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jenosbigtoe · 1 year ago

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brother’s best friend!lee jeno x reader

minors dni

summary: your overprotective big brother's best friend is just too irresistible. too bad you have to keep your relationship a secret from him. established relationship au!

warnings: jeno is a freak lowkey, creampie, breeding kink, possessiveness, unprotected sex, size kink (if you squint), mating press, jeno fat cock, jeno is a simp, squirting, pussy eating, literally just pwp

wordcount: 2.4k

a/n: intentional lowercase (i hate autocaps) and not proofread so if you see any grammar mistakes lmk. IK THIS IS A WORN OUT TROPE BUT IDC BROTHERS BEST FRIEND JENO FTW this is just so self indulgent so if its ass um ☠️

pretty pink lip gloss, fresh set of french tip acrylics, short white mini skirt, strawberry scented lotion, and a pink lacy camisole. you, na y/n, were going to be the death of lee jeno.

"dude stop looking at my little sister like that you freak," jaemin threw a dirty sock laying around at his best friend's face as jeno stared at your plump ass like a piece of meat while you were in the kitchen making yourself a snack.

"shut the fuck up man," jeno grumbled as he proceeded to knock jaemin off course in moo moo meadows in mario kart.

you smirked knowingly with your back turned. you knew exactly what you were doing. it was 10 pm on a friday night, meaning jeno and jaemin were having their weekly guys night and would crash in the living room, playing video games, drinking beer, and eating pizza.

and it also meant you would get to dangle yourself like a piece of meat in front of your boyfriend and oblivious brother as you watch your hungry boyfriend try to behave himself.

"jaem let me have a turn," you whined, inviting yourself into the living room, and sat between the two boys on the verge of beating the shit out of each other over mario kart.

"y/n you know damn well you're shit at these types of games now why would i let you play when im about to rock jeno's shit," jaemin didn't even look over at you and continued to focus on the screen. "FUCKKKK JENO THOSE GODDAMN SHELLS. FUCK YOU DICKFACE”

jeno on the other hand glanced over at you, eyes never looking once at yours and instead focused straight on your plump titties popping right out of your push up bra. and he drove right off course, leaving jaemin to yelp in victory as he finished in 1st place.

"fuck you jaemin. here y/n you can play on my controller," jeno rolled his eyes and passed his controller to you. his character was already pink yoshi, making your heart melt because he knew that was your go to.

“thank you, jeno. at least some people are actually nice and considerate,” you rolled your eyes at your older brother.

"well okay you asked for it. prepare to get your ass kicked like our dear jen over there, y/n," jaemin said with an evil glint in his eyes.

as the game was about to start, you suddenly had an idea and paused the game. "wait jaem, i don't really know how to play. can you go easy on me?"

"hell no. you wanted to play with the big boys so now you gotta face the consequences."

you turned to look at jeno, who was very obviously just staring at your tits the entire time. "jeno, jaemin is being a bitch to me. can you teach me how to play since he doesn't want to go easy on me?" you tilted your head and pouted your lip in a way that you knew he liked.

you knew damn well how to play and beat the shit out of jaemin at mario kart but you also knew how good you looked right now and how this would be the perfect opportunity to tease your sexy boyfriend.

"aw hell no that's cheating, y/n," jaemin whined.

“too bad. it ain’t up to you, sore loser.” you gave jeno a smirk with a knowing look in your eyes.

"well i don't mind. plus you won the last round anyways, jaem," jeno spoke up, shifting around and subtlely fixing his sweatpants. you were teasing him so bad and it was going straight to his cock.

jaemin looked at jeno, then you, then right back at jeno, narrowing his eyes a bit. "hey since when did you two get so chummy?"

"jaemin stop being a bitch and let's just play. i don't even know how to play and jeno helping me isn't going to suddenly make me become a mario kart god."

jaemin rolled his eyes. "whatever man."

jaemin unpaused the game and the race started. you pretended to freak out, not knowing where to go as jaemin left you in the dust.

jaemin started laughing his ass off as he quickly climbed the ranks as you were left in dead last. "kiss my ass, y/n."

jeno leaned over to show you the controls but you took this opportunity to yank him to sit behind you, causing you almost be sitting in his lap as his arms wrapped you. "now show me the controls," you grinned evilly and shifted around so your ass rubbed against his dick.

jeno was stunned. doing this literally right in front of your brother? who forbade you two from ever seeing each other? he could just smell your sweet strawberry perfume, which had him wanting to just gobble you up. and your cute little outfit, god he just wanted to rip it right off of you and mark your body up, claim you as his. and not gonna lie, the thrill of being right next to your brother and his best friend had his heart pumping blood straight to his boner.

you both were lucky jaemin had tunnel vision when it came to video games, his face literally glued to the screen. otherwise he would've seen how your little white skirt rode up your thighs and your panties were literally grinding against his best friend's cock.

you let jeno take the controller and pretended to still be the one playing, occasionally screaming out curses at your brother and let out cheers when you hit him with shells. meanwhile you were really just shifting around on jeno's cock through his sweat pants as you ran your manicured nails up and down his veiny arms that were wrapped around you. his hands just looked so big and meaty on that controller, had you fantasizing about what they would be doing to you tonight.

as you neared the final lap, you in 6th place and jaemin in 2nd, you suddenly grabbed the controller out of jeno's hands and shoved him back beside you. he let out a loud grunt as he fell to the ground. jaemin suddenly took 1st place and finished the round. you were 8th. you gave jeno a fake apologetic look as he glared at you.

“oops,” you whispered, sticking your tongue out.

jaemin looked over at you and gave you a triumphant look. "now what did i tell you?"

you rolled your eyes and stood, your skirt rode up almost all the way and on the verge of exposing the little cream panties with red hearts on them that you knew jeno loved. the way jeno was sitting, you standing up gave him the perfect view of the way your puffy pussy fit in your little panties, making him even harder than before.

"whatever loser i'm heading back to my room. have fun being bitchless on a friday night." jaemin threw a pillow at your turned back. you sauntered back to your room, making careful sure to sway your hips as you knew jeno's eyes were trained straight on your ass.

it was 1 am and you were still up, bored out of your mind and scrolling through your phone. he should've been here by now, you pouted. you got frustrated and started ripping your clothes off, leaving you in just your push-up bra and panties when a voice from behind startled you.

"baby, you already starting without me? i'm hurt," jeno wrapped his arms around you, pressing his body against yours, and whispered softly in your ear, causing you to shiver.

you puffed out your cheeks. "waited for so long. was about to go to sleep because my shithead boyfriend left me needy over here."

jeno started groping at your body, squeezing your juicy tits and lightly grinding his erection against your barely clothed ass. "sorry sweet girl. jaem wouldn't fall asleep because that girl from his econ class finally texted him back, corny ass." he left a trail of kisses down your neck and sucked at a particular spot on your collar bone that had your knees weak.

you smiled to yourself. you couldn't pretend to be mad at him for long, not when you're so whipped for him. you turned around and looked up at him, admiring your sexy boyfriend. he finally listened to you and dyed his hair back to black, leaving it long and messy just how you like it. he was wearing a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants with the simple gold chain you bought him for his birthday. he knew just how you like it. what a fucking manwhore. you were ready to devour him whole.

you smashed your lips on his, messy and hot, tongue everywhere and spit dripping down your connected mouths. suddenly, you pushed him down on your bed and started straddling him, grinding your pussy directly on his cock through his sweatpants, causing him to groan into your mouth. one hand gripped at your hair and the other groped your ass.

"baby i need you. i missed you so much," you whispered, looking into his eyes.

he connected his lips to yours with a renewed fervor. clothes started flying off as you kissed each other passionately. he reached for a condom in your nightstand but you stopped him.

"raw baby. i need you in me right now." you grinned at him.

he cursed, flipped you over on your back and used his weight to press you against the mattress. his thick, muscular body pressing you to the mattress had you breathless and in need for more. "is my baby needy? is my baby needy for this cock?"

he reached down and began to lightly caress your pussy, gathering your leaking juices and spreading it around. his fingers teased your hole, rubbing circles around it and occasionally deciding to stick one in for one pump before going back to rubbing and teasing.

"had me thinking about this pussy all night. fuck. love you so much baby. you're so sexy and you get me so hard. no one does it for me like you. you looked so cute today, just wanted to eat you up. didn't care if that shithead was there, just wanted to love on my girl." he continued to tease your little pussy and alternate between fingering and rubbing you.

then he crawled down until he was facing your wet pussy directly. staring at your pussy like a piece of meat in front of starved lion, he gave one long lick all the way up your cunt and started sucking, making sure to make lewd noises. your legs were shaking with need as you gripped his hair.

"fuck you taste so good. all wet just for me. this pussy is mine," he groaned into your cunt.

at this point, your pussy was gushing so much you felt a puddle beneath you. his fingers and lips felt so so good on your pussy but you were tired of his teasing. you got up and suddenly looked down at him seriously. "jen if your cock isn't in me in the next 5 seconds i'm seriously going to break up with you and fuck haechan or something."

this lit a fire within jeno, whose eyes darkened. he lifted his body and gave his impossibly hard cock a few pumps, rubbing your juices all over his massive cock. he grabbed your thighs, lifted your legs over his shoulders, and shoved his cock into your little pussy with one big thrust.

you both moaned out, your pussy leaking happily as he bottomed out, balls deep. he set out on a fast past immediately, pounding your pussy deeper and harder with each thrust. you could feel his heavy balls slap against your ass.

"yes, jen yes yes yes! oh god more more! love you so much baby," you grabbed at his hair as he pounded your pussy into oblivion. in the deep mating press he had you in, you could feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. his cock was just so so big, you could never get enough of it.

you could see the veins pop out of his neck and his beefy arms were pinning your hips down as his hips were pounding you with each powerful thrust. he looked so so so sexy and he was all yours.

"god baby your pussy was made for me. love you so so much. mine. all mine. everything about you all mine, just for me," jeno kissed you passionately, both moaning into each other mouths.

he used one of his hands to press down on your lower belly, making your pussy leak and throb around him. "you feel that, princess? you feel me deep in your tummy? only i can do that to you, only me."

your mind was blank at this point, body completely numb to everything except the pleasure he was giving you. you could feel yourself about to get sent over the edge, your pussy spasming and clenching hard around every vein on his cock.

"bout to cum baby don't stop don't stop!!" you orgasmed with a loud scream, pussy squirting all over his stomach.

jeno continued fucking you through your orgasm, grunting at the feeling of your little pussy spasming all over his cock. "baby m close too, fuckkk."

fat tears rolled down your face at the overstimulation of pleasure. "jen please cum inside please."

jeno groaned, thrusting every harder and deeper than before. "such a slut. you like that huh? you want your boyfriend to knock you up? you want to have a baby with your brother's best friend? fuck. how about you just get pregnant? he wouldn't be able to disapprove of us when you're already round and waddling around with my baby."

with one loud groan, he bottomed out inside of you and let out his thick load. he collapsed on top of you, cock still balls deep inside, crushing you under all his weight with your face pressed against his sweaty chest.

you stayed like that for a few seconds before you tapped on his back, signaling that you couldn't breathe. still keeping his cock deep inside your leaking pussy, he flipped you over on your side and cuddled your back, wrapping one arm around your waist and the other pushing your hair out of your face. you panted, eyes closed in bliss. jeno drew circles on your arms and left kisses up and down your jaw and neck.

"just saying, you would look sexy as fuck pregnant with our baby." jeno whispered.

you opened your eyes to turn back and swat at his chest but what you saw made your blood run cold in horror.

it was your brother standing right in the open doorway staring at your naked bodies with a look of fury, surprise, horror, and shock that you had never seen before.

the three of you screamed at the sight of each other in unison.

a/n: i intentionally wrote the ending like that because i'm unsure if anyone would even want to continue reading this lmaooo so lmk what you think

#nct smut #jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #lee jeno smut #lee jeno x reader #jeno #lee jeno #jeno lee

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4ranghaes · 12 days ago

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hi there i hope you’re having a wonderful morning/day/evening! ^^ i was curious… what do we think about sworn qenemy eric an choking/pushing your face into the mattress (and a little degradation never hurt no one).. maybe one day he just snaps or something along those lines… if ur cm uncomfy w this of course don’t answer. anyways have a good day/morning/night regardless ☺️☺️

a/n - heya anon :P sorry it took me so long to get to this i hope you enjoy!!!

eric sohn x reader [smut, fem!reader, brother’s best friend!eric, seems to be set in high school? idk why i’m kind of thinking of LA!eric as i write this]

warnings: hate sex, degradation, choking, kinda dub!con but im implying sexual tension/buildup between the two

18:50 - “eric, what are you doing here?”

he rolled his eyes, watching as you entered the kitchen, “don’t get all annoying with me, you know you love it when i’m around.”

“what do you mean don’t get all annoying?! i think it’s fair enough to ask why you’re in my fucking house, eric,” you hissed, “unless you’ve forgotten, you actually don’t fucking live here. you’re fucking always here, eating our food, watching our tv…”

“sorry your parents like seeing a child who is actually going somewhere with his life,” he smirked cockily, getting a carton of orange juice out the fridge and drinking straight from the bottle. you grimaced.

“yeah, the fucking mcdonalds dishwasher station,” you scoffed, moving closer to your brother’s best friend, grabbing his face with your hand as you pulled him to look at you, “eric, let’s face it. you come round here, swinging your fucking dick around in everyone’s face, tryna give us all of this bullshit about your grades and your future, but actually, none of it matters. you’re only here because your parents don’t fucking want you around! well guess what, sohn, no one here does either.”

“yeah you’d fucking love it if i was swinging my dick around,” he whispered, his face still in your grasp as he raked his eyes over your body.

you made a noise of disgust, rolling your eyes and turning to walk away when eric grabbed your hips, pressing you against the kitchen counter. you felt his stiffening length grinding against your ass.

“god,” he hissed, his touch bruising on your hips, “so annoying but such a great ass.”

“s-stop!” you exclaimed, “eric! m-my brother.”

eric smirked, leaning his body into yours, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “he’s at work. and i know for a fact that your parents are out late tonight. so what’s stopping you, princess?”

you fought out of his grasp, scoffing as you turned to look at him, an unbelieving look on your face. “i would never fuck you, eric. you little stuck up prick.”

eric smirked, “yeah, you would. ‘cause you’re a little slut.”

you tried to look offended, tried to hide how much that turned you on.

“i see you,” he murmured, following after you as you started backing out of the room, “you always are on at me, giving me insults and little speeches about how pathetic i am. you’re the pathetic one here, though, doll; i see you wearing less when i’m round, i see you bending over right in front of me, i see the eyes you give me at dinner when you’ve had a few too many.”

you laughed, rolling your eyes as you opened your mouth to reply. before you could get any words out, you found your back against the wall, eric’s hand moving to sit on your throat heavily. you swallowed.

“i also heard you, you know,” he whispered, his face millimetres from yours, “touching yourself late at night when no one else is awake. such a dirty fucking girl, aren’t you? whimpering under that vibrator.”

you whimpered involuntarily as eric let go of your throat. he walked away, entering your bedroom and looking around. you followed after him, after snapping out of your horny daze. “has to be around here somewhere, right?”

“eric, stop,” you scoffed, laughing nervously. you swallowed, swearing internally at your fucked up decision making before continuing on, “why would you need a vibrator, anyway? this looks like plenty.”

you moved towards him, cupping the bulge that had formed at the front of his jeans. eric shivered at your touch, a dirty smirk covering his face.

“i fucking knew it,” he hissed, grabbing your body and throwing you onto your bed, “you little slut. just waiting for the moment i could get into your pants, huh? how long have you been pining over me, you dirty little girl.”

you were laying on your stomach, feeling eric stood behind where you were laid, edging closer and closer until he was flat against your body, he held the back of your neck with one hand, ripping off your shorts and panties with the other, revealing your dripping cunt to him. he chuckled deeply, swiping a finger through the wetness.

“i’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever hated me,” he teased, his voice right behind your ear as he pressed soft kisses to the back of your head, juxtaposing his hard cock slamming into your body pretty much all at once.

you let out a loud whine, bucking your hips wildly and clenching around his thick length. you tried to move your head, but eric’s hand was ruthless around your neck, your face smushed against the mattress.

“yeah you fucking like that, don’t you?” he hissed, and once you’d stopped clenching he pulled his hips back before fucking into you at speed, “fucking cock slut, taking it all for me. take it! god!”

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sukuna-dees-nuts · 3 months ago

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rizzless sukuna pt 5

lowkey this is almost feels like crack at this point 😭

idk what im doing. im just going with the vibes i started with when writing this series lmaoo

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

---

It's a beautiful Saturday morning; the sun is bright, the birds are chirping, and Yuuji is currently setting up the gaming console as Nobara and Megumi make themselves comfortable on the couch. His parents are out running errands together and Sukuna is… actually, Yuuji doesn't know and currently isn't concerned with his brother's whereabouts because it means that Yuuji and his friends get the house to themselves for the time being.

Nobara kicks off her shoes and plops down in the middle of the couch, resting her feet on the coffee table. Megumi drops next to her, pulling out his phone as he looks around. He glances back to Yuuji as he asks, “Is Sukuna not here?”

“Who cares?” Nobara replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Uhh, I don't know,” Yuuji says over his shoulder with a shrug as he gets to his feet. He makes his way back to the couch, tosses a controller to Megumi's lap, and hands another to Nobara. Taking a seat next to her, he sighs, “Probably vandalizing old buildings or something.

Nobara snorts. “Egging houses,” she adds.

“Surely he's done that before,” Yuuji comments as he picks his character and kart.

It’s no surprise that Yuuji and Nobara battle for first place in every race. Both are extremely competitive and weirdly good at this game. Megumi, however, almost always finishes in dead last. He doesn’t care; he never has and probably never will.

“Hey, Megumi, do you ever not come in last place?” Nobara asks with a shit-eating grin, pulling her eyes away from the screen and over to her friend. His brows are pulled together, and there’s a deep frown on his face as he falls off the edge of the map again.

“Do you ever shut up?” he grunts.

Yuuji cackles. “Don’t you play with Gojo?”

“Not because I want to,” Megumi sighs, dropping the controller when he finally finishes the race.

“Well, I guess someone has to give him enrichment time,” Nobara hums and crosses one leg over the other.

The front door opens, and Sukuna steps inside the house. He wipes his face with the hem of his shirt as he walks into the living room. Of course, the last thing he expects to see is Megumi sitting on his couch.

Their eyes meet, and Sukuna feels his heart skip a beat.

Instantly, Megumi’s eyes flicker from Sukuna’s face to his exposed abdomen and back up again. It’s only a split second later that he looks away, awkwardly scratching his cheek as he looks down at the controller in his hands.

“What are you losers doing?” Sukuna asks as he steps into the living room.

“We were having a good time,” Yuuji states without looking away from the screen. His character throws a red shell, hitting Nobara’s kart and allowing him to take first place. “Yes! Take that, Kugisaki!”

“This is why girls don’t like you!” Nobara shouts, shoving Yuuji hard enough that he falls off the couch.

