declared softly, her voice full of pride.

Aemond looked at his newborn daughter and nodded in agreement, his eye filled with wonder. The girl’s amethyst eyes, so strikingly like her mother's, and her silver hair, she was perfect in every way.

Rhaenyra, still holding the baby boy, carefully placed him into Aemond’s arms. "Here," she said gently, stepping back with a soft smile as she moved to the foot of the bed alongside Helaena, giving Aemond and Viserra a moment alone with their twins.

As Rhaenyra stood at the foot of the bed, she smiled warmly at the sight of Aemond and Viserra with their newborn twins.

The room, once filled with tension and fear, now overflowed with joy and love.

“What shall the twins be called?” Rhaenyra asked softly, her voice gentle.

Viserra, still holding their tiny daughter close, glanced up at Aemond, her eyes shining with love and trust. She nodded, once again giving him the honour of naming their son.

Aemond gazed down at the baby boy in his arms, the child’s delicate features a mix of both his parents.

He thought for a moment, feeling the weight and importance of the decision, before a name came to him.

“Aerys” Aemond finally said, his voice steady and certain.

Rhaenyra smiled approvingly at the choice, and then her gaze shifted to the little girl nestled against Viserra.

“And your daughter?” she asked, her curiosity evident as she looked at Viserra.

Aemond turned his attention to Viserra, who had been gently stroking the soft silver hair on their daughter’s head. “You should name her,” Aemond said, his voice full of tenderness.

Viserra looked down at their daughter, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and affection, she looked up at Aemond, her smile widening as she spoke. “Aerea-in honour of our ancestor”

Aemond smiled and he leaned over to press a kiss to Viserra’s forehead.

“Aerys and Aerea-” he repeated, the names rolling off his tongue with a sense of rightness. “Our beautiful little dragons.”

A soft knock echoed through the chamber door, followed by Aegon’s familiar voice, slightly muffled but full of impatience. “Can we come in yet? We’re dying out here.”

Aemond chuckled, the tension of the moment lightened by his brother’s usual irreverence. “Yes, come in,” he called out, still seated beside Viserra.

The door creaked open, and Aegon was the first to stride in, his face lighting up with joy as he took in the scene.

Daemon followed closely behind, his sharp eyes softening when he saw Viserra, while Alicent entered last, carrying Rhaegar who clung tightly to her, his thumb in his mouth.

“Twins!” Aegon exclaimed, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Congratulations, brother” He gave Aemond a hearty clap on the back, his eyes twinkling with pride and humour.

Daemon moved to Viserra’s side, his expression filled with a rare tenderness as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Are you ok tala?” he asked quietly, his voice just for her (Daughter).

Viserra nodded, her smile reassuring. “I am,” she replied softly, her voice laced with exhaustion.

Rhaenyra, who had been standing back to give them a moment, stepped forward with a radiant smile.

“I’m incredibly proud of you, Viserra,” she said warmly. “Soon the bells will ring out across Kings Landing to announce the safe arrival of two new royal babes.”

Alicent gently placed Rhaegar at the edge of the bed, her touch tender as she whispered something soothing to him.

But the little boy hesitated, his thumb still in his mouth, his wide eyes brimming with tears as he clung to his grandmother’s skirts.

Viserra noticed immediately, concern flashing across her face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked softly, reaching out to him.

Rhaegar shook his head, his lower lip trembling as he looked up at his parents. The sight tugged at Aemond’s heart, and he reached out his hand to the boy, his voice gentle and encouraging.

“It’s okay, Rhaegar. You can come say hello to your brother and sister if you want to.”

Slowly, Rhaegar nodded, his little legs carrying him closer to the bed. Aemond smiled reassuringly, guiding him closer.

“This is your brother, Aerys,” he said, his voice filled with pride as he showed Rhaegar the sleeping baby boy nestled in his arms.

Viserra lifted their tiny daughter slightly, revealing her to Rhaegar. “And this is your sister, Aerea” she said, her voice soft and loving.

Rhaegar peered curiously at Aerea, his eyes wide with awe. “She’s small, and so beautiful” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

Aemond chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “She is. And that’s why we’re counting on you to help protect her. Can you do that?”

Rhaegar’s face lit up with determination, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes, Kepa, I will,” he promised, his small chest puffed up with the importance of his new role (Father).

Aemond smiled at his son, then turned to his mother, Alicent, who had been watching the scene with a soft smile on her face. “Would you like to see your grandchildren, Mother?” he asked.

Alicent nodded, stepping closer to the bed. She looked down at the twins, her smile growing as she studied them in turn.

“They are beautiful,” she said warmly, her eyes misting over with emotion. “Aemond was just as tiny when he was born, but he up grew strong-”

Aemond and Aegon exchanged a glance, both struggling to suppress their laughter.

Aegon smirked, and Aemond shook his head, murmuring, “Too easy.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, catching their exchange, but chose to ignore it.

Instead, she leaned down to press a kiss to Aemond’s cheek, then Viserra’s, before stepping back to admire the twins once more.

As the family gathered around, the room filled with warmth and love, the bonds between them strengthening with the arrival of Aerys and Aerea.

For a moment, all was right in their world.

As the night deepened and the castle fell into a peaceful quiet, Aemond found himself slipping away from his chambers, leaving Viserra, Rhaegar, and the twins in blissful sleep under the guard of Ser Erryk.

He made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, seeking the solace of a drink with his brother.

Aegon was already lounging comfortably with a goblet in hand, his usual smirk in place as Aemond entered. “About time,” Aegon teased, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “I was beginning to think fatherhood had tamed you entirely.”

Aemond rolled his eye but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips.

He poured himself a drink, clinking his goblet against Aegon’s. “To my wife and our children” Aemond said simply, taking a long sip of the rich wine.

Aegon nodded in agreement, then leaned back, his expression turning slightly more serious. “Do you think that Baratheon bitch will cause trouble once the birth is announced? As the realm will still see them as Baratheons”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the mention of the name. “I’ll die before I let anyone associate my children with that name again,” he said coldly, his voice firm and unyielding.

Aegon chuckled, amused by his brother’s fierce protectiveness. “Look at you, the proud father. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this much—well, aside from the night you first fucked Viserra-”

Aemond shot him a glare and retaliated with a sharp elbow to Aegon’s ribs, causing his brother to grunt and laugh even harder.

“You’re insufferable,” Aemond muttered, but the smile lingered on his face.

Aegon rubbed his side, still grinning, and then his expression grew contemplative. “I wonder if our other brother— Dalton, Derran or whatever his name is-will bother to grace us with his presence for this grand occasion.”

Aemond couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s not his name, Aegon.”

“Well, what is his name then?” Aegon replied with a shrug. “He’s not exactly around as much as he should be. Sometimes I think the realm believes we’re the only ones”

Aemond shook his head, amused despite himself. “I’ve sent word to Daeron. Hopefully, he’ll arrive soon.”

“Daeron-what kind of name is that. Hang on do you think our mother had a thing for Daemon?”

“What idiotic notion is that?” asked Aemond.

“Think about it your name is just with the letter at the end, and Daeron is also similar to Daemon” replied Aegon.

“How much wine have you had to drink already-it’s addled your mind” exclaimed Aemond.

“My mind was addled long ago. Come on, a coincidence, I think not” said Aegon waving his hand dismissively.

“So, your suggesting that our pious mother has been secretly harbouring a crush on our Uncle and named her children in his honour”

“Exactly, or it could be worse. What if your Daemons bastard son? I mean you do kind of look like him in certain lights and you act like him as well” said Aegon smirking.

“I do not” snapped Aemond.

“Yes, you do. You even stand the same, you know in that ridiculous hand on the sword pose”

“It’s a precautionary measure, I don’t have to waste time reaching for my sword if my hand is already on it” replied Aemond frowning.

“So, you admit that you always have your hand wrapped around your sword” laughed Aegon raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, get a grip-”

“Isn’t that what you do?” asked Aegon trying to stifle his laughter.

“I will not dignify that question with an answer-We were talking about Daeron coming to visit, not whatever the hell it was you were babbling on about” said Aemond.

Aegon snorted, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “I know-Daeron the Disappeared—that’s what they’ll call him.”

Aemond chided him with a disapproving look. “You’re still as immature as ever,” he said, though the smile playing on his lips betrayed his amusement.

Aegon raised his goblet in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged,” he said, then took another sip, his gaze turning thoughtful. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? That this is where we are now, when just a few years ago, we were on the brink of war”

Aemond considered his brother’s words, the memory of those tense, uncertain days still fresh in his mind. “Do you ever wish you were still King?” he asked quietly, curious about Aegon’s thoughts.

“Gods, no,” Aegon replied almost immediately, shuddering at the thought. “I have no taste for duty, nor do I wish to rule. I’m content with the way my life is now. What about you?”

Aemond took a moment to reflect, thinking of Viserra, Rhaegar, and the newborn twins, and the peace that now surrounded them. “I’m more than happy with my life,” he answered sincerely. “I have my wife and children. That’s all I need.”

Aegon grinned and threw an arm around Aemond’s shoulder, pulling him into a brotherly embrace. “Who’d have thought it?” he mused, his voice filled with a mix of pride and affection. “My twat of a little brother has turned out to be a pretty good husband and father.”

Aemond huffed in response, but there was no denying the warmth in his chest at Aegon’s words.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” muttered Aegon, but Aemond couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto his face.

Aemond swung his sword with precise, calculated force, each blow landing with a satisfying thud against the worn training dummy.

The repetitive motion, the sound of steel meeting wood, provided a temporary escape from the frustrations that had been building up inside him.

He needed a break from the endless stream of visitors, especially from Viserra’s family that had descended upon the Red Keep like a flock of crows, their presence a constant irritant.

He tolerated them only for Viserra’s sake, but there were limits to his patience.

Jacaerys was an insufferable oaf, with bad hair that swaggered around with the arrogance of someone who didn’t know his place. Aemond’s lip curled in disdain at the thought of him.

Luke, though, was the one who truly stirred the anger in his chest. Even after all these years, the memory of that night in Driftmark haunted him—the night Luke had carved out his eye.

Sure, the Strong whelp had apologized, but words meant nothing. The damage was done. His eye was gone, and the pain lingered, a constant reminder of what had been taken from him.

What rankled the most was that he could never gaze upon the beauty of his wife or their children with both eyes, never experience the fullness of their faces in the way he should have been able to.

He imagined, just for a moment, what it would be like to repay that debt—to see Luke suffer as he had suffered. But then the thought of Viserra stilled his hand.

For her, he would stay his wrath. She was the reason he could hold back, the only reason.

Baela, too, was another thorn in his side. Her resentment over his claiming of Vhagar was palpable. Aemond had long accepted that taking the dragon at their mother’s funeral was wrong, but he would never apologize for claiming the great she-dragon.

Dragons were not possessions; they were sentient creatures, beings of intelligence far beyond the understanding of lesser men. Viserra had once told him, "It's the dragons who choose their riders," and he believed that with every fibre of his being.

Vhagar had chosen him that night, and nothing anyone said would change that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Aemond turned, his hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of his sword.

Luke hovered at the edge of the training ground, an uncertain expression on his face.

“Nephew,” Aemond greeted him coolly, his voice edged with a barely restrained irritation. “Come to train?”

Luke shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. “My skill would offer little challenge,” he replied, his voice subdued.

Aemond hummed, the sound low and dangerous as he sheathed his sword. “What is it you want, my Lord Strong?”

Luke hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under Aemond’s piercing gaze. “Viserra is calling for you,” he finally said, his tone tentative.

Aemond nodded curtly, moving to brush past him. But before he could, Luke spoke again, his voice soft and full of regret. “I am sorry, f-for your eye.”

Aemond stopped in his tracks, the words hanging in the air between them.

Slowly, he turned to face Luke, his expression unreadable. “No apology in the world will make up for what you took from me,” he said, his voice cold as ice.

Luke nodded, the sadness in his eyes deepening. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond studied him for a long moment, his thoughts churning. “If I were a lesser man,” he said slowly, “I would demand your eye in return. But as much as I hate you, I will not subject you to the same suffering I have endured, as I know a weakling whelp like you wouldn’t be able to handle it”

Luke’s head bowed, the weight of Aemond’s words settling heavily on his shoulders.

Aemond watched him for another moment, then turned and walked away, leaving Luke standing alone in the training yard, the echoes of their conversation lingering in the still air.

A week later, the dinning room of the Red Keep was filled with warmth and laughter as the family gathered for a small celebration in honour of the birth of Viserra and Aemond's twins.

