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satoruoo · 6 months

Note

VIA VIA VIA HEAR ME OUT. secret santa b they get u and accidentally spill it / the big reveal…

(NOT SO) SECRET SANTA - aki hayawaka

summary: despite aki's best efforts to keep your gift a secret, his (stupid) roommates somehow manage to spoil the surprise.

genre: fluff, non-devil au, everyone is happy, crack

warnings: swearing, denji, f!reader, suggestive

notes: hope u like it babe !! this is my apology for the recent aki slander 😈🔥

now playing: rockin' around the christmas tree - brenda lee

"for the millionth time, do not tell [name] i got her, understood?"

denji and power sit crossed-legged on the floor, looking only half interested in what aki is saying. they're dressed in christmas gear from head to toe, heads swaying slightly to the christmas music coming from the record player.

power looks awfully happy with the pair of antlers that denji unwillingly brought her from the store after she threatened to throw a fit in the middle of the aisle. they're decorated with little bells, and every time she nods her head, aki can visibly tell how delighted she is from the jingles that they make. she now refuses to take them off.

denji's gone for a more traditional approach, sporting a santa hat with a light up pom pom at the end.

(the hat also says "ho! ho! ho!" if the button on the left is pressed, but denji had overused it so much that aki cut it open and took out the speaker. he then burnt the speaker. denji was told told it must have broken.)

"duh, i ain’t a snitch!" denji claims, saluting his roommate with a shit-eating grin. he would snitch, aki is fully aware of that. bribe him with a lollipop or a tit squeeze? done deal.

"why are we not allowed to tell her?" power asks, fiddling with rudolph's nose on her christmas jumper.

aki audibly groans, fingers working at his temples in exasperation. "because, it’s a secret santa. we aren’t supposed to tell anyone who we got."

power's face twists in mild disgust, "what is the point of that?! just give me my present now!"

aki rolls his eyes, raking his fingers through his dark hair, "because it builds the suspense, power. do you want to have all your gifts now and have none on christmas day?"

she seems to quieten at that, closing her eyes as she mulls over his words. after three agonizing seconds of her silence and aki wondering whether it'd be easier to just throw himself out of the nearest window, power pouts and nods.

denji dramatically sighs before aki can say anything further, slapping her twice on the back in an attempt to comfort her, "i feel ya, powey."

the girl mirrors the sigh, slumping against denji as she flips aki off with a scowl.

"you should thank me, human! i will not go and tell [name] that you have her!" she declares smugly, resting her body weight on the male next to her.

aki vaguely hears "ow, fuck! power, y’re crushin’ me! how the fuck are ya so heavy?!" and a loud slap that probably came from power as he walks away.

• . ✿ ° × . *.

aki really does try his hardest to keep the secret.

he finds himself slapping a hand over denji's mouth when he almost lets it spill, and shoving a piece of food into power's when the topic of the secret santa comes up.

it's only halfway through december. he doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. he can tell you're starting to pick up on something fishy and it's beginning to stress him out.

"and so aki has-"

"what are you doing?"

power freezes up at the sound of aki's voice, head lifting from your lap as she scrambles to defend herself.

"nothing!" she says a pitch higher than usual.

your eyes narrow at aki who sends a subtle glare in power's direction before taking a seat beside you on the couch. you're immediately taking his hand in yours, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his knuckles to soothe his anger.

the man melts so quickly that it should be embarrassing, shoulders relaxing with a simple touch.

"she was telling me about secret santa," you fill in gently, "something about who everyone has."

power wishes she was dead.

the glare that aki gives her makes certain that she'll be banned from chocolates for at least a week. that's practically the same as death.

"was she now?" aki asks, an angry rumble in his throat.

the girl is looking at anything but his face; when had the wall become so interesting? look at that, is that a new vase? what are denji's pornos doing on the floor-

"why don't you tell both of us, power?"

before anything else can be said, she shoots up from her spot on the couch sweating bullets.

"meowy needs to shit!" is all she says before leaving the room at hurricane speeds. (if only she were that quick to close her mouth.)

you smile, turning to look at your boyfriend with a raised eyebrow.

"so?" you question, idly threading your fingers through his.

"so, what?" aki responds.

he can tell from the way a small laugh escapes those pretty lips that playing dumb isn't going to work.

"nothing, just a bad day." he tries, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

"you're snapping at power because of a 'bad day'?" you state, scepticism evident in your tone. "righhhht."

aki chuckles into your flesh, placing a chaste kiss there before pulling away. "yeah, that's all."

you press a kiss to his lips, tongue swiping over his. "sure, okay. i'll let you have this one, handsome."

the edges of his mouth tip up at the nickname and silent relief fills his veins at the clarification that you won't push the matter.

"thanks, love."

• . ✿ ° × . *.

aki swears on his life that he tries his hardest to keep the secret.

it's just that denji and power are not good secret keepers. they're a pair of loudmouths who are easily bribed. if not for your presence to keep him sane, aki's sure he would have strangled denji and confiscated power's antlers. actually, he's sure that if the gift he'd gotten you wasn't so important, he'd have let his roommates tell you already.

"makima, c'monnnn! i licked the floor so ya owe me a tit squeeze!" denji whines in a kneeling position on the floor.

going out for christmas lunch with you, his two roommates and makima may be one of the best and worst decisions aki's ever made in his life.

power still has her antlers on with a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, you had to persuade her to wear it, as she makes fun of her friend. there are still remnants of the snowball fight he was forced to engage in on her coat, and her nose is pink from the one denji threw in her face.

denji is as desperate as ever - shame didn't seem to find a place in his vocabulary. his purposefully broken santa hat is still finding a home atop his dirty blonde hair, though the pom pom looks like it's about to give up and fall off.

you on the other hand look ethereal in his eyes, a smile etched into your gorgeous features. with every small giggle that escapes your lips, aki feels his chest constrict almost painfully, heart thumping loudly within his ribcage.

you're still holding his hand; you have been for the past three hours.

"only if you tell me who aki has for secret santa, denji." makima answers, voice silky smooth.

it's meant as a joke 100%. everyone else in the room, even power, understood the joke. curse aki for forgetting denji's inability to read social cues.

"he has [name]!!"

on december 23rd, the day before christmas eve, denji tells makima who he has for secret santa in exchange for a tit squeeze. typical.

there's silence for a while. no one really knows what to say. all eyes are on the dark-haired male who genuinely seems to be in the middle of a breakdown.

denji's all frozen up and fully ready to make a run for it if needs be.

"i already know he has me, though." you say, confused.

comically, multiple heads whip towards you.

"...you do?" aki breathes, annoyance towards denji disappearing as fast as it came.

"well if you didn't already know, you suck at keeping secrets, honey. i've known for ages."

part of him feels relieved. if you already knew, then technically he didn't fuck up. technically, it didn't even count-

"it doesn't take a genius to figure it out, you know."

"for real, bro. i knew ya sucked ass like in general but not at lying as well-"

denji will be dead by morning.

BONUS:

"your secret santa gift was an engagement ring?" power asks, mortified.

"what a shitty gift!" denji pipes up, "it's not even edible- ow!"

you chuckle, fiddling with the ring that fits perfectly around your finger as aki smacks denji's arm.

"really? i think it's a wonderful gift." you muse, "it'll last way longer than food."

"so what?! food stays in your tummy forever!" power argues with her hand pointing at her stomach.

"no the fuck it doesn't! ya shit it out, duh!"

their bickering falls upon deaf ears as aki steals a sneaky kiss from you.

"merry christmas, [name]. i hope we'll spend many more together." his cheeks are definitely not dusted pink as he says that. not at all.

#♡. viascribbles #♡. now playing...#csm x reader #csm x you #csm x y/n #chainsaw man x y/n #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man x you #aki x you #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa x y/n #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #ask n answer !!#∞. loves

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: HELLO, wow. Thank you for all the love as per usual! It makes me giggle and kick my little feet reading your messages ! I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point but this is a DARK FIC, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. Please do not expect fluff and romance...

Without further adieu, enjoy <3

51: The Return to Kings Landing

You had walked quickly up to Dragonmont, finding Vermithor before mounting him, brushing his bronze scales as you looked about the island, to commit it to your memory. Footsteps of another had interrupted your gazing, as Aemond rounded a cliff and came to stop, looking at you atop the Bronze Fury.

You could have sworn you saw your husband smirked, but paid no mind to it, commanding the large bronze dragon into the sky to fly back to what you used to call home. Not too long after, the sound of familiar grumble came from behind and your heart had skipped a beat, looking back to see Vhagar and your uncle seated atop.

This time she was not chasing you.

This time she flew with you.

The flight to Kings Landing was not too long of a journey, and you had allowed yourself to silently cry atop the dragon as Dragonstone became smaller, and smaller behind you. It was something you could do alone on your dragon, despite the burning presence of Aemond, who now flew ahead of you.