The boy lands on the ground with an oof! but it doesn’t stop his focus from the race.

Sukuna watches the scene play out with his top lip curling in annoyance. As he rolls his eyes, he takes a seat on the arm of the couch next to Megumi. He can’t help but notice that the boy is in last place and after spinning out, immediately drives into a banana peel that he could have easily avoided. Sukuna snorts in amusement.

“Dude, you’re shit at this game,” he says, nudging Megumi’s shoulder with his elbow.

Megumi huffs, opening his mouth to reply, but his words are cut short temporarily as Nobara tries to kick Yuuji’s controller out of his hands. She cackles when she’s successful, only for Yuuji to grab her ankle and pull her down onto the floor with him.

Turning to look up at Sukuna, Megumi states with a deadpan expression, “This is why I don’t play.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sukuna looks over at Yuuji and Nobara who are simultaneously trying to race and knock away each other’s controllers. A grin spreads across Sukuna’s face and without thinking, he reaches down and grabs the controller from Megumi’s hands, their fingers brushing. Sukuna’s gaze briefly meets the other boy’s before he’s turning back to the TV.

With Yuuji and Nobara distracted trying to sabotage each other, it doesn’t take much for Sukuna to quickly catch up to the front, but not without adding a couple teasing jabs to Megumi’s poor choice of character and kart.

“Why on earth would you pick Baby Rosalina and the Badwagon?” he asks with an amused snort.

The younger boy shrugs. “I just hit the randomize button. I don’t care that much.”

“Obviously,” Sukuna retorts. He shoots Megumi a teasing grin.

Megumi rolls his eyes. “The only other time that I play this game is when Gojo forces me and Tsumiki to play with him."

Sukuna grimaces. “Sounds awful.”

“It’s not that bad. Gojo is just a sore loser so Tsumiki usually lets him win so we’re not stuck there all night.”

With a hum of acknowledgement, Sukuna briefly wonders if Megumi would be down to play with him, just the two of them. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. The only thing would be convincing Yuuji to let him borrow the switch or getting Yuuji out of the house long enough for Megumi to even come over. Well, he supposes that’s something they can figure out after they’ve had their movie date.

“Yes! First place! As I should be!” Nobara exclaims as she finally finishes the race with Yuuji on her tail with a close second.

Yuuji scoffs. “Only because you knocked the controller out of my hand and made me fall off the side of the map.”

Rolling her eyes, Nobara waves a hand dismissively. She leans back against the couch and stretches her arms above her head. “You’re just a sore loser.” Her eyes flicker back to the screen and she sits up straighter. “Megumi coming in 4th place?! And here I thought you just liked losing."

“Whoa, how’d you get so good so fast?!” Yuuji asks with a laugh. He looks over, his head tilting to the side when he sees that there is no controller in Megumi’s hands. That’s when he notices that his brother never left and is instead sitting on the arm of the couch with the controller in his hands. “Hey! That’s cheating too!”

Nobara looks over with a frown as Sukuna is handing the controller back to Megumi. He pushes himself to his feet, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check his notifications.

“Thanks, Sukuna,” Megumi says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Without thinking, Sukuna clicks his tongue and shoots Megumi a wink. “Any time.” He doesn’t bother sparing a glance to Yuuji as he turns around and heads out of the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

A long silence draws out in the living room, both Nobara and Yuuji staring at Megumi in a mixture of shock and confusion as Megumi watches Sukuna go. When he turns back to his friends, he shifts in his seat, growing a little uncomfortable. “What?”

“What was that?” Nobara asks, the game now forgotten with her full attention on Megumi.

“What was what?”

“That!” She gestures vaguely in Megumi’s direction. “With you and Sukuna. He was… nice to you.”

“So?” the other boy cocks an eyebrow. He leans forward and places the controller on the coffee table before sitting back. “Is Sukuna not allowed to be nice to people?”

“No,” both Nobara and Yuuji say simultaneously in the same deadpan tone.

Yuuji pushes himself up to his feet, setting his own controller on the coffee table. He turns to Megumi, hands settling on his hips. “He’s not even that nice to me and I’m his brother."

Megumi shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe he felt bad for me because you two were being insufferable.”

“Sukuna doesn’t feel bad for people,” Yuuji says with a shake of his head. “He’s the one who makes people feel bad.”

Again, Megumi shrugs. “He’s always been nice to me.” He gets to his feet and excuses himself to the bathroom.

Nobara and Yuuji watch as he leaves. The moment they hear the bathroom door shut, they’re both sitting on the couch and facing each other with wide eyes, ready to conspire.

“There’s something weird going on here,” Nobara whispers, tapping her chin with her finger.

“You’re telling me. The other day, Sukuna was making plans to invite someone over when I wasn’t here.” He pauses, looking around to make sure that they’re alone. He leans in a little closer, cupping one hand around the side of his mouth. “And even worse, there’s someone with a nickname in his phone.”

Nobara’s eyebrows shoot up, her eyes widening. “A nickname? What kind of nickname?"

“It said ‘Raisin Boy’.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she asks, her eyebrows instantly pulling together in confusion.

Yuuji shrugs and leans back. “I dunno.”

A look of determination settles over Nobara’s face. “Well whatever it is, we're getting to the bottom of it!”

Yuuji grins, matching Nobara’s determination with a high five. "Operation: 'Find out who Raisin Boy is' is now underway."

#jjk #jjk brothers au #implied sukufushi #god theyre all so dumb lmaooo #except nobara because she's a queen #sorry this took 84 years #but its here!! and more crack than ever 😭#i really enjoy writing nobara and yuuji lol they're so fun #can't wait to write them trying to spy on sukuna 😭

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dira333 · 5 months ago

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dira my darling!

can i request a fluffy plotbunny with bakugo? something with casual dominance, bc i would love to have someone boss me around. like,, he says sit and im sat? Im very bossy/pushy overall so a bf that's casually dominant and who i dont have to think around or help lead like i do everything else would be a dream come true xD

thank you for being so kind as to share your amazing pieces with us!!!!

*Pretending I have the time to write by eating my lunch in front of the computer* It's called Multi-Tasking

Also, I've had a hard time with this prompt because it feels like it's skirting along the line of suggestiveness, or is that just me being weird?

Going back in time...

"Stay," a voice whispers as you get up, warm lips pressed against the shell of your ear. "I'll get your drink."

"If only you'd listen to someone else like that," your best friend scoffs the moment you're seated again.

"Hah?" You ask, hackles rising.

"You know exactly what I'm referring to," Mina scoffs yet again, staring you down. Or at least, she's trying.

Your best friend of almost twenty years might just be as bossy as you are, but that doesn't mean you bow to her whims. Like she'd do it for you...

"What are we talking about?" Kirishima leans in, propping his head on his girlfriend's shoulder.

"How my best friend in the world does not listen to me." Mina points one pointy nail at you. "Especially considering I'm the one planning her surprise party."

"Please," you scoff, "like it could have been a surprise. You could never keep a secret from me. I'm just taking care of it."

"Bakugo!" Mina calls for the kitchen where your fiancé went seconds ago to get you another drink. "Help me here! Your fiancée's still trying to weasel her way into planning her own surprise party."

"Like hell, I'm helping you," Bakugo scoffs, looking down his nose at her. "And if my Baby doesn't trust your taste, I fully trust hers." He leans down to kiss you, pressing the glass into your hands.

"But I'm getting the flowers tomorrow."

"But-" You try to intervene but one look from him has you silent.

"See!" Mina asks Kirishima, pointing at the two of you. "One look and she shuts up. It never works when I do it."

"Yeah, but it's Bakugo," Kirishima offers like it's all the explanation needed.

"Do you ever listen to somebody?" Bakugo asks, raspy morning voice cutting through the Silence. You barely keep yourself from flinching, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he noticed. It seems he loves surprising you the most, mainly because you pride yourself in not getting surprised.

"I listen to a lot of people," you claim as you return to checking the Buffet table. You'd asked for Vegan Options and an egg-free dessert for the new secretary. Sweet-tooth, but highly allergic. It happens.

"You hear them," he says, "but you don't listen. Because I definitely heard Yukon tell you that he had the Buffet under control yet you're checking his work."

"And rightly so," you point out. "We're missing the egg-free dessert option."

"So?"

"So? I asked for it. He said he'd get it done. Do I have to do everything myself here? Apparently so."

"Sit down," he orders calmly, and you'd maybe wonder about his lack of temper had you not experienced him being like that around you for the last three years. Apparently, Bakugo turns into the chillest little prankster you could think of, but only around you. "I'll get it done."

You want to say something, but you decide against it. You've seen Bakugo deal with other stuff before, stuff that was definitely more important than getting an egg-free dessert for the new secretary. You know he can get this done.

"Fine," you huff, "But make it quick. I still need to go over the new recruits with you."

"Have I ever kept you waiting?" He asks as he turns away, leaving you flustered.

"Maybe we should appoint her for Class President," Sato offers quietly, but not quietly enough. "She's managed to talk Mina down in less than five seconds and it doesn't look like she takes shit from anyone."

"The title of Class President is-"

A loud boom interrupts whatever Iida has tried to say. When the smoke clears, there's only a small force field keeping Bakugo from strangling Kaminari, who looks a lot less frightened than anyone in his position should be.

"Calm down, will you?" You ask, looking down at Bakugo from where you're standing. Keeping up the force field is taking its toll, but you'd rather puke than admit to it. Not in front of Bakugo at least. "Aren't you better than that?"

Surprisingly, that seems to work. He calms down quickly, leaning back in his chair with a scoff. "True." He says, but his blood-red eyes don't leave you. It feels like a Challenge. One you're not sure you'll win.

#my writing #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #mha #mha fluff #bakugo fluff #dira.asks #plotbunny games

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 10 months ago

Note

Some hcs that reader (with a gholdengo and drifblim) who takes care of pecharunt after the events of mochi mayhem.. pecharunt tries to get the reader to eat one of its mochi bc it doesn't think reader is their friend unless reader eats the mochi but reader always tells it "im your friend buddy i promise u" but will bonk its head if it tries to get other people to eat the mochi

((I am a strong pecharunt appologist))

After Gholdengo and Drifblim helped you defeat Pecharunt back in Kitakami....the next step was to become its friend and show it all the love that it's been denied for so long.

According to one of the elders, there was more to the story about the Loyal Three and Ogerpon and why they sought after her masks all those years ago, but most of it was omitted from books.

Apparently Pecharunt was only obeying the wishes of its owners that it fed mochi to, and in trying to fulfill their request, the mission winded up turning into something quite tragic for everyone involved.

Hearing that tale made you feel a bit more sympathetic when it came time to properly introduce the mythical to your two aces.

Immediately it thinks it's gonna get another beat down and flings mochi at them in self-defense....but your Gholdengo just blocks them with their skateboard while one bounces harmlessly off of Drifblim's body.

"Stop that, Pech...there's no battle going on here. We're not gonna hurt you. You're safe."

Pecharunt spins around to face you, seeing that you're currently preparing a sandwich on the picnic table.

Before you could finish putting the bread on top (unless you feel like leaving it off), it gently sets down one or two mochi atop the other ingredients, looking at you expectantly.

Only to throw a fit when you instead calmly remove them.

"I'm sorry. I just have to make this sandwich a specific way...but a mochi sandwich does sound tasty.."

"...cha..cha..." It retreats into its shell, looking gravely upset.

You know it didn't mean any harm by it...but one of your partners thought otherwise.

"Dengo!"

"Blimmm.."

You see Drifblim trying to discourage Gholdengo from throwing coins at the poor poison type, but knowing your ghost/steel type..they're petty and think Pecharunt is bad news all around.

They're pretty much saying "well let's see how they like having stuff thrown at them!"

Fortunately, you manage to calm everyone down, gently shooing your 'mons into playing elsewhere before looking for Pecharunt...who was hiding underneath the table, shaking.

You simply sit on the ground and talk to it that way, explaining that you learned about its past and understood why it acts the way it does.

"You don't have to give me mochi in order to get me to like you. We're already friends."

"Run..?"

"Listen, you've spent your whole life trying to please others. You feel like you owe them something, and you're afraid that if you stop giving, they won't love you anymore. But you don't have to worry about that here. My friendship doesn't come with a price, Pecharunt." You smile and hold out your arms. "Except maybe...a hug? And a promise to stop possessing my human friends?"

"........."

"In turn, I'll protect you and make sure you never feel lonely again. Does that sound like a deal?"

Given its hesitance to even look you in the eye, you're unsure if Pecharunt was ready to be this open with you so soon, or if it was afraid you were just lying...

Yet it was quickly moved to tears as it floats into your arms, allowing you to embrace it closely.

You're glad you two could finally come to an understanding.

This mythical 'mon wasn't evil at heart..just misguided in its drive for love and affection.

Now it didn't have to worry about losing yours anymore.

#AUGH i love pecharunt even more now 💔#clanask #anonymous #pokemon x reader #pokemon sv x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #mochi mayhem x reader #pecharunt #gholdengo #drifblim #headcanons

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thatshappinessforme · 5 months ago

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When We Are Together - Pt. 1 (?)

omg...hi. i'm really here rn. posting this. at nearly 4 am on a monday morning. im nervous. i could vomit. so...this has been in my head for forever. literally. the idea is massive. it extends so far. it's seriously a whole universe in my little brain. it took so long to get the basis of this all out on paper, but, i'm hoping this is a series...a long one. the title isn't going to make much sense right now, but i pinky swear we'll get there eventually. so...without further ado...here she is...(EEK!) (also i have no idea how to set this post up so bear with me lol)

so i guess i just lost my fanfic writing vcard💌

_____________________________________________

word count: 2.4k

cw: just a little swearing, maybe a bit of bad writing, also maybe typos?? might be a little boring because it’s mostly to just like set the scene idk? (eventually the plan is to have a lil smut or smth but this really is just an intro lol)

_____________________________________________

The day starts as usual. You wake up to the sound of your alarm and your roommate’s hair dryer blaring through the thin walls of your Brooklyn walk-up. With a groan, you peel yourself out of the warmth of your bed, go to your desk, and open your laptop, holding onto a shred of delusional hope that one of your classes might be canceled for today; they rarely are…but you can’t blame a girl for being an optimist.

You scroll through your inbox, refreshing, and refreshing – you really don’t want to go to class today. Blame the essay you’d procrastinated that you’d spent all of last night speed-writing. Blame senioritis. Blame the unpaid music publicity internship that you’d been letting eat up your time in hopes of scoring a good job. Blame the frigid snow and ice that seem to be taunting you from outside your window. But, luckily it’s a Friday.

You refresh your inbox one last time, just for good measure. And, something actually comes in. But, it’s not from one of your professors. It’s from some company named “Dirty Hit.”

You raise an eyebrow and open the email, thinking it must be something related to one of the countless jobs you’ve applied for in the last few weeks, preparing for graduation at the end of the semester.

Y/N,

I’m a representative with one of our bands here at Dirty Hit. We’re really impressed with your work and have an opportunity we’d love to discuss with you, if you have a free moment this week at some point. Are you based out of New York? Get back to us when you can. We’re looking forward to hearing from you.

Best,

The Dirty Hit Team

“That’s weird,” you whisper to yourself, reading the short, ominous email over and over again. It’s not everyday that a label reaches out to a random college student to work with them. You’re not really sure what they could possibly be impressed with. You’ve just done minor PR internship work with underground bands from the east coast – that’s not exactly impressive. It sure as hell doesn’t warrant an email.

“Y/N?,” you hear one of your roommates and best friend, Vivian, call from outside your door before walking in, not bothering to knock. The two of you are close, almost like sisters at this point. In some ways, you’re exactly the same person, but in others your polar opposites. She’s a little bit more outgoing than you are, but she always helps to get you out of your shell. “Do you think I can get this guy I’m talking to into the venue tomorrow night? It’s just at The Soundwave, right?,” she asks, plopping down on the corner of your bed.

Shit. You completely forgot you signed up for an open mic tonight. You’d been playing your songs at small bars in Brooklyn and Manhattan for the past year or so. Songwriting had always been a bit of a hobby for you. So when you’re a broke college student in one of the most expensive cities in the world, you just find tricks to get you and your friends to do fun things for free. You’d learned a while back that performing at open mics usually meant you and your friends could get into bars and clubs without having to pay a cover, so you’d been spending your weekends doing that for a while. It’s all for fun. Sure, you like performing and put a lot into your songwriting, but pursuing it isn’t even quite a dream for you. You have an impending college degree you’ve worked your ass off for. In every sense of the word, music was a hobby for you.

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem. He might have to pay the cover, but it’s not like it’s the sort of thing where people buy tickets. You know the drill. But, obviously you’re my plus one, so no cover for you,” you nod, still staring at your laptop screen.

“What are you staring at, over there? Everything okay?,” she asks, getting up and moving to stand over your shoulder at your desk. You move your head a little so she can get a good look at the words on your screen. You watch her face as she reads the email, her lips dancing on each of the syllables as you watch her process it. “Dirty Hit? What the hell is that? Sounds like a porn company. Impressed with your work? Do you have a booming, secret OnlyFans I’m unaware of?,” she jokes.

I laugh and playfully nudge her arm. “No, no,” you giggle, “It’s a record label, I think. I’ve heard the name thrown around a few times at my internship. I think they’re kinda big.” You tab over and do a quick Google search. Immediately, a sea of popular artists and bands pop up under the label.

“Holy shit. Beabadoobee? Bleachers? The 19 fucking 75? I have their fuckin’ poster on my wall. They’re cool as shit,” she reads over your shoulder. “I mean, I have no idea what they could possibly want from me. My resumè isn’t all that impressive. Sure, I’m planning on going into music PR, but there’s no reason why I would stand out against someone who has like…an actual career under their belt,” you ramble, trying to make sense of the 67 words in haunting your inbox.

There’s a long pause, both of you trying aimlessly to make sense of the email. “Well, you’re gonna email them back, right?,” she eventually asks. You take breath, starting a reply to the email, leaving your cell phone number.

You try to focus on anything other than waiting for a reply. You do your best not to let your mind wander into the what-ifs, but as soon as you get done with your lectures for the day, you check your phone for any response.

Y/N,

Thanks for getting back to us so quickly. The band and management is also in New York for the next few months for a project. We would give you more information over email, but much of the matter is highly confidential. We have a studio space at Electric Lady in Greenwich Village that we could meet at, if that works for you. I know it is rather short notice, but could you meet this evening at some point? Let us know.

Best,

The Dirty Hit Team

You quickly reply to the email on your walk back from campus, confirming the meeting for later this evening. You get back to your apartment and practically tear apart your closet trying to figure out what the hell to wear. You know it’s a business meeting, but it’s also for some mystery band. You don’t want to dress unprofessionally, but you also don’t want to seem uptight. You decide on a black mini skirt with tights and a chunky black turtleneck sweater. You finish primping and step into Vivian’s room, practically out of breath from all the outfits you’ve tried on and scrapped.

“Okay, if you were a band looking for…a PR representative…? Would you hire me?,” you ask her, standing in front of her bed as she looks up from her phone. She looks you up and down and grins, “Of course I would, Y/N. You look great,” she reassures you, sensing you’re anxious, “So, you really think this is just a PR gig?”