Rhaenyra had gone out of her way to ensure that the feast was perfect, with every detail attended to, from the arrangement of flowers to the selection of the evening's dishes.

Viserra's and Aemond's favourite foods were laid out on the long table, a spread that included roasted game, savoury pies, and rich desserts.

And much to Aegon's delight, the wine was plentiful, with bottles of Arbor Gold and Dornish Red flowing freely.

Viserra sat in a cushioned chair near the hearth, her heart swelling with contentment as she watched the scene before her.

Aemond was across the room, sitting with Rhaegar on his knee and cradling little Aerea in his arm. The sight made her smile; he was a natural with their children, his usually stern features softened as he murmured quietly to Rhaegar and adjusted Aerea’s blanket.

Beside him, Alicent held Aerys, her face aglow with the gentle pride of a grandmother.

Across the room, Rhaenyra and Daemon watched over Aegon the Younger and little Viserys as they played near the fire with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

The children’s laughter was a comforting background to the evening, their innocent joy a reminder of the peace that had settled over the family.

Helaena sat nearby with Maelor beside her, chatting softly with Baela, who had her own daughter, Laena, perched on her knee. The two women exchanged stories of motherhood; their conversation punctuated by quiet laughter from the babes in their arms.

Jace, Luke, and Rhaena hovered in a corner, speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Although Aemond was aware of them, his attention was focused on his family, the bond he shared with his wife and children more important than any lingering tensions with his nephews.

He was content to let them talk, his heart too full of the love he felt for Viserra and their twins to concern himself with old grudges.

Meanwhile, Aegon was thoroughly enjoying himself, a goblet of wine in hand as he engaged in a one-sided conversation with Daeron.

The younger brother looked desperate for an escape from Aegon’s drunken ramblings, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t seem to break away.

Aemond caught Daeron’s eye from across the room and offered him a sympathetic smile, but it was clear that Daeron would have to endure his older brother's enthusiasm for a while longer.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the fire and the hum of conversation filled the room with a sense of contentment and security.

Viserra felt Aemond’s gaze on her and met his eye across the room, sharing a silent moment of connection. This was what they had fought for, what they had endured so much to achieve—a family united in love and peace, with their children safe and happy.

Eventually, Rhaenyra rose from her seat, lifting a goblet in a toast. “To family,” she declared, her voice strong and filled with emotion. “To the future of House Targaryen, and to the new life that blesses us.”

The room erupted in cheers, the clinking of goblets echoing through the hall.

As the celebration continued, Ser Erryk entered the room, his expression polite but firm. He approached Rhaenyra and bowed slightly before speaking.

"Your Grace, the Lady Cassandra Baratheon and her husband, Lord Lorian Tyrell, have arrived."

Rhaenyra's brow furrowed slightly at the unannounced visit, but she nodded gracefully.

She noticed Viserra's face pale at the mention of Cassandra's name, and Rhaenyra's eyes briefly flicked to Aemond, who immediately handed Aerea to Alicent.

The twins were placed carefully in a small cot, Aemond’s hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the dagger at his belt.

The doors opened, and Cassandra entered with Lorian at her side. Her expression was a mixture of forced politeness and barely concealed arrogance.

Rhaenyra met her with a calm, polite demeanour, though her eyes were sharp. "A surprise to see you, Lady Baratheon. What can I do for you?"

Cassandra smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I heard that my former stepmother had delivered twins and was most aggrieved not to have received an invitation to meet them. After all, they are my siblings-by name."

Aemond’s grip on his dagger tightened, the insult clear and deliberate. Viserra, trying to maintain composure, offered a strained apology. "I’m sorry, Lady Cassandra, it was not my intention to offend—"

But Cassandra brushed past her words, moving toward the cot where the twins lay. She peered inside with a smirk, her tone dripping with condescension.

"More silver-haired babes, not a dark hair among them. A shame, really. I never thought the Targaryen genes were really that strong." Her gaze lingered on Jace and Luke, making her meaning clear.

Aemond’s voice was low and menacing as he stepped forward. "Step away from them."

Cassandra turned to face him, her smile widening. "Ah, yes, as always, hovering around. You might want to be careful, my Prince. Someone might think you have more personal reasons for such a thing."

Before Aemond could respond, Daemon stepped forward, his presence commanding. "If you have anything else to say, Lady Baratheon, say it now, or leave."

Cassandra’s smirk only grew. She took Lorian’s hand and announced, "I’m with child—a new legitimate heir for Storm’s End."

Daemon’s eyes narrowed at the veiled insult to Viserra, but before he could act, Rhaenyra placed a hand on his chest, calming him.

"Congratulations, Lady Cassandra, Lord Lorian. If that’s all, you may take your leave."

Cassandra’s smile faltered as she realized she was being dismissed. "I wish to stay for the celebration," she insisted, her tone challenging.

Aemond’s voice was cold, filled with barely restrained fury. "You’re not welcome here."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And why not? They are my brother and sister, after all. Unless, of course, you want to confess otherwise, my Prince"

The tension in the room was palpable. Cassandra’s eyes flickered to Aerea, noticing the scales on her shoulder where her outfit had slipped down.

Her face twisted in distaste. "What’s wrong with her?"

Viserra bristled, her protective instincts flaring. "Nothing is wrong with her."

Cassandra sneered. "It’s ugly."

Before Viserra could respond, Alicent stepped forward with a fury that surprised everyone.

The crack of her slap echoed through the room as she struck Cassandra across the face.

"Don’t you dare speak such vile things about an innocent babe."

The room fell into stunned silence. Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with a rare approval as she stepped forward, her voice cold and unyielding.

"Leave immediately. I will not suffer any further insults or interruptions."

Cassandra, her hand on her stinging cheek, looked around the room, her expression a mix of shock and fury. Lorian tugged at her arm, guiding her toward the door as they made a hasty retreat.

As the doors closed behind them, Aegon stumbled forward, still clutching his goblet. His voice was slurred but full of intent. "The two of them should be burned for that insult."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, his tone serious. "Don’t tempt me."

Aegon scoffed, clearly drunk but determined. "I’ll take Sunfyre," he declared, raising his goblet. "-and Dave, you and Tessarion will accompany me. We’ll deal with the pair, no problem."

Daeron, standing nearby, finally stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "My name is Daeron-"

Aegon turned to him with a confused expression. "Since when?"

"Since birth," Daeron replied dryly.

Aemond caught Viserra’s eye across the room. Despite the tense situation, she couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Aemond’s lips twitched into a smile as well, the shared moment of levity cutting through the lingering tension.

Later that night, as the castle settled into a quiet calm, Viserra gently tucked the twins into their cradle, ensuring they were comfortable and warm.

Their tiny chests rose and fell peacefully, the soft glow of the hearth casting a gentle light over their delicate features.

Aemond entered their chambers with a soft smile, his expression softening as he saw Viserra caring for their children.

She looked up at him, a tired but content smile on her lips. "How many stories did Rhaegar demand tonight?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the twins.

Aemond moved closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and they both gazed down at their sleeping babies. "Just the one," he murmured. "He was quite tired tonight."

For a moment, they stood in silence, simply enjoying the serenity of the moment. Aemond’s hold tightened slightly as he turned his head, his lips brushing against Viserra’s ear.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern. "If you wish it, I won’t let Daemon take it upon himself to deal with Cassandra. I’ll do it myself."

Viserra let out a small sigh, leaning back into his embrace. "As tempting as that is," she replied, her tone thoughtful, "it’s probably not a good idea. Might be a little too suspicious."

Aemond nodded against her, though his jaw tightened at the thought of Cassandra’s insult. "I swear, if she turns up at our wedding, I won’t hold back," he muttered darkly.

Viserra turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes with a mischievous glint. "If she does, you have my permission to deal with her as you see fit."

Aemond’s expression softened as he nuzzled her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "It’s a promise," he whispered, his voice filled with a protective edge.

Viserra tilted her head slightly to give him better access, her eyes closing as she enjoyed the closeness.

But after a moment, she asked, "How is Aegon? He drank a considerable amount of wine tonight."

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her neck. "He’s fine. Daeron saw him to bed."

Viserra let out a soft laugh, turning her head to look at him. "Don’t you mean Dave?"

Aemond grinned, shaking his head in amusement. "Aegon is impossible, but he means well."

Viserra’s laughter faded as she turned fully in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck.

She leaned up and kissed him passionately, her lips lingering on his as the warmth of their love enveloped them both. But after a moment, she reluctantly pulled away, her forehead resting against his.

Aemond’s eyes were filled with understanding and patience as he gazed at her. "I-I’m not yet healed," she whispered, her voice filled with both apology and longing.

Aemond cupped her face gently, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "There’s no rush, my love," he reassured her, his voice tender. "We have all the time in the world."

“I may not be able to indulge in the pleasures of the marriage bed, but I could always treat you-” said Viserra.

“T-Treat me?” gasped Aemond, his breeches becoming uncomfortably tight.

“Well, I see the way you gaze at me as I feed our children, so I’m assuming you would like a taste-” replied Viserra.

Suddenly Aemond became very flustered, his cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“Plus, I’m sure if you taste me, then I shall taste you in return, Issa prūmia” exclaimed Viserra as she undid the ties of her night gown and revealed her swollen breasts (My heart).

“Viserra, I-I-” stammered Aemond.

“Oh, is it not something you want. M-My apologise” exclaimed Viserra her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

Aemond stood stunned as Viserra quickly gathered the front of her night gown and turned away from him, a small sob escaping her lips.

“N-No my love. I want too. I was just surprised by the offer” exclaimed Aemond.

“I-It’s ok. I will n-not o-offer a-again” whispered Viserra, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

With a growl Aemond took hold of Viserra and spun her around, his lips immediately on hers.

Viserra gasped as she felt Aemond hands pulling at her night gown, tearing the cotton fabric in his haste.

“Never-deprive-me-of-you” groaned Aemond against her lips, before he pulled away to remove his own clothes that were soon piled in a heap on the floor.

“N-Not my small clothes” muttered Viserra as Aemond slipped the ruined material off her body.

“I know” replied Aemond as he gently urged Viserra to lay on the bed.

Aemond then descended on Viserra’s soft lips, kissing her, his hands gently caressing her milk swollen breasts.

Aemond released Viserra’s mouth and bent down to lick her nipples, he couldn’t contain his excitement as he went back and forth between her wonderful, enlarged breasts that nourished their children.

“Oh” muttered Viserra as she flung her arms over her face, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

Aemond ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Hmmm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suckle at her breasts, gorging himself on her milk, his hard cock pressed against her thigh.

His tongue swirling around her stiffened peaks, his teeth scraping against her skin, the sounds of him swallowing.

It felt so good, it felt-

“-A-Aemond” gasped Viserra.

“What is it my love”.

“Don’t stop-please, oh gods-don’t stop” exclaimed Viserra as she arched her back, her cunny clenching around nothing as she unexpectedly climaxed.

“Did you just-peak?” asked Aemond smirking as he released her nipple with a soft pop.

“Yes” replied Viserra, her cheeks tinged pink.

“Well, that’s never happened before. I think I like it” muttered Aemond he moved forward and kissed her passionately, his tongue invading her mouth.

“L-Let me taste you. Please” begged Viserra.

Aemond moved and propped himself against a hastily assembled pile of pillows. His hard cock proudly on display.

Aemond stared down at his naughty little wife, his mouth hanging open as Viserra lightly ran her fingers over him, teasing the glistening head.

Next thing he knew, Viserra’s warm, wet mouth was wrapped around the head of his cock.

Viserra’s tongue ran around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Viserra!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Viserra ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When she engulfed Aemond’s cock back into her mouth, he squeezed his eye shut.

Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he had to watch his precious wife sucking his cock.

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Her head moving back and forth, her pink lips stretched around him. Oh, it was heaven.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Viserra smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth.

“It feels so good” groaned Aemond.

Viserra responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

Then she slid one of her fingers towards his hole.

“F-Fuck” moaned Aemond as she gently massaged over the tight ring of muscle.

“Do you like that raqiarzy?” asked Viserra (Beloved).

“Y-Yes” exclaimed Aemond.

“What about this?” asked Viserra as she put a finger into her mouth and then returned it to his hole before she gently slid the tip of her finger in.

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

“More?”

“Y-Yes. P-Please. M-More” groaned Aemond.

Viserra responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her finger slowly moved inside him.

“Another-p-put another inside me” begged Aemond his body rocking against her fingers.