As King’s Landing came closer, the sun had begun to set, casting a rusty glow across the vast stone structures. Vermithor landed down near the entrance to the Dragon Pit, where Syndor had once waited for you. Letting you slide from his back, your fingers stroked the ropes Jacaerys had put on him before he took off to the skies again, leaving you at the mouth of the cave.

You let your feet carry you through the pit, walking into the Keep alone. Not waiting for Aemond, and wherever he was, to escort you inside.

If this was to be your home, then you would act like it.

Although, it was odd to be back in truth.

To be back in a place where you had not long ago escaped from. To be back where so much had happened. To willingly walk yourself right back into the vipers nest. To where so many horrors had been witnessed and committed in the name of the crown.

In the name of the Targaryen legacy.

And whilst you let yourself walk without purpose, you found your feet had led you somewhere you had always sought solace in times of need.

The Godswood stood tall, and exactly where it had before. Its dark ruby leaves moved gently in the breeze and night began to fall over the realm. Its bark was still rough to the touch as you let your fingers graze over it.

It was the one thing in the Keep that had remained the same.

The one thing that had stayed true.

As you rested your cut palm against the bark, you watched as a small part of coagulated blood pulled away from the skin, causing new blood to flow. The dark, red liquid dripped gently onto the bark of the tree, starkly standing out against the brown of the bark.

You looked at the face of the tree, staring at it as you dug your palm sharply into its surface, feeling the sharp edges of wood dig into the open cut of your hand.

It was grounding, that pain.

Made you focus on one thing, instead of the racing thoughts inside of your head.

Servants walked through the halls and corridors, and passed through the courtyard where you stood. None stopping to greet you, nor stopping to report you. It seemed that they were all aware of the reasoning to your presence, and to your return.

You closed your eyes, praying to the old Gods to hear you. To save you. To take mercy upon you. To forgive you of your sins. Of your wrongdoings.

To protect you from what was to come.

And as you prayed, you felt someones gaze upon you, skin prickling with unease. You ignored it and kept on, lips softly moving as you begged for mercy and forgiveness.

“The God’s won’t hear your prayers.” Came the soft voice of your husband.

You balled your hand by your side into a fist as you were pulled from your prayers, attempting to desperately start again.

Please Gods, let me survive thi-

“Come. I will show you to our chambers.”

Our chambers.

Our.

You let your hand slide from the bark of the tree, taking one last glance at the red leaves above you before you turned to face Aemond. He stood not too far way, in his riding leathers, hands held behind his back and posture stiff. His lips were pulled into a soft smile and it made you nervous.

Why was he smiling at you like that?

What was wrong with him?

You lifted an unsure foot over the roots, and began to walk down the grass towards him, watching as your husbands smile grew wider. The blood on his lips had mostly gone, from flaking away or perhaps the gentle lapping of his own tongue.

Though the blood on his forehead was untouched. It had dried a darker shade, almost a deep brown like the bark of the tree.

His posture was so similar to how he had been at Storm’s End. Leg lazily jutted out with his arms behind his back. That smile you realised, was most likely a smug one.

The cat who got the cream.

The man who finally got the wife he wanted.

“I wish to return to my old chambers.” You spoke, and you watched as Aemond’s head tilted to the side, as he lazily looked you up and down.

“No.” Was all he said before he turned, not waiting for you to follow him.

You stood unmoving as you watched him leave, feet carrying him swiftly across the grass to the cobblestones. You thought of not following him, and returning to your own chambers. But you did not know if it would be locked or guarded, nor did you know of how he would react.

Now was not the time to be a steadfast fool.

And so you let your feet carry you towards him, following the man like a dutiful wife, albeit ten to fifteen paces behind him. Watching his legs work, and his hands that were clutched tightly behind his back. Hands that were now permitted to touch you. Hands that would undoubtedly bring you pain and suffering.

One hand gripped the others wrist, the cut hand on display as dried blood had begun to settle on his palm and finger tips. You watched it flex and tighten, fingers digging into the cut at random as he continued onwards to his wing of the Red Keep.

You wondered if it would be his chambers, or new ones. If you were to return to the chambers you had been in, not so long ago, makeshift dagger in hand as you plunged it into the soft flesh of his shoulder. You wondered if he would disrobe himself before he took you. If you would get to see with your own eyes the damage you had done to him.

Not unlike how he would see the scars he had given to you upon your body. Almost too many to count during such a short period of time. He had truly put his mark on you in every way possible.

Your body.

Your heart.

Your mind.

Every piece of you now belonged to him.

The castle began to darken from the setting sun, and the torches along the corridor served to light the path ahead. Aemond did not pause, nor did he slow down as he approached his chambers.

The chambers you had been in before.

So there was no new chambers for you. Just the haunting memory of the old one. You wondered if it kept him awake at night? Or if he stayed there to serve as a reminder of what you had done to him.

As he approached, a knight pulled open the doors for him, nodding his head to you both. You watched as his silver hair disappeared into the chambers and you slowed your step. You could not make a run for it. You know you couldn’t, but your body wanted to.

Your mind wished for you to run, to escape the inevitable of what was to come.

You knew what was expected of you the moment you entered those chambers. Now that you were man and wife, it needed to be consummated. But this did not mean that despite knowing, that you would ever be ready for it.

You had always thought it would be different.

Perhaps loving and gentle, shared with someone you loved. Perhaps if Aemond hadn’t grown into the man he was now, you would have willingly given it to him. The thought made your heart rise into your throat as you palms began to feel cold and clammy.

Step after step, you slowly moved forward to seal your doom.

When you reached the knight at the door, he waited for you to enter, not looking at you, instead looking over your head as though you weren’t even there. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back and held your head high, before swiftly walking into the dark green chambers.

It was as you had remembered, though this time, brighter. The fire place raged with flames, and candles were lit upon every surface to light the room. Your eyes flitted to the side of the bed, and the passage in which you had snuck through to get him.

It was still there, and he had not blocked, nor barricaded it.

“You wouldn’t be able to leave that way, if that’s what you are thinking of.” His voice called across the room.

Aemond stood to the side, filling two cups full of spiced wine, not even looking at you. He must have sensed or known that your eyes would flit straight there. As his large hands grasped the wine, he made his way towards you, holding a cup out.

It was almost like an offering of peace.

A treaty.

You timidly grasped the wine from him, and he watched you with a hum, before he pulled his goblet up to his lips and sipped deeply, turning to go sit in an armchair by the fire. You stood where you were, in the middle of the room, near a large round table that was surrounded by six chairs. Books sat atop the table, and one in particular caught your eye.

Atop the table, in a pile, was your book.

Faded red cover, golden lettering and all.

How?

“Sit.” Your uncle beckonned, eye not having left the fireplace.

Slowly you walked towards him, before sitting in the chaise opposite, letting your eyes roam over his form.

Aemond sat lazily, and comfortably in his large green armchair. Hand holding the goblet as he sipped, whilst the other rested upon the arm of the chair. It reminded you of the first night he had snuck into your chambers.

“Drink.” He commanded, and you obeyed.

You would not argue with that.

You would surely need wine for what was to come.

Would it be painful? Would he enjoy hurting you? Would you bleed as you had been told you would?

You pulled the goblet up to your lips and emptied it, resting the cup in your lap as your fingers trailer over the rim, waiting for his next command to strip and lay on the bed for him.

To lay spread for him.

To be ready for his brutality.

But he didn’t.

And instead, your husband continued to sip the wine, not talking, nor moving, until his cup was empty too. Once his goblet was dry, and he had sat for many moments more, he turned his face to look at you.

The light from the fire cast a sharp shadow across his face, causing his already pointed features to look more defined. He was hauntingly beautiful you mused.

A shame.

And a waste.

“The King wishes for us to dine with him this evening. To celebrate our union.” Aemond told you, eye roaming to where your hands had stilled at the lip of the cup.

Aegon.

You were to dine with Aegon this evening.

Memories of your last meeting in the dungeon flashed through your mind. His hands on your throat, the feeling of his cock brushing roughly against your sex. Nausea began to roll through your body, and your heart ran a marathon within your chest.

“He will not touch you.”

Aemond’s voice pulled you from the dark memories of your mind. You blinked at him uncertain.

Aegon may not touch you, but Aemond surely would.

And you did not know who would be worse.

For all of Aegon’s devious desires, they were laid bare to the world. He did not hide himself nor his actions. Where as Aemond held his close to him. He did not let anyone know of the man he truly was, nor what he truly desired.

What was worse?

The knowing of such cruelty, or the unknown of what cruelty lies before you.

Aemond watched as you spiralled with your thoughts before he abruptly stood. He stalked towards you, looking down as you clutched harder at the cup in your lap. A large hand came towards you and you could not help but flinch at the movement.