“I mean, yeah. What else could it possibly be? It couldn’t be my music. I’m not even on any streaming platforms; I don’t promote it at all,” you say with certainty. She shrugs and smiles, before wishing you the best of luck as you head out the door.

You get on the subway and head to Electric Lady. The train has always been one of your favorite parts about living in New York for college. Putting your pink headphones on, looking out the window into the catacombs that stretch throughout the city, people watching. It’s where you did your best thinking.

You get off the train and walk through the streets, your headphones on and your music blasting, only interrupted occasionally by Google Maps telling you where to turn and such. Eventually the robotic voice in your ear says “Arrived” and you look over your right shoulder…here it is. You're right on time. You go to open the doors, pushing on them gently; must still be locked. You sigh, assuming that its to be expected. That this is simply upholding a prophecy of some sort that the band and music-industry-folk run behind…until you hear a laugh.

“It’s a pull,” you hear a man’s voice call out with a slight chuckle. From just those three words, you’ve determined that he has one of the thickest English accents you’d ever heard. You look over your left shoulder and see a man leaning up against the wall of the studio smoking a cigarette. “What?,” you ask, confused as you look over to him. He has a hood on and you can’t make out his face, or what he was trying to tell you. “The doors. It says right on them. ‘PULL,’” he chuckles, tossing his cigarette to the ground and putting it out with his Adidas sneaker, walking over to you. “Oh, um, thanks, I’m an idiot. I almost gave up,” you chuckle, pulling the door open this time. The man follows you into the studio, holding the door open once you tug on it. You look back over your shoulder to thank him for holding the door, the first time he’s been close enough for you to make out his face; Christ, it’s Matty Healy.

“I know who you are,” he says to you with a cheeky grin as he starts walking into the back of the studio. You just stand there near the doorway, the gust of cigarette-scented, cold January air lingering around you. You’re perplexed, to say the least. He keeps walking down the hall before finally turning over his shoulder, “You’re just gonna stand there? You have a meeting. Wouldn’t be very professional of you to stand us up,” he teases dryly. You blink a few times before nodding, following him, still in a bit of disbelief that this was the band that had some sort of ‘interest’ in you.

He shows you into a studio in the back. Once he opens the door, there are four other men sitting there, three that you also recognize from your roommate’s wall. The other, a bit older, more professional looking.

“Y/N! I’m Jamie, I manage these blokes. Thank you so much for agreeing to come meet with us today. I know everything was rather vague on the emails, but…we had to keep it that way. But, now that you’re here, let's talk, yeah? Are you familiar with The 1975?,” the older man asks you, in a super friendly manner as you sit down on a plush chair in the corner of the room. Every eye in the room is glued to you. The air is almost sticky with anticipation. You take a deep breath and try to slap on the most composed, thoughtful, professional smile you can manage.

“Um, yes! Of course,” you nod, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, “I’m actually a fan of you all. Really, I listen to your stuff with my friends – you’re fantastic.”

“Good, good. We’re glad to hear it,” he grins, looking around at the boys who also all look to be pleased. Even though everyone’s eyes are on you, you feel Matty's specifically, practically burning a hole in the side of your head as he stands, still leaning in the doorway.

“We’re impressed with you, Y/N. So, I’m just going to get on with it. George went to a little bar in Bushwick last month and sent us a video he took of you singing one of your originals…you’re bloody fantastic. We’re going on tour this summer. We want to do something a little different this time with our opener. We want to build someone from the ground up. You’re it. We want you. What do you say? You interested?,” he explains with a wide grin, his tone casual like he didn’t just tell you the craziest shit you’ve ever heard.

Jamie’s words hit you in slow motion. You look around the room, the air moving from feeling sticky to feeling ice cold, jolting you awake. “I’m sorry…what the actual fuck did you just say?,” you blurt out blankly, any ounce of composure you may have had completely gone.

You immediately catch yourself, your language, your lack of professionalism, though, “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I…that just came out of my mouth…I-,” your face goes bright red as you desperately try to correct yourself.

The room erupts in laughter, the men you recognize from Viv’s poster nearly barreling over off the sofa. Jamie’s jaw on the floor as he howls, slapping the table in front of him. You look over your shoulder to see that Matty’s still in the doorway, and he’s just standing there with his arms crossed, shaking his head at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, I think we’re gonna get along quite well with this one,” he remarks, licking his lips, weirdly impressed with your mispeakings.

You can’t help but sigh softly and shake your own head when he looks at you like that; something in you shifting as if he’s the only person in the room; as if he was the only person who'd ever laid eyes on you; as if he was the only person ever. As if, the offer you got just moments before wasn’t the most absurd thing that had ever happened to you. As if you didn’t need to thoroughly think this all over. As if you could make the decision right now.

You look back over to Jamie, who’s still chuckling. Before you can give yourself the time to overthink, you swing one of your legs over the other, lean back into the chair and smirk, “Jamie, where the hell do I sign?”

…and this is how it starts.

#matty healy #the 1975 #mattyhealy #still at their very best #the1975 #bfiafl #satvb #matty x reader #fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #writer #fanfiction

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halfpricedpages · 4 months ago

Text

intro post (finally)

ive debated making an intro post because first off ive been on tumblr for two years and I never got around to it and secondly I am really really horrible at talking about myself because what is to much info and what it to little info and the cycle continues but im giving it a shot because I feel like my mutuals have no idea who I am lmao

HAI my name is Charlie im 15 (18+ I dont mind if you follow me but please dont dm me thank you :]) I use jasper as an online name kind of (at this point its just reserved for my best friend ace but I dont mind if other people call me jasper since I still love the name)

my pronouns are he/him but im also perfectly comfortable with common neopronouns (it/its xey/xem) if you wanna get funky with it.

im a self diagnosed autistic and ARFID (if you dont know what that is its an eating disorder where certain factors make you avoidant and restrictive of the food you eat and it has nothing to do with physical appearance. for me its linked to my autistic sensory issues(ALSO OCD NOW?!!? WHAT THE FUCK?!!?)) I have depression and anxiety and the only reason I mention this is because I relate my mental health to my fav characters in tv shows and books and stuff so if you see me posting about them like everything is connected lol

(my a03 is ghostwithfeet if you want to see me be silly and project my weird life onto fictional characters (I am the most inconsistent updater in the world please expect nothing from me if you even ask about a project it will scare me and like I turtle I will crawl into my shell never to see the light of day again))

my interests really vary about current hyperfixations but heres the master list

current hyperfixs

stranger things specifically Byler but mostly mike wheeler (this has turned into a special interest(I DO NOT support Noah schnapp or another of the other cast members who are in support of the inhumane actions the Israel government are doing. I am pro saving innocent civilians. I know that this can be controversial to be such a big fan of this show and honestly I have a lot of complex feelings on the matter but im autistic as previously mentioned and its my special interest and It won't leave my brain even if im not directly interacting with the media so im gonna yap about it on my blog thank you.))

also just Finn wolf hard for some reason (check out his band the Aubreys its awesome. also check out a recent movie he was in called when you finished Saving the world. it means a lot to me)

donna tarts the goldfinch book

old special interests/hyperfixs

the percy Jackson universe specifically nico di Angelo

the IT universe specifically reddie and Beverly marsh but more leaning towards richie tozier (see what I mean with the Finn wolf hard thing)

dead boy detectives !!

doctor who (I haven't even finished David tenants doctor yet so please no spoilers)

Alice oseman content (never read loveless or iwbft but ive read all of her other stuff)

paper girls graphic novel

other interests

the good place tv show

Kathleen Glasgows book girl in pieces

the walking dead comics including the clementine spin off graphic novels

um yeah thats all I can think of for now

my fav musicians/bands

florence and the machine

indigo de Souza

Kevin Atwater

searows

the Aubreys

sadurn

the cranberries

soccer mommy

runo plum

nep

lala lala

the smiths

hospital bracelet

Chappell roan

AURORA

Madilyn Mei!

Elliot smith

(my music taste is all over the place and is also very seasonal and I have a bunch of underground artists I dont listen to but I am here to give good recs I promise my playlists are fire)

we've gotten to the part of the intro post where im wondering if this is way to much information so sorry if I overshared idk but hope we can be silly mutuals or friends if you want (never be scared to shoot the friendship shot I would love to yap with y'all)

also since this is taking over my other pinned post I just want to put this as an honorary spot and let everyone know that my old pinned post was a quote from radio silence and that Aled last is me and I am him and the February Friday plot line is actually me and it makes me sick how much I resonate with that book

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sadakorosee · 2 years ago

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Friends fight too

all turtles x fem!reader (platonic, best friend relationships)

summary: friends fight all the time and sometimes it gets a bit too far

A/N: this is probably my, like, 5th angst fanfic of these turtles. told ya im the expert when it's angst; i like to break people's hearts ;)

"the best fights don't occur between strangers. they occur between friends who trust each other." - chuck palahniuk

It was a cool simple Tuesday night when the turtles and you went out for your patrol. You're a still in training to become part of their team as a female ninja - a kunoichi. You've trained under their watch and Splinter's but mostly Splinter. The turtles, when not occupied to save the city under Chief Vincent's order, would train you.

Even Mikey. Yes. His classes aren't easy to catch up especially when he's hyped about you joining their team. He makes sure you eat enough so you can build a muscle.

"Don't be as bad as Raph, though." He said one time and with sharp ears, Raph threw a spare shoe at Mikey's head and knocked him over.

Almost 9 months into training, you were 87% ready according to Donnie's statistics. A week or two and you'll be 100% ready depending on your confidence.

Whoever said ninjutsu was easy, they're nuts. Here you are in your early 20s learning extensive martial arts, you are sure your legs are going to give out the moment you're in real combat.

Which is happening right now - Donnie's monitors picked up movements from a factory 10 minutes from their whereabouts and Casey Jones, who is now the NYPD's lead detective, contacted them that there was a gang infiltrated the place. The turtles responded.

"We'll be there by truck." Leo informed Casey and turned to you, "Head back to the lair."

"Wait, I'm not going with you? I'm almost full-on kunoichi."

"It's too dangerous, y/n. You're not ready for this combat yet."

"So I head straight to the lair after my 9-5 job to do my training despite being in my 20s and busted my ass doing the training and you're benching me? What the fuck, Leo?" You were pissed. What's the point of training so hard if he's pushing you away from real combat?

"Guys, we have to go." Donnie called. Without further arguments, you ended up following them to their mission.

Part of you was excited but deep down, you were nervous. Perhaps Leo was right; maybe you weren't 100% ready and into the mission.

"You okay, angel?" Mikey interrupted your thoughts and nudged your knee. "It's alright, I'll protect you! Just stay behind my back and fight as many bad people as you can!"

Oh, that much you could do and it was easy bringing down human fighters. There were 30 of them against 5 of you. It was a piece of cake until-

Whatever these gang wanted to retrieve, it was important to them as they're willing to hold down 4 large turtles and cut their skin with their blades while you stood there with a grey suitcase in your hand, threatening to throw it into a pit of fire below you. Above you was a gap to the rooftop, a chance for you to escape with the suitcase to your reinforcements outside waiting for you; Casey.

You were about to escape until you see their leader taking out a shotgun that brings down large animals and you knew it was enough to kill the turtles with one shot. Their shells may be bulletproof but their physical bodies weren't.

"Give us the suitcase, little girl, or your mutant friend's head will explode in pieces." The gun pointed at Mikey's head and he exclaimed, trying to struggle his way out but there were more than 5 men holding him down.

"Run, y/n! Get out of here!" Raph shouted but all you heard was ringing in your ears. You froze. You started wheezing at the thought of your friends getting taken down by a shotgun.

You made a huge mistake.

You didn't remember a thing - as soon as your mind was clear, you were outside the now burnt down factory but the suitcase you thought you were holding was gone. Your fists formed into a ball and repeatedly hitting yourself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The ride back to the lair was dead silent, even Mikey didn't look too happy. The truck abruptly stopped at an empty undercross bridge, away from the main lights and city. The turtles stepped outside and this was it; you knew they were furious at something- or rather, someone.

"What the heck were you thinking, y/n? You had that suitcase with you and you had that chance to escape to Casey." Leo started, calm on the outside but pissed on the inside. He towered over you as he speaks, "If you didn't play hero, this case would've been closed."

"Why the heck did you stay up there?" Raph's critic came after.

"Now the suitcase is gone. It was our only source to ever find these gangs. They're tougher than the foot clan." Donnie remained calm but his arms were crossed staring at you. "All evidence of them existing, just gone."

"y/n.." no, not Mikey too. "You could've ran and save yourself. We'd be totally okay."

"They were gonna shoot you, Mike. I can't--"

"Didn't I say you weren't ready for this? And what did you do then? Full-on kunoichi, you say? Not even close to our level," Leo went up to your face, scaring you for the first time. "You screwed up our plans all because you were too cocky to admit you can't be like us. Master Splinter was wrong about you being the addition to our team."

Strike one: to the heart.

"If you weren't stupid enough to freeze like a deer caught in headlights, the cops wouldn't look at us like we're a joke. Thanks to you, by the way." Raph scoffed, eyes glaring at your shaking figure.

Strike two.

"If only you had stayed behind." You couldn't believe your ears when Donnie mumbled that but you caught on, tears pooling down your cheeks.

Strike three.

Mikey stayed silent the whole time they criticized you and went inside the truck. The 4 of them got so caught up in their own feelings and disappointment, they drove off back to the lair not realizing they left you behind in the streets all by yourself.

Just like that - something in you snapped and as the last tear dropped to the wet ground, so does your body.

The beautiful April O'Neil entered the lair 5 days after the accident happened with Chinese food takeouts and Casey walking in behind her with boxes of pizzas. "Hey, guys! Food's here!" Casey called out and immediately all 4 turtles rushed towards their human friends. Mikey practically hogged two pizza boxes but Casey smacked his hand away. "Excuse you. Ladies first." He winked at April.

After the turtles thanked them, Leo broke the ice, "How's everything at the precinct, Case?"

"Actually, we got a lead on the gang's movement. We have our spy with them."

"That was quick." Donnie commented.

"Uh, have you heard from y/n lately?" Raph asked, causing tension in the air. While the turtles looked at each other guiltily, they failed to realize Casey and April sharing looks.

"Have you?" Donnie realized his human friends weren't answering. He turned to April this time. "April?"

"Wait-" Casey pulled April aside, far enough so the turtles don't hear them whispering, "We were instructed not to tell them, April. She said-"

"I know.. she said not to tell but--"

"Guys!" Raph's voice boomed the lair, flinching at how loud he was being. "Sorry but are you hiding something from us? Did something happen to y/n?"

All April could do right now was shaking her head, her facial expression gloomed.

Both April and Casey's phone dinged at the same time. Looking at each other curiously, they looked down their phones. Slowly, the message registered in their heads and without saying anything, they rushed out of the lair leaving the turtles bewildered.

The turtles haven't heard from April and Casey for 2 hours. Whatever the message they received, it was involving their 5th member; you.

Unable to sit still, the 4 of them followed Casey's GPS.

"Casey's at the PD?" Leo frowned. "Then there's nothing to worry about, right?" When Donnie didn't answer and looked as if he's concentrating on something, Leo caught on. "You hacked into Casey's phone and listening to the conversation?"

"What-- uhh yeah," Donnie chuckled guiltily. "But nothing's happening. He's just catching up with another case that's-- hey, it's April's voice!" Donnie put on a speaker for the rest to hear.

"Hey, how's everything going?" Casey asked her.

"It doesn't look good, Case.. They called me at 2am saying her heartbeat stopped from the toxins and managed to revive her back to life but then she had a seizure." April's voice trembled, followed by sniffing. "She was fine when we picked her up that night and told me the turtles were mad at her. They left her when she was dying, Case. I never thought--"

"It's okay."

"Wait, dying?" Mikey stepped back. "y/n's dying?"

"We don't know for sure it's y/n.. m-maybe it's--"

"y/n is a tough girl. She lasted long in that mission. I didn't even know she was stabbed and injured badly. She-- she's good at hiding her pain, April. At least we found her on time."

"T-They're talking about y/n!" Mikey was already sobbing.

"Toxins? Stabbed? Their blades were poisoned," Donnie barely whispered, stepping back in disbelief by what they just overhead. Raph was pacing in the background; Leo had his head down. They will always recall the night they criticize you - yes, they were disappointed they failed the mission but half of them feared for your life that night.

They nearly lost April to Shredder throwing her off Sacks building and they didn't want to repeat that mistake again but history repeats itself.

The PD had built a secret entry for the turtles' transportation to go through and that's where they're headed immediately after finding out what happened to you.

"Chief Vincent." The brothers walked into the PD, their tall forms towering over all the cops and staffs there. They were told to keep their existence a secrecy and they came over a lot for complicated missions so they're used to the turtles bursting into their department.

"Leonardo," Vincent greeted. "I don't remember calling you over about a case."

"We're not here for a case. We need your help with something." Leo started, then Donnie moved to the front handing her a canister with a blue chemical inside.

"This is for y/n.. we know what happened to her so I made an antidote for the toxin in her body. She'd feel more pain but this would detoxify her internal organs. She'll be in good shape after 1 week of bed rest." Donnie swallowed trying not to cry.

Don't cry, Don. Be strong.. for y/n.

"I will." Chief Vincent smiled in encouragement and put a hand on Donnie's large ones, "Don't worry. We have the best doctors to treat her. Keep her in your prayers," she flinched, "if you believe in those, though."

The antidote Donnie created worked, much to the doctors' surprise. They asked the genius behind the creation. After 1 painful week of your body detoxing, you finally opened your eyes to bright lights and the holter monitor annoying you. You finally recall the past events and your body shot up, forgetting the sharp pain on your lower abdomen. You hissed by the excruciating feeling.

"y/n, hey hey hey, it's me April." April held you back from moving so much. As if your reaction says it all, she sighed, "You got poisoned on your last mission. Did you remember?"

Oh yeah, you remember - when your body hit the ground, you were conscious for a while and pressed the emergency button to whoever's responding. The turtles didn't have their own personal phone, except Donnie's communication device, so it was April that came to the rescue. All you remember was being brought to the emergency room and doctors asking you questions. You blacked out after that.

"Yeah." you responded, voice half gone. April handed her water. "How long was I out?"

"15 days."

"Feels like centuries." You grumbled.

April laughed, "Actually, you died like twice and the hospital couldn't find other solutions to help you. Luckily, our friend created an antidote for you after they found out." You frowned. "I know you said not to tell them but Donnie hacked Casey's phone when they overheard me talking. He actually thought I didn't know." She winked at the end.

You finally got discharged and went straight to the Chief Vincent, who helped with your treatment.

"Chief, I'm sorry I screwed up on our last mission. Don't blame the turtles; they were trapped and I was the one holding the suitcase that night. I should've ran and hand it to you."

"Well, sometimes things don't go our way. But the good news, our medical team managed to track down the poison that came from your body and traced it to a well-known dealer in (F/C/N). Thanks to you, our team is already there apprehending them." She put a hand on your shoulder. "Good job, l/n."