Viserra smiled and gently added another and Aemond began to whimper as she curled her fingers inside him.

“Shit-Viserra I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Viserra’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Viserra.

All Aemond could do was nod.

Viserra smiled gratefully, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before resting her head against his chest.

Aemond held her close, the rhythmic beating of his heart soothing her as they laid together in the quiet of the night.

Eight months had passed since the birth of the twins, and the day had finally arrived for Aemond and Viserra to wed under the Faith of the Seven in the grand Sept of King’s Landing.

The city was alive with anticipation, banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen fluttering in the breeze as nobles and commoners alike gathered to witness the union.

The Sept was a vision of grandeur, filled with lords and ladies adorned in their finest attire, their faces glowing in the light of countless candles.

At the altar, the High Septon stood with a solemn air, ready to conduct the sacred ceremony that would unite two powerful houses.

Aemond, resplendent in his red and black attire, stood tall and proud. His single eye was fixed on Viserra, who approached him with a grace that took his breath away.

She wore a gown of shimmering white lace, her long silver hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and love.

The ceremony commenced with the High Septon intoning ancient words, calling upon the Seven to bless their union.

When it came time for Aemond to drape his cloak over Viserra’s shoulders, she leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I’m with child again-”

Aemond’s eye widened in surprise, and then a joyous laugh escaped his lips. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, causing a few titters of amusement to ripple through the gathered guests.

The High Septon cleared his throat, a slight smile playing at his lips, “We haven’t got to that part yet.”

Blushing slightly, Aemond and Viserra pulled back, but their hands remained intertwined, their eyes locked on each other.

The ceremony continued with the High Septon binding their joined hands with a ribbon of gold and silver, symbolizing their unity.

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the High Septon proclaimed.

He then declared, “Let it be known that Aemond of House Targaryen and Viserra of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

In unison, Aemond and Viserra recited, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger-” Their voices were steady and filled with conviction.

Aemond continued, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Viserra followed, her voice soft yet firm, “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Finally, Aemond declared, “With this kiss, I pledge my love,” and leaned in to seal their vows with a kiss.

As their lips met, a cheer erupted from the gathered crowd, and the Great Sept was filled with the sound of applause and joyous exclamations.

The kiss lingered, full of promise and devotion, and when they finally parted, both were beaming.

Hand in hand, they turned to face their family and friends, united in love and purpose, ready to face whatever the future held together.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut

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writefightandflightclub · 6 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Seven (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Phew! Well, the last couple of chapters were a lot, hey? I wonder what will happen next, tee hee! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. You give me life! ILY :-*

Word count: 8.6k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

“Hey,” you croak, as Frankie cracks the door to your room, finding you laying in the glum light. You’re on top of the covers and hugging your pillow to your chest, body curled around the white mass like you’re trying to form a human s’more.

Of course, you can’t sleep. You’re just slumped there, despondent, blinking into the crow black dark. Your tears have subsided, at least. But you feel sapped. Like you barely have any energy to feel anything anymore.

“Hey,” Frankie returns, dipping the mattress as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Benny send you?” You had insisted Benny go and get some shut eye, after comforting you for the better part of half an hour. There were hugs and warm tea and threats to handle Pope if he’d done something to deserve it. He hadn’t, you’d explained. He hadn’t done a damn thing worse than you, at least.

“Negative.”

You hum neutrally and scooch your body up so that you’re sitting with your back to the headboard, knees drawn up around the pillow you still cling to like a security blanket.

“I’m gonna say something, okay?” Frankie says firmly, and you brace, fully expecting to receive some tough love. You note with relief, however, that as the man turns his head towards you, his eyes are nothing but soft. “You and me. We’re going back to your sister’s tomorrow. Get you some space.”

Space from him. That much is implied.

“No, Frankie.” Your throat tightens. All you’ve had is space. For months. The last thing you need is more.

He places a hand on your knee, his tone firm and almost paternal. He’s going to make a damn good father, you think, with a swell of pride. “That’s what we’ll do. It’s not going to be like this anymore. We’re gonna stop taking chunks out of each other.”

All you had wanted to do was to be close again. You’d never meant-

“-Frankie.”

“Just think about it.”

You nod, and Frankie pats your knee. Stifles a yawn. Presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He looks wiped. With a gust of breath he stands, preparing to leave. “G’night, chiquita. Get some rest, alright?”

“Yeah. And Frankie?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

“What for?”

You sweep your hand through the air. “For the drama. Et cetera.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you know…” You cast a sidelong glance towards the black pane of the window. “Is… he coming back?”

The man drags his tongue along his lip. He does that when he’s uncertain. “He’ll be back.”

“How do you know?” You don’t remember the last time you felt or sounded so small.

“Because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment,” Frankie attempts a lopsided smile, his cheek tugging on the corner of his mouth; but it drops when he realises his joke hasn’t landed. “Just… try to get some rest. Okay?”

You nod, and you watch Frankie leave, his face murky but kind through the shadows as he gently tugs your door closed behind him.

When he’s gone, you wait a moment for his footsteps to retreat and then you cross to the window, cracking it open far enough that you can hear the gentle shush of the waves. Far enough that you could hear either the sound of a truck pulling away in the dead of night, or the front door clicking gently closed, perhaps.

You lie back on top of the bed covers, flat on your back, and your limbs stretched out like a starfish. You lie with your eyes open, staring at the ceiling - exhausted, but wide awake.

And, after who knows how long like this, you hear footsteps tramping on to the porch. You hear the front door gently being latched, and the soft pad of someone travelling up the stairs. You hear the footsteps pause outside of your door for a moment and you hold your breath. You imagine an outstretched fist, primed to knock, but you dismiss this as wishful thinking. You’ve done a lot of that lately. Too much.

Then, finally, you hear him shuffle into his room, clicking the door shut behind him.

Only then - when you know he’s back - can you sleep.

And, as you drift off, your thoughts of him merge with the soporific sounds of the waves.

You’d doubt, with how much you’ve ached for him already, that you could hurt anymore, but you know fine well that it’s possible. After all, the waves break over and over, don’t they?

They break, and they break, and they break.

***

The following morning is an awkward affair. Everyone is tetchy, and even after a very necessary lie-in, residual grumpiness abounds.

It figures. A shouting match and a rude awakening will do that.

Still, the day must go on. You get knocked down? You keep moving.

Will, ever an early riser and a true hero, brews up the first pot of coffee. Starts cooking up some breakfast, and, one by one, you and the boys filter downstairs, chasing the scent of sustenance.

“Don’t even,” you say to Tom the moment he opens his mouth, the room falling silent as you waddle sleepily downstairs, gravitating straight towards the caffeine and the relative safety of Will. Frankie, Benny, and Tom are sat around the dining table, and, you note -because of course you do- that Santiago is glaringly absent.

Maybe Frankie advised him not to come downstairs just yet. Perhaps he’s simply sulking. Or sleeping. Or avoiding you. Perhaps, maybe, possibly a million and one things, which you’ll never know the reasoning behind.

It doesn’t even matter now.

You’re done trying to figure him out. Since when did that ever get you anywhere useful?

Instead then, you attempt to refocus. To divert your attention away from your sun, and towards the wider constellation of stars you are proud to call your squad. And, of course, to your plate of breakfast - that deserves attention too.

The one thing you refuse to focus on, for the moment, is the elephant in the room.

Still, you glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“What else is new with you then, Benny boy? Seeing anyone?” You reach for just about the only topic you hadn’t covered with him yesterday evening - when you had been trying ever so valiantly to distract yourself from Santiago and all that he entails.

In response, his baby blues dance with mischief and he grins, raising one arm to pop a bicep in celebration even as he shovels forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth with the other. “I had myself a date the other night.” He probably flexes in his sleep, this man.

“She stay for breakfast, Benjamin?” Frankie interjects, finally managing to be vocal again now that he’s been provided with the sweet hit of his second mug of caffeine.

“‘Catfish. She was breakfast.”

You hear Will groan from over at the stove. “Too much information, Ben.”

Ben, meanwhile, looks entirely unapologetic.

“Whatever happened to being a gentleman, huh? The way your Granny raised you?” Tom enquires with a thin smile. “Thought gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but I was a gentleman, Redfly. Let her finish first ‘n’ everythin’.” Benny offers a shit-eating grin, and you are once again grateful for the distraction as the room descends into fond bickering, the back-and-forth culminating in Will whipping his sibling with a rolled tea towel for continuing to overshare, accidentally catching Tom in the crossfire.

“Those dirty-minded individuals asked the questions, man,” Benny defends, jabbing his finger around in a circle at the rest of you in accusation. “They always wanna know what action I’m getting. Hell, no-one ever asks me what I’m readin’.”

You snicker.

You glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Of course not. We’re trying to live vicariously through you, man,” Tom interjects. “We don’t want to vicariously read things.”

“Especially not the pretentious shit you read, Benjamin,” Frankie digs, before collecting up the plates and conveying them over to the sink. And, given a natural lull in the conversation, Benny takes the opportunity to grab your attention.

“You still up for training later, hon? I’m tabled for a beastly session this afternoon.”

It briefly crosses your mind to wonder where Benny gets his abundance of energy. You, on the other hand, can’t even be bothered to trace that train of thought through to completion. “Yeah. Maybe, Ben. I, uh, need to drive into town this morning though.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with a mouthful of streaky bacon, swivelling his cap to sit backwards on his head as though that will help him pay better attention to you.

You glance once more -only briefly, of course- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Mmm-hmm. Need to grab something from the pharmacy.” You blink, attempting to look as innocent as possible, but your face burns with a flare of heat, and you can’t help but scratch your nose self-consciously.

You feel as though they all know the purpose of your trip - somehow - even though that’s impossible. And, you pray that even if they do, that they will at least have the courtesy to let it slide.

Unfortunately though, you suddenly remember that Tom exists, and that therefore, you’re likely not getting away with it that easy.

“You and Pope all out of condoms or something?” he guffaws around the lip of his coffee mug as he takes a deep swig.

“Tom,” Frankie warns, subtly shaking his head as he comes to retake his seat by you.

Oddly though, Tom’s comment barely even manages to irk you. You pat your defender on the arm. “Frankie. I’m fine.”

He surveys you regardless, to be sure, and you are grateful for it. Frankie knows fine well that Tom has a talent for rubbing you up the wrong way. The two of you have never quite seen eye to eye.

“See, she can handle herself just fine,” Tom reminds him pointedly. He never did like the way the rest of the boys fussed so damn hard over you. His tone has the veneer of light-heartedness. “You can take a joke, right?”

Your lips twitch around some halfway cruel retort, but, turns out, you truly have no ire left today. You’re all out - and besides, you’re not looking to burn any more bridges than you have already on this trip.

“Listen,” you begin sincerely, cradling your mug of coffee between your palms. Deciding to nip this in the bud before it spirals. “Are we good, Tom? I was a little bit hot-tempered yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Once again, you glance towards the mouth of the stairs. Your gaze lingers a fraction longer this time, until it ticks back to Tom.

He looks at you levelly for a moment over the rim of his mug, before his brown eyes begin to shine with a dull, metered-out warmth. Nothing like the warmth of your sun, of course, but shining on your more brightly than Tom had deigned to in a long while, at least. “Sure we are. So long as you don’t wake me up in the middle of the night again. I need my beauty sleep.”

You hold your palms up in rare surrender. “You got it.”

“What was all that about, anyway?” Tom needles, shuffling forward in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Beside you, you can sense Frankie and Benny ready to knock him back should he dare to overstep. You wonder suddenly if you’re too harsh on the guy. If you need to loosen off, be a little kinder.

You wrap both hands more tightly around your coffee now, letting the warmth bleed through into your interlaced fingertips and the steam rise under your chin. “The usual,” you dismiss, not wanting to go into specifics. That would involve replaying it all. Would call for a digging out of the shrapnel lodged in your chest - an activity far too involved to undertake alongside a lazy breakfast. “Sometimes a storm is what it takes to clear the air, right?”

“And?” Tom cranes forwards a little more. You clock Frankie’s nostrils flaring subtly in annoyance. “Is the air clear now?”

You know what Tom’s asking. Was anything resolved? Are you two done?

Is all this over?

Apparently curious, all three of the men direct their gaze toward you, keenly awaiting your answer. You even reach for one -an answer- but you come up lacking, and your uncertainty carves a notch into your brow. Makes your mouth go dry. Your gaze flicks to the mouth of the stairs, and this time, you can’t look away from it. “I…”

Thankfully, unfortunately, you are saved and damned all at once as Santiago finally appears. Emerging from the spot you’ve been glancing intermittently at all through breakfast.