If he noticed you jump, it did not stop him, as he plucked the goblet from your hand, moving to the side of the room, to place both of your empty cups back where the decanter was.

“I will have the maids come and dress you for the evening.”

Aemond swiftly walked across the room, opening the door before exiting, leaving you in the vast emptiness of the space of the chambers that you would now call yours.

Chambers that you would now live and breathe in for Gods knew how long. Chambers that you would eat, and sleep and bathe in. Chambers in which you would share a bed with your husband, and have him put his seed in you.

Chambers where you may begin to swell with a child.

It was all so much, that you found you could not even cry at the thought. You do not know how long you spent sitting where you sat, eyes still on the fire, that when the maids came to pull the heavy riding leathers from your body, and replace them with robes for dinner, you did not resist.

Nor did you resist when the familiar gaze of your now husband watched on as they stripped you. Nor did you resist when he crowded you so suddenly, hand on the small of your back, as he moved to lead you out of your chambers towards the dining room you had all dined in before.

It was not until you were halfway there did you come back to yourself.

It was not until your feet had begun to feel heavy, and the scarring on your side began to feel tight, did you realise you stood in the corridor, with Aemond standing beside you, eye half lidded as he looked at you.

It was not until then you realised you had stopped walking, and noticed your surroundings.

“Zaldristos.” Aemond uttered, as he looked down at you.

That was what broke the spell.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at yourself.

You wore a deep red dress, almost the colour of your combined blood. It was tight, but not too tight, the sleeves were soft, and upon each wrist were embroidered dragons.

One the left side, a black dragon, embroidered scales shimmering in the light of the torches.

One the right, a green dragon.

A dress you had not seen before.

As you looked at the gown, Aemond hummed, moving forward again, neither touching you nor waiting for you to follow. You were left to trail behind him towards the familiar wooden doors, with their soft rounded tops.

He waited at the entrance for you, as the two knights held each side, only when you stood beside him did the doors open, and the room was revealed to you.

It had changed.

There were no familiar curtains or tapestry on the walls. The table had been replaced and the chairs reupholstered. The room had no sigils of the House Targaryen, and instead were replaced with gaudy green tapestry, and symbols of the Seven Faith.

What was left of the small reminder of home was now gone.

Alicent had been busy.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen, and his Lady Wife, the Princess Y/n Velaryon.” Came the low timber of Ser Criston Cole.

Lady Wife.

His.

It felt so strange.

Your eyes settled to the table.

Aegon sat where your Grandsire once had.

It was wrong.

Unnatural.

To see the seat where Viserys had sat, and laughed, and smiled with vigour, to now be replaced with someone who sneered, and drank, and whored, was blasphemous.

The conquerors crown sat heavily atop his wavy hair, and deep green robes were upon his person. On his right sat his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, and his left, Ser Otto Hightower.

Further along the table sat Lord Larys Strong.

And as you looked at him, you could scarcely see any resemblance to his brother, Ser Harwin Strong. You wondered what he thought of Aemond slaying his entire House?

But he was most likely just as vicious, having become the Master of Whispers to the Queen, and now your uncle, the King. His face held an odd look to it. He had sad brown eyes, and was built thinly.

A lean man with no strength of his body, only his mind.

A dangerous man indeed.

You had heard and only witnessed once yourself that the man had a clubbed foot. Perhaps his family gave him grievances like yours had to Aemond.

Perhaps he was relived to be rid of them.

Lord Jasper Wilde, and a familiar blond head of Lord Tyland Lannister sat at the table, watching you silently as you walked up the few small stairs to the table.

You were in the presence of the Kings Small Council.

They had all been invited to witness the proof of your union, and proof of your despair.

“There they are!” Came the sickening boom of Aegon’s voice as he roughly pushed himself up to stand, palms opening out widely as he smiled smugly at you.

“The newly weds! Congratulations on your union brother,” Aegon kept his eyes on you as he spoke, “And welcome back to the Keep, Princess. You left without so much as a goodbye last time you were here.”

He was goading you.

As you reached the level ground, Aemond stepped forth and pulled a chair back for you, looking at you expectantly to sit in it. You hesitated, before coming forth and sitting in the chair as he pulled out his own and seated himself.

Alicent’s watchful gaze did not leave yours.

Her face was unreadable, but the same sour, downturned lips you had gotten used to as a child was ever present. You felt the gaze of everyone at the table upon you. You held your fingers in your lap, digging your nails into the cut of your palm, which was now bandaged from the maids.

You had not even felt them do it.

“Apologies that I could not make it to witness such a beautiful union. But now we can celebrate together.” The Usurper King continued, clapping his hands loudly together.

You did not take your eyes from Alicent, keeping your gaze locked on her as he spoke.

This is what you have done.

You started this.

Your only solace was knowing that you had taken one of her sons, the way she had taken Lucerys from you and your mother.

You heard the giggle of Aegon as his hands clapped together again in excitement.

“I don’t think I’ve heard my niece be so quiet before. Have you broken her already, Aemond?”

You grit your teeth, and pushed your finger deeper into your palm, feeling the bandages wet, and still, you kept your eye on the woman who started it all.

Aemond simply hummed, before acknowledging his mother who sat opposite him.

“Don't tell me she has snatched your voice too, brother? One minute in her cunt and already you’ve gone soft.” Aegon snickered.

“Aegon.” Came the warning voice of Otto Hightower.

The energy at the table was so tense, that even the guards and knights stationed about the room shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

“It is good to have you back in King's Landing,” Otto began, “I am sure that you and Aemond shall settle in together in no time.” He gave you a warm smile, and it made you more uncomfortable than Aegon’s comments.

Aegon let out a high pitched laugh though his nose, before clicking his fingers out beside his head. The noise and movement made you stiffen.

Alicent witnessed the reaction.

And soon the table was being filled with foods and more wine, your own goblet being filled, which you snatched from the table and emptied rapidly. Aegon watching, smile widening.

As the Usurper King sat back in his large chair and drank from his cup, he kept his eyes on you as he told you of plans for the treaty and how it would work. Insisting that the North would surely love to have your mother as their Queen, which the both of you knew; they wouldn’t.

In fact, it seemed that everyone at the table knew.

Just as you had expected.

When your plate was filled with foods, you found that you had no appetite for it, instead turning to your cup, which you drank from heavily, having it refilled by the cup bearers more than thrice.

And before long, conversation flittered around the table stiffly about the union, and expectation for children, much to Aegon’s delight, and your disgust. And so you let yourself retreat back into your mind, letting their words become a distant hum as you stared at Alicent, drinking from your cup.

The Dowager Queen did not sit still as you stared at her. Her eyes would meet yours and flit away to look at the three Lords at the table and her sons, before she would gaze back at you, finding that you had not moved her from your sights.

“Tell me brother, have you bed her yet?” Aegon’s voice pulled you from your numb haze.

No reply came.

“Do you remember how it is done? I’d be happy to show you.” He snickered, and the Lannister let out an uneasy laugh.

Alicent growled Aegon’s name again and Otto began to speak before Aegon interrupted him.

“We should hold a bedding ceremony, to ensure that the deed is done properly. I can talk you through it.”

You let your gaze leave Alicent for the first time, and turned your head to look at your husband beside you, who sat straight in his chair, hands bunched in balls by his side.

His jaw was tight and tensed, and his brow was furrowed.

“Come now brother, surely you have not forgotten what I showed you on your thirteenth name day.” Aegon laughed, pulling his goblet up to his lips.

You watched as Aemond’s mouth pulled into a sneer.

“The King is merely joking with you, My Prince. We are all in good spirits for this union.” Otto tried, and failed to cover for the King.

“You heard the old bat, we are all in good spirits! You are finally wed to the one woman who had given you any attention at all. Sure, she is a bastard-“

“Watch your tongue.” You sneered at the King, resolve disappearing.

“So she speaks!” Aegon declared proudly to the table, looking at the Lords as they all smiled unsurely, “Finally. There is my niece who I know and love. Though I fear if you are able to speak, perhaps my brother did not fuc-“

Aemond shot up from his seat at the table, fists tight on the wood near his plate as he stared down at his hands. You looked up at your husband who breathed deeply, knuckles white as he fisted them.

“Aem, brother.” Aegon mock cooed, “You know I am only teasing. Come,” He looked across the table, picking up his goblet, “Lets raise our cups to this fine union!”

The Lord’s and the Dowager Queen picked up their cups, holding them towards you both.

You kept your gaze on Aemond, whose head slowly turned to you to meet your eyes, his violet orb half lidded and scowl upon his lips. He looked full of rage, just barely controlled beneath the surface of his bristling posture.

Your hand came up on its own, to reach out to touch him, to calm him, but as soon as your hand moved, you found that Aemond looked down at in in disgust before he seated himself, no longer looking at you, instead stiffly grabbing his goblet before him.