"Good job but at the cost of my life." You grumbled.

April chuckled and put her arms around you. "Wanna see our turtle friends? They've been waiting for your return."

It felt like years since you last walked into the lair, when it's only been 15 days. Even though you missed the turtles, you were anxious. If they weren't so concerned about looking good infront of the humans and paid attention to your injury, none of this would have happened.

But you were at fault too and you accepted that.

"Guys!! Guess who's home!" April yelled out, surprising you a bit cause you were deep in your thoughts.

You heard loud footsteps running towards you and without warning, Mikey landed infront of you making you scream in surprise.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Chill, it's me Mikey! We're cool!" he stepped back after seeing your terrified expression.

The rest huddled up infront of you asking questions here and there until April pushed them away. "Guys, she just got discharged; go back a bit. And no Mikey, she did not see Rihanna at the hospital."

You waved meekly. "Hey, guys."

Raph couldn't help himself and hauled you up in a gentle hug, his chin over your shoulder. "You dumbass. Don't you ever do that again." He forgets about his dignity and sobbed after finally hugging you. Feeling your flesh against his. You were alive. You're in his arms.

Donnie came next and hugged you gently, your arms around his neck. Of course, you didn't miss him sniffing. "Thank goodness the antidote worked. I-I was desperate to make it for you a-and if it didn't work, y-y-y--"

"Okay, braniac." You pulled away laughing, wiping his overflowing tears from his cheek. "It worked and it was hell for me but my body is healthy, thanks to you." You kissed his forehead.

"And you--" you turned around to see Mikey waiting for his hug and you jumped into his arms. "If I die, who's going to finish our hip hop Christmas album?"

"I'm not finishing it without you, angel." Mikey sobbed.

Then finally, Leo. Man, he was getting antsy waiting for his turn to properly welcome you home. And apologize to you earnestly. When you turned around to hug Leo, he was bowing 90 degrees at you. Your eyes widened.

"I'm sorry for what I said to you," Leo remained still in his position. "I was angry and blinded by my pride that I overlooked my own team member and sister who was injured badly to the brink of death. For that, I'm truly sorry and I'm willing to accept any punishment you're giving me."

"Any punishment, you say?"

"Yes." His fists shaped into a ball.

"Buy me Baskin Robbins, choco mint flavoured and--" Leo looked up when you paused and thought he'd be seeing you angry or upset but instead sees you forming tears in your eyes, "--a hug from you. I haven't gotten a hug from you ever since I started my training."

Leo reacted and hugged you so tight you might suffocate to death but you didn't care.

#tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt bayverse x reader #tmnt angst #tmnt 2014 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo

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kiwibongos · 5 months ago

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im writing Something for a little fic and i was putting stuff in my notes for later on and it really just made me realize like how fucked up hajime is after all the Horrors. like, emotionally. him rediscovering emotions entirely. (maybe someone has talked abt this before, i just wanna store this here)

because when he's less of a hollow shell, all there is is grief and guilt in his brain. but then as time goes on, he slowly rediscovers what it means to be human, and learns these feelings again one by one. and it has to be such an agonizing process too ? and when they do happen, theyre all extremely overwhelming, out of the blue, and most likely even caused by really small things. my dude will eat a stale piece of bread or even smell expired dairy products, suddenly relearn disgust and feel ABSOLUTELY nauseous and just hurl over lmaoo

but for as for more serious topics, like properly feeling anger again, it'd be ticked off by little shit, bc he doesn't wanna lose control like that cause the frustration doubles. it'd get bad when he makes a mistake too. he'd freak the hell out, because izuru was the embodiment of perfection, of every talent cultivated into one single brain, so he *cant* mess up, but its too much for him to handle cause he's so used to being under that obligation and expectation, but now that he's losing his stability over all that, when he messes up just *slightly*, he feels ashamed and tries to fix it as fast as possible, whether or not its a big deal. itd definitely be really hard to get out of the mindset that, even though hes not izuru anymore, he has to be perfect. to him, he has to stay that way. cause if he fails at all, then he can't protect his friends anymore. does that make sense. the pressure would be literally crushing

also shock/surprise/excitement. everything was predictable and boring to him as izuru, so obviously all of that is still a huge issue that still lingers within him after the simulation, so he'd probably overcome that first and be caught off guard a lot bc, well, he's learning to be hajime again, he's not *exactly* the op superhuman genius anymore (in my head at least. cause when two minds practically mash together weirdly it creates a horrible hit-or-miss concoction lol) so even basic things become brand new to him, and hes fascinated and curious by everyone and everything. not like hes never seen it before, but its like hes experiencing it for the first time, even if its just mundane tasks in life, new methods and alternatives to things, etc. he's generally a very observant guy, and would also pick up on little traits and habits from all his friends. i have the feeling people would rub off on him extremely easily

love, serenity and happiness itself would be extremely hard to tackle and learn, or even notice? i think of so many scenarios of how this could happen. cause like sure he can feel joy, he can be glad, proud, relieved, and smile because his friends are there. but he's still yet to experience what happiness truly is, what it means to him, and it's not something he can do alone. so it just takes a while for that big boom to happen. perhaps its up to interpretation how it happens, go for it idc i have alot of scenarios stirring up in my brain, but overall, i think him actually bursting with happiness and feeling genuine peace within himself, and realize hes grateful for the life he has, and the future he got to choose, would probably be caused in the process of moving to jabberwock island. just seeing all his friends on the boat and knowing they've made it this far, and theyre going to be starting a new life on this island, and that theyre safe, would be enough to just like hit him. like Ough. and thats when he actually consciously realizes that he's happy, when every other waking moment, there's been some kind of empty pit in his stomach eating at him for so long

on top of all of this, he cant really control his emotions very well, either. thats also another massive con to all of it, and a downside of relearning these things because of how strongly they came swinging back. its alot to handle. even if theres so much knowledge packed in his brain, one little thing like that could be enough to make him bluescreen. so he ends up just going on autopilot or stuffing all of it away, just to make the bad stuff stop. (it becomes a very unhealthy habit that bites him in the ass later. everyone is mad at him for not taking care of himself. hajime is then swaddled into a blanket with a kiss on the forehead)

anyway theres probably more to add and id get into the nitty gritty of specific shit but i had to impulsively dump this here so might as well put up the basics. makes me so excited to work on this fic more, even if its in a more somber, different context, i just love to think about hajime and how he works through his emotions and picking up his old traits. yknow, being himself. but at the same time he isn't doing it alone. let my boy be happy. let him find himself again and move on from izuru

#rambling #hajime hinata #danganronpa #danganronpa v2 #danganronpa v2 goodbye despair #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 7: Final Tribute]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: I am wishing a very Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! I am so thankful for all of you and your support of this fic. Only 1 more chapter left! 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, violence, babies, dad!Aemond, show events, drama at dinner, sexual content, witchcraft, death and destruction, dragons, a very very long chapter so maybe plan for a snack break...might I suggest a nice roasted pig??

Word count: 10.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @torchbearerkyle @sweetashoneyhoney @quartzs-posts @lauraneedstochill @nctma15 @queenofshinigamis @rapoficeandfire @hinata7346 @curiouser-an-curiouser @meadowofsinfulthoughts @imjustboredso @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @myspotofcraziness @bregarc @mikariell95 @doingfondue @justconfusedperiod @mommyslittlewarcriminal @graykageyama

Aemond holds her so that her feet can skim the warm, sun-sparkling surf. Laurel smiles, squeals merrily, makes ineffectual little kicks. She gawks down at the water with eyes that seem to fill up her whole face. She is scrawny still—no matter how much she is fed she remains small, much smaller than other infants her age—but tough and dauntless. She rarely cries. She reaches for everything. She watches you with those enormous eyes that hold an eerie sort of awareness, a stoicism that comes from something, somewhere, that predates her two short months in this world. It should not surprise you that she is a rare sort of child. She is built of bloodlines that run thick with magic.

Jaehaera and Maelor are constructing a sandcastle, decorated with stones and shells and flags made of driftwood speared through strips of dried seaweed. The handmaidens are attempting to prevent an irate Jaehaerys from stomping it into rubble. Helaena is staring out into the ocean towards Bearstone, her face grim and remote. Gulls swoop and squawk overhead. The end of the day is golden and hot and perfect; the sun is sinking rapidly into the horizon.

Aemond straightens, cradles Laurel to his chest with one arm, and offers her a small pink cat’s paw seashell. She clutches it, considers it, tries to eat it. Aemond laughs and takes the shell away, tossing it back into the waves. Laurel begins to fuss in protest, but settles when he kisses her short silver hair and soothes her like he always does: “Shh, shh, lykiri, shh.” She peers up at him and bats at his eyepatch with her tiny fist. When you are in private, he goes without it so she can get used to his sapphire, his scar; she is entranced by the cool blue glow, finding only beauty in what some would call monstrous.

A maester appears, ambling with some difficulty across the sand to meet the prince. You take Laurel from Aemond so he can receive the scroll. He unrolls the parchment and reads it, his brow furrowed.

“Who have you been colluding with?” you tease. “Your maester friends in Dorne?”

“Something like that.” He stows the scroll away in his tunic. His boots sink into the wet sand like a punctured ship into the depths. The wind gusting in off the sea tears at his long hair. You wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. Laurel grabs at your moonstone pendant.

Far above in the orange-indigo sky, there is a flash of crimson and a shrill, clicking sort of shriek. The handmaidens gasp and duck their heads. You look up to see a dragon soaring over the walls of the Red Keep: blood-red, lithe, lightning-quick, unapologetically lethal. You’ve only ever heard of one dragon that fits that description. Caraxes. Daemon. You turn back to Aemond.

“They’re here,” he says simply.

“Since when?”

“Since this afternoon. I saw Jace and Luke in the courtyard. They did not accept my invitation to train.”

“And have they grown up to be…” you begin. Aemond smiles, dimples springing up in his cheeks; he already knows what you’re going to say. You are a book he has poured over for nearly a year. For the first time, you wonder if he’s memorized the rhythm of your footsteps, the lines of your shoulders, the slope of your jaw. You wonder if you have any new pages left for him to read. “Strong boys?”

“I wouldn’t say they’ve grown very much at all.”

“Why are they in King’s Landing?” Rhaenyra has been biding her time on Dragonstone for six years; it must have taken something truly urgent to lure her back into such an unfriendly court.

“Vaemond Velaryon has disputed Luke’s claim to Driftmark. His grounds are…obvious. The boys aren’t Laenor’s, thus they cannot inherit his titles. Rhaenyra has come seeking judgment in her favor.”

“Very interesting. Best of luck to her.”

“I wouldn’t be too optimistic. Otto and my mother are the ones doing the judging.” He lifts your chin, kisses you, nudges his nose playfully against yours. He has been like this since you had the baby: attentive, affectionate, but chaste. He does not touch you with heat, with lust. And at first, that had been more than alright; you were recovering, and then you were consumed with caring for Laurel—always so small, always so spellbinding—and even now you are only just beginning to feel like yourself again. Yet there are moments when you catch glimpses of that familiar, animalistic longing in your thoughts, your body: a memory here, a twinge of yearning there. That part of yourself is waking up like embers fueled with fresh air. You hope that Aemond still desires you in the same way he once did. You hope that when your flesh reunites you will not disappoint him. Now, he studies your face. “Do you pity them? The bastards?”

“I don’t blame them for who their father is, they cannot help that. I do blame them for what they did to you. What they have never atoned for.”

“Well, we will soon have the pleasure of seeing them humiliated,” he says brightly. “Tomorrow. In the Great Hall.”

“I’ll dress for a bloodbath.”

He chuckles, touching his lips to your forehead. “I’ll meet you upstairs. I need to send a raven first.”

You and Helaena take the children inside: you rocking Laurel to sleep in your arms, Helaena carrying an almost-too-heavy Maelor on her hip, Jaehaera trotting along beside her, Jaehaerys trying to clomp on people’s heels. The exasperated handmaidens struggle to corral him as you glide through the hallways towards the royal family’s chambers. Helaena is telling you about the web patterns of spiders when you round a corner to find an unfamiliar face.

She’s Princess Rhaenyra, she has to be. She has white hair and pale eyes and wears the black and red of House Targaryen. And yet, she is different than you had imagined her; she is regal but soft somehow, placid, subdued, some might even say diminished. She does not look like someone who would carry on a torrid, profoundly reckless affair. She does not look like a woman who would set the realm ablaze for a chance at the Iron Throne. Perhaps motherhood has smoothed over her roughest edges; perhaps suffering has humbled her.

You stare at each other in the middle of the hushed hallway—you flanked by Helaena and the handmaidens, Rhaenyra accompanied by two girls who can only be Daemon’s daughters by Laena Velaryon—and try to think of something to say. At last, Rhaenyra’s gaze drops to Laurel, bundled in a blanket stitched with a green dragon.

“Oh, she’s a brand new little thing! Might I see her?”

You do not relinquish your daughter, but you position her so Rhaenyra can get a better look. She stirs and stretches but does not wake.

“A darling,” the princess declares diplomatically. Her eyes linger on the baby’s silvery hair. “What do you call her?”

“Laurel.”

Rhaenyra smiles, just barely, as if she’s won a victory. And for the first time you see the venom in her. “Not a Targaryen name, that’s for certain.” She lays a hand on her pregnant belly. “We are expecting another in a few months’ time. After five sons, I am convinced this one is a girl at last. We plan to call her Visenya.”

It occurs to you how many things you have in common: mothers lost in childbirth, arranged and dispassionate first marriages, tenacity, magic, merciless love for a Targaryen man. And yet here you stand on opposite sides of a gaping chasm. “Congratulations.” What else can one say?

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Rhaenyra asks. “When you realize what you’d do for your children.”

“Yes. I think if someone cut out her eye, I’d burn them alive.”

The princess blinks at you, stunned; and there is a moment when it is possible to unravel these generational knots of resentment and bloodletting ambition. There is a version of this exchange in which Rhaenyra apologizes for what happened to Aemond, for her callousness that night, for prizing a single lie above untold lives, for wielding her father’s fondness for her like a blade with which to cut others’ heads off. She considers it, surely; and instead she hardens, sharpens, grows claws and fangs. “I have heard of you, Lady Mormont. You’ve reached very high.”

“And you’ve stooped low.”

Rhaenyra blows by you like a storm wind, her footsteps echoing through the hallway. One of Daemon’s daughters bows her head demurely, but the other—Baela, you think her name is—flings you a glare of prideful, poisonous malice. She is very much Daemon Targaryen’s daughter. She is the type of woman who Aemond might say he’d met his match in, had they been born into different circumstances.

You can hear voices rising throughout the Red Keep. The handmaidens are gossiping frenetically among themselves. Jaehaerys growls and kicks at the wall. Beyond the glass windows, rain starts to fall and thunder booms. In your arms, Laurel begins to cry.

“He comes home late, covered in rain,” Helaena murmurs, looking at fingernails she’s chewed down to the quick.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your dresses are a kaleidoscope of gemstones: ruby, onyx, emerald, turquoise, rose quartz, pearl, tiger’s eye, sapphire, moonstone. On your vanity are pieces of jewelry to match. There are also twenty-seven blue winter roses, dried into shriveled, perpetual life and kept in a white vase.

“You should wear your namesake,” Aemond says. He stands behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You smile at each other in the mirror’s reflection. He is in good spirits, eager, proud. A part of that is the shame that Rhaenyra and her sons are sure to suffer. A part of that is his own prowess: his swordsmanship, his intellect, his dragon. And, you have come to realize, a part of it is you as well. He is impatient to show you off. You have no eminent blood relatives, no wealth, no sons…and yet to Aemond you are a fortune. You choose a billowing, ethereal gown that sparkles when sunlight hits the fabric. Your husband weaves matching chains of moonstones into your hair.

You enter the Great Hall with the rest of the Greens. Otto Hightower, in the king’s absence, will preside over the dispute. Alicent wears a jade-colored dress and seven-pointed star necklace like armor, like it will keep all her encroaching enemies at bay. Helaena is wide-eyed and jittery. Aegon is, much to his own regret, hungover but not inebriated at the moment; Alicent and Aemond have bullied him into relative sobriety for the duration of Rhaenyra’s visit. You stand between the brothers, always on Aemond’s good side. He periodically touches your hand, your hair, your shoulders. Sir Criston remains by the queen, watching her like a sailor studies the sky for signs of a storm: dark clouds, spiraling winds, scattering flocks of birds.

As Otto ascends the Iron Throne as Hand of the King and Vaemond Velaryon states his claim to Driftmark, you take stock of Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. It is clear why Aemond is so heartened by their presence, here in King’s Landing for all the nobles to see and spread word of throughout Westeros. Jace and Luke, whatever their favorable attributes, are utterly unlike what the world expects from Targaryens or Velaryons. They are short and dark-haired and somehow benign in their features: homey, ordinary, pug-nosed like the Strongs are known to be. They do not sweat that unnerving, commanding otherworldliness from their pores, that magnetism that totters on the blade’s edge between greatness and insanity.

Aemond smiles darkly as he ghosts his fingertips across the back of your neck. He has the looks of a true Targaryen. He has a full-grown, legendary dragon. He has you. The gods have set things right again, they have put the universe back in order. He is at the top of fate’s wheel; the bastard boys and all their defenders are at the bottom.

When Rhaenyra tries to refute Vaemond, Alicent scolds her like a child, reminding her to wait her turn to speak. The futility of her cause is becoming evident on Rhaenyra’s face. Otto and Alicent will never acknowledge her sons’ legitimacy. Not even Luke seems especially enthused by his own claim to Driftmark; he looks skittish, almost anguished. His doelike dark eyes land on Aemond and then bolt away. Aemond only grows more amused.

Aegon turns to you. Is this over yet? he mouths, then mimes swigging a cup of wine.

It is Rhaenyra’s turn to plead her son’s case. She steps forward. Daemon watches her in a way that is somehow familiar to you, and then you place it; it is the same way Aemond watches you, proud, possessive, linked by a gravity that is bone-deep and older than words. Daemon even looks and moves a bit like your husband, albeit less controlled, less premeditated. You remember once being able to tell that Aemond had never killed a man. There is no mistaking the fact that Daemon has spilled a tide of hot pulsing blood, and furthermore would be delighted to again.

Rhaenyra speaks as her time here draws short, as Luke’s claim to Driftmark dies. Everyone knows it, Blacks and Greens alike, they’re just waiting for the judgment to be handed down. And then, and then…

The doors to the Great Hall open and his entrance is announced. In nearly a year, you have never once seen the ailing King Viserys. He was not roused from his sickbed by the joust, by the feasts, by your imprisonment, by the trial by combat that nearly claimed Aemond’s life, by the birth of your daughter. Aemond rarely speaks of him. He doesn’t seem to have many memories of the king at all, the man who watched as the mangled flesh of his son’s eye was sewn shut and felt no outrage. Only now does Viserys appear to take his rightful place as king. Only for Rhaenyra.