All the faces in the kitchen turn abruptly towards him as his careless footfalls sound out, and suddenly his eager skip down the stairs entirely loses steam. His pace slows, dragging to a dead halt by the time he has reached the base of the stairs.

Your eyes go as wide as they can, through no fault of your own, and despite being the focus of the whole group’s attention, Santiago stares straight ahead at you. Of course he does. Only you, as though there is no-one else in the room to acknowledge.

“Morning,” he addresses, solely to you, his expression impassive, yes - but certainly not harsh. Not angry.

“Morning,“ you respond, as brightly as possible, your eyes still wide and unblinking, and it is a little unnerving as every other head in the room swivels simultaneously around to face you. Oh good. Because you’d worried this might be awkward. You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “Will has bacon,” you offer stiffly, your whole body so full of tension it feels brittle; like it could snap.

As if the product of some hive mind, the heads swivel in unison back towards Santiago. He doesn’t drop his gaze from you, however. Doesn’t even blink - just looks between your left eye and right repeatedly. “Fabulous. Thanks.”

Sure. Okay. This is totally normal. Except… you don’t think you’ve ever heard Santiago describe something as “fabulous” in his life. But why not start now, hey? This is fine.

You watch him turn. Walk towards Will and the stove top, and when his gaze finally drops from yours it is like the taut line which was drawn across the room finally snaps, blissfully allowing some of the tension to sag with it.

“Good timing, Garcia. Here.” Will doesn’t miss a beat, transferring the spatula into Santiago’s hand and shuffling him seamlessly into his position before he can clock what’s happening. “I’m officially passing the torch of Breakfast Duty into your capable hands.“

“Uh. Sure,” Santiago obliges, obediently beginning to move the sizzling strips around the pan as Benny stands, already crowding him to jostle for seconds. Will slaps the waffled tea towel across Santiago’s shoulder for good measure too, and you die a little inside at how goddamn domestic he looks. Especially since he’s still wearing his fluffy sheepskin slippers. Rocking his bedhead of gently tousled, greying curls.

It makes you yearn.

“Want a ride into town, soldier?” Will calls to you across the space, jutting his chin up at you and snapping you from your stupor. Immediately, you scrape your chair back, the gentle throb of nerves making you eager to animate. Eager to jump on any excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Yes! Please!”

You scoop up your plate and cutlery, and you attempt to take Frankie’s to the sink too. That is, until he protectively winds his arm around it like a bear defending its cub and begins actively batting your hand away. You guess he wants second helpings too.

You sidle over to the stove then, where Santiago is dedicating himself to his latest occupation with vigour, Benny equally invested in hovering with his empty plate - and not above begging for scraps.

“Where to in town?” Santiago asks in a hushed voice, his thick eyebrow arcing. You dismiss your plate into the dish bowl to soak, and he pauses his spatula duties momentarily to await your response.

“Pharmacy.” You look at him pointedly.

His face crumples with something resembling apology. Or - perhaps more likely - regret. “Okay.”

Your eyes lock for a moment, and he looks so different to you this morning than he had in the dead of the night. It is more than the gentle morning sun giving a soft glow to his features, the dusting of late summer freckles on his nose popping in the light. It is more than the wholesome appearance of him cooking up breakfast. More than the hush in his tone, and the way his chin dips down, making his eyes look big and round and gentle as he looks at you from beneath his long sweep of lashes.

You suspect that he is purposefully making himself soft. Blunting his harsh edges so deliberately and so entirely that you fear he will sluice to the floor like the insides of a cracked egg. “You, uh… You need anything? Need me to…?”

Santiago. Honey. You’ve done quite enough already.

“No,” you say, but the word doesn’t audibly make it out the first time around. You clear your throat. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

Your gaze dips to the dried, rogue fleck of toothpaste right on the corner of his mouth. You can’t explain why, but this tiny, human detail makes your chest ache. “Talk later?”

He forces his sober expression to twist into a halfway smile. His eyes grow big and earnest, that cup of coffee gaze gently warming you. “Okay.”

Don’t, you inwardly plead with him. Don’t give me hope. Don’t break me again, Santiago.

A niggle plays at your brow. It’s odd, really. You remember the words and venom spat from each of your mouths yesterday. Of course you do. But you can no longer feel the all-consuming ire that came along with them. That part -that feeling- is absent. Every scrap of anger consumed. It seems as alien to you as the raging storm must feel to the clear morning which follows.

And so, you can’t help it. Really can’t help it. You dip forwards to kiss Santiago, softly. Right on the point of his beautifully high cheekbone, giving his tea-towel adorned shoulder a light squeeze.

You leave, then, to the sight of that subtle crimson flush darkening his cheeks, your gesture evidently both confounding and flustering him.

You leave too, to the sound of Benny yelling “Look alive, Pope! Don’t burn my goddamn bacon!”. The spatula has gone limp in his hand as Santiago’s gaze trails after you, and the tension is once again pulled taut like a string across the room. You imagine a festival of blush red balloons tied all along it, rising and dancing like your hope.

You leave, with an answer to Tom’s question.

You and Santiago? Is it over?

No. It’s not done.

But you are done with being angry.

You’re done breaking, and no longer will you throw yourself against those rocks.

***

The time away from the house was useful, and the scenes of the open coast slipping by smoothed your roughened edges out like a tossed, worn pebble. The salt-saturated air humming through your wound-down window had you drinking in deep, energising lungfuls. Then, there was Will’s steady, reassuring drawl, and all the feelings of security that came along with it.

Steady, dependendable, straightforward Will. You always knew where you stood with him.

At least, that’s who he had always been to you. Not the volatile, ticking time bomb you’d heard he’d become since he’d gotten out. Since he’d almost choked a man out in the tinned produce aisle.

It was good to have time to talk with him. You were endlessly glad to hear the ways Will was moving forward. You were glad -first and foremost- for him, of course; but you couldn’t deny it bolstered your own hope too. To know that there was a route out? A path onward - even when some things attempted to drag you back? It felt good.

Speaking of things which dragged you to them, you were also grateful that Will didn’t press you (too much) on Santiago-shaped matters. In fairness, at this point the whole squad is probably sick to death of the topic. Regardless though, it was refreshing to talk about other things. About Will’s new life. His bizarro public speaking gig. His worry for Benny, as an unfailingly attentive and loyal big bro. His insistence that the “kid” is not living up to his full potential.

Benny’s doing fine, you had assured him. Benny’s… buoyant.

So, in sum, it was safe to say that despite everything, by the time you had arrived back to the house you’d felt decompressed. It made you wonder if - maybe - last night’s storm really had succeeded in clearing the air. Of course, that depended on Santiago too, and where he was at today. Whether he had any more drama brewing, up in that pretty head of his.

From his vibe this morning though? You had gotten the sense that he was oh so tired too.

It didn’t change anything of course. The fighting. The fucking. Not really. Not any of it. The anger, once given its release valve, had simply moved through you like weather. It had turned out, it was all mostly bluster. Ephemeral. Shifting. And it couldn’t touch the truth of things, could it? The permanence and depth of your love for him? Not really.

It did change something in you though, that unforgiving storm. If nothing else, it had made you acutely aware of how powerless you are. Your weather cannot move the mountains, and Santiago is as stubborn and immoveable as a wall of rock.

You’d believed, at one time, that perhaps you could succeed in shifting him. Encouraging him. Convincing him.

But now you know for sure.

The only way he’s running into your arms is of his own accord. In his own good time.

When he’s ready.

If he ever is, of course; ready. And on that topic, you’re less and less sure that he ever will be. That Santiago will ever be ready to be loved by you.

It’s sad in one way to realise that. But in another way, it’s freeing. To give up. To stop trying to shape things into what you’d hoped they could be, and to simply let things be whatever they are. To make peace with the truth of things. And peace? It may sound counterintuitive, but as a soldier, peace is all you’d ever really wanted.

Perhaps that’s why you feel calm as you pace down the track back to the house. Why there’s a spring in your step as you fix up a sandwich for yourself and Will, heading out across the dunes to where the boys laze by that frilled edge of ocean. Perhaps you feel calm because you really have exhausted all of your options.

Because there’s truly nothing else you can do.

Because it’s out of your control.

Because you cannot move mountains.

And so, when you join the group and Santiago flashes you a tentative and oh so pure smile? You return it easily this time.

You can’t change yourself and how you feel. You’ve tried that. You certainly can’t change him. You’ve tried that too.

And… why would you want to, anyway, huh? To change him? In so many ways, you think, as you watch his rich, scratchy laugh bob in his throat, and see those delicious crinkles radiate from around his eyes, he’s perfect exactly as he is.

After all, he’s your best friend.

And, for the remainder of the afternoon, you simply want to focus on that.

For today, you reckon you’ll simply have to try to see him in pieces. In fragments.

You don’t want to admit to yourself that’s the only way you can make it through, but when you do realise, it strikes you. If you too find it hard to reconcile who he’s always been to you with all that he could be, then maybe you and he never were so different after all.

He certainly could never grasp all of you at once, could he?

***

The rest of the day passes pleasantly - much to everyone’s relief, you suspect. After the card games wrap up, there is plenty more entertainment to be had. There is time whiled away goofing around with a football and a frisbee. There’s a grill session on the dunes and chilled beers and music. When the heat becomes too sticky, too intense, there are sea swims and splashing around in the waves and everyone trying to dunk Benny. There’s solitary time too. Time for sunbathing and reading and podcasting and naps; and, in between, there is the cyclical eruption and waning of amiable chatter - whenever someone sparks up with a talking point.

In sum, you all opt to just be with each other. No particular agenda in mind, and it feels good. Really good.

You’ve missed them all. Hell, even Tom, though you’d never tell him that to his face.

The stretch of beach you’ve claimed is stunning too. The sands are golden and fine-grained and the water is perfectly temperate; but, it’s a hidden gem, the patch not attracting a fraction of the stifling crowds you’d find along the main drag. Throughout the day, other people come and go, of course. There’s the family with the adorable little kids, for example. The little boy, in particular, who had seemed to take a real liking to Benny - and who’d even roped him into helping build sandcastles. You’d watched, fondly, as each of your squad’s faces had split with wholesome, eye-swallowing grins at the adorableness of it all. There was the lone woman who spent 45 minutes giving you evil eyes - apparently, you’d deducted, for daring to be surrounded by five attractive men. You’d even suspected she might march over and punch you at one point, judging from the hate seething in her eyes when Will had asked you to slather-up his milky-white back with his trusty factor 50.

Mostly though, it had stayed pretty quiet, and you and the boys had more or less had the beach all to yourselves.

Various members of the group would filter off every now and again, of course. To replenish supplies, grab a new book, or buy an ice cream from the truck which pulled up. But, there had always been a core contingent remaining, even as the intensity of the day’s heat had begun to burn off, replaced with a softer, gentler, and more oranged glow.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t realise it, until it had already happened.

That by now, you and Santiago were alone.

You look up from your book and all of a sudden, you are the only one left lounging on the blankets. You look out to the water, and Santiago is the only figure to be found there too, currently floating on his back, bobbing over each gentle, orange-frilled wave which laps up to the shore.

Christ. When did it get so late?

Santiago must realise the predicament at a similar moment to you, you think, as by the time you have finished swivelling your head to scan the sands for signs of anyone else -finding no-one but a distant dog walker- he has already begun to wade out of the water.

It is something you have watched him do so many times today, but now that it is just the two of you, this time it hits just a little different. This time, you notice him. Really notice him. Can’t help it. You watch him rise out of the water in the golden glow of the descending sun, and shake the rivulets of water from his darkened, wetted curls. See his tan chest emerge first, the colour in his shoulders a deeper, richer brown already from a day soaking up the sun. That silver chain of his swinging and glinting in between his smooth, shapely pecs. And, you note the soft cushion of his tummy swelling over the waistband of his swim shorts, the garment sodden and clinging tightly to his ample hips and thighs. Even slipping down just a little as he wades from out of the water, revealing a hint of his happy trail as he beelines directly towards where you lay.

Your stomach twists with a deep, hot yearning, and you are grateful that you have at least a moment to compose yourself before he arrives, sea-shined and dripping, at your now deserted camp. You have the wherewithal, at least, to throw him a towel as he reaches you, trying not to stare (too much) as he begins to dry himself off.