You mirrored his action, trying to push down your budding fear and anxiety, now that Aegon and riled him up.

He had done it on purpose.

“To my brother, may she warm your heart and your cock, and may you make me a grand-uncle soon enough.” He smirked, before turning his gaze on you, “And to my wonderful niece, may you warm his bed, and birth his heirs, and feel the warmth of his love.”

“Hear, Hear!” Came the confident voice of Tyland Lannister, followed by everyone else, seemingly ignoring his crude remarks.

Or perhaps, they had gotten used to it by now.

He was their King, whether they liked it or not.

Neither you nor Aemond spoke, but drank deeply from your cups, before placing them down.

A beat passed before Aemond spoke.

“Excuse us,” His voice cut across the table, stilling the King in his excitement, “I wish to spend time with my wife.”

Your husband stood from his seat, moving to stand beside yours waiting. He did not hold out his hand, nor offer to assist you in any way, simply stood and expected you to follow as he bid the table a good night, bowing stiffly to his brother, anger rolling from him in waves.

Standing you stared once more at Alicent, before turning on your heel to follow Aemond out of the dining hall, and back to your shared chambers. You did not spare a glance to Aegon, nor the other Lord’s, nor did you spare a glance at your husbands face.

You let Aemond lead you to the chambers, his strides quick and purposeful, until finally you reached the room, and you were inside, and the door behind you was shut softly with a thud by the knights.

And then you were alone, with your husband Aemond, on the night of your wedding.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget

Bold is who I cannot tag!

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wolveria · 2 months

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My Tech-genda

I haven't written meta in a long time, but I just have so much to say about Infiltration and Extraction:

I'm sure there will be a ton of these, but my two cents as to how X is actually Tech (or Tex, as @nightfall-1409 calls him).

The POV of the show relied heavily on this new assassin, and that means he's a Special boy. Not like the assassin we saw in the trailer who died this episode arc. This is the boy we see on Pabu. That other assassin was a throwaway, maybe to get us off the scent.

And this is the big one for me, Tex fought like each of the OG Batch, including himself. Detonations, hacking, sniper rifle, vibroblade. His hobby of recording everything makes me think he either has eidetic memory, or he's an excellent copycat of what he's observed, especially something he would see on a daily basis.

Tex breaking out old tools. The pad on his arm almost like his old comm device/datapad. The grappling hook down the shaft. An evil little baby Marauder.

Falling and surviving (again). Maybe re-broke or simply re-injured that old broken femur. Conveniently, Tex hunches over a little so we can’t see how tall he is compared to other clones like Wolffe (they probably use the same model for all the Clone X assassins so this might be delusional on my part, but I think it would be a nice touch).

Also, the lighting this season is supposed to be a Big Deal, right.

This pulled back shot after Tex comes out of the hideout, he’s limping and injured, and there’s darkness all around him. He’s walking through this shaft of light, like a spotlight or a beacon, and I’m just like. Wow. Why such emotional shots for a random bad guy huh.

That was my same issue with the big season 3 trailer. When we get a shot of Clone X on Pabu, the music swells in an emotional, dramatic arc. You wouldn't waste that on some random guy. At least, I wouldn't.

Last but not least, Tex's reaction to drowning Crosshair, and Crosshair gently grabbing at his shoulder before he falls unconscious. He pulls back a little and pants heavily. I genuinely can't tell if Tex is reacting to the touch, Crosshair fading away, or both.

I also don't need to go into the imagery of Crosshair and Tech being mirrors of each other through the water, and that Tex is the Imperial agent that Crosshair failed to be. We've seen two methods of the Empire's control: reconditioning and the inhibitor chip. Seems the Empire is learning from its mistakes when it comes to the failing chips.

Note: There is much more I could go into, like despite the fact his voice is heavily modulated, Tex sounds exactly like his old self when he's grunting/panting. There's still so much to uncover, but I thought this was a nice start.

Sources: I write and have music/video editing experience, and these are things that make sense to me.

Addendum: Folks saying this is "bad writing" (an opinion, not a fact) are missing the point.

The question is not: Is it bad writing? The question is, can I masturbate to it? The answer, in this case, is yes.

Anyway that’s my Tech-genda thanks for listening.

#tbb #tbb spoilers #tbb season 3 #tech #meta #clone x #tech meta #winter soldier tech #i know it's a lot to read but the end is worth it ;)

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piaduarte · 2 years

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How I manifested all my desires into reality

I assume you've been in this community long enough to realize some posts contradict themselves, to the point where a thing as simple as manifestation has become something much more complicated;

"You have to repeat affirmations all the time, until you sound like a broken record!"

"No, no, you have to daydream all day, don't be afraid to be delusional!"

Everything is just so confusing. Maybe your feed is filled with this crazy success stories, like mine once was, and you sit there amazed while you read them and you ask yourself "Why can't I do that?", like I once did. Well, my dear reader, you are about to change your own life.

So, let's get started!

Ok, so it all started a couple of days ago. I was mindlessly scrolling through my feed, reading these posts I told you about. Just a normal day. I'd been into manifestation and spiritualism for a while, and I was incredibly addicted to Tumblr out of the sudden; these posts, these stories... They were just so interesting and so visually appealing I just couldn't bring myself to stop reading them.

Well, the thing is, I could spend entire days — and I did actually spend them — like that, just sitting in the couch and getting all kinds of impressed by all these stranger's abilities to make their dreams come true. But after a week or so I got kinda tired of all that. You know what I'm talking about:

"Why can't I do that? I'm so stupid, they said it should be easy" - old me

"Maybe I'm just losing my time with this" - yep, old me again

NO.

Did you hear me? I said no. Can you believe all these stupid thoughts almost made me give up in my journey for the second time? I can see it all so clearly now; my brain was rotting thanks to these stupid thoughts. And, my dear reader, what do we do about things that hurt us and keep us from becoming the person we want to be? Exactly; we get rid of them. So, after that, I knew I had a choice to make.

Should I keep making myself feel bad, or should I embrace my power and finally become the manifestation master I was born to be?

Enough with the negative self-talk. Enough with letting people manipulate me and treat me like I'm an inferior. Enough being the victim. I'm the master of my own life, and I'm a God. I manifest whatever I want into my life because I can and I'm able to do so. And once you realize that, there's no coming back.

So now I want you to get clear of what you want, and breathe. Is it a new job? Is it new friends, a new house, maybe even all at once? Fine, you got it. It's done. You can relax and you can forget about it, because it is already yours. I know you've probably seen this sentence like hundreds of times already, but after actually understanding it, you realize it's true.

Look outside your window, step into your balcony, go for a walk. All these things you see, you believe them to be real, right? So let me ask you a question; why would your desire not be as real as those houses, as those buildings? When you close your eyes, you can see it in your mind; your new workplace, your new friends, your new house. You can see all those things. They are real too.

Not so long ago, I learnt about the 3D and the 4D: as you probably already know, the 4D is everything you imagine, your desired reality, the insides of your unique and beautiful mind; the 3D is the "reality". But actually, it's the exact opposite: the 4D is your only reality, and the 3D is actually some kind of mirror that projects everything you want. The insides of your mind. You can see and feel all your desires because they are real, and no matter what, now that you've imagined them and you've decided you want all those things, the law is obligated to grant your desires to you and you only. There are no exceptions.

Your desires can and will come true.

#manifesation #manifesting #master manifestor #how to manifest #self concept #spiritualism #spirituality #law of manifestation #law of attraction #neville goddard #higher self #affirmyourreality #desired life #desired reality #loa #law of the universe #law of desire #law of assumption #law of belief

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 year

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Kiss it off me

February Filth Fest : Day Seven

Jung Wooyoung x fem reader

a/n: sorry if this one isn't super long, i had some personal thingys

"Ready for another round, Beautiful?"

(>ᴗ•)genre:

smut w/o plot

ಠ_ಠwarning/contents:

not edited, use of aphrodisiacs and alcohol, established relationship, literally feral, an insane amount of orgasms, hot potato but with dom/sub dynamics, unprotected(womp womp), multiple cream pies, nipple play,pet names (baby,love&babe,baby boy, woo), brief blowjob, cum eating and swapping

tags: @cherryxsang @k-drizzle

SMUT UNDER CUT MDNI

"Bam!" You place the plate of cookies down with a wide smile. "They're a little over done but I don't think it should matter..." You lift one up and inspect it, "probably just a little crunchy!"

Wooyoung turns with the drink mixer in his hands, leaning over the table and looking at the cookies. "They look good, Baby. How much did you put?"

You grab the messy paper where you've written down the recipe. "Two teaspoons. That's not a lot, right?"