Otto dutifully surrenders the Iron Throne and comes down to stand with his family. He and Alicent exchange a wary glance. As Daemon helps Viserys—weak, emaciated, decaying—to his seat, Aegon raises his eyebrows at you. Helaena fidgets anxiously. You tug on your moonstone pendant. Aemond is a pillar of stone. Here is one thing Rhaenyra and her sons have that he never will: the king’s unconditional love.

The winds have changed direction. Rhaenys announces her and Lord Corlys’ support for Luke’s Velaryon inheritance, as well as her intention that her granddaughters Baela and Rhaena marry Jace and Luke. Vaemond’s face is furious, while Rhaenyra’s grows cautiously assured; House Velaryon has chosen a side in the coming war, the one everyone knows of but cannot yet name.

King Viserys did not protect Aemond when his eye was cut from his skull and his life endangered, but he protects Luke now, not from jeers or blades but from his mother’s obvious indiscretion: he affirms Luke’s claim to Driftmark. The Great Hall is hectic with whispers and cynical looks. The nobles here at court may never have fully warmed to you, but many of them loathe Rhaenyra: due to her arrogance, due to her lies, due to her marriage to the rogue prince…and yes, due to her womanhood as well. While you cannot fault her for this last fact, there are plenty of shortcomings left to weigh the scales against her. Only Vaemond Velaryon, after exalting the longevity and uninterrupted bloodline of his ancient house, is willing to give voice to what so many others are thinking.

“My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned…” He turns to Luke, trembling with rage. “I will not see it ended on account of this…”

“Say it,” Daemon dares, his icy deep-set eyes gleaming, and again you can see shades of Aemond in him.

“Her children…” Vaemond says. “Are bastards!” He looks to Rhaenyra, briefly, with palpable revulsion. “And she…is…a whore.”

Aemond is smiling again. His father is less pleased. King Viserys, slow and feeble and wheezing, yanks a dagger from his belt. “I will have your tongue for that.”

There is a whistle of steel through the air, and Daemon’s blade Dark Sister severs Vaemond’s skull crosswise just above the mouth. Helaena whirls away, clapping her hands over her ears; both you and Alicent reach out to console her. The man—now a corpse—drops to the floor, spilling out blood and brains like wine sloshed in a too-full cup. The room erupts into gasps of shock, disgust, dismay. If the noble families of Westeros required any further proof of Daemon’s undomesticated savagery, they now have it.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon says, smirking down at Vaemond’s body.

“Disarm him!” Otto Hightower bellows.

“No need.” Daemon wipes his sword clean and sheaths it.

Helaena is whimpering as you embrace her. Aegon is clearly regretting his sobriety. Aemond is staring at his uncle, his blue eye alight, entranced and awed and hungry; for it is not often that he meets his match in someone. As you watch, his finger go—unthinkingly, instinctively—to the dagger at his belt, and they rest there on the hilt shaped like the roaring bear of House Mormont.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere in the few hours between the audience in the Great Hall and the dinner arranged by the pitiful, dying king, Aegon managed to rectify his dreadful lack of intoxication. He is now quite drunk and delighted to be back in his preferred state. Aemond is berating him in the corner of the dining room.

“Perhaps I don’t drink too much,” Aegon says, swaying as he pokes his brother in the chest. “Perhaps you drink too little.”

“I drink exactly the correct amount, thanks for your concern.”

Aegon slurs, speaking to you this time: “Don’t you think he drinks too little?”

“I think you should find your seat at the table before you end up under it.”

“Well alright then.” Aegon staggers off.

“Tonight is important,” Aemond tells you, low enough that nobody else will hear. Servants are lighting candles and setting the vast table; Alicent and Rhaenyra, sitting just a few paces apart, pretend not to notice each other. “I asked him to be responsible, to be prepared, to for once put duty before self-indulgence—”

“Let him have the wine. A time will come…a week from now, or a month, or a year…when he will have to renounce his vices for the good of the realm, but that time is not now. Let him enjoy his hedonism while he still can.”

Aemond frowns as he glares in Rhaenyra’s direction. “Even when the noose is tightened, they expect us to break bread.”

“Perhaps there is an advantage in it for you,” you say, laying your hand against his cheek, his scar. “Perhaps this is your chance to study them, to learn where all their bruises and cracks are.”

He smiles, lifts your hand from his marred face, kisses your palm. Candlelight illuminates him like flames. “You are truly a terrible influence, wife. You’ve made me so tame.”

“I’ve been known to ride a dragon too, you know. A very fearsome dragon. Tall, silver-haired, spends long hours in the library reading about philosophy…” You wink and turn to go to your seat. Aemond pulls you back, hooks a hand beneath your jaw, devours you with his roaming, ravenous eye: your parted lips, your throat, your breasts, your hips, lower. You can feel your muscles unraveling, opening, growing supple. You can feel all of your self-conscious trepidation melting away. On the blurred, firelit periphery of your vision, you can tell that Daemon is watching.

“I want you,” Aemond whispers.

“So take me.”

The doors open and King Viserys is carried in by the Kingsguard, propped up helplessly in his chair. Aemond releases you and stands with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture diffident but his lips still curled mischievously, distractedly. You can guess what he’s thinking, what he’ll spend the entire meal playing out in his mind before he gets to have it. When King Viserys is positioned at the center of the table, Aemond takes his place at the Green’s end. You sit between him—always on his good side—and Helaena. Your eyes scan the guests; Jace and Luke are ogling you with a mix of horror and fascination. Daemon is smirking with his chin propped on the heel of his hand. Alicent is staring blankly at the wall.

Aegon bends across Helaena so he can say to you: “That was very decorous. Entirely appropriate for a family dinner. Maybe when they serve dessert you could fuck on the table, right between the apple cake and the blueberry tarts.”

“That’s a fine idea, I’ll certainly consider it.”

He cackles and slumps back into his seat, guzzling a cup of blood-red wine.

“How good it is to see you all tonight,” the king says. “Together.” His eye—he has only one remaining, and surely that is the work of the gods’ irony—floats over you without much interest. He barely acknowledges any of his children with Alicent, nor do they strive to capture his attention. Perhaps they learned the pointlessness of such efforts a decade ago. Perhaps the part of them that longed for the king’s affection and approval died with his rotting flesh.

“Prayer before we begin?” Alicent prompts, and the king agrees. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love…” Beneath the table, Aemond nudges his knee against yours. You return the gesture. “May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long…” From the opposite end of the gathering, Luke stares at Aemond as if still trying to puzzle out how the runt of a boy he blinded grew up to be…well…that. “And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon sighs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes, and perhaps they can find a new wife for Axel Hightower too.”

“If he’s fortunate, he’ll be freed when I suffer an entirely coincidental fall from a horse,” you pitch back. Aemond chortles, a low rumble from deep in his chest.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” the king continues forcefully. Through a forest of flickering candles, Daemon’s eyes dissect you as he twirls his wine cup, thoughtful and amused. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

Aemond says nothing, but you can read the words in the lines of his face. Further bolstering the strength of the Blacks, you mean. Absentmindedly, he skims his fingertips across your knuckles. Goosebumps spring up on your arms.

The king raises his cup. “A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

Everyone obediently lifts their cups, but their expressions are less than celebratory. Otto Hightower broods. Alicent bites her lower lip. Luke blanches; he is young, so very young.

Aegon taunts: “Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.”

“And perhaps just the one,” Jace returns. “You wouldn’t be acquainted with the idea.”

The king says: “And let us toast as well Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides.”

Cups are raised again. Rhaenyra beams with pride. Aemond leers at Luke as he drinks.

“You’ll be great,” Rhaena tells her future husband. She is a sweet girl, wise and sympathetic and grounded. She must be more like her mother. That’s good; she’ll make a fine companion for Luke when he’s sent off to rule Driftmark.

Aegon leans into Jace again. Jace flinches away. It does take some getting used to, as you are well aware; Aegon has, at best, a tenuous understanding of personal space. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, cousin,” Baela warns. You find it unfortunate that she was born to be on the wrong side of this war. She would have made a valuable ally.

“You can play the jester if you wish,” Jace tells Aegon. “But hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Having not received the reaction he was hoping for, Aegon returns his attention to his wine. Luke and Rhaena are whispering back and forth, giggling innocently; she’s finally gotten him to smile. Aemond reaches beneath the table to rest a hand on your thigh. It skates upwards, and then back down again, very slowly. You sip your wine and try not to react visibly, but hot blood rushes into your face. Aegon squints at you and Aemond with bleary eyes, his mouth stretching into a grin.

The king hauls himself to his feet. Aemond’s hand stills but remains on you. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world…” Aemond shakes his head, just barely, just enough for you to notice it. His face was not dear enough for his father to mourn its butchering. He does not look directly at Viserys. He looks at you instead. Again, Daemon is watching. “…Yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.”

The king reaches up to the golden mask that covers half his face. It takes you a moment before you realize he’s going to remove it. Alicent takes a series of shallow, uneasy breaths. Aegon grimaces and gulps his wine. Beneath the mask, there is a gaping, wet cavity where the king’s right eye once was. His cheek is mostly disintegrated; one can glimpse his teeth and tongue moving behind the curtain of dark, shredded flesh. To her credit, Rhaenyra does not turn away. There is horror on her pale face, but there are other things too: compassion, mourning, loss. She does truly love him, you think to yourself, and you wonder what Alicent’s children’s lives could have been like had Viserys not already filled the chambers of his heart to the brim with Aemma’s daughter.

“My face,” the king pants. “Is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father…” Aegon forces himself to raise his eyes to Viserys, then immediately regrets it and buries his face in his wine again. “…Your brother, your husband…” Alicent winces like she’s been hit, but tries to hide it. “And your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

You are struck with a sudden vision of Otto Hightower holding Laurel, talking to her like she’s already his closest confidant, tickling her toes, singing to her some ridiculous tavern song common in the Reach, kissing the crown of her head again and again. To your knowledge, King Viserys has never once asked about your daughter.

I cannot pity this man, you think, contemplating the dying king. You do not avert your gaze from his hideous affliction. You do not forget all the ways in which he has failed Alicent’s children. In fact, I might even hate him.

The king says as he lowers himself back down: “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong—”

“Interesting choice of words,” Aegon mumbles.

“—If the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.” Exhausted from the effort, the king languishes in his chair and sucks in rattling breaths. Alicent comforts him and helps him refasten his mask. No one speaks, but all the Greens are thinking the same thing. It is easy for the king to urge forgiveness when he was never wronged: never ignored, never dismembered, never groped with unwanted hands, never sacrificed on the altar of Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne, a claim so much of Westeros refuses to support. He would set the world ablaze for her, and expects you all to smile and toss sticks into the flames as they lick around your ankles.

Ever the favorite child, ever affixed to the king, Rhaenyra offers a toast next. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the queen.” Alicent peers up at her reticently with large, tearful eyes. “I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that she has my gratitude…and my apology.”

“Apology for what?” Aegon hisses under his breath. He is right; the words are worthless in their ambiguity. Apology for monopolizing the king’s love? Apology for cursing Alicent for complying with old men’s schemes and marrying Viserys? Apology for what happened to Aemond? Apology for the interminable enmity that remains? Apology for dividing and jeopardizing the realm? Apology for WHAT? No matter her meaning, Daemon is not enthused. He glowers and sulks. Daemon Targaryen is not a man who apologizes for anything.

Alicent collects herself before replying. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” She stands and toasts Rhaenyra. “I raise my cup to you and your house.” She pauses, then adds: “You will make a fine queen.”

Otto Hightower raises an eyebrow. Aemond’s forehead wrinkles before he can smooth it again; his hand squeezes your thigh. Is it a lie to soothe a dying man? Is it to deceive Rhaenyra, to disarm her? Is it wistful thinking for a miraculously peaceful end to all of this? Surely Alicent cannot think it possible for Rhaenyra to reign. As long as Aegon lives—and then Aegon’s sons, and then Aemond, and then Daeron—there will be tens of millions who raise banners and swords to try to put them on the throne. It is a truth that is larger than any of their individual wills. Rhaenyra cannot let them live if she hopes to be queen. Even if she wanted to spare them, Daemon would not stand for it. She must either be kept from the Iron Throne…or she will wear the Greens’ blood like rubies. The dinner guests ignore this fact, for tonight at least. They nurse their wine and clink silverware against their plates as they eat. Candlelight paints you all in flames and shadows.

Aegon is sorely disappointed with the dearth of chaos he’s caused this evening. He gets up to refill his wine cup and snakes between Jace and his betrothed. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” he tells Baela. “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Jace jumps to his feet and slams his palms on the table.

Baela tries to calm him. “Jace…”

Beside you, Aemond rises. He doesn’t say a word; he just stares, wearing firelight like furs, his scar very loud. Aegon meanders back to his seat. Jace does some quick calculations, trying to figure out how to deescalate while saving face. He is bolder than Luke, but still far from ferocious. And he is clever enough to know how to keep the king’s love. He pounds Aegon’s shoulder and raises his cup.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” Jace says. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope that we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles. And congratulations, Prince Aemond, on the recent birth of your only child, your…” He hesitates deliberately. “Daughter.”

The table is hushed, all eyes on Aemond. He is examining Jace like he’s trying to decide the best spot to place a blade. Aegon observes his brother, waiting for a signal. Aemond looks to you. You shrug, ever so slightly, sipping your wine; you are determined not to be bothered. The Strong boys’ time of reckoning will be upon them soon, but not here and now. At last, Aemond sits. The table comes back to life like the earth at springtime.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” Helaena says.

“Well done, my boy,” the king praises Jace. Aegon gags audibly.

Helaena stands next. “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon.” She offers a soft, sympathetic smile. “It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you…except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

There are awkward titters. Helaena isn’t sure what they’re laughing at. You reach out to grasp her hand when she sits. “That was very, very kind of you,” you say. She nods gratefully.

“Good,” Otto adds, and Helaena beams.

The king calls for music. The dining room blossoms with the noise of lively, cheerful strings. Jace—quite unexpectedly—offers Helaena his hand for a dance, and she is delighted to accept. You fill your plate with meat and fish and vegetables but eat sparingly. Aemond eats nothing. He watches you, and he watches Helaena, and he adds spoonfuls of dishes to your plate that he thinks you might like but declines to taste them himself. Aegon drains cup after cup of wine. Alicent tends to the king. Daemon tends to Rhaenyra, his arm draped across the back of her chair, making her laugh and feeding her morsels of food with his fingers. He is the mate of her choice, that’s for certain; she glows for him, she would kill for him.

When the king’s pain grows too great, he retires to his chambers for sleep and milk of the poppy. As Viserys is carried out, a large roasted pig is brought in. The scent is rich and fatty and mouthwatering. The servants place the pig in front of Aemond, and he immediately begins cutting into it to serve you a portion. That’s when you hear the snickering. At the other end of the table, Luke is smirking. Rhaena stares at him, not knowing what it means, but you do; Aemond has told you about the Pink Dread. Aegon has too, for that matter. It rolls across your husband’s ravaged face like a wave: the taunting and cutting and stitching, the excruciating cleaning of his wound each day for months afterwards, the muscle memory of trauma that never quite forgets the blade, the howling absence of repayment. A debt is still owed. A debt will always be owed.

Aemond brings his fist down on the table and stands. The music cuts off. He raises his cup. “Final tribute,” he says, and glances down at you. You would not stop him, even if you could; these words are long, long overdue. Aegon has perked up, though his eyes are still glazed with drink. Alicent is gnawing anxiously on her thumbnail. Across the table, Daemon is grinning. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.” If his intentions were not clear before, they are now; he has conveniently left out Rhaenyra’s sons with Daemon. “Each of them handsome, wise…”

Don’t, Alicent’s eyes plead.

Do it, provoke Daemon’s.

Aemond continues: “…Strong.”

“Aemond—” Alicent begins.

“Come,” Aemond says, ignoring her. You and Aegon hold your wine cups aloft. “Let us raise our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again!” Jace shouts.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment,” Aemond says, stepping towards him. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Jace’s fist collides with your husband’s face on his blind side. Aemond barely recoils; his wine remains undisturbed in his hand. When Luke bolts to his feet, Aegon—no great foot soldier, but committed to the cause nonetheless—smashes his face into the table. Luke yells and struggles. The room is in uproar, but when Aemond shoves Jace to the floor and turns back to you, he is smiling. He has tasted the Strong boys’ power and is wholly unimpressed. Guards rush to restrain Jace and Luke. Rhaena detains Baela, who is swiping at Aegon like a shadowcat. Aegon circles back to the Greens, probably a little terrified of her. Helaena has fled to safety at Otto Hightower’s side.

Alicent grabs Aemond’s forearm. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?!” What she means is: Why would you sabotage what little chance we have at peace?

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond rips his arm free. “Hm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Jace breaks away from the guards. “It takes courage to speak of bastards when your child was born to another man’s wife!”

Aemond reaches for his dagger. Jace fumbles for his own. Daemon steps between them.

“Wait, wait,” he says, and Jace instantly retreats. Rhaenyra sends her children from the room, as if they needed help appearing any more juvenile. Then Daemon turns to Aemond. They measure each other in a taut, razor-sharp silence. You go to Aemond��s side, not to stop him but to show that you support him even when his own father does not, that you will always and unconditionally, that you do not shy away from battles. Daemon’s menacing, deep-set eyes flick to you, linger there, and then return to Aemond. There is a cunning sort of understanding living in those eyes like fanged animals in caves. The viciousness on Aemond’s face dies. It is replaced by something unsettled, something fearful.

“Hm,” is all he says. He nods towards the doors, telling you to leave first. You cross through the threshold and Aemond swiftly follows after you. You hurry through halls and doorframes and empty rooms. Together, you enter the deserted Great Hall.

“What was that about—?”

Aemond pushes you against the wall, kisses you breathlessly, runs his hands up the length of your body from your hips to your throat. “It doesn’t matter.” You moan into him as he pushes your thighs apart and kisses you again. He tastes like wine and heat and bloodlust. He tastes even better than you remember. “I want you,” he says. “Now.”

“Yes,” you answer. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“They’re going to come looking for me, Mother and Otto. They’re going to want to discuss what I did and pick it to pieces and start drawing up plans. If we go to our chambers they’ll find us, probably within five minutes—”

“Then do it here.” You glace to the stairwell where he took you that very first time, back when you were a widow and he was a prince in need of a politically expedient marriage and Rhaenyra was tucked neatly away on Dragonstone.

He caresses your face, suddenly gentle. “Are you sure you’re ready? I won’t be angry with you if you’re not.”

In reply, grinning and flushed, you take his hand and lead him to the stairwell. You descend together past the cobwebs and jagged stones walls and cold drafts and the torches, bathed in firelight. In the abyss of this secret place, he strokes you and tastes you and is so impatient that he rips pieces from your gown like the missing scraps of membrane on Vhagar’s wings.

When you gasp as he slips into you, he stills. “Pleasure, yes? Not pain?”

“Pleasure,” you agree, biting at his neck, the movement of your hips guiding him back into a rhythm.