“Thanks,” he offers, with a lazy flash of teeth, and you unconsciously rearrange yourself, very suddenly aware - now that you’re alone - that you are stripped right down to your flimsy bikini.

You see a swallow sink down Santi’s corded throat as his eyes skim down the length of you, but he is quick to obscure it. He’s still playing nice. Softening himself, you think.

With a laugh as roughly hewn as driftwood, he flicks some water at you after scrunching his hand through his sodden curls, spraying cold flecks across the bare expanse of your belly, causing you to tense and squeal. His shoulders shake with gentle mirth, and, once he’s towelled off and wrung out his shorts a little, he spreads his towel out next to you, parking his ample ass down.

“Didn’t feel like a swim? The water’s nice.”

“Nah.”

His head swivels about, eyes traversing the length of the beach. He scoops a hand around his stubble, and you hear it rasp like sand. “Where the shit did everybody go?”

You shrug with one shoulder. “Beats me. I was far too engrossed in my trashy novel to notice.” You dog-ear the page of said book and put it to one-side before leaning back, supporting your torso on bent elbows, legs still elongated before you and crossed neatly at the ankle. The position pushes your breasts out, and you swear Santiago tries valiantly to look just about anywhere else - more or less succeeding too.

“Then… I think we’re alone now.”

A mischievous smile catches the corners of your mouth. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.”

You turn your head towards him, to see if he’s picked up on your song-lyric-inspired choice of words, but the solemnity of his expression catches you off-guard. His brows are drawn down, the sockets of his eyes all shadowed despite the golden hour glow still pouring over the horizon, lighting the stark contours of him.

In unison, the two of you shift position, coming to sit cross-legged. Side-by-side, looking out over the ocean. It seems easier that way, you think. Not to face each other directly as you each say whatever it is you need to say.

You know that it’s come time to say it. That it’s overdue.

Besides, it’s undeniably beautiful, looking out across the view like this. Enjoying the lapping waves and the undulating, orange zest water stretched out below that burning sky. Now cooling, post-dip, Santiago reaches over for his trusty tartan blanket. Silently, he first tucks it around his shoulders, then he passes it around yours. It’s a stretch for the square of fabric, and so you huddle a little closer to one another, finding it is even more warming as your bodies press together. The wetness of his thigh, from those water-logged, sand-coated trunks contacts you too, but you make no effort to move away, instead resting your folded thigh just on top of his.

You can smell the ocean on him. Salt and sunshine and sunscreen. He smells like summer.

You look out across the landscape with renewed concentration as you wait for him to speak, not ready to face whatever expression his features may offer. You look outward with vigour while you wait for him to look inward, and you worry that his words - when they come - will surely be more ugly than the sight before you. Will be bitter and not sweet.

You even brace for it.

You’re so used to the storm.

Still, when he eventually speaks, you are surprised. Surprised that he is calm and steady. That his voice is like slow, warm sand pooling into your cupped hands. That his words are both bitter and sweet. “Hey. C’mere.” You link your arm into him. Lean your head onto his shoulder as his tone grows wistful. “Do you… Do you remember that night in Philadelphia?”

You smile immediately. There had been only one such night in Philadelphia.

It had been your birthday. You and Santiago had been catching a connecting flight, heading back from a deployment and en route to meet the boys off-base to celebrate. However, all the planes had been grounded due to some technical hitch with the tower. You’d been bummed that your plans had been ruined; but Santiago had come through. Had gifted you one of the best nights of your life. A very silly, drunken night, if you recall.

You cringe, hazy, smooth-edged memories flooding back. You clap a hand to your face with residual embarrassment. “Christ. The karaoke.”

Santiago chuckles warmly, and you feel his laugh reverberate through you. “It wasn’t karaoke! You hijacked the goddamn wedding band.”

Your hand clamps in dismay over your mouth now, and you lift your head from his shoulder to face him. “Oh my god. You’re right.”

Your laughs mingle together in the tight space between you, becoming indistinguishable, like the tide and the shore. “I still can’t believe you blagged our way into a wedding reception.”

“I can’t believe it took us so long to get rumbled,” his hand settles over yours, where your arm is still hooked into his.

You beam at him. “Thank God I’m stealthy.”

He pumps his eyebrows, entirely incredulous. “You? Yeah right.”

“I’m sure I must’ve helped, Pope.”

“No, cariño, no. You were not helping.” He scratches at his layer of scruff. “Shit. What was it… What did you tell the kid on the desk your name was, again?”

You try to recall, and when you remember you snort in a full-blown laugh. Your ensuing, chaotic giggle planes tears of joy out of the corners of your eyes. “Mariana Trench!”

“You’re fucking despicable. You know that?” Santiago laughs along with you, and God. It feels good. Really good. It feels effortless, your mirth sharing space like this instead of your anger. Your laughs mingle then dissipate, withdrawing gently like the retreat of a wave.

You lean your head back on to his shoulder, but your giggle fit is evidently not wholly through - not just yet. Your shoulders begin to shake up against him - gently at first, and then with a rising chuckle. “Whiskey in the jar-o,” you sing under your breath, wistfully recalling your drunken duet of choice. “Fuck, Santi. That was a good night.”

He rests his head on top of yours, the weight of it a comfort. “Yeah. Yeah it was,” he agrees. “Jesus, I’m telling you though. They were lucky we showed up. Before we livened things up? The dance floor was as dead as a battlefield after one of Redfly’s sweeps.”

You hum at the fond memory, a soft smile arcing over your face. He has you curious though. “What made you think of that night?” Why this memory, out of everything?

He stiffens noticeably up against you. Sits more upright. Presses his palms together. “That was, uh. That was the night that I-”

“-Vomited into a soup tureen?” You interject with a snort, as another random memory flashes back to you.

“No. Nope,” Santi counters decisively. “That was Cat’s Oma’s 80th.”

You giggle chaotically again. “Oh yeah. Shit.” You miss that lady. She was a sweetie.

“Hey. Listen,” Santiago begins with far more gravity. Enough gravity that you shift, turning your body as he draws your gaze to him. You had been waiting for this moment to arrive; but, now that it’s here, you wish you could cling on to the sweet things for a few moments longer. Still, you settle opposite him now, the two of you still cross-legged but positioned face to face. He adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tugging on each corner. With a watery smile, you slide your palms on to his wrecked, perfect knees and give him a gentle squeeze there, seemingly pushing his croaked words out with the gesture too. “I want to say that I’m sorry.”

You have nothing for a moment. No words, at least. Nothing but the motion of your hands smoothing back and forth over his knees. Nothing but the pained expression as your eyes swim with an ocean of feeling, deep enough to rival the vast body of water before you.

You note that his eyes are wet too as he settles his own hands over yours, gathering them up into his grasp. He stares down intently at your hands, his brow notching with a deep frown. He drags in a slow breath and releases it. “This got so fucked up, and… that’s not it at all.” He looks back to you then, his umber eyes shining with remorse. Deep regret welling in his resonant tone. “That’s not how I want to show up for you.”

Your tongue, too, reaches for an apology as readily as your hands had reached out for him. “Fuck, Santiago. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry too.” You had never meant to hurt him. You had never wanted that.

He drops his gaze to your neat pairing of hands. Gingerly begins to smooth the rough, sea-pruned pads of his thumbs over your knuckles, your skin humming dully where he touches. “I mean it. I’m sorry for everything.” The tendons in his jaw clench, muscles slipping over bone. He drags your cupped hand into his lap, drawing an absent-minded spiral in your palm with the pad of his thumb. The sensation makes a pleasant tingle bed down beneath your skin. “I swear. I never meant for my bullshit to affect you. Christ - that was the whole fucking point. Thought the least I could do, after everything, was protect you from that.”

At his earnest words, your chest tightens, and you abruptly halt the dance of his fingers by clasping his hands, gathering them between your own palms like a prayer. Your voice cracks in half like a broken promise. “Santiago. For Christ’s sake. You think I need protecting?” The implication in his words cleaves your heart in two. “From you?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. Sniffs. The muscle in his cheek tugs up, and you feel his hands go clammy in your grasp.

He frees himself from your grip for a moment, before continuing to skim his fingers up and down your forearm arm in a gentle, tender dance. The lightness of his touch contrasts starkly with the heaviness settling into his brow, his wet, puppy dog eyes swimming beneath. “I dunno. I was always a better fucking soldier than I was a friend.” He swallows, his voice so soft you can barely hear him. “Than I was… anything else you might’ve needed me to be.”

“No. That’s not true,” you respond adamantly, your head shaking vigorously from side to side. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“Except when it counted.”

“No!” you emphasise, the thrust of your words carrying your whole body forward. You shift position, transferring on to folded knees, crouching before him in the sand. Reaching, to slip your palms up to each side of his face, and you hold him like a prayer now. “No, Santiago. Especially when it counted. Believe me.”

He tries to turn away from you - you see it. He tries to begin his retreat, like usual, but this time, you capture his roughened cheek with one palm and you hold his gaze with yours. You speak firmly, willing him to understand. “Santiago Garcia. Idiota. You’re my hero.”

He scoffs lightly. His face twitches with scepticism. With doubt. With this self-deprecation he always carries, usually so well concealed by his confidence and easy charm. And yet, as you caress his stubble-flecked cheek with your palm, he sinks gratefully into your touch. Leans against it, his eyes fanning closed and his long lashes splaying down towards his cheeks.

“God,” he breathes softly in Spanish, barely audible. “No-one has called me that in a long time." He lives in a world of aliases and nicknames, and you see the weight of his grief twist his face at hearing his name fall from your mouth.

“I mean it. Do you hear me?” you plead, snagging his eyes to yours as they drift open. “You have made my life more beautiful in a thousand ways. You’re not -and you never were- something I need protecting from.” You regard Santiago, and his pretty eyes glisten, wet with a well of scarcely contained emotion -starlight in his lashes. “I love you, Santiago. Whatever has happened. Whatever happens. I love you. Not when you’re this ‘perfect’ version of yourself you finally deem worthy of love.” You search his eyes “That’s bullshit. I love you. I love you now.”

Santiago slowly, gradually musters a nod, and you smooth your hands over him. Over his shoulders. the nape of his neck. His chest. Trying to plaster over the evident cracks as his emotion crashes like a wave against rocks. He scoops a hand around his stubble, his lower lip now downturned. Trembling with feeling. Fat, liquid tears shining in his eyes, threatening to overspill. “I love you too.”

What a terrible, sad thing, you think. That you love each other. That there’s such bounty and abundance, but that at the same time… it is never quite enough.

Maybe one day, it will be; enough.

For now though, it is still something which causes you pain. And, you can see -more clearly than ever now- that it hurts him too.

His eyes dance over everything but you. His face twists. Contorts and tightens as he wrestles with it, but he cannot hold back the tide a moment longer. Full, wet tears spill down Santiago’s cheeks, and he makes some attempt to fumble them away, until they grow too numerous. You reach for him instead, and for a moment he tries to gently bat your hand away. “Hey,” you scold, protest, smooth. “Santiago.” His eyes drop, and his gaze fixes intently on a spot in the sand as you gingerly scoop his tears away with your crooked forefinger. The finger you then trace lovingly along the length of his jaw. The finger you trace along his eyebrow. The point of his cheekbone. Every place the waning golden light paints him. Your eyes dance over him. Every contour. Every sharp angle and every hollow. Every soft, silver curl. And he stays perfectly still. Unmoving, as though he is afraid your touch will withdraw like a tide at any moment.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and it is at once bitter and sweet. “It hurts. It… hurts to be without you.”

For a stretched moment, you do not believe he will respond, the only sign of movement from him a lone tear sluicing down his sculpted cheek. But, eventually, his words come. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I need to find a way it doesn’t hurt you to be with me.” You shake your head, a protest dying on your lips as Santiago drags your hands to him. “I know you won’t buy this. You don’t have to. But I do want out. I swear it’s just this one last job with Lorea. And then I can… Then maybe we can…”

He trails off, his words waning. Breaking on the rocks.

He never could articulate a future with you, could he? Never could seem to dream that up.

You could be angry about that, you suppose, but you truly have no more anger left to give. You could be sad instead but, turns out, you’re out of that feeling too. All you have left to offer in this moment, in fact, is a small, resigned smile.

“It’s okay,” you smooth, and what’s more, you mean it. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Your fingers play over the leather and beads of his bracelets. Over the tendons in his wrist. The light hairs on his forearms.