"Sounds reasonable to me," he shrugs before shaking the drink around. You turn into the kitchen and grab two paper towels, placing a cookie on each and sliding one over to him. He pours the concoction equally into two glasses he's already set up. "My lady." He smiles as he slide the glass to you.

"Thank youuu." You sniff the drink, recoiling and holding a hand over your mouth to hide the laugh that threatens to come out.

"What? What is it?"

"How much gin did you put in here, Babe?"

He shrugs, looking at the bottle that's now half empty. "Not a lot."

"Maybe you should stick to the kitchen, and I stick to the drinks."

"Yeah, no, you're right."

He slides his cookie back over the table to sit next to you, taking his drink with him. You pick up the warm cookie and share a kiss with him before you take a bite.

You make small conversation as you each finish a cookie and your very strong drinks. You lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, and he cranes his neck to kiss the top of your head.

"You feel anything, Baby?"

"No. You?"

"Nada. Maybe we got a dud or something."

"Holy fuck!" He cries, hands tightening on your hips as you grind down on him. "S'good! Fuck me so good! So good," he moans like a prayer. He leans his head back with a whimper as he cums into you again. It makes you cum around him in response, leaning into his neck and licking up his sweat.

You've been at it for at least two hours, and neither of you can stop. He's came into your cunt at least five times, and you've gushed around him six? Seven? Your brain has turned to mush at this point. All you can think is Wooyoung. Wooyoungs dick. Wooyoungs hands grabbing at your tits.

"Baby, please!" He whimpers, hands massaging your skin. "Keep going, keep going, please, please, fuck me, fuck me," he whines like a broken record, hip's barely bucking up into you to meet your harsh bounces. "Please, I need it!"

All he can think is you. Your warm cunt filled with cum still around him. Your sweet praises. Your fingers tweaking his sore nipples. Your tongue rolling over them.

You slap one of your hands over his mouth and tell him, "then take it."

His hands travel down to your hips and flips you over, holding your hips down as your body bounces with the force of his thrusts. "You take it. I'm going to fuck you so full you can't fucking think."

"God, Woo! You're- fuck... holy shit, Love. You're so good, so good to me! Fuck me so good!" He brings his hand down to your clit and has you cumming again just at the contact alone, fucking you right into another one with his erratic thrusts and his finger twirling around. "Baby, cum..." You don't know whether you're asking him to cum or telling him you just did, but it's all that your mind can muster up.

He flips you over again, holding your hips down to his as close as he can as he over-fills your pussy. You pull up off him and cum drips out of you onto his hard cock. You both moan at the sight, worked up beyond belief. He's about to wipe it up when you swat away his hand and scoot down, leaving a trial of cum drops as you make your way down. "What are you doing, Baby? Keep going, please keep going!"

"Calm down, Baby Boy." You lick up some of the puddle on his lower stomach, savoring the flavor as your swallow. He has to physically hold himself back from releasing again at the sight. "Gonna kiss it off you."

He groans loudly, hand wrapping itself up in yours as you begin kissing and licking all over his stomach and pelvis. When he's both clean and painfully hard, you lower yourself down even more to his cock. "Want me too, Babe?"

"Yes," he breaths heavily, whining as you lower your mouth down on his jizz covered cock. "Ha~" he holds down his hips with his free hand, squeezing yours tightly in the other. "Fucking amazing, Baby. I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna-"

You scoop it up on your tongue and are back on him in the next second, settling on his cock,still hard, and connecting your mouths as you hold his open. He laps up your tongue, moaning into your open mouthed kiss as he swallows up the cum you've collected. You cradle his face as you pull away and admire the sight.

His eyes are almost fully black, unblinking as he admires you like you do to him. His mouth is slick and swollen and glazed in cum- yours, his, it's impossible to tell.

"So beautiful," you chime together. "Oop-" he laughs, leaning into your shoulder as you lay ontop of him in laughter. He slides his hands up and down your back, leaving a few kisses to your sweaty skin.

"Ready for another round, Beautiful?"

#february filth fest #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #ateez #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #smut fic

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artsycrapfromsai · 7 months

Note

I would like to say that I'm totally normal about Amaryllis and Astarion, but they're just so cute, and I can't get enough and I'm pretty much squeeeeeing every time. That little comic where she made an embroidery of his face was what pulled me in.

Aaaaaaa 🥺💕💕💕💕

I know i sound like a broken record, but hearing that always makes me so happy fjfjgd

Funny thing is, in the long run, I think that Amaryllis giving him the embroidered portrait is probably what immediately endeared her to him too fjfjhfhj Before that, while she was weird and... Strangely nice to him (which he just chalked up to her being a bleeding heart), she was still just something to use and manipulate for his safety

But the embroidery was completely unnecessary, no strings attached, no ultimatums, and clearly required hours of work, and probably prototypes. She didn't have to do that, just because he missed his reflection, but she did, because she thought he would like it. No one's ever just done something for him before, just because it might make him happy

And I think that's the point his inner conflict starts about what to do with her djgjgfjf

He's still trying to manipulate her, but he doesn't understand her- her actions confuse him

("She's willingly giving me blood because... She thinks its cruel to starve a vampire?"

"She's such a bleeding heart, almost disgustingly so, but she just casually says she dresses in red to hide blood stains after battle? How does that match up? Not that I mind such morbidity, but I just don't understand how that mind of her's works."

"I can't believe she would rather run and hide than discuss casual sex. Is she just a prude? But she doesn't mind nudity?? Either way, I can't just seduce her now, if I want to keep our good 'relationship' going... But how can I manipulate her if not with sex?")

Astarion wants to study her under a microscope bc, according to his personal experiences, she doesn't make any sort of sense to him and actively contradicts things he believed to be true gjhvjcc meanwhile Amaryllis is just existing and being herself

It's really confusing and frustrating for him, because he's genuinely starting to like her, and after her gift (probably the kindest thing he's ever received), he doesn't want to see her leave. but he has no experience with a real relationship and is relying on his 200 years of manipulation and betrayal to try and blindly find a way through to one

But if he uses what he knows, he might actually just scare her off instead, and that's the last thing he wants. So he doesn't really know what to do with her

Amaryllis has no idea about any other of this, and is getting confused and flustered by her own growing feelings akjdhfg she just enjoys talking and spending time with him, and she thinks he's dorky, and cute, and funny, and clever, and its fun to embroider with him

they're a pair of cute disasters

That's all why in the last comic, where she admits she likes him, he's startled but quickly goes back into flirty mode, bc that's natural for him and he's more confident with that sort of scenario (plus he really does enjoy getting compliments from her)

But if he asks her why she likes him and she answers honestly ("I think you are clever, and funny, and sweet, and I enjoy spending time with you") it would probably short circuit his brain right now, bc he's still got a lot of things to work through fjghjvcjv

As far as my canon goes, this is all still in act 1 bc we haven't moved from it yet in me n my friend's playthrough fifkhg

BUT YEAH AAAAAAA sorry i had to ramble dhdggdjf I'm so glad you enjoy their relationship & my art!!! Thank you so much!! 😭💕💕💕

#ask #amaryllis tav #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion

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saltsicklover · 8 months

Text

Part Thirteen

This is a long chapter for this fic! It's most definitely a rollercoaster and I should probably just put a huge warning on this chapter because it's a lot! Hangman Sucks, Natasha Sucks, Bob sucks, hell even Sunny sucks towards the end. It's one giant suckfest, most definitely a whump at the end. That's to say, I'd love to know what you think about it!

ALSO This Fic has just surpassed 40k words with this chapter! Technically its over 43k but still! Thank you for reading so many of my words! I love and appreciate all of you!

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6300+

Rating: R

Warnings: Tobacco, Swearing, Fighting, Blood, Crying, Anger, so so much Anger. Bob being slightly obsessed with Sunny's perfume in what could be a low key creepy way.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

The trilling of Natasha's cellphone does nothing to pull Sunny out of her dumbfounded state, her brain playing Nat's bombshell of a sentence over and over again on loop. A broken record minus the squeak of the vinyl.

"It's about time, Bagman," Natasha answers the call with a swipe of her finger, her voice carrying an aggravated tone. She tucks her phone between her shoulder and her cheek, leaving her hands free to stir her coffee.

"Phoenix," Hangman's voice comes through the phone a bit muffled, like his hand is covering his mouth, "I fucked up,"

If he fucked up, maybe he should sound a bit more remorseful, but Natasha doesn't point that fact out. It's really not important, and it's not like she plans on letting him forget about this any time soon.

"Yeah, no shit," That much is obvious to her, and finally Jake realizes it too, "Glad you finally put that together, what, twelve hours later?" Natasha does nothing to hide her annoyance. If it wasn't for Jake storming from the Hard Deck, his phone going unanswered, then Natasha and Sunny could have been out on the town by now. They would be shopping until Sunny couldn't possibly stuff anything else in her duffel. What's paying for one more checked bag, right?