“You are mine,” he whispers when you are both spent, sweat-slick and drenched in each other, throbbing with long-awaited release. He kisses the side of your face again and again as he catches his breath. “You are mine, you are mine, you will always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is sunlight on your bare skin. There are gulls crying outside. You can hear the crash of waves, the rustle of wind through the leaves. King’s Landing is awake again.

Your eyes still closed, you reach out to Aemond. His side of the bed is empty, and this is not so unusual; he often wakes before you to train or hunt or strategize with his family. Last night, Otto Hightower had indeed been waiting when you and Aemond returned to your chambers; he had politely diverted his gaze from your ripped gown. Perhaps the Greens’ ambitions have called your husband away again already. There is nothing to fear: Rhaenyra and Daemon have returned to Dragonstone, King Viserys has returned to his sickbed, the world is back in order. You open your eyes.

You bark out a startled yelp when you see Aegon. He’s perched on the writing desk with a cup of wine. You groan, sitting up and rubbing your face with both hands. “Why do you insist on doing this?”

There are deep, violet circles under his eyes, even more pronounced that usual. His clothes are stained and common. He wears a strange, mournful smile. “I’m just saying goodbye.”

“…You’re what…?”

He hops down, gulps the rest of his wine, tosses the cup on the floor, and walks out of the room.

“Where are you going…? Aegon?” You stumble out of bed and yell after him: “Aegon! Where are you going?!”

You dress yourself as quickly as you can and venture out into the Red Keep. Something is wrong. There are no footsteps, no pleasant jabbering, no laughter, no frivolous droves of nobles. Aegon isn’t in his rooms. The courtyard is empty. You feel a sudden stab of fear and rush to Laurel’s bedroom, but she is dozing peacefully under the supervision of her wetnurses and handmaidens. You depart to find Helaena. The princess is in her chambers, but engrossed in embroidering a black-and-red spider and says only that Aegon isn’t there, and of course you already knew that. Aegon is almost never with his wife.

“Do you know where the others are?” you ask her. “Aemond? Sir Criston?”

She shakes her head. “It comes from the sky.”

“Helaena, please…”

Her hand juts out to snag your wrist. “Stay away from the fire,” she hisses, gripping you so fiercely that her fingers leave pallid imprints in your flesh. Then her face clears and drops back down to her embroidery.

You are headed to Alicent’s chambers when Aemond intercepts you. His height fills up the hallway, blocks the sunlight, casts shadows. “There you are! I was looking everywhere—”

“Have you seen Aegon?” he asks, his voice urgent.

“An hour ago, but not since. Why?”

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No. He just said that he was saying goodbye.”

“Seven hells,” Aemond exhales, aghast.

You take his hands. When you do, he brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses them absently, his thoughts far away. “What’s happened?”

He looks at you for a long time before he speaks. It is a moment you can never come back from. “The king is dead.”

You know what this means. You’ve always known; you just thought you’d have more time. Aegon knows what it means too. And when he felt its full and final and crushing weight…he tried to escape it.

“We have to find Aegon,” your husband says. “He ran, and if we can’t drag him back…if he gets out of the city…” He shakes his head. “We need him to be king. We need him to send terms to Rhaenyra. We can probably convince her if we move quickly and our side has enough strength. She’s not stupid and she’s not suicidal, and if she is offered generous conditions for herself and her bastards she might concede and the realm need not burn. That is my mother’s most ardent wish, and so we will give it a chance. But we need Aegon. As long as he lives, it has to be him. He’s the firstborn son. He’s the true heir. The people will not follow anyone else.”

“I’m sorry it can’t be you,” you say softly.

“That’s done. There’s no use fighting it. It can’t be changed.” He gazes through the window into the mazelike alleyways of the city. “Do you have a spell for this, Moonstone?”

“For locating a lost person? I’ve seen one performed before, but never done it myself.”

“What would you require?”

You try to recall. “Ashes. A mirror. Willow bark. A candle of transparent wax. An object belonging to the person, like blood or hair or a sweated shirt. And something beloved by them…in this case wine, I suppose.”

“How long will it take?”

“Not long. I think I can find everything here.”

“Ask the maesters if you need any assistance,” he says. “They will help you.” And that’s true; they are devoted to Aemond, and so they will cross oceans for you as well. “Sir Criston and I must search the city. If we cannot locate him by noon, we will return for your counsel.”

You smile up at Aemond, combing your fingers through his long silver hair. “You make me sound so important.”

“You are,” he replies, as if it is obvious, and before he can vanish he remembers one last thing. He reaches into his belt to give you back your dagger from Bear Island. He balances it on his palm like scales of judgement. “I suppose you’ll need this.”

“You’ve grown attached to it, haven’t you? You like to think you own it now. That you’ve claimed it, perhaps.”

“I’ve grown attached to everything about you,” he says. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

You find ashes in the fireplace. You find a mirror on your vanity. You obtain pulverized willow bark and a clear candle from the maesters. In Aegon’s bedroom, you remove a handful of white-blond strands from his hairbrush. In the Red Keep’s kitchen, you procure a flagon of red wine.

It is risky to perform a spell in broad daylight, but the circumstances leave you no choice. You spark the candle to life with your dagger and flint on the side of the heart tree that faces away from the castle, and you pray to the Old Gods that nobody spies you and gets too curious. You burn Aegon’s hair in the flame. You scatter the ashes and willow bark over the cold grey glass of the mirror, and then you sprinkle on drops of wine from your fingertips, repeating the words you once heard your mother say when two of your brothers went missing during a hunting expedition: “Lost in the waves, lost in the trees, lost in the sky, now show me what they see.”

As you are about to wipe the glass clean, Aemond and Sir Criston appear in the godswood. They are both wearing cloaks to conceal their identities as best they can…as if there are a plethora of towering, silver-haired, one-eyed men running around King’s Landing. They are also emptyhanded.

“What on earth is she doing?” Sir Criston asks with apprehension. He is aware on some level that you dabble in the occult, but adamantly avoids the details. He is a devoted follower of the Seven, after all; although perhaps he would have absorbed whatever religion Alicent subscribed to with the same zeal. Perhaps she could have had him chanting to the Old Gods under a heart tree within an afternoon. “I don’t need to kill any more bears, do I?”

You chuckle. “No, Sir Criston. Not just yet, anyway.”

You clear the mirror with one sweep of your hand. Then you tilt the glass so the sun ricochets off of it, igniting the reflection in blinding white-gold light. Squinting, your eyes pained, you peer into the mirror. There is candlelight, and stones, and a large hollow space, and…and…

“This is ridiculous,” Sir Criston laments. “This won’t accomplish—”

“Quiet,” Aemond says.

There is a face. No, not a face, a statue. Not just a statue. A sculpture of the Mother, and then the Smith, and then the Warrior, and then the Stranger. They revolve in a ceaseless pattern like the clouds passing by overhead.

“Oh, what irony.” You look up at Aemond and Sir Criston. “He’s in the sept.”

You are waiting in Aegon’s chambers when they bring him back. He is struggling and shrieking and sniveling, dragging his feet like a petulant child. His cheeks are scraped and bloody.

“You bitch,” he says when he sees you, but he is more heartbroken than wrathful. “I wouldn’t have given you up.”

“I wouldn’t have run.”

Aegon ruptures into red-faced sobs. His limbs hang lifelessly, brokenly as Sir Criston and Aemond hold him. Your voice turns kind. You lift his shagging hair out of his eyes. They glisten with tears, with misery, with dread. “We need you, Aegon.”

“You don’t,” he chokes out. “I could disappear, I’d be happy to in fact, I could go to Pentos, or Volantis, or Myr, or…or…”

“As long as you live, you are the heir,” you tell him calmly. “And none of us would harm you.” You cradle his swollen, battered face in your hands, and he lets you. “You can do this, Aegon. You are capable of it. You will grow into it. And we will help you.”

He lets loose a bray of cynical laughter. “Do you have a spell for that too, witch?”

And Aemond wrenches his brother roughly off his feet and drags him away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is less than twelve hours later when you find yourself back in Aegon’s chambers, this time carrying a pouch heavy with dust the color of pale rose quartz. The prince is under heavy guard to prevent another escape attempt, but he has been allowed some comforts: there are, from what you can discern in the frenzied nest of blankets, no less than two women snoring faintly beside him. Aegon is turned towards you with his eyes closed, his chest bare, slack-jawed and drooling, one hand dangling down to the floor. His coronation will be tomorrow.

You kneel to spread the fine shimmering powder beneath his bed: rosemary, sage, sea salt, black jade, a handful of teeth from a bear, a single fang from Balerion. Aemond did not suggest this precaution, although he went with Sir Criston to supply the bear teeth; he knew you would have thought of it already. When you rise, Aegon is staring at you.

“This is a strange reversal of roles, Moonstone,” he says. It is the first time he has ever used Aemond’s name for you. You weren’t even sure he was aware of it. It glides off his tongue effortlessly, like he’s known it all his life. He speaks no apology, but it is there swimming in his watery blue irises; it passes between the two of you in the blade-cool moonlight. “Now you are watching me sleep.”

You lay two fingers against his full lips. “I wasn’t here.”

“I’ve already forgotten you.” And then he rolls over, pulling up the blankets to cover his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

The smallfolk who have been corralled into the Dragonpit like cattle gawp with wide, wheeling eyes. They aren’t sure why they’re here. They’ve heard rumors, surely—and rumors can be powerful things—but they are slow to find their footing in this brand new world. They are so desperately afraid to hiss or clap at the wrong moment and end up hanged as traitors.

On the platform beneath a massive glass window that lets in sunlight like a downpour, you stand on Aemond’s right side. Helaena is to his left, and then Sir Criston and Alicent. The old queen is anxious, clasping her hands tightly together so she will not reveal too much of her humanity by wringing them. Most nights, you and Helaena bring the children to Alicent’s chambers and spend several hours there with her. She doesn’t quite feel like a mother to you yet, but you have learned enough of her to know that one day soon she will. She sews green blankets for Laurel decorated with seven-pointed stars and white watchtowers and dragons…and, occasionally, the roaring bear of House Mormont.

Otto Hightower addresses the crowd. He tells them that the king is dead and there are alarmed, doleful murmurs, perhaps less for the king—a sick old man who they have not laid eyes on in years—than for those who will survive him. An unclear succession can bring war, chaos, fire and blood…and Rhaenyra’s inheritance has been the subject of tipsy tavern debates since long before Aegon was born. The smallfolk might have less love for royals than you would care to admit, but they have more than enough for themselves: their families, their companions, their painstakingly scrapped out existences. You look into their filthy, creased, indomitable faces and are reminded of Bear Island.

“But it is also the most joyous of days,” Otto announces. “For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

There is a tentative reception to this news from the crowd, scattered shouts and applause. They have heard rumors about Aegon too, but they cannot say they know him. The guards file in. The horde parts to make space for them, common men and women jostling for the best views. The trumpets sound to proclaim the new king’s arrival. He appears—white-haired, raccoon-eyed, with an all-consuming dread that could be mistaken for dignity—and approaches the platform through an archway of drawn swords, a rainbow of cold clanging steel. The smallfolk peer at him with desperate curiosity, trying to discern what he carries in the lines of his shoulders and spine: competence, wisdom, pride, brutality, disaster. In turn, Aegon glares up at his family with bitter animosity. Tears burn in his eyes. Aemond and Otto chose his clothing, his crown, every detail of his coronation. Aegon can choose only his own grudges, fed and fattened like rats lapping up splashed milk in alleyways.

When he ascends the steps, Alicent kisses Aegon’s forehead and then moves to stand by his wife, the new queen. Helaena is dressed in a delicate, mournful blue. There is a ladybug clinging to her right index finger. She looks at you miserably. You offer her a small reassuring smile. Helaena does not smile back.

Aegon glances to Aemond, to you, and then he kneels. The septon anoints him and prays for the blessings of the Seven. Aegon’s mouth quivers; his hands shake. The smallfolk study him like a constellation they are still trying to discern the shape of. Sir Criston brings forth the crown of the Conqueror—black and red, onyx and flames—and places it on Aegon’s head. Aemond watches with an expression you can’t quite read. He breaks his concentration and warms, beams at you, brings your knuckles briefly to his lips. You catch several people in the crowd chuckle at the exchange, astonished, endeared. Regardless of the rumors, they have never properly met Aegon before; and they have never met you, either.

The smallfolk are growing louder. They are clamoring, nodding. Whatever they have heard, here is a young and able-bodied king, here is a dragonrider, here is an uncontested Targaryen, here is a man they can cast as a hero. Alicent bows to Aegon. So do Helaena and Aemond and Sir Criston and Otto. You bow lower than any of them. Aegon’s lips curl up at the edges when he sees this, just barely. And as he is introduced to the city for the first time as king, the crowd erupts. Something changes in Aegon’s drawn face; something brightens in his eyes. He unsheathes the sword Blackfyre and waves it in the air, and the cheers and applause become deafening thunder. Helaena can’t bear to look at Aegon, but you can’t take your eyes off him. He is radiant, ecstatic, ablaze. For the first time in his life, he can feel a worthy purpose surging through his veins. He can feel love.

“Long live King Aegon!” the people exalt. “King Aegon! King Aegon! Long live King—”

And then the stone floor explodes under them. The Dragonpit fills with dust, screams, the hellish shrieks of a dragon. Aemond grabs your arm, pulls you behind him, draws his sword. It is pointless; there is nothing in the world that could stop this fire from devouring you if it is loosed. From behind the curtain of churning debris, Meleys growls and screeches. Her massive red tail sends smallfolk hurtling into the walls, crushing bones, severing arteries. When the sun rose this morning, Princess Rhaenys was under lock and key in the Red Keep; yet now she is here, enraged, betrayed, armored, deadly. She has chosen her side after all. You’re on the wrong one.

Otto is yelling for the doors to be opened so people can escape, but there is no escape for the Greens. You are cornered. You are staring into the scorching golden eyes of a dragon.

“Get Helaena!” Alicent commands Sir Criston, and as he lunges for the new queen Alicent steps in front of her firstborn son. She and Aegon cower there together, united at last in these dwindling final seconds of their lives. And then you have an idea. You attempt to shove past Aemond, but he pushes you back. You peer around his shoulder, trying to catch Rhaenys’ eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer, you scream soundlessly. There is no man so accursed as the kinslayer.

The uncertainty hits Rhaenys’ face and ripples out like a stone tossed into water. Her eyes go blank, empty. The reins go slack in her limp hands. Aemond turns to you, only now realizing; he is hopeful and yet so bone-rattlingly afraid to hope.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, KINSLAYER.

Rhaenys reappears. She gathers up the reins again. A decision has been made.

Meleys opens her jaws and roars. The walls quake, the destroyed floor rattles, the whole world shudders beneath her fury…and yet no dragonfire burns you to ash. Meleys whirls away, takes flight, soars out of the Dragonpit and into the clear blue sky. Alicent’s knees buckle and she collapses into sobs of relief.

Rhaenys carries the threat of murder away with her, for the moment at least. She will also carry word of Aegon’s coronation to Rhaenyra.

~~~~~~~~~~

He stands before Vhagar in the dying light. The day’s last sunbeams are speckled over the choppy waves; a storm is rolling in. His coat whips and cracks in the wind like sails. You hold Laurel in your arms; she is drowsy but valiantly battling sleep. You have both come to the cliffside to see him off.

“Storm’s End isn’t far,” Aemond says. “I’ll stay one night and be back in the morning.”

“That’s what you think now. Just wait until you wake up to find all four of Borros Baratheon’s daughters in your bed.”

He laughs, shakes his head, grazes his thumb across your cheek. “I’d tell them to assume new identities and flee to Essos. I’ve acquired a rather formidable wife.”

You search his face, not wanting to be afraid, not wanting to be weak. Rhaenyra is out there somewhere, in the mist, in the nightfall. So is Rhaenys. So is Daemon. “Do you have to go alone?”

“Aegon is needed here. There are other tasks to be attended to. And if there is an attack on King’s Landing, he and Sunfyre can defend the city until I return.”

The prospect of Aegon defending anything would have once been dubious at best; now it is a surety. He has been king for three days. With each sunrise, he wakes earlier, works longer, drinks less. He grows confident. He grows content. “Of course.”

“It is my responsibility, Moonstone,” Aemond says softly, and you understand. He is the reason why the Greens cannot assume the aid of House Baratheon. Axel Hightower’s words echo in your skull: The great houses of Westeros will not forgive this slight. You will have to crawl on your knees begging them to support you in what comes next. “I will bring my regards, my apologies. And I will also bring an offer of Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever daughter Borros chooses.”

“Hopefully not Floris. Unless Daeron has a fondness for donkeys.”

“I prefer bears myself.”

You clutch Laurel to your chest with one hand and hold out your dagger from Bear Island with the other. “For luck,” you say. This is a joke; Aemond is not a man who believes in luck. He believes in magic. “I want it back when you return.”

“You can try to take it from me.” He grins and tucks the dagger into his belt. “Fear not, wife. This war hasn’t even begun yet and it’s already almost over.”

You balance on your tiptoes to kiss him, to breathe him in, to twist your grip into the collar of his coat and drag him in closer. His long silver hair thrashes around you in the wind. His forearms and neck are dusted with your protection spell; Sir Criston jests that his title should be changed from Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to Chief Bear Executioner. Aemond traces the wrinkles on Laurel’s velvet-soft palm; her tiny hand closes around his finger.

“You know what I’m going to say,” he tells you. “It’s what I always say.”

“You’re coming back.”

“I’m coming back,” he agrees.

He tears away from you both, climbs up the rope netting to Vhagar’s saddle, disappears into the southern sky as the dusk snuffs out those last threads of fiery, golden light.

~~~~~~~~~~

Storm’s End is only four hours away by dragonback. Rhaenyra waits all night for Luke to return. He never does.

At first, she tells herself that Lord Borros Baratheon surely offered her son a feast and lodgings, that he is perfectly well—overindulged, even, plied with wine and meat and flirtatious serving girls—and that he will travel back to his own House the following morning or early-afternoon. But as the sun sets over the Narrow Sea exactly twenty-four hours after Luke’s departure, there is still no sign of him. Daemon flies on Caraxes to fetch the prince. He returns with Arrax’s severed head, washed up on the thunderous, stony beach of Shipbreaker Bay.

There are more than mere rumors; there are witnesses. Daemon tells Rhaenyra everything. Aemond threatened Luke in Lord Baratheon’s hall. He pursued Luke on Vhagar. There were roars and fire and shouts in the lightning-split sky. There were ragged pieces of Arrax that fell into the sea like rain. Luke did not reappear. He never will.

Rhaenyra’s wails hemorrhage from her in wrenching, gasping torrents. She cannot stop. She cannot bear it. Each time there is a sliver of silence she hears his screams. Each time she closes her eyes, she sees her child—his outstretched hands, his dark matted hair, his face contorted in shock and terror—tangled in Vhagar’s entrails, alone in the darkness, in the gore. She will never be rid of this. It will be a cavernous, inescapable loss. It will be a hatred that replicates in her bone marrow until no part of her can remember a time before.