You’re done with all of that now. Done trying to push him towards a future you’re not even sure he wants with you. Not sure he ever wanted. It’s funny almost, as you sit here, letting the future go. You sit here with him, so much history humming between you it’s like standing amidst ruins. Like you are two statues, memories and stories carved into your bodies. Sometimes, it feels like the past is all you have. But, you are thankful when the sinking, orange segment of sun draws you to it, reminding you there is one more thing you have. Something between the past and future.

You have the here and now.

You reach for it.

It’s all you’ve got. Might be all you ever have with him.

You twist your body, turning outward again, away from him. You fold your knees up to your chin and you loop your arms around them, fixing your eyes straight ahead on the undulating ocean.

“That’s one thing I always loved about you, you know,” you push out. “How you always live smack bang in the moment. I’m constantly wishing it all the fuck away, aren’t I? Always thinking fifty steps ahead.”

Santiago follows your lead, swivelling to face the sunset too. His body becomes all right angles as he plants his elbows on the points of his spread knees, his butt and the soles of his feet flat to the floor, his hands loosely laced together in the space between his legs. “You should. You should think about that stuff. You deserve all that. Everything you talked about last night.”

His words cause a tight lump to rise in your throat.

Do you?

Does he really believe that?

Because, if so, then why in the hell don’t you deserve him? Why can’t he be the one to give it to you?

You offer a theory.

“Does it bore you, or something? The thought of a future like that?” The question emerges tattered, torn on hooks in your throat which try to hold it back; but it’s something you’ve wondered for too long to suppress it any longer. You’ve wondered without ever wanting to push that thought too far - too afraid of the answer.

“Yeah,” he says levelly, not a hint of doubt in his voice, and you hold your breath. “With anyone else, yeah. But not with you.” You are relieved but that fades ever so quickly, your face crumpling into something halfway petulant.

“Then… why?”

Why is he still running?

Why is he running from the life you could offer him if it’s something he wants too?

You hear Santiago tug in and release a deep sigh. Out of the corner of your eye you see him lace his fingers together, soothing his thumb over his own hand like he’s retracing your comfort. “Because… I’m not brave like you.” His voice tips up at the end. Like a question. He reserves all of his doubt for himself, then? It’s not you he refuses to believe in?

“You’re ridiculous. You’re the bravest man I know.”

“Heh. Yeah,” he lifts a hand to self-consciously scratch at the bristle of hairs at the nape of his neck. You hug your knees more tightly to your chest. “Running into bullets. Eliminating threats, sure. But… running into safe hands? I’m a fucking coward.”

You hum, a neutral, bland sound which expresses neither agreement nor disagreement. Which takes you nowhere.

There’s nowhere left to go.

Perhaps the road ends here.

Dead end after dead end.

Only resignation.

“Maybe we were on the same path, once upon a time, huh?” You throw the statement out with little conviction. You’re giving up on the idea that your words or your actions can make the slightest bit of difference to what could be. For now, you simply wish to make sense of what is. “Maybe - I dunno. Maybe I just ran too far ahead. Racing towards this dream of the future, before you were ready to go there. Maybe I just created too much distance.”

Santiago hums now too. A tight, pensive sound. “Huh. Is that what you think happened?”

You rub your palms over your own face. Dig the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. You have as much energy as a spent wave. “Uch. I don’t know.” Wordlessly, tentatively, Santiago reaches, retucking the soft tartan blanket around your shoulders. You manage to smile softly at him, surprised that it does not feel at all forced. “Maybe we just forget all that now. Maybe we just… I dunno. Live in the moment?”

Santiago’s palm draws slow circles on your upper back. You shuffle a little closer to him. “Okay. Then what do you want?” he enquires. “Right now? In this moment?”

His arm weighs over your shoulder, huddling you closer. “Oh. I don’t know. What does it even matter?”

“We leave here tomorrow. So tell me. What do you want right now?”

You could imagine that you are tired of wanting. That all you want is a moment free of wanting anything at all. But that’s not true, is it? You want the very same thing you’ve craved for so long. You want him. Finally though, something in you has shifted. You find yourself able to envisage a future which is far more immediate. Something you can grasp now instead of distantly yearning for.

The words feel hard and tight in your chest, but by the time they reach your lips, they feel so very soft and loose. Easy to sound out. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. All this time I missed you so much.” Unconsciously, Santiago holds you just a little more tightly. “I just…”

“What?” he whispers.

“I want us to fall asleep together. I want to hold you. I just want us to have one moment like that, Santi. Peaceful, you know? After everything, don’t we at least deserve that?” You tug in a breath to launch your next words, your throat closing protectively around them. Making them sound small. “And… And maybe…”

“What? What else?”

“Can’t we just fuck and feel happy about it? Can’t we have just one fucking moment together that doesn’t feel like an ending?”

You wait, your raw-wound words laid out in a line on the sand. You brace. You brace for them to be washed away. To have the salt poured in.

“Okay.”

Your eyes snap to his in surprise, and you find his soft, ardent gaze dancing over your features. “Okay?”

Santiago’s fingers lace with yours, and he tugs you to standing. “Come with me. Come on.”

He gathers up the remaining supplies, slinging the filled beach bag over one shoulder. Then, he folds his other arm around your middle. Tucks you into him. You let him lead you to the house, and it’s nice. It’s nice that for once, you’re not begging him to follow.

You let him lead you up the dunes, back to the house, and up the stairs.

You leave the golden, sinking sun behind you, but with Santiago’s warm, molten gaze shining on you, you still feel the sun on your face.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #santiago pope garcia #ride or die series

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brights-place · 5 months

Note

My birthday was 5 days ago and I forgot to request this then but I was wondering if you could do a fluff or something with Trollex and Synth as their both mine favorites? I loves your writings by the way ❤❤

Trollex & Synth B-DAY headcannons!

Pairings: Synth X Reader, Trollex X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Synth being an cutie, Trollex being a cutiee X1000

A/N: Happy late birthday lovely! I hope you enjoyed it! and hope you also enjoy this writing too :D

Trollex

- Trollex setup everything for your birthday party and got a rave all ready for everybody to celebrate your birthday - He had everything organized. The music, food, a romantic dinner, and even his favorite cake…everything! He couldn't wait to show it to you when you have arrived. - He had set up a rave as an entrance with laser lights, music, and an open bar. - A rave was in full swing as he smiled having you beside him with the music that was pumping and energy was high - Everyone at the party was having a great time The music was loud and energetic, and there was plenty of food and drink to go around. Trollex felt the atmosphere buzzing with excitement. - Everyone was having a great time especially you! as you cheered with the citizens who wished you happy birthday

- You couldn't help but feel utterly amazed by the surprise party as he cheered with you - and kissed you deeply with a huge smile as you laughed at your partner - Trollex felt a rush of excitement as he watched you take in all the details he setted up for you - but if your an introvert then he'd do a quiet birthday party for you - He had everything organized. The music, food, a romantic dinner, and even his favorite cake…everything! He couldn't wait to show it to you when you have arrived.

- As the time of the party neared, Trollex started getting nervous. He was worried that he might have forgotten something. But he had checked and doubled-checked every detail…everything was in place. - He organized everything with you in mind and making sure it was a comfy party for both of you mainly you! -He had set up an intimate dinner with all your favorite foods and snacks! - The decor was simple but cozy just the way you like it :DD - And for the cherry on top he had bought your favorite cake and had arranged for a quiet celebration with just the two of you - It was just the two of you enjoying each other's company and celebrating another year of life. - Trollex loves you so much and always wishes you a good and happy birthday

Synth

- Synth wanted to celebrate your birthday in a unique and special way - Synth had planned a surprise rave for you his amazing partner! - You both having been together for years Synth knew exactly what you liked and wanted to create a special experience for your birthday - He knew that you liked raves, so Synth had planned to make this surprise rave even more special - He had set up the playlist chosen the music, and picked out the perfect spot for the rave with the help of trollex who was setting down the beats - Synth was excited to see the look on you face when you have realized that Synth had planned everything. - But again if your introverted he doesn't mind either this golden retriever loves you either way

- He organized everything with you in mind and making sure it was a comfy party for both of you mainly you! -He had set up an intimate dinner with all your favorite foods and snacks! - It was just the two of you enjoying each other's company and celebrating another year of your birthday and your life - Synth would stare at you if your both cuddling while binge watching shows or movies as he stares at you with large pupils - Face smothered in kisses and him clinging to your wait - Either way he loves you so much and always wishes you a good and happy birthday

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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familyvideostevie · 6 months

Text

hey.

okay. hello! i'm back. :)

maybe you noticed, maybe not, but i have been away for a while.

i wish i could say i've been out living my life, so caught up in happiness and joy and loving each day that i've just not had time for tumblr. but....that is not true. i have been having a tough time! being away has been good, as i've had time to do other things that i like and to put energy into my own well-being, but it hasn't been the best time, I'll tell you that.

i peeked on the dash every now and then to keep my queue full and reblogged soothing things to my main blog and tried my best not to feel guilty about it all (i was also booping on April 1 lol). i just...I really needed a break. i've really enjoyed being here the last six or so months as i've changed my blog and entered the pedro/tlou space but i've also felt so, so alone.

and i know that it doesn't really matter!! like, we should all take breaks and go outside and all that stuff. and I know plenty of people are not very active, but this blog has been such a vital part of my life and happiness since I started it almost two years ago, so any lapse in activity feels like a loss. I've met lifelong friends and flexed my writing muscles and learned a hell of a lot. the fact that I have started to feel isolated and alone on here is a sort of personal betrayal, and there is no one to blame but myself.

So, I’m pulling back.

it means a few things — i don’t know how much writing I’ll be doing from now on. For Joel, especially — it’s been wonderful to meet folks in that community but it has also been really detrimental to my passion for both the game and writing. I’d like to return to some other characters on my masterlist, but we’ll see. I’ve got endless personal projects away from tumblr that I want to pour love and time into (my non-reader fics, my newsletter, a romance novel, a sci-fi novel, poetry, etc). I need to fall in love with my own work again.

it's a me problem, I want to stress that. i'm working on it! irl stuff has been kicking my ass. I've had a really, really hard winter and my mental health has suffered probably more than ever before. i let things I love -- like this blog -- fester and become negative and no longer being me joy. writing became stressful and difficult and I was focused on notes and interaction and looking around me and seeing success and then looking at myself and only seeing lack.

but that's why I took a break! i am getting help and support irl, i am putting in the time and effort to feel better about being alive and to be a better friend and person all around. And I want to tell you all about it because I am so grateful for your time and attention and support, even if we’re just strangers on the internet. i know this probably seems silly -- who cares about a fanfic blog? well, i care! i care a lot! it matters to me and therefore it matters!

anyway. on to the important stuff. here I am! and here's what's going to happen on this blog:

I am working on replying to asks and reblogs and comments I missed. Thank you for being patient with me! I don't know if I'll get to them all but know I see them and I am honored every single time.

I made a totally separate ao3 account with this blog url. I'm working on uploading everything I've posted here onto there and hopefully will continue to crosspost. It is going to take a long, long time, so please be patient! (you can follow my other ao3 here for my non x-reader fanfic).

I posted this fic! Jackson!Joel pulled me back into his world. It’s the first thing I’ve written in ages, so let me know what you think. as of now it's the last planned fic for that series, but who knows!

I hit a milestone while i was away that I am absolutely blown away by. I'm planning a celebration around it sometime this spring (hopefully) and I’d love to see you participate :)

lastly, thank you so much to my friends for letting me complain, whine, winge, etc. I am so sorry for missing all of your work, your celebrations, your bright energies, and all the rest. i am so sorry if it seemed like i was ignoring you. you are my guiding lights, my silver linings, my touchstones. you make me want to be here. i will try to make it up to you!