"Yeah- well, I remembered when I woke up an hour ago-"

"An hour ago?! And you're just returning my call now? Jesus, Bagman, how hung over are you?" Natasha rolls her eyes, her hand coming back up to grasp her phone, though Hangman won't be able to see either action. She hopes that he will hear it in her voice- how ticked off she is becoming. If anyone could make the vocal eye roll a thing, it would be Natasha Trace.

Glancing over at Sunny, Natasha notices she still has the same bewildered expression painted on her features. She can see the gears in Sunny's head turning with the way her eyebrows are furrowed, lips pursed, the only thing missing is the steam that should be pouring out of her ears. Then, Hangman's sputtering from the other side of the phone drags her back to that conversation.

"Spit it out Hangman,"

"I came out to my truck to grab her bag and bring it into my place so it would be safe until you got here, but, Phoenix, it's not here," Seresin's almost whispering the last bit, Natasha even hits her volume button with her thumb in a failed effort to hear him better.

"What?"

Confusion. Natasha hopes she heard him wrong.

"It's not here, Phoenix. Sunny's bag, it's not in the bed of my truck. It isn't in the cab either,"

"What?"

Anger. She hadn't.

"I didn't even remember that I had it until I got my phone plugged in this morning. Damn thing has been dead all night," Jake swears to himself under his breath, feeling the tension growing over the dead space of the call.

Pinching the bridge of your nose is supposed to help stop headaches. Nat has never believed that fact, yet she pinches the bridge of her nose hard with her fingertips.

"I swear to God, Hangman, I am going to murder you if you don't find Sunny's duffle," That gets Sunny's attention, the wheels in her head slowing, expression changing, confusion visible on her face. But, as soon as she locks eyes with Nat, her eyebrows lift to her hairline in question. Natasha pulls the phone away from her ear, but makes zero to attempt to cover the microphone when she tells Sunny, "Hangman fucked up and if he doesn't fix it, I am going to kill him,"

The nod that comes from Sunny pleases Natasha, the trust the younger woman has for her is evident in her lack of concern. Hangman is almost humming through the phone, impatient. The sound of a slamming truck door accompanying the swearing he is failing to cover up.

"Fix it, Hangman," Is the last thing Natasha threatens the man with before hanging up the phone.

"What was all that about?" Sunny has laid herself back down in the sun, one arm under her head, the other coming up to shield her eyes. She still squints a bit, her whole expression wrinkling over.

Natasha notices just how relaxed she is, even with all of the bullshit that has been going on, so she takes a moment to think of her next move. Sunny wriggles a bit in her chair, watching Nat closely, waiting impatiently for an answer. So, Phoenix huffs, releasing a large breath from her lungs.

"Somewhere between last night and this morning your duffle bag disappeared from the back of Hangman's truck," Natasha tries to wave her hand as if to emphasize that this little bit of information is really no big deal. She doesn't necessarily believe this herself, but she doesn't want Sunny's trip to get any worse than it has been already. After all, this isn't exactly how Phoenix had imagined their first visit going. "He is going to find it, but until then, lets find you something to wear and we can use it as an excuse to get you a new outfit."

The wink that Natasha sends Sunny across the deck makes Sunny giggle. Though she knows she should be worried about her lost items, Sunny can't find it in her to care all that much. The biggest disappointment would be having to replace the bag itself. Everything else in that damn duffel bag could go up in cinders and there wouldn't be any big loss. After all, Sunny already abandoned the most important thing to her at Bob's feet, the night before at the Hard Deck.

"Give me a cute shirt to put on over my dress and we can go shopping, how does that sound?" Sunny shoots her friend a smile.

"Deal,"

After Sunny manages to pull her day old clothes back onto her body, fighting off the way they feel tear stained and gritty from the sand, she combs her way though Nat's closet. Her fingers wonder over the hangers, one by one. Each piece is different, but all of them soft and well loved.

"I'm surprised how many pieces ofclothing you have in here," Sunny teases, her voice light as it meets Nat's ears over the sound of running water. "So feminine, too, Nat. I thought you'd dress a little more, I don't know... President of the boy's club,"

Natasha tries to feign offense but the toothbrush that's set between her closed lips keeps her quiet.

"I mean, half of this is still uniform pieces, I know that, but still so feminine," Sunny jokes, trying to ignore the way Nat hangs her upper body out of the bathroom, narrowing her eyes at the younger woman.

"You're in a fucking dress, you yahoo," Phoenix speaks through a mouth of suds, her toothbrush in her hand.

"I know that, and I'm trying not to be," Sunny shoots back, sticking her tongue out.

"I know a few Aviators that would love to help you with that problem," Phoenix's voice sounds a little more muffled from her space in front of the sink, but definitely lacking in suds.

"Bradley would never!" The gasp is fake, but the giggling coming from both women is all too real.

"Maybe not, but I can think of one very deserving man, and one who is less so, who would both be equally thrilled."

"And who exactly is the deserving one, Nash?" Sunny inquires, yanking a t-shirt off of a hanger before tugging it over her head. She ties it in a knot at her waist, allowing the skirt to peak out below it.

Natasha is leaning out from the bathroom once more, grinning at Sunny as she fixes her clothes in the mirror. The shirt reads FORD is large blue letters across the front. It clashes a bit with Sunny's dress, but the fabric is so soft she can't help but claim it for the day. She chuckles to herself, thinking it's most definitely something Bob might have owned once upon a time, and that thought warms her a bit on the inside.

Natasha is grinning because she knows that shirt wasn't hers, once upon a time. It had been stolen from Bob one day when she came home from a night out and found it discarded on the hardwood by the front door. It was intended to be a little piece of blackmail, but this, this was better. She wants to let Sunny know that little tidbit of information, but decides to keep it to herself, enjoying the joy on her friend's face. Maybe Bob will see her in it and say something, or maybe he will enjoy getting to see her in it too.

"Behave while I am in the shower, would you?" Natasha's voice is muffled by the now closing bathroom door, the sound of water coming through the pipes erupts a moment later, giving Sunny zero time to actually form an answer. With a mumble of "not likely" to herself, Sunny runs her hand over a garment bag that's hung towards the back of the closet. After a chance look back towards the bathroom to insure the door is still shut, she pulls the zipper on the garment bag down, revealing Natasha's stark white Dress Uniform in all of it's official glory. The damn thing is almost blinding in person between the pristine fabric and the shining of the buttons.

An idea that hits Sunny almost makes her laugh out loud. With nimble fingers, Sunny pulls the entirely too white jacket off of the hanger. She pulls it on, carefully easing the stiff fabric up over her shoulders. With one gentle finger, Sunny feels the coldness of the nametag pinned to the chest.

The plate reads the wrong name, Trace, filled in with white paint.

Sunny takes in the sight of herself in the full length mirror Nat has propped up against the wall in the front of her bedroom. She attempts to ignore the tight feeling in her chest.

The bright red of Sunny's dress, and the gray shirt she had just pulled over her body a few moments before, now partially obscured by the bright uniform top. It looks funny on her, from the way her eyes look to innocent against the hardness of the uniform to the way her fingers dance along the stiffness of the fabric.

The urge to see Bob in is own uniform tangles in her chest along with the tight feeling- there is not enough space for both and she wants nothing more than to rip the fabric from her body. But, as she moves to pull it from her shoulders, she catches a glance of herself in the mirror one last time, pain in her expression, loneliness in the spaces of darkness below her eyes and suddenly, the uniform looks a little bit more correct.

---

When Bob pulls his truck into the driveway later that morning, he carefully shifts down into park, shutting off his truck with a feeling of defeat clawing at his chest. He knows he shouldn't be tiptoeing around his own home, or holding his breath over the fact that Natasha's car is still parked out front. Yet, he can't shake that feeling from his bones. Both women still have to be home, not that Bob really expected anything different. After all, Sunny'sduffle is sitting in the passenger seat of his truck and he didn't expect her to wear her day old clothes out of the house.

It's not like Bob thought she would mind, exactly. Sunny grew up on a ranch after all, and day old clothes worn in the city are still cleaner than any workwear found on a ranch. But, it's the principal. At least, that's what Bob has been telling himself.

The fact that Hangman took off with Sunny's bag last night in the first place ticked Bob off, and so Bob went over to Jake's place to get it himself. Bob told himself when he pulled into Jake's driveway that he was doing the right thing- fixing his wingman's problem. He planned to call him later and let him know that the bag had been picked it up. Jake was bound to be sleeping off some sort of monster hangover, right? And there was no selfish motivation behind it, right?

Bob lays his head against the steering wheel, forcing a couple of deep breaths into his system. It's getting increasingly more difficult to lie to himself about Sunny, now that she had walked back into his life, looking like everything he had ever wanted. Hell, she looked better, if that was even possible. She looked like his future, and up until she opened her mouth and the pieces fell into place, Bob thought he might break out his rusty moves and flirt the night away with her.