“I’m so sorry,” Daemon says as he cradles her like a child, his hands smoothing her hair, long and loose and bone-white, the mark of the magic in their blood. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“He has done this.” Rhaenyra’s words are gutted and pitch-black. “That monster. That vile beast of a man. It is not enough that they stole my father from me, that they murdered Harwin Strong, that they killed my daughter in the womb. Now they have…they have…” She cannot speak of it. The words do not exist.

“We will burn Arrax’s remains as a true Targaryen. And we will have vengeance.”

“What will happen to Aemond’s child? What will happen to the Mormont girl?”

Daemon considers this. “He will send them away,” he decides. “That’s what I would do. He will send them somewhere he thinks is safe. He will hide them until the war is won.”

And in the bloodstained silence, the two of them—uncle and niece, husband and wife, rulers of Westeros in name only—look at each other for a long time.

#aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond fic #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic

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catoslvt · 1 year ago

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Ethan Landry x Reader

Dewey and Gales daughter.

Afterscream 6, he wasn't ghostface.

Woodsboro isn't far away from New York.

You're both 21 here 🫶

"Ethan?" I quietly say as I look up at him, my voice almost a whisper as I'm not sure if he's sleeping.

"Hmm?" He responds.

"Did I wake you?" I ask him and he looks down at me and shakes his head.

"I've been up for a few minutes." He answers as he presses a kiss to my head.

I smile at him before gulping slightly, I've wanted to ask him for a while to visit the my dads grave but I never did ask, I think it sounds absurd for my boyfriend to visit my dead dad.

"Would you like to visit my dad's grave with me? I normally go to his grave every month and place new photos and flowers. If you think it's weird, then it's okay. I understand, but I just thought I should ask." I cautiously ask, and ethan smiles widely at me.

"Y/n, it's not weird. I think it's cute what you do for your dad, I'd love to come." He answers and I smile and pull myself closer to him.

"We don't even need to be there for long. It's just so I can give him the flowers and photos, oh and also give my aunt tatum her flowers." I tell him and he shakes his head.

"We can spend as long as we want there, I know how close you two were, especially after the divorce, so if you want, we could take some picnic stuff." He offers and I quickly sit up and stare at him, my eyes watering with happiness.

"Are you sure? Because right in front of his grave, they built a bench for him because he helped stop the murders for so long but you don't need to come just because you feel bad." I quickly tell him, the happiness almost radiating off of me.

"Y/n! I'm one hundred per cent sure I want to come." Ethan says before he sits up and carefully cups my face before kissing me.

Minutes later, I'm running into the kitchen where my mom stares at me confused.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" She quizzes and I jump around the kitchen, almost crashing into ethan when he walks up to us.

"Ethan is coming to see dad with me." I exclaim happily, and my moms face quickly turns into a smile.

"Is that okay if I go today? We're gonna take the train to Woodsboro, and we're also gonna pack a picnic to eat at dad's bench." I tell her happily, and she pulls both ethan and I into a tight hug.

"Of course it's okay. He's your dad, y/n." My mom says, and I look at ethan once my mom lets go of us.

"I'm gonna go get changed whilst you eat breakfast, then once I'm done you can get changed and I'll pack stuff for breakfast." I tell him and he smiles and nods.

"You're eating breakfast too though." He quickly says before I can walk off.

When I get into my room, I close the door, and as I begin to walk to my chest of drawers, I hear my mom talk to ethan, so I hurriedly rush back to the door to hear.

"Ethan, I just want to thank you for agreeing to go to her dad's grave with her. Every month since he was killed, she's gone and placed flowers for him. She's always done it for her aunt tatum, although she never knew her. She asked Tara to go to her dad's grave multiple times, but Tara always said no, and I thought that was disgusting because dewey died saving Tara, the last thing she could've done was gone once. I don't mean to talk bad about her friends but I can't help it." I hear my mom say and then I hear ethan let out a small laugh.

"I just want to be there for her, I know they were extremely close. Whoever y/n loves, I love." Ethan tells her, and I hear my mom sniff, almost like she's crying.

"You make her really happy, since we moved here you were all she spoke about, it was always 'Mom I love ethan so much!' Honestly, I was getting a little sick of hearing about her crush on you, so the day you asked her out, I almost drove to your dorm to thank you myself. When her dad died, she completely changed. She never smiled and kept to herself, but you got her out her shell, and im so glad she found a boyfriend like you. Her dad would've loved you, ethan, and I'm so glad that one day I'll be able to call you my stepson." I hear my mom cry as her sobs suddenly get hushed by ethan talking again.

"I love your daughter and you so much, and I'm sure I would've loved her dad." He says, and when I feel tears threaten to spill, I decide that that's maybe the chance where I should stop eavesdropping and get changed.

When I walk out of my room, I see my mom stuffing some stuff into a backpack.

"Sorry, I know you're not good at packing picnics, so I did it myself, I also put in the photos for your dad, and I've sat out some money so you can buy him some flowers." My mom tells me and I shake my head.

"Mom, it's okay, I can buy them with my own money." I tell her laughing as ethan walks into my room to change. He's got his own little chest of drawers that my mom bought him for my room, I used to think my mom would never have let me have a boy stay over but she trusts ethan and I enough to not do anything in my room whilst she's home atleast.

"Y/n, please. It's my treat for you." My mom begs, and I let out a sigh.

"Okay, fine." I tell her as I go into the cupboard and pull out a breakfast bar.

"Did ethan eat?" I ask her and she nods.

"Yeah, he had one of those, too." She tells me as she motions to the wrapper on the top of the bin.

"Good." I quietly say.

As I walk into the large Walmart, I make my way to the flower section where I stare at all the flowers.

"What flowers do you normally get him?" Ethan asks as he stares between me and the flowers.

"Sunflowers for my dad, because when I was a little girl, We once planted one in our back garden, and it grew taller than me, and then he'd always call me his little sunflower. It sounds stupid, but they've always been my favourite flower since then, so I'd like to think they're his too." I tell him with a small smile on my face before I bend down and pick one of the nicest looking sunflowers bouquets.

But my face turns into confusion when I see ethan bend down and pick up one of them before he picks up a bunch of the most beautiful red roses I've ever seen.

"Eth, I already have some." I say as I stare at him confused.

"I want to get him a bunch of flowers too, for raising the most perfect girl." He tells me with a cheesy grin on his face.

I smile widely at him before my eyes fall on the roses.

"What about those?" I quiz and he quickly gulps, almost as if he isn't sure himself.

"Your mom wanted me to get him some flowers from her." He tells me, and I nod before I begin to look at the range of flowers for my aunt tatum.

"I don't know what flowers to get her, I always struggle trying to think." I sigh, and ethan looks around.

"What about some lilys? They're really pretty." He tells me, and I follow his eyes and gasp when I see the bouquet of lilys he's staring at.

"They're perfect!" I exclaim as I bend down and pick them up.

As I approach both my dad and aunts grave, Gran begged for him to be able to get buried next to Aunt tatum.

"Your dad's grave is so nice." Ethan gasps and I nod.

"You might think im insane for talking to his grave in a minute, but sometimes it's like he's actually there listening, so I can't help it." I quietly tell him and he just looks at me and smiles.

"Y/n, he's your dad. You can do whatever you want at his grave, I won't judge." Ethan promises before I quicken my pace and run to infront of my dad's headstone.

Here lies: Dwight Jessica Riley, more commonly known as Dwight by his peers, he was a loving dad, son, and brother. He was loved by everyone and was a true Woodsboro hero to all of us.

I smile and crouch so I can gently touch the small photo of him with the tips of my fingers.

"Hi dad, I can't believe it's been a month already." I say as I smile widely, so he doesn't see me upset before ethan crouches beside me.

"Hi Mr riley." He quietly says, and I begin blushing.

"Dad, this is ethan, my boyfriend." I say smiling before I press a kiss onto my fingertips before pressing it onto the cheek of his photo.

"I brought you your flowers and photos like always." I then go onto say as I place a bunch of Sunflowers at his grave before opening the bag on ethans back and pulling out the pile of photos my mom printed out for today, and when i see it I let out a small gasp,

It's a photo of my dad and I with our sunflower.

I set all the photos out nicely before I walked to my aunt tatums grave and sat the flowers at it before walking to the bench that was made in my dad's honour directly infront of his grave, so I can see ethan staring at all the photos.

"I also got you some flowers, Mr. riley. I hope you like them. I heard you were a really good man, and i hope you like me enough to be able to continue dating your daughter." Ethan says before he places the flowers next to mine before he walks to the bench and sits with me, and I notice he still has the roses.

"Y/n, what's that?" Ethan asks as he points over towards a tree, the opposite direction of him, and out of curiosity, I turn and look, and after a minute of staring, I turn to face him on the bench.

"I don't see anything." I say laughing before I realise ethan isn't on the bench anymore, he's on the ground down on one knee.

"What're you doing? Get up." I tell him as I smile.

"I know this probably isn't the most romantic place to do this, but I knew you'd want your dad to see." Ethan begins as he hands me the roses and I tilt my head to him, extremely confused on what he's doing on the ground.

"My dad to see what?" I quiz and ethan just lets out a small laugh at how clueless I am.

"I knew since the moment I met you, that you're the girl I wanted, you're the girl I wanted to marry, so when you were sat next to me in English I was so happy, I felt blessed. And when you first spoke to me, I was even happier, every happy memory I have has been with you, has been with our friends, has been with you and your mom, when I say I love you y/n, I mean I love you. And not just like, a replaceable love, I could never replace what I have with you." He begins as he grabs my hands, and I look down at him and nod. He's clearly nervous, but I'm now starting to understand what he's doing.

"You don't need to be nervous." I tell him with a small laugh, and he nods and gulps slightly.

"I am so grateful to have you in my life y/n." He continues, and I nod again before he releases my hands and pulls out a small box, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

"So, uhm, what I'm trying to say is will you marry me? I've wanted to ask you for around a month now, and i knew here would be the perfect spot, so i waited until you asked me to come visit your dad with you." He asks, and my eyes widen as I stare down at him, before I grab his face and kiss him repeatedly, and I don't stop till I'm running out of air.

"Yes! Is that even a question!" I scream before I kiss him again, and he kisses back before he grabs my left hand and slides the ring onto my ring finger, and I sit and turn bright red at the sight.

The ring is beautiful, and on each side of the diamond, there's small engravings of Sunflowers.

"Your mom told me about the Sunflowers when I asked her if it was okay if I could propose." Ethan tells me when he moves back up on the bench.

"I can't believe you waited, so you could propose infront of my dad." I say as I begin to bawl.

#ethan landry x reader #fanfic #fiction #romance #writing #wattpad #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry smut #ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you

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amyispxnk · 1 year ago

Text

It Hurts to be Something, Chapter 1 - Watch the Carnage Unfold.

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series summary: You and Joel were separated the night Cordyceps overtook the world. 20 years later, you finally find eachother - but things won't be the same as they were before.

Chapter Summary: A day that was supposed to be filled with fun and surprises ended up to be the beginning of the end for the world as you knew it.

A/N: WOOOO IM DOING A SERIES HERE’S THE FIRST CHAPTER IM SO SCARED TO POST

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, pet names, kissing, blood, mention of guns, infection, death

Series Masterlist || Next Chapter

DO NOT COPY THIS WORK IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

7:15AM the red numbers on the clock blinked as it beeped at a painfully loud level of noise.

“Alarm!” Sarah shouted as she banged on Joel’s bedroom door as he blinked himself awake. “Yeah, thanks honey!” He called back as he gently shook you to wake you up too.

“Hey.” He smiled at you, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes as you blearily looked up at him. “Gotta get up. ‘S almost 7:30.” He told you.

“Oh, shit. Okay, thanks.” You mumbled as you tried forcing yourself up and out of the bed, but it was so warm.. You just wanted to stay there forever. You couldn’t bring yourself to get up.

“C’mon sweetheart, we gotta go.” He said with a chuckle at your sleepy state.

“Fine.” You groaned as you got up, stumbling over to the bathroom and getting yourself ready, washing your face and brushing your teeth as Joel came behind you and wrapped his arms around you, pressing soft kisses to your neck which made you giggle slightly.

“What?” He grinned.

“Your beard’s all tickly.” You smirked as he let out a laugh before trailing more kisses on your body, making you laugh as you playfully pushed him off. He leaned back against the wall of the bathroom and watched you get ready, admiring you. Even without makeup and all that other shit you felt like you had to put on he thought you were the most gorgeous woman in the world.

“You gonna keep starin’ or you plan on getting ready too?” You teased as you started brushing your hair.

“Why can’t I admire my pretty lady?” He countered as you tilted your head at him, giving him a look.

“Because Sarah needs to go to school and I need to get to work and - So. Do. You.” You poked him in the chest with each word to add emphasis before ushering him to go shower and get ready too.

After about 20 minutes, you both came down the stairs. As soon as Sarah saw you she immediately commented on how slow you two were, and what the hell were you doing that took so long?! The language she used in the latter sentence earned her a stern glare from Joel as you laughed at her and prepared breakfast. There was no pancake mix, much to your dismay, and Sarah thought it was a great idea to make eggs whilst waiting for the two of you. You were scooping the eggs out of the pan when you saw not one, not two, but almost a dozen pieces of eggshell in there.

“Sarah, honey, how on earth did you manage to get all these shells in here?” You asked with raised eyebrows as you dug out another piece of shell. “What!” She laughed. “It’s extra calcium, for your old bones.” She teased as she walked up to you and grabbed herself a plate, barely sitting down before digging in and scoffing the food.

“Woah, woah there - calm down, don’t need you chokin’ this early in the mornin’.” Joel said as he sipped from his mug of coffee, kissing you on the cheek as you gave him his food and then sat with them at the table to eat.

After some of chatter about school, friends, how the contracting is going, Joel’s birthday - the topic making you and Sarah give each other a cheeky glance as you remembered what you had planned for him and making Joel look at you both confusedly - and so on, you all finished breakfast and you put the dishes away, doing some final checks on the house like checking the windows were locked and making sure the pink camellias Joel had gotten you were watered properly, before you all got into Joel’s pickup truck; you swore it was going to fall apart one of these days, paint peeling and engine sputtering for a good 20 seconds as Joel tried starting the damn thing up.

Eventually, it started to work and you all drove to Sarah’s school. You helped her out and offered to walk her up there - an offer which she swiftly denied, telling you that it was embarrassing and no one else did that, causing you to raise your hands in defence as you laughed at how worked up she got over it.

“Alright, alright. I’ll see ya later, okay?” She nodded and gave you a small smile, but you couldn’t help yourself and leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before walking away. She tried looking annoyed but she secretly loved when you did things like that with her, it was sweet.

You waved her goodbye and Joel started the truck up again, driving to your workplace.

“I told you you don’t have to drive me to work everytime y’know.” You said as you neared the hospital.

“Uh-huh, and I want to anyway. Not lettin’ you take the damn bus to work every mornin’, saves money that way and it means I get t’ spend more time with ya.” He grinned.

“That’s true.” You agreed as the car came to a stop in the parking lot.

“Okay, I’m gonna go then. You don’t needa pick me up today, gotta get your birthday party ready early and we all know you’re gonna take ages.” You smirked as you wiggled your eyebrows at him.

He tipped his head back against the headrest with a small groan. “Y’ still so adamant about that, huh?” He said as he looked to you sideways.

“Hey, it’s not just me! Sarah’s been wantin’ to do it for so long too, got some special stuff planned for ya.” You grinned, before getting out of the car.

“Fine. I’ll see ya later then.” He said, getting out of the car and kissing you one final time before getting back in the car and driving to his worksite.

10:39PM the analog clock on the wall of the reception at the hospital ticked as you looked up at it. Less than an hour left. Of course they needed you to work extra today, and of course you had to say yes because money is money and you want to look good in your department anyway, and this would show you could work hard. It’s fine though, you’ll still probably be home before Joel anyway.

People were filing into the hospital just as your shift was about to end a few hours prior, and they told you they needed you to stay. Something about people twitching like crazy, groaning and gurgling, with no clear reason as to why - so they needed you and as many people as they could to try figure out what the hell was going on and sort these people out.

No more than 5 minutes later, there was a crash and a shriek from one of the examining rooms and you rushed over with a few other doctors. One of them, Sam, opened the door and let out a yell similar to the one you’d heard before. When you went to see what was going on, the patient lurched onto him and pushed him to the ground, sinking its teeth into his neck before you could even process the sight before you in the room.

The doctor who was performing the examination in there was bleeding out onto the floor, flesh torn and teeth marks visible on her neck. Her eyes were wide and frozen, cold without any emotion in them anymore as her lifeless body lay there. You were positively horrified, and although you wished you were braver in that moment, you weren’t. You left Sam to die, figuring there was no way to save him and not wanting to take a chance if there was.

You didn’t even grab your bag, you didn’t even get out of your PPE or anything as you rushed out of the hospital, leaving the utter carnage that had erupted inside behind you as you took off down the street. You had to get home, you had to find Joel and Sarah and make sure they were okay. You’d hole up inside or something, surely he had a gun there, you’d be safe together, they just had to be okay.

You turned down the street and barely managed to shield yourself from an explosion of flames coming from a car which had crashed into a building, completely blocking your path. Shit, shit, shit. You didn’t have another way to get home which was fast enough - you couldn’t get to them in time without completely risking your life, and what would be the point if you got attacked and bitten?

Turning down a street corner, you found a store which had the shutters down but a side door which was cracked open the slightest bit, and you darted for it, not even thinking if any of those things were inside.

You rushed in and slammed the door behind you, panting heavily as you looked around. Noone was there. You searched for any stairs that might lead to a second floor which could have people on it, but there were none. You were safe for now, but you needed to get back onto the street, you needed to get home. Maybe there was a gun here, or something that would be useful. You needed protection if you were to get back.

You searched behind the counter and let out a sigh of relief when you found a handgun and some boxes with ammo inside the drawer with it, quickly pocketing them and peeking outside the shutters of the store. Still a total mess out there, you had to formulate some sort of plan before just running out if you didn’t want to get killed.

Your eyes darted around the scene before you until you saw an alleyway which had a sign with your neighbourhood name on it. Of course, how did you not think of that? There were a multitude of small streets that could help you get home.

You checked your gun one last time before bolting out of the store and running to the alley, pushing past screaming people on your way. You shoved a gate open at the end of the alley and you were about to turn onto the next street when you saw one of them, its back turned to you before it let out a growl and began to turn around. You hastily pressed yourself back against the wall, just behind the corner, concealing yourself as best you could and thanking God when it ran past you down the other way.

After what seemed like hours, you finally made it home. You pushed the door open and screamed for anyone - Joel, Sarah, even fucking Tommy, to no avail. You searched every room, praying for no bodies and you guessed your prayers had been answered when no one was there. That was good, but now you were alone. You looked around and noticed Joel’s coat was back on the hanger, meaning he’d gotten home already. That means the two of them were at least together, and probably safe too since Joel knew his way around a gun.

You paced around for a minute or two as you tried to gather your thoughts and figure out what to do.

You decided that you had to try to find them, even if you thought they were safe, you had to know.