I want to be online less but make sure I’m connecting more in the moments that i am here. I want to pressure myself to write less and not feel bad that I’m not engaged all the time. I want this blog to once again feel like a place that nourishes me and not sucks me dry. i want to stop feeling like shit about all of it!!!!

so. come hang out in my inbox, my dms, let me know what you've been up to. I am really sorry for missing so much. thank you for sticking around. <3

#personal #this is very long but please read it maybe?#emma rambles #I will reblog it a few times probably

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bunny-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

'till we meet again' ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡

- g. suguru x f!reader, g.satoru x f!reader

summary. suguru leaves but he leaves you with more than just a goodbye. w.c. 2436

cw/ tw; fem!reader, confessions, heartbreak, self-destructive!reader, grief

features; g.satoru, g.suguru, i.shoko, f.megumi

an; sometimes i just wish just one person was there for suguru. just ONE :( comments, reblogs, and hearts are always appreciated <3 thx for reading !! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

What did we fight for? What did I fight for? Those questions constantly rang in your head as your life continued after the failed Star Plasma Vessel mission. You're sure it was the same for the other two. Perhaps Satoru knows he has no choice but to keep going. He's so much stronger now that he does everything alone. Group missions became like playdates for him. Maybe Suguru...well Suguru was always more benevolent than your other classmate so you were a little less worried. Suguru was just less rash and more stable, so no one worried about him. And you? You weren't part of the mission and you continued to train so at least your missions won't fail. That's just how it is for jujutsu sorcerers. You were nothing special. Nothing strong like Suguru and nothing unique like Shoko and definitely not a prodigy like Satoru. Your mentality made you all the more weak. You cry easily, you empathize easily, and you were too kind and too forgiving. They tell you girls have to be even stronger to survive as a sorcerer but you couldn't help it. In such a sad and unforgiving world, can't you at least feel as you wanted and forgive as you wanted? Your technique consisted of being able to control anything with your cursed energy--dirt, water, limbs, corpses--anything. The downside was you had to learn how to control each thing separately so you spent your days infusing random things on the field with cursed energy. All the time you spent at Jujutsu Tech training and running mission after mission meant seeing Satoru more often. If he wasn't at a mission, he was back reporting to the elders. Sometimes you'd greet him when you pass each other, you leaving the elders, him just walking in. No matter how worn he looked, he always still gave you a smile which you'd secretly blush about every time you thought about it. You began to look a little more forward to meetings with the elders but your mind was just on Satoru. Sometimes, you made small talk with him. You'd ask if he's eaten or what mission he came back from. Occasionally he'd walk with you to your destination before teleporting back to the elders. All the little things he did consumed your mind. In a matter of months, you were always feeding your little crush on Satoru and the world seemed a little better than before. But that didn't last long.

One day, the news of Suguru mascaraing a village of 100 people and fleeing Jujutsu Tech as a newly announced criminal reached you. All the memories of seeing Suguru around school flooded your brain. His clouded eyes, his forced smiles, and the way his questions got crazier and crazier. Why didn't you check up on him. Why didn't you offer to train with him? You saw all the signs, so why did you just watch him wave goodbye to you each time. Why were you so wrapped up in Satoru that you didn't worry for him too?

First came the shock, then denial, then tears, and then the worry for the rest of your friends. Especially Satoru. You knew, no, every one knew that they were all each other had in this world where only strength mattered. As you expected, Satoru was nowhere to be found and when you saw him on a random day, he walked straight passed you with a blank face. Tight white bandages wrapped around his head but you could tell he had been crying with the redness of his nose. You wanted to stop him and ask if he was alright but by the time you made up your mind he was far behind you.

Days pass and you bump into Suguru in front of a crowded crepe shop. Coincidently, it's the same shop you would bother them into making a stop there before every mission. Suguru smiles and waves and you almost drop to your knees at the sight of him. He says he just saw Satoru and cracks a joke about how he isn't taking it so well. Words can't describe how badly you wanted to run and hug him and cry and apologize. The only thing that chained your feet to the ground was how brightly he smiled. He smiled like he had a purpose, as if he was about to go on an adventure he waited his life for.

He tells you how he saved 2 little girls who were locked away like criminals for being able to see curses. You nod as you hold back tears, your hands clenched into tight fists. There’s relief when you hear about the girls because it means Suguru is still kind. The Suguru you know is still there. Then his next words shattered your already broken heart.

"Take care of Satoru for me 'kay? He pretends he's all that but he's just like you and me. But you know that already. I see how you look at him. I looked at you the same way, you know. Thanks, Y/n. You gave me a reason to hold on for so long."

He last request and his confession made you run to him. Whatever you bought was forgotten by his feet as your hands reached for him. He didn't pull away or reciprocate your hug when your arms wrapped around him. All he did was sigh and place a hand on your head, the action was the last push your heart needed. You started to babble apologies and pleads through your sobs, pulling him tighter, tighter, tighter, until his arms pulled you away from him.

Suguru gives you one last, sad smile. He picks up the crepes and hands it back to you. "Why're you crying so hard? You'll make me feel bad", he laughs. He laughs as if he wasn't leaving you to deal with all this heartache alone. All you could do was stand there as anger, grief, sadness, heartbreak, and self-disappointment enveloped you. All you could do was watch his back as he walked away with an arm waving. Your wails drawn odd gazes from other people but past the whispers and your own crying, you could just make out his last words to you.

"Till we meet again."

That night you cried alone. You could've saved him. You asked yourself if this was how Satoru felt, terribly alone and guilty for letting down someone so dear to him. Satoru. You were so caught up with your crush on him that you didn't notice Suguru's frequent glances in your direction. Or how his eyes saddened when you ran up to Satoru instead of him every time. Or how he'd always be the one walking behind you, assisting you in every mission.

To Suguru, you were the bright sun of his days and the comforting moon of his nights. The way you trained hard to master each random item moved him to keep training. He hated every thing about ingesting the curses and it made him sick more often than not. You'd notice and bring or make him snacks so he wouldn't go on an empty stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. Whenever you passed out from overexerting yourself, he'd reinforce his resolve to get stronger so you wouldn't need to work as hard. Oh and he loves the sound of your giggles. It was truly like music to his ears. The girlish ring and the childish squeals and how you'd double over wheezing with tears in your eyes. He adored it because it was you. He hated every thing about the jujutsu world but for you, he'd fight every sorcerer, absorb every curse, just to make it better for you. Just so you can laugh like that every day without a worry.

You think back to him and suddenly you remembered all the details of your time spent with him. He'd blush when you handed him the cookies you made just for him. He'd offer to go with you on your solo missions even though it meant he had to double up. He did all that and so much more, yet you still failed to notice him. Even leading up to it all, you still didn't reach out, though by then he had long given up his love for you. The loss of Suguru and your shortcomings sent you spiraling. You ignored calls and stayed in your room all day. You barely ate and you stayed up until you physically couldn't keep your eyes open anymore. Shoko would call and text you and you never picked up or responded. Slowly, they faded away from once a day to once a week to once in a while. You would take hour long showers where you sit on the floor and cry until you can't. Some nights you'd think you heard his voice outside calling you but every time you go out, it's just the night silently staring back at you. There are times you go out in search of him but you end up breaking down and dragging yourself back. This went on for months. Eight, if you counted. It was at the end of the last month that Satoru called you. Your crush for him had dissipated from Suguru's absence and you were sure it hit him harder than it did you. The two were like true blood brothers that would live and die by and for each other. When you saw the call, you wonder if Satoru knew about what Suguru said to you. Ah. Suguru's request. No, it wasn't possible for you to take care of Satoru. How could you when he was such a painful reminder of Suguru and when you were decaying yourself. His first call goes by and he calls again. And then again. You tell yourself you'll pick up if he calls just one more time but there was already rapid knocks on your door.

"Y/n. I know you're in there." His familiar voice rings out as he knocks again. You haul yourself out of bed to open the door and there stood Satoru. He was staring down at you, his frown deepening as he took in your appearance. "Ah..sorry you had to see me like this." Your voice was weak and foreign to your ears. You haven't spoken or seen anyone in those months. Satoru walks towards you and you want to shut the door on him but he's slips past you and in the room before you make the decision. He walks around opening the blinds and windows. So he knew you were just holed up in complete darkness for a while. Once he was satisfied with the brightness of the room he sprawls out on your bed. Silence passes and you just stare at him lying on your bed face up. His head turns to face you, his glasses askew and you find yourself looking into his eyes. He's changed. He's changed in the same way you have but he doesn't have the luxury of being able to stand in his sadness. Guilt creeps on your skin. Suguru didn't ask anything else of you but to take care of Satoru. Looks like Satoru's come to take care of you. "You know. He told me to take care of you Y/n" Satoru mumbled, "He told me that you had a heart too kind for our world." A lump builds in your throat and your feet moves on their own. You take a seat next to Satoru's body, your breath shaking as you gathered yourself. "Suguru told me to do the same. For you. He told me to take care of you too." The words quietly slip into the air and Satoru swallows thickly at his name. Silently you hope that his name doesn't become taboo like all the other exiled curse users. At least his name, at least you can say his name and your memories of him to remember him by. The boy next to you looks back up at the ceiling and laughs, "Seems like neither of us listened to him huh." You haven't heard yourself laugh or even let yourself smile since Suguru left. "You're wrong," you think, "You're here taking care of me right now." Satoru's laughs die down and he sits up to turn his body towards you. "It's been hard for you I know but-" "It's been harder for you Satoru." He sits there frozen, making you feel bad that you cut him off. "I-I'm really sorry I-" Satoru pulls you into him, holding you tightly. His exhale is erratic as he strokes your hair. "No..no don't be sorry. I should be the one who's sorry." He knows you and he knew, hell he was warned, that you'd spiral like this but he couldn't bring himself here. Now look at you, all sad and torn but caring about others nonetheless. "I'm sorry," he continues, "I'm sorry for not coming to see you sooner." 'I'm sorry for not coming to see you sooner.' That's what you should be saying. 'I'm sorry for being so pathetic and weak and making you worry about me' is what you think. Nothing, is what you say. Instead you're swallowing your sobs and letting tears flow as you grip Satoru's uniform tightly. He pulls away and wipes your tears with one hand, the rough feeling of his thumb tingles. He coos with a small smile, "Aw look at you. Still such a crybaby." You laugh a little, sniffles following shortly after. He laughs when you laugh. Slowly, the past few months of suffering melt away from you with each exchange with Satoru. Neither of you were fully healed but you both needed each other. Suddenly, Suguru's words echoes in your head. Will you really be able to see him again? Satoru combs his fingers through your hair as he softly talks about what he's been doing the past few months. Past your thoughts you hear about his decisions to be a teacher, the Zenin clan, and this little boy named Megumi. You wonder, will you really be able to see him again? Yes, you think. You trust Suguru. You trust his words. Satoru's finger brushes against your cheek softly and you smile, letting yourself melt into his arms with your head leaning against his chest. The butterflies revive in your stomach with each caress and giggle you share with him.

For now, you'll focus on yourself and Satoru. You’ll get yourself together and get back on missions and training. You’ll work on being a teacher with Satoru and getting Megumi. You’ll keep living every day until the day comes again where he keeps his words to you. Yes. Till we meet again, Suguru.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk drabbles #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #geto x y/n

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malarign · 1 year

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facetime doctor

(when you’re ill while he’s on tour)

contains: idolbf!Jake x gn!reader | genre: fluff | tw! an illness description (?), apart from that none i think | wc: 0,6k

reblogs likes and comments are highly appreciated!!!

The sound of you coughing filled the living room once again. Yesterday you felt perfectly fine, until the end of your every night face time call with Jake. You called each other nearly every day, apart from days his schedule was too packed to manage to get even 5 minutes away from other members. You missed him dearly, but seeing his happiness on stage while performing with his friends made you the proudest partner in the world.

Today was no different and you wished to tell him how happy he makes you feel by his achievements. At the same time, the last thing you wanted was for him to see you in a state like the current one.

Your whole face was puffy and red as a long snot hung from your nose. Your current appearance perfectly reflected how you felt. As if there was almost no energy left in you, body and mind too tired to get up and make yourself something to eat.

Just when you didn’t expect it you heard a ring, notifying a face time call. You prayed you didn’t look too horrible on camera and your illness wouldn’t be too visible for him.

Accepting a call you covered yourself and instead of yourself pointed the view to your ceiling.

“Hey, bubba,” Jake spoke in a baby voice. “Where are you?”

You mustered all the possible energy you had left to make your voice sound plausible and normal. But to no effect.

“Hi,” you said and your voice cracked on the way.

You watched as his expression dropped in shock at how differently you sounded.

“My lovely, are you okay? Can I see you?”

You hesitated for a while, but then thought he had already seen you in much worse states than this one. You slowly moved the camera so that now it showed your face. You almost didn’t recognize yourself.

“My Y/nie, what happened? What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly, his honey voice soothing all the ailments you experienced right now.

“I don’t know it was fine yesterday and after our call, I started coughing and all. In the morning I woke up like that already.” You pursed your lips.

He gathered his thoughts and peppered you with plenty of questions.

“Have you seen any doctor? Have you taken any meds by now? Gosh Y/n I told you not to ignore the weather, it’s really treacherous. Have you eaten? Should I call my mom to take care of you?”