That certainly didn't happen.

Now that he has Sunny's bag, he's going to have to face her, right? After all, he can't exactly avoid her the whole time she is here, that wouldn't make him a very good host. Even if all of this history is stuck between them like some sort of unconquerable dividing force. Bob put himself in this situation, twice now. First when he abandoned her all those years ago, and again just this morning when he drove himself to Hangman's house and pilfered the bag from the back of his truck.

The urge to unzip the bag and let the smell of Sunny's perfume flood the cab of the old Ford is almost too tempting. He can smell the faintest bit of left over fragrance on the bag itself, the smell all wood smoke and cedar under the lightest brush of vanilla that seems to be fading faster than the rest. Bob can't help the way the corner of his lip curls up at the scent. Sunny has never been a flowers and sweets kind of girl, those scents all too feminine and soft for a woman like her, at least, that's how Bob saw it. Hell, the damn burnt woodsmoke smell reminds him of home and it just makes sense that Sunny would wear it.

Sunny has always been the worlds strongest girl in Bob's eyes. Maybe that's what allowed him to be so mean to her during school, and why he stood there and took her verbal beating in front of the crowd at the bar. Growing up in a Man's world, on a ranch in Florence, no doubt forced her into being strong- and if she couldn't punch her way out, she could sure as hell use her words. All Bob cared about was the fact that those words were directed at him, even if they hurt as he replays them over and over in his mind.

There's that old saying, you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl. Bob assumes the same thing can be said about Montana. After all, Duchenne- Sunny is a Montana girl through and through and he can't separate them in his head.

Hell, even if Bob has to remind himself over and over again that Duchenne isn't the one sitting in his house, it's Sunny now, all grown up, Bob still looks at her and sees, strength, sees home. He can see the clear of the sky in the smoothness of her skin. The wind plays through her messy hair, now in metaphor but still all there, fresh and crisp, bringing goosebumps to his skin.

The damn smell of cedar and woodsmoke just completes the picture in his head; it leaves him yearning, which in a way feels just like home too.

There isn't a way he can put it off anymore without a fear that he will throw the car into reverse and not come back until dark, so Bob pulls the bag over his shoulder and heads into the house. The sound of water running through the pipes hits his ears as soon as he walks in, and a deep breath he has been holding makes its way out of his lungs.

Maybe he'll get lucky, he thinks, maybe she's in the shower and he can give the bag to Phoenix, delay talking to Sunny for another day, maybe two. Bob stalks up the stairs, the weight of Sunny's duffle threatening to collapse him at any second.

It's not the weight, not really.

It's the impending doom of it all. The bomb just a few seconds before it goes off, fragile and ticking down with each step he takes.

The floor board creak beneath him, and it's a fitting sound, really, the groaning of the house matching the aching of his bones as he fights against the gravity pulling him down; pulling him in. It's the dizzying smell of woodsmoke that is flooding his senses that really seals the deal. It is stuck in his nose, much like the scent of jet fuel used to be. A part of him hopes that it also takes weeks to fade, to become something he no longer notices, that way, he can drown it while she is here, but then it will disappear our the door with Sunny.

There is a moment where, just for a second, Bob wants to turn right around and head back out to the truck. Maybe not to leave, but to just exist in that scent for a little while longer without the fear of losing it. He hopes that it will stick around, that it will have embed itself into his upholstery.

Hell, he hopes Sunny will stick around too, but that thought is fleeting and too far fetched to entertain for more than a second. After all, what's worth sticking around Miramar for, anyway?

The flash of stark white in his peripheral stops Bob in his tracks at the top of the stairs. There are few things in this house he knows to be that color, that bright, and none of them even come close to making his blood rush through his ears like the sight before him does. Sunny stands twisting her body in the mirror in Phoenix's room, the older woman's dress uniform jacket pulled carefully over her shoulders. Bob can't help but watch her, his mouth slightly agape has he takes in her form, clad in stark white, his Ford t-shirt speaking out between the open buttons.

Suddenly, Bob is fighting against his own body to drag some sort of breath into his lungs.

There is a wave of jealousy that snakes through Bob at his core. If she's in anyone's dress whites, she should be in his. Bob knows Natasha poses no threat, and hell, he is acting like Sunny is his to protect when in reality she is almost the furthest thing from that. From him and his love and his hands. But still, there is a part of him that's thankful that the jacket is hers, if Sunny has to be in someone else's. For a moment, the thought of Sunny is Hangman's uniform flashes through the forefront of his mind, but he doesn't entertain it any longer than it takes for the anger to drift out to his fingertips.

The anger sits there, in his hands, beating under his fingernails and in the densest part of his palms. It's hot, searing, burning.

Bob is not a stranger to the feeling, to the yearning. No, it's second nature by now.

He is fighting for another breath, the ache somewhere between swallowed salt water and broken ribs.

Anger will not ruin this moment, Bob won't let it. Instead, he watches as Sunny's polished nails run over the pristine fabric, the lacquer only making the jacket look brighter. Bob takes in the subtle gleam in her eyes as she adjusts one of the cuffs. The wave of jealousy rolls through him again, this time, though, Bob wishes it was him under her well polished fingertips, so he could see the way the red of them pops out against his skin as she adjusts his cuffs.

He almost lets himself imagine it- Sunny helping him into his dress whites. Bob has been in the Navy long enough to not need help with a uniform, he can pin his own ribbon racks on and make sure his name plate is sitting straight on his chest. Bob doesn't need the help. Yet, he can almost feel the gentleness that would be Sunny's touch, buttoning up those tacky gold buttons. He swears, if he closes his eyes he can see Sunny smiling up at him, the bright white of the uniform shining in her eyes like sunlight and it would be beautiful.

And so he does. Bob closes his eyes right there, on the top landing of the staircase and lets himself imagine the way her fingers would bush over his uniform, too delicately, and how he would have to practice the upmost level of self control to keep himself from kissing all of that gentleness out of her.

He takes the image of Sunny, smiling up at him on Prom night, under the stars, and lets himself remember how she felt under his hands. How it felt to kiss her. The feelings ebb and flow through him, his imagination pulled completely out to sea. He can feel the way her rings would dig into his skin, like they had years before. That feeling has never been forgotten. He wants to know how it would feel for Sunny to run her hands down the fabric of his uniform- or how it might feel for her to unzip the impossibly long zipper of his flight suit.

Bob stops himself before his mind wanders too far- before he's unable to reign it in.

When Bob finally cracks his eyes back open, Sunny is standing there, her hands still on the crisp white fabric near the bottom of the coat, eyes meeting, gaze tangling with Bob's own. Her gaze is a bit more sad, or maybe grief stricken, but she no longer looks angry as she stares at him. His breath hitches, the strangled breath caught in the denseness of his chest, and like a deer caught in the headlights, he has nowhere to go. The only thing left for him to do is squeeze his eyes shut and wait for the impact. And yet, he can't even get himself to squeeze his fucking eyes shut. Not when Sunny's finally looking at him with such kindness in her eyes.

God, how Bob missed that look.

The way Sunny looks at him is like a rush of blood straight to his head; like turning three-sixty in the cockpit a few thousand feet in the air. But that he was trained for- this? Nothing could have prepared him for this. For the softness behind her eyes where he has only been met with sadness in meetings past. Then, Sunny quirks an awkwardly shy expression, the whole thing coming out a little bit sideways and so very guilty.

Neither of the pair is willing to speak first. Just the night before, Sunny couldn't keep her mouth shut and Bob wanted nothing more than to speak to her. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness. But now, they both stand in the cross fire of silence and desperate stares and it's not as heavy as either expected it to be.

The sick swarming feeling of anxiety is back in Bob's stomach, still raging but less sour than before.

When hasn't this girl, this woman before him, not made him anxious?

Maybe it's the softness of her eyes that quells it, or that guilty little grin that hasn't left her face even as the tinge of crushed raspberries takes over her skin. Bob tastes blood, the crimson invading his mouth from how hard he is biting his cheek.

His heart hits against the backside of his ribs, calling out to her hands once more, the feeling threatening to make him as dizzy as her perfume.

Silently, Bob slips her bag from his shoulder, taking a few steps closer to the bedroom door. He stops just outside of the jamb, still in the safety of the hallway. He brings a hand up to the jamb, leaning in just a little bit, just to get a little closer to her. Bob is chancing everything with this, as he leans, but he's do anything right in this moment if it meant he could be just that much closer with her eyes on him. Hell, he'd do anything to keep her smiling at him like that, even if it looks so damn guilty as it does nothing to cover up the sadness in her eyes.

Then, Sunny is moving towards him, still clad in that damn white coat, sad eyes, and guilty smile.

Bob's heart almost stops. The closer she gets, the more irradic it beats. He can see his Ford t-shirt under the open jacket and that's almost kills him.

But, his heart keeps beating, he keeps living, so he holds the bag out to her like a peace offering, though he could never use it as one. It dangles between them, the muscles in his arm flexing to keep the heavy duffle from meeting the floor. The look Sunny gives him almost brings him to his knees, a fit place for him to beg for forgiveness, though his tongue is dry and still in the prison of his mouth.

Then, her hand is reaching. Inch by inch, second by second, until her fingertips run over the back of his hand, so soft but still there, before grasping the strap in her own fist. He can't believe the moment that has just transpired between them; how soft her touch was or the fact that it was really her who touched him.

And again, Bob's heart calls to her hands like the moon calls to the waves and he is left wishing that it could be strong enough to pull them closer; until he is gifted with something just as sweet.

"Thank you, Bobby," The words leave Sunny's tongue as no more than a mere whisper, but Bob wouldn't have missed it. He couldn't have. Not when it was her words- not when it's her.

Words fail him again, but instinct kicks in and he is bringing his free hand up to his hat, nodding at her with a gentle touch to it's brim. Bob lets his fingertips graze over the brim just as soft as Sunny's touch grazed over his hand. The smile he is given lights his nervous system up, sending pin prick sparks dancing across the expanse of his body. Then, he is backing away, back towards the stairs.

Bob knows he has to get out of there, he just has to. There needs to be just one moment between them that isn't tainted. And Sunny smiled at him, in that fucking jacket that she had zero business wearing with his t-shirt underneath and it sent his mind reeling the closer she stood. So, he has to go.

The takes the first two backwards before finally turning his back to her, unable to fight the smile trying to claw its way into his face. In that moment he knew he finally murdered Dr. Jekyll, and the feeling of standing over the metaphorical corpse of a twisted doctor is almost as good as that smile of hers when it's directed right towards him.

When Natasha finally exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel in her hand as soaks up the water droplets that still fall from her hair, she is met with the sight of Sunny. She is still clad in Nat's coat, her duffle in her hand, staring out the doorway into an empty hallway. She stands so still, so quiet, Natasha thinks something might be wrong from the way the younger woman is just standing there. That is until she notices the smile on Sunny's lips and the doe eyed look that has taken over her features.

That makes Phoenix smile too, her expression filled with a little too much knowing. She can almost picture the way Bob must look, leaning up against something, with that damn cowboy hat in his hand, or maybe held against his chest to cage in the beating of his heart. He's wearing that same fucking smile, that same doe eyed, hopelessly, head over heels in love look.

Natasha want's to scream "go after him, you idiot!" but it's too soon, they need more time. Bob needs more time to figure out just how to make up for it all, and Sunny needs more time to trust again, to trust him again. Phoenix then notices the bit of sadness in the depts of Sunny's eyes.

"Sunny," Natasha's voice is quiet, in attempt to not spook the lovesick look of of her friends face. Sunny doesn't turn from the door, still staring hopelessly into the hallway. She mutters a "Yeah?" in response. "Did he walk away from you again?"

There is anger spiking through Natasha now, her fists balled, knuckles white.

"Yes,"

That's all Natasha needs to hear. Suddenly, she is pushing past Sunny, rage taking over her in an instant. Nat is already down the hall, leaving her standing there sputtering.

"Robert Floyd!" Natasha comes crashing into the living room. There is no answer from inside the house, so she turns, heading right for the front door. Sunny is clamoring down the stairs behind her, confusion and fear laced over her features.

"Nash!" Sunny is hot on her friend's heels, her duffle bag now thrown over her shoulder, as the door swings shut with a loud slam. The walls shake, the nob still vibrating as Sunny pulls the door open.

By the time Sunny makes it out to the driveway, Natasha is pulling Bob close by the collar of his shirt. Then, she is throwing him to the ground. His body hits the pavement hard; he winces, his glasses falling from the bridge of his nose. Bob opens his mouth to speak, but is met with a sharp right hook to the jaw. Then, a fist meets his nose.

It's not clear which is louder in Bob's ears, the crunching of cartridge or the small scream that manages to escape from Sunny. He can taste the blood, metallic and sharp in his mouth, leaking into the paces between his lips and gums.

"I told you not to hurt her again, Floyd," Bob is groaning, not in response but out of pain. He makes no effort to fight back as Phoenix drops on top of him, ready to hit him again.

But the punch never comes.

And then her weight is being dragged off of him, Phoenix protesting the whole time. Bob carefully brings his hands to his face, blood smearing all over his skin. It's already dripping from his chin, collecting in dark, angry patches on his shirt.

"What the fuck was that, Natasha?!" It's Sunny's voice that cuts through Bob's bleary state, his whole face wet. Sunny is still holding Natasha back, her hands pulling Phoenix's elbows together behind her back. He was just standing there, smoking, thinking about how fucking pretty Sunny looked in his shirt, and the way she touched him, and the next thing he knew, Natasha had him, and now he couldn't be more confused. This's an answer he wants to hear, too.

"He had one more chance, Sunny, and he fucking hurt you! What else did you expect me to do?" This is the most angry Bob had seen her, even after yesterday. Sunny doesn't exactly look surprised, but God, she looks hurt.

"No," The word is so stern it get's Phoenix to stop fighting against her grip. The anger is slowly simmering out of Natasha, and Sunny may as well have been absorbing it because she is fucking livid now.

"But he hurt you, Sun-"

"No," She starts again, letting go of Nat's elbows, only to put herself between her friend and Bob. Suddenly the aviators are wearing equally confused expressions, but neither dare interrupt Sunny's angry tirade. "First of all, Natasha, you do not get to come out here, acting like a goddamn fucking fool then turn around and use that nickname with me. When I told you to call me that, I thought we had an understanding. Be there for each other, not fight each other's battles," Sunny's pointing a finger in Natasha's face. She is inching closer and closer, and it's taking all of Nat's will not to slink away.

"Second, Bobby didn't do a goddamn thing. If you would've stuck around instead of going all Rambo, you might have found out what happened. We actually came to an understanding," Sunny's not sure if that's really what happened, or if an understanding is really something that could be reached between them, but it seems to be the best word to describe the complicated situation right now.

Natasha looks at the blindingly bright jacket on Sunny, now decorated with Bob's blood. The coat is ruined now, stained with anger and lines crossed. She glances down to her hands, taking in the bright crimson decorating her knuckles. Natasha feels sick.

"Third," Sunny takes her outstretched finger and tips up Natasha's chin with it, making the older woman look her in the eyes. Sunny pays no attention to the tears threatening to flood over her waterlines. "Look me in the eyes when I'm speaking to you. Even if he did hurt me, that doesn't give you the excuse to punch him, let alone break his nose! What the hell were you thinking?"

Tears are slipping from Natasha's eyes now, her lower lip quivering. She chances a look over Sunny's shoulder to Bob, who is still bleeding profusely from his nose. He doesn't try and stop the blood, instead to focused on the women in front of him and the way Sunny is defending his honor. Then, she is shaking her head, sidestepping Natasha and heading back for the front door.

Both Bob and Natasha watch her go. Nat is doing the best she can to hold in her tears, push them back down as she sniffles. Bob wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, already too coated in blood to really help anything. It just smears the blood further over the expanse of his rapidly bruising face.

When Sunny returns a moment later, she has two purses slung over her shoulder, an ice pack and a set of keys in her hand. She approaches Natasha, she is shoving the keys and the smaller of the two purses into the older woman's hands. Natasha sniffles again, taking the items from Sunny's hands without a word. Hell, even if Natasha knew what to say, she wouldn't have been able to peel the words from he tongue.

Then, Sunny is moving towards Bob. She kneels down, grabbing his now bent glasses from the pavement. Folding them up as best as she can, she places them on Bob's thigh. She is shucking the once crisp white coat from her shoulders a second later, wrapping the icepack in it before offering it to him as a sort of rag to help with all the blood. Bob takes it with a shaky hand. She guides it in his hand up to his nose. Sunny attempts to give him a reassuring smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"Natasha is going to take you to the hospital," The words are sharp and loud, loud enough for Nat to hear. They are meant for her anyway. If Sunny's tone of voice didn't make him feel sick, the completely crushed expression on Phoenix's face would have.

With a quick squeeze of Bob's thigh, Sunny is moving away. As she stands, she swipes the still smoldering cigarillo from the ground, bringing it up to her lips. The look Sunny sends Natasha as she grabs her duffle bag from the grass sends chills down both her and Bob's spines. Then, Sunny's back is turned to the pair as she heads down the driveway.

The Aviators watch as she goes, turning down the street and slowly disappearing into the distance. Neither dare to move, dare to speak. After all, there is nothing to say, not when