Searching the house didn’t bring you many resources and you walked back out onto the street, if you could get out of the city.. Find somewhere with less people around, less of these sick people that could get you infected too, you’d be safe. That’s probably what Joel was thinking when he left, at least you hoped it was as you made your way out of the neighbourhood and as far away as you could get from Austin.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! This is the beginning of my first series ever and God I hope it’s good. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open. 💞

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sharkface-daydreams · 7 months ago

Note

No, but, OK- Chilchuck and Church would literally be that joke of not liking each other until the moment they both tell everybody else to shut up at the same time and they share a moment- "We are the same... finally, somebody who GETS me". Tex is legit impressed with the union work Chilchuck has set up, she wants to get in on this, does he need a bodyguard?

Laios and Caboose are vibing. Laios also thinks Locus is So Cool, and they're both socially inept in opposite ways, but in the sense that it kinda fits together.

Tucker is over there trying to hit on Marcille and Falin, no need to be jealous ladies, plenty of him to go around, and he'd never want to ruin such a great friendship, just gals being pals. Kai is also flirting by she Knows.

Grif wants Senshi to adopt him (and Senshi is 100% cool with that, this poor boy is so hungry), and he has to ask Simmons- "Dude, is this how you feel about Sarge? Like, all the time?". Simmons is trying to math-hack all the fantasy rules.

Carolina just killed a dragon (what, like it's hard?). Wash is like- "Well, at least nothing is gonna run over me here in wacky magic land", and then the first car in this world ever hits him. Doc is having a FUN time learning about all the weird flora and fauna here, O'Malley is already trying to become some combination of dark wizard/necromancer (but he's not good at it).

Donut meets Evil Aslan, and is just- "OK, I'm just gonna skip ahead and kill you right now. I've been through this song and dance with demon-gods, I know how it goes".

Lopez can eat living armor. like, just "raw" or whatever.

There. RVB-Dungeon Meshi crossover. I got that out of my system

ok it's still airing so my watch buddy won't watch with me yet and i have yet to sit and read the manga so im taking notes

chilchuck is a chad, got it.

caboose immediately gets a new friend, that tracks XD <3 love that for him

simmons is me in an isekai, i hate this, thank you <3

of COURSE carolina kills a dragon. of course <3 i love that for her ('what like it's hard?' elle woods has done so much for this world thank u goddess 🙏) but wash omg 😭⚰ it would happen to him. someone invents THEE first like motorized soap box derby car and itjust fuckin. smashes his kneecaps and keeps going RIP king 🙏

i love. i love all of this. question for you though. i love the implications of Lopez eating living armor raw which i know nothing about. does this count as cannibalism do you think? or do you think lopez sees himself as the ghost within the shell, separate from his armor? (or do you hc there's an android in the armor? :o i do when it's convenient for fic alsdkjflkfd)

also. this makes me think of something i want to share finally. (ill put under a cut bc adding 13 pics is a lot)

a long time ago when this picrew was first available (it's only patreon now i think? ppl kept stealing the assets💢 and such so the artist got understandably mad and took it off picrew site :( i made... RVB RPG PORTRAITS!!!! (they still have an rpg maker one but its very different)

also dont kill me but its taken me 3 years to realise i didn't make tex 😭

Red Team:

Blue Team: (had to put Church between them or they'd fight ☺)

And the mercs <3

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bratshaws · 1 year ago

Text

through the hourglass 285. brb x oc

a/n: APOLOGIES I DON'T KNOW STUFF AGAIN IM REALLY MAKING IT UP AS I GO(comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

/253/254/255/256/257/258/259/260/261/262/263/264/265/266

/267/268/269/270/271/272/273/274/275/276/277/278/279/280/281/282/283/284

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @louisahale @leobabbyyy @booklover2sblog @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @fanboyswhore9 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23 @gh0stsgoodgirl @mygyn @chavivaelisheva @kmc1989 @enchantingharmonyalpaca

Going out with her friends when she was still dating Rooster and had no kids was fine, but now she felt…really like she was missing a part of herself. Nikki was fine, Amelia was kind enough to spend the night and babysit her for a little while as her and Shells went out to eat.

She didn’t want a big party, nor a club, all she wanted was to sit down in a quiet place with some mango juice and her dinner. That’s why they came to the Indian restaurant with the tables outside, it was nice, it wasn’t that far from home and Beatrice liked Indian food. She taps her nail against the wooden table as she looks over at Shells who was still ordering them food, the blonde said she’d pay for everything that night and that Beatrice didn’t have to worry.

Beatrice sat at the outdoor table of the Indian restaurant, the warm evening breeze rustling her hair. The soft glow of fairy lights above cast a gentle glow over the space. She tapped her nails against the wooden table, contemplating the tranquil surroundings. It was exactly the kind of evening she needed.

Shells returned to their table, a satisfied grin on her face. "I've ordered our favorites, Bea. This night is all about you, and you don't have to worry about a thing. It’ll be here in a little bit.”

Beatrice smiled, "Thank you, Shells. This means a lot to me. It's been a while since I've had a night like this."

Shells reached across the table and squeezed Beatrice's hand. "I know, and you deserve it. You've been through so much, and I wanted to remind you of the strong, beautiful, and fun person you are."

“I know.”

“And to relax.” Shells smiles, propping her head up with a hand, “I mean, you look like you are ready to bolt at any second, relaaaax. Listen, I used to babysit Amelia, everything she knows she learned from me.”

A pregnant pause took over.

Beatrice blinked at her, parting her lips with her brows furrowing, ‘Was that…supposed to calm me down…?”

“Yep,absolutely.”

"Okay, fine," Beatrice conceded with a small laugh, "I'll try to relax. And, for the record, I do appreciate this night out. It's just...different, you know? Leaving Nikki with someone else, even for a little while, makes me a bit nervous."

Shells nodded sympathetically. "I get it, Bea. It's natural to feel that way, especially when you're a mom. But you also need to remember that it's important to take care of yourself. A happy, relaxed mom means a happy, relaxed Nikki." she pauses, “And relaxed twins, which will come home next week,remember?”

“I know.”Beatrice sighs, rubbing her eyes and then cursing because she had makeup on. Shells reassured her that the eyeliner was still intact. “I promised Roos I’d relax while he’s deployed and that I wouldn’t overwork myself.” she mutters, “...I got sick a few days back.”

“I know, that’s why you didn’t show up at the bar.” Shells says, crossing her arms on the table, “Aunt Penny is a great boss and she understood…but man I missed my best friend sharing shifts with me. Jessie is still in college so she can’t come every night, plus, we go back a long time Bea.”

“I know Rooster is right, and I should take better care of myself, especially when I'm not feeling well. I just can't help but be overprotective when it comes to my kids."

Shells smiles sweetly, patting her friend’s hand. “Bea,you're an amazing mom, and it's completely natural to want the best for the munchkins. But you also have an incredible support system. Amelia is great with kids, and she's my cousin, so you can trust her. Relax a bit."

Beatrice smiled,a bit strained, her shoulders slumping a little bit "You're right, Shells. I’m okay."

Their food arrived, interrupting their conversation briefly and the fragrant aroma of Indian cuisine filled the air. Beatrice took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of spices and herbs, and her mouth watered in anticipation.

Shells, always the food enthusiast, couldn't hide her excitement. "Oh, this looks amazing! Let's dig in, Bea."

“Shells…you ordered a lot of food.”

“I know!”

Beatrice just huffs out gently, shaking her head. She just decided to leave her friend and her choices quiet, she knew she was doing it out of the goodness of her heart. Beatrice ripped a piece of naan to nibble on as she lets her mind wander, Shells voice almost disappearing in the back of her brain as she allowed her thoughts to take over.

She inhales quietly, then turns her eyes towards Shells, “So,” she begins and her friend blinks at her, “...you and Bob, are you guys living together yet or…?”

Shells’s cheek bulges as she moves the food to the left, then she hums, “Hm, yeah,well, we are thinking about it. We’ve been…coming and going from our places every now and again.” she says, licking her fingers clean, “But, you know…I mean,I talked to him about it. He’s not in a hurry to ‘join forces’ per se.”

She finished her mouthful of food and wiped her hands with a napkin before continuing. "Yeah, you know, it's been quite a journey with Bob. We've been seeing each other for a while now, and things have been going really well. He's a great guy, Bea, and I enjoy spending time with him."

Beatrice smiled, genuinely happy for her friend. "That's wonderful, Shells. I'm glad to see you so happy." she blinks, “But…?”

Shells grinned and leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "But you know how I am, right? I'm not the type to rush into things. Bob understands that, and he's patient with me." she shrugs, “Sometimes he’s almost unreal.”

Beatrice nodded in understanding, way too well. “Yeah…I feel the same with Rooster sometimes. But…did you guys talked about it?”

‘Moving in?” Bea nodded, and the blonde pursed her lips. "Yeah, we did. We're taking it slow, and we'll see where it goes. Living together might be on the horizon. I kinda…well,I like my independence and so does he. I mean, the M subject showed up too so.”

Beatrice blinked, eyebrows arching, “Marriage?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh…well,really?”

“Yeah, I mean,I sat him down and I was like ‘hey, wanna get married or can we wait? He said we could wait so,” she shrugs again, “I mean, can you see me getting married? Augh,I don’t have the patience Bea. I can handle my friends getting married, like you and Ev but me? Nah.”

“Well,I mean, marriage isn't for everyone, and there's no need to rush into it if you're not ready. You have to follow your own path at your own pace."

Shells nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Bob and I are on the same page with that." she pauses “And the sex is so good.”

Beatrice widened her eyes and looked around in hopes no one heard them, then busied herself with her mango lassi instead of replying, her cheeks burning red. Shells looked very amused, “Oh,come on, I know very well you and Rooster are still goin’ at it. And you know how rare that is in marriages?”

Beatrice tried to regain her composure, her cheeks still flushed from Shells' candid comment. She shouldn’t be, especially knowing how her friend was "Well, you're not wrong," she admitted with a laugh. "Intimacy is important in a relationship, and it's something Rooster and I value as well."

Shells grinned mischievously. "See? We can talk about these things like adults. It's not that big of a deal."

Beatrice rolled her eyes playfully. "I know, but…still…” she pauses, ‘Oh,what the hell,we are both over thirty now,we can talk about this,right?”

“Damn right.”

“Yeah…” she pauses, “You know, i…thought about something. It feels like a cycle is coming to an end.” Shells made a confused sound when she said that, “Rooster is getting his promotion, our kids will be all in the same space again and…Eric is gone. For real this time.” she smiles, “...you know how many times I've dreamed about having what I have now? Little Bea would be so surprised and…disbelieved.”

Shells leaned on a hand. "Elaborate?"

"You know, Shells, when I look back on everything we've been through, it's hard to believe how far we've come. I mean, I never imagined I'd be where I am today."

Shells nodded, her eyes fixed on Beatrice, allowing her to continue.

"I've had my share of challenges, as you know," Beatrice continued. "It feels like the universe is like ‘hey, it’s all good now, you can let the jaws free’."

Shells reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Beatrice's ,patting her friend’s knuckles. "You've been through so much, babes. You did it, Bea."

Beatrice smiled, dropping her head for a second. "Thank you, Shells. And it's not just the challenges, but it's also the personal demons I had to confront. My past, the insecurities, the doubts… I spent so many years carrying the weight of my past mistakes."

"We all have our baggage, Bea. It's how we deal with it and grow from it that matters."

Beatrice's gaze became distant as she delved into the past. "I remember those sleepless nights, wondering if I'd ever find love again. I had this fear-” she hesitates, chewing the word in her mouth before continuing “--that I was damaged goods, that no one would want me, and that I didn't deserve happiness."

“And yet, look at you.”

A soft smile graced Beatrice's lips as she thought about her husband. "Rooster is my rock, Shells. And he's been with me every step of the way as I confronted my past. It’s…you know how rare that is."

Shells raised an eyebrow. "I do.” she says, “I mean, you two were meant to be, you know that.”

Beatrice nodded, her eyes dropping to her wedding band as she rubbed it with her thumb. "Yeah…he makes me so happy." she says sweetly, “He is a wonderful partner, a wonderful father…his parents would be so proud of him.”

“And…I've learned to forgive myself for my past mistakes and to let go of the guilt and shame that held me back for so long." she says with finality, as if a huge weight left her shoulders.

Shells smiled warmly. "Forgiveness is a powerful thing, isn't it?"

Beatrice nodded. "It is, and it's liberating. I had to let go of the old version of myself and…here I am now.”

Shells smiled proudly holding up her glass, “Here’s to that.”

Bea grins just as brightly, clinking their glasses together, “Here’s to that.”

Meanwhile, miles and miles away from San Diego.

Rooster chose that morning to stretch and relax a bit, they were still waiting on orders and he had to admit, he liked the view when it was early morning. It wasn’t as scary or dilapidated when the light hit it just right.

As he lay on his back, gazing up at the sky, trying to calm his breathing down the sound of footsteps approaching the rooftop interrupted his thoughts. He sat up, alert as Jake, joined him.

"Morning, Rooster," Jake greeted, taking a seat beside him. "Beautiful sunrise, huh?"

Rooster nodded, a faint smile on his face. "Yeah, it is. Helps clear the mind, even if just for a moment."

Jake understood the sentiment. The two pilots sat in companionable silence, savoring the tranquility of the morning. In the distance, they could hear the faint sounds of activity at the base, the clinking of equipment, and the muffled conversations of their fellow servicemen and women.

Jake finally broke the silence. "Any word on new orders, Rooster?"

He sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice. "Not yet. It's been a waiting game.” he frowns, “I wish I could speed up the process, but it all depends on the brass.” he licks his lips, wiping his forehead free of any sweat, looking at the droplets on the back of his hand, “I know what we have to do, but I know we gotta do it now.”

“Mhm.”

He stares back at the blonde officer, who was just rubbing his chin, ‘...What?”

“What,what?”

“You didn’t come up here to join me in my workout.” Rooster says, “What’s the matter?”

Jake blinked at him, then chuckled quietly, shaking his head, “Damn, I can’t sit by my friend without a reason?” Rooster looked unamused, “...alright,fine. I just wanted to know that Mark was looking for you.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow at the mention of Mark. "What did he want?" Rooster asked, clearly sounding more annoyed than anything.

Jake hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Didn’t say, just said it could ‘help the mission.’"

Rooster let out a sarcastic ‘hah!’ before shaking his head, “...no I shouldn’t be like this,” he inhales, rubbing his forehead, “He’s a pilot just like us, he could have some helpful input.” cue to Jake just giving him a weird look, ‘Listen,i’m the leader in this mission, I…have to hear everyone, you know?”

“Sure…but you don’t like Mark that much.” Jake mutters, “He’s a very…strange guy. And I don’t know if he’s really trying to help or he just wants to be a nuisance.”

With a sigh, Rooster finally spoke, "Alright, let's go find Mark and see what he's got to say. Maybe he's onto something this time."

“You think so?”

He grunts while pushing himself up, “No.” he says, “But we have to try.”

Jake nodded in agreement, and the two of them made their way to find Mark as they left the little spot they were seated on. He was in the common area, poring over maps and documents. He looked up as Rooster and Jake approached, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, even though they were indoors. Both pilots gave him a weird look but quickly erased that once he noticed them there.

"Morning, Mark," Rooster greeted, trying to keep his tone as cordial as possible. "I heard you were looking for me."

Mark's response was a cryptic smile as he gestured to the maps spread out in front of him. "I've been doing some research, and I think I may have found a lead on our next mission. Something big, Rooster."

“Really?”

“Yes, but, you know,” he nods to Jake, “Maybe we should speak about it privately.”

Rooster exchanged a wary glance with Jake, who clearly wasn’t pleased by that suggestion one bit. The blonde officer narrowed his eyes with his tongue prodding his cheek, a confused smile on his face.

"Alright, Mark, we can discuss this privately," Rooster agreed. He turned to Jake and said, "You go ahead; I'll catch up with you later."

Jake blinked, “...alright.” he says, “I’ll be with Payback and the others.”

Rooster nodded, waiting until Jake was gone to walk with Mark found a secluded room within the base. Mark closed the door behind them, and the room was dimly lit, with a single table in the center covered in more maps, documents, and a few photographs.

Rooster took a seat at the table, his eyebrow flicking at the papers there. Where did he…get all of that?

Mark, still wearing his sunglasses, began to explain his findings. "I've been going through classified files and reports, digging deeper than anyone else. And I've found a pattern, Rooster, a pattern that no one else has noticed. It points to a major enemy operation that's about to take place. I've already compiled a list of potential targets."

"A pattern? What kind of pattern?"

Mark gestured to the maps and documents on the table. "This is the result of weeks of analysis. I've cross-referenced various sources, and it all leads to this," he pointed to a specific location on the map, a remote area near the border. "I believe this is where the enemy is planning a major strike. If we can intercept it, we could deal a significant blow to their operation."

Rooster blinked, “Weeks?” he repeats, “We got here yesterday Mark, how did you get this information…and why wasn’t this passed through me? I am the leader in this.” he is a bit annoyed, but he tries to hide the best he can, he wants to see Mark’s reaction.

"I've had access to certain resources and connections that have allowed me to gather this information," he replied cryptically. "As for not passing it through you, well, Rooster, I thought it would be best to have a well-thought-out plan before presenting it to the team.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Hm?”

“Where and how did you get this?” he taps the maps, “This…is very worrisome, you can’t just show up with maps and say ‘hey so I found this somewhere’ and hope I don’t get suspicious.”

“Well I–”

“And why are you wearing your sunglasses in here?’ he questions, breaking Mark’s line of thought, “It’s early morning, there’s no need for it right now.”

Rooster's questions hung in the air, and Mark shifted uncomfortably, the confident facade he had maintained beginning to crack. He removed his sunglasses and placed them on the table.

"I... I apologize, Rooster," Mark admitted, his voice faltering. "I didn't mean to keep you in the dark, but I had my reasons. I've been working on this quietly because I wanted to have a solid plan before bringing it to the team."

Rooster's gaze remained fixed on Mark, his skepticism evident. "And the resources you mentioned? Where did you get this information?"

Mark hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "There are certain contacts I haveI used those connections to gather intelligence. I thought it was best to keep the information compartmentalized until we had a clear picture."

Translation: I contacted my relatives in the brass to have some advantage in this.

Rooster's expression remained stern as he absorbed Mark's explanation. The situation was concerning, and he couldn't ignore the fact that Mark's actions seemed to place him in a leadership position, bypassing Rooster's authority.

"Mark, I appreciate your efforts to protect our team," Rooster began, his voice steady but firm. "But I need you to understand that I'm the designated leader of this mission, and we need to work together as a team. We can't have a situation where one person makes unilateral decisions without consulting the others." he pauses, “Not anymore.”

“I know. I–”

“Do you?”

And the silence reigns once more, Mark swallows hard and looks away, ‘...I do, yes.”

“Good, listen…we’ll talk about this later,right now we need to have breakfast and…focus on other stuff.” he pauses, “And this will be shared to everyone. Understood?”

“Yes.” Mark says, ‘...Yes I understand.”

Rooster could only hope.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x named reader #tgm oc #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction

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