“Jake, Jake stop for a moment,” you giggled at his worried state. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine by tomorrow or the day after. You have nothing to worry about,” you assured him.

He raised his eyebrow scanning your face. “Are you sure? What did you eat today?” he continued.

Knowing his reaction to what you were about to say you already prepared for scolding.

“Baby, you can’t do that. You need to eat especially when you’re sick. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation once again,” he scolded you, but his tone and expression were ever so gentle. “Let me order something for you quickly, you’ll just need to get it from the delivery man, okay? And please eat before heading to bead.”

You watched his face as he scrolled through the delivery app, wondering what he was going to pick for you.

“This one will help you be back on your feet, love,” he said and smiled noticing your dreamy gaze.

“Thank you, Jakey,” you whispered a little bit shy, feeling butterflies at his protectiveness, despite the long distance that split you.

“Maybe I should really call my mom?” he asked once again a little bit more quiet, but you reassured him you’ll be fine. “Why does it have to happen when I can’t take proper care of you?”

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

permanent taglist: (open) @nicholasluvbot, @en-chantedtomeetyou, @kpopstanmeg, @skzenhalove, @nfrgirl

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borninwinter81 · 7 months

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William Blake and Good Omens - an intertextual analysis

Please note: I did another version of this and posted it, but it was quite hurried, way too short, and was incorrect in a number of ways so I deleted it. However it had already been reblogged by the time i did so. If you happen to see another version of this meta that's not the right one, this is the version I'm happy with!

After my previous post re William Blake and Good Omens did so well, and so many people showed an interest I've decided to do a more in depth piece. This is focused upon the TV version of Good Omens, not the book.

Please don't tag Neil in this - although it's mostly textual analysis I do a very small amount of S3 theorising, and I know he doesn't want to see that.

I am in no way suggesting that Neil and Terry specifically wrote Good Omens with Blake in mind, I honestly just wanted an excuse to write more about Blake because I love his work so much, and I thought it would be interesting to try and apply some intertexuality since the works will contain similar themes, both being about God, religion, humanity, and angels and demons.

I also should stress that I am not an expert on Blake, there are people far more qualified to comment on him than I. I'm just a former literature student who loves his work.

There have been many different interpretations of Blake's work over the years, so it's completely fine to disagree with someone else's ideas about it, as with any work of art or literature. And although this piece is likely to be long, I'll barely be able to scratch the surface of all the possible meanings that could be ascribed to it.

Much like the old adage that if someone claims to understand quantum physics they're lying, I'm not sure anyone can truly fathom the full meaning of Blake's philosophy (especially in his later prophetic works, fuuuuuuck those beasts....), so if you're confused by him don't be discouraged, that's perfectly normal!

That being said, I wish to discuss the parallels between Good Omens and The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, my personal favourite and probably the most accessible of his longer works.

"Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence. From these contraries spring what the religious call Good & Evil. Good is the passive that obeys Reason. Evil is the active springing from Energy. Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell."

This excerpt is from near the opening and sets out the central idea of the work - that there is an essential duality to humanity, and each person is a combination of extremes. These extremes are not at war with each other, but rather are equally necessary, hence the "marriage" of the title. "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" is a metaphor for the human experience.

Consistently throughout The Marriage... Blake refers to the two extremes as Reason and Energy. These terms could be construed in a number of different ways: thought versus emotion, mental versus physical, restraint versus desire, temperance versus excess, caution versus impulsiveness, and following the rules versus free will.

Blake's use of the word "Reason" in this context may be somewhat confusing, however he likely chose it because of his negative feelings towards science and the Age of Enlightenment. Blake saw literal visions of angels and prophets and the divinity of all creation, and hated that science reduced everything to formulas, calculations, and materialism, leaving the world bereft of wonder. "Art is the Tree of Life. Science is the Tree of Death" as he put it.

His ideas about "reason" are best expressed by his painting "Newton". Though inspired by the scientist, it is not a portrait - instead it depicts a figure deeply engrossed in scientific drawings and calculations, totally ignoring the beauty all around him - see below.

In the context of The Marriage... Reason is "passive" because it involves thought, caution, self-restraint, and doing what you are told, all states which block action. Energy is "active" because it is physical, emotional, impulsive and allows you to act based on your own choices and desires. It's quite clear that Blake feels "energy" is the preferable state - he tells us as much in the next section:

"The Voice of the Devil

All Bibles or sacred codes, have been the causes of the following Errors. 1. That Man has two real existing principles Viz: a Body & a Soul. 2. That Energy, call'd Evil, is alone from the Body, & that Reason, call'd Good, is alone from the Soul. 3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies. But the following Contraries to these are True. 1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age. 2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy. 3. Energy is Eternal Delight."

So the body is an aspect of the soul, not separate from it, Energy comes from the body, it is Reason which places limits upon Energy, but Energy is eternal delight. Physicality, desire, impulsiveness, emotion, sensual pleasure and free will are not wrong or evil, they are aspects of the human soul and it is from them that we derive our enjoyment of life.

This does not necessarily mean that Reason is always bad. After all, Blake tells us that both are necessary for human existence. Sometimes temperance, caution and thought before action are required. But Reason becomes negative when it "usurps its place and governs the unwilling", i.e. when it completely supplants Energy and becomes the sole guiding factor, forcing passivity.

The Angels of The Marriage... are governed by "systematic reasoning", therefore they are wholly creatures of Reason. They are also "all religious" meaning they believe the "errors" stated above. His Devils by contrast "hate religion" meaning they believe the "contraries", which are the true statements according to Blake. It does not necessarily follow that they are wholly governed by Energy, merely that they believe Energy is "eternal delight".

It is worth noting at this point that Blake saw God and religion as totally separate. For Blake, "God" is that connection with divine wonder which was integral to his life; he tells us plainly that "all deities reside in the human breast" and that "the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God". In other words all humans have a direct and intuitive link with God and don't require the church, Priests, or a religious framework and adherence to a set of rules in order to reach moral decisions. These rules exist only to "enslave the vulgar".

The importance of this ability to make one's own choices about a moral course of action is shown by one of the "Memorable Fancy" sections of The Marriage...

Blake relates how a Devil is able to use an Angel's "systematic reasoning" against them:

"if Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love him in the greatest degree; now hear how he has given his sanction to the law of ten commandments: did he not mock at the sabbath, and so mock the sabbaths God? Murder those who were murder'd because of him? Turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery? Steal the labor of others to support him? Bear false witness when he omitted making a defence before Pilate? Covet when he pray'd for his disciples, and when he bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments; Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules."

The Angel has no way to refute the "reasoning" that Jesus was governed by Energy and "impulse", i.e. his own morality, the "voice of righteous indignation", not reasoning and the rules laid down by Heaven. And because Jesus is the Messiah he must be virtuous, therefore Energy is virtuous. The Angel immediately allows himself to be consumed by fire and is resurrected as a Devil.

How can these concepts apply to the world of Good Omens? This was where my first draft was totally incorrect, as I tried to transfer Blake's ideas about Angels and Demons and Heaven and Hell wholesale, applying "reason" to Aziraphale and Heaven and "energy" to Crowley and Hell. In fact the divide is slightly different in the GO-verse: Crowley and Aziraphale *both* represent Energy, and it is Heaven and Hell that act according to Reason.

At first glance Aziraphale may appear to toe the line - he needs creative application of the rules to make him comfortable with trying to avert the apocalypse, and when he doesn't like the way matters are being handled by the Archangels he seeks a higher authority and goes straight to God. He'd clearly prefer someone to be confirming the rightness of his actions for him. However this doesn't mean that he won't act on his own.

Immediately upon his introduction to the story he has given away his flaming sword, an action that he took impulsively because he felt it was right, not because someone told him to. It bothers him, but he does it anyway.

In the Job storyline, though he initially looks for some loophole within the rules that will allow him to save Job's children, in the end he directly goes against Heaven to do it, even though he believes he is going to Fall and become a Demon for having done so.

Though he resists it and exhausts all other possible avenues first, he eventually does take an active role in averting the apocalypse in S1.

He hides Jim at great personal risk to himself and against the will of both Heaven and Hell, again because he feels it is the right thing to do.

He is therefore perfectly capable of independent action from a position of "righteous indignation".

On a more basic level, he enjoys worldly pleasures, which all come from "energy" according to Blake's philosophy. Food and drink most obviously, but also books, music, dancing, theatre, art and so on.

Crowley is more easy to place as acting from Energy - in spite of the obvious aesthetic differences between them, he also loves worldly pleasures. Alcohol and coffee, snazzy clothing, driving his car with Queen blaring on the stereo, going to lunch with Aziraphale, Shakespearean comedies. All things he isn't supposed to want or need, and which baffle other Demons, in the same way that Aziraphale's desire for food baffles the Angels.

And he's absolutely willing to act according to his own moral impulses when they conflict with Hell's orders (or Heaven's), be it saving Job's children, ensuring that Elspeth doesn't die by suicide, or averting the apocalypse. Yes, he'll try to hide his "good" actions in order to avoid punishment by Hell, but he's firmly "on his own side".

Conversely, Heaven and Hell are both part of the structure of religion in this story, are strictly adherent to a set of rules, and their inhabitants appear to have no real desires of their own, other than possible advancement within the systems they uphold. They are "passive" in that their functions allow the status quo to continue and the "great plan" to unfold as they believe it is meant to, even though each side expects a different outcome.

Again, applying Blake's philosophy, I would say the reason for this is that "energy is from the body". Crowley and Aziraphale have both been given bodies in order that they can exist on earth, and *have* existed on earth for 6000 years, therefore "energy" - physical pleasures and free thinking - have become a part of who they are.

On a more fundamental level, possession of a body can be equated to humanity, and humanity has been shown as the most powerful force of all in this story, its influence having led to Adam becoming "human incarnate", and thus acting according to what he feels is right, instead of fulfilling the function he was destined for.

Heaven and Hell contain no material objects, and the Angels and Demons are spiritual beings, having no bodies, so they are not open to energy, and therefore are wholly governed by Reason, and the preservation of the religious structures within which they exist. Structures which, as for Blake, may not actually have anything to do with God herself. In S1 she is a distant observer, clearly aware through her narration of all that is going on, but not interceding in any way. In S2 she is barely present save for her voice being heard briefly in Job, and overlaid with Gabriel's on two occasions.

Bearing all this in mind, what predictions can we make regarding S3 by applying Blake's philosophy?

"The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousand years is true, as I have heard from Hell.

For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at [the] tree of life, and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite and corrupt.

This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment."

The parallels of the cherub with his flaming sword, and the passage of 6000 years should be obvious to anyone reading this - they have of course been lifted directly from the Bible as they are in GO.

I have read some metas which speculated that Aziraphale's bookshop, or perhaps Earth itself, is a metaphorical stand-in for Eden or The Tree of Life. Aziraphale has been commanded to leave his "Eden" and will now be instrumental in causing the whole of creation to become infinite and holy, but Blake tells us this will be done by an improvement of sensual enjoyment, which arises from Energy not Reason.

Sensual enjoyment is something which is intrinsic to Aziraphale's character, and this could make his placement in Heaven very important.

Putting aside all the "final fifteen" theories and taking matters at face value, Aziraphale tells us that if he's in charge he can make a difference - he needs to subvert the system from the inside out. The most subversive thing of all could be that a sensualist who acts according to "the voice of moral indignation" and "Energy" has become the supreme Archangel. We have seen in Blake how a realisation that Energy could be virtuous was enough to convert an Angel into a Devil (incidentally, does the image of an Angel being consumed by fire and emerging as a Devil seem familiar at all...)

We may have seen the beginnings of this already. Gabriel and Beelzebub became open to Energy from such little things as visiting earth, spending time in one another's company, and their mutual enjoyment of a song, which has given them wants and desires beyond those dictated by Heaven and Hell. This is enough to make them wish to leave their roles behind.

It's possible that the same may happen with Muriel. They haven't yet imbibed food or drink, but they have shown an enjoyment of books, which are an earthly pleasure, and open the reader up to new ideas and ways of thinking.

Of course, this would lead to questions regarding the Metatron's statement that he has "ingested things", and whether this means he is acting from reason or energy. Of course the simplest explanation is that it is a manipulation tactic, and he is lying about having done so, but if true that statement has some interesting implications. However, this is now super-long and I'm out of juice, so will leave others to speculate. I may return to this in the future!

There we go, hope you enjoyed. I doubt this will reach nearly as many people as my first Blake post, but if a few find it of interest then my work is done!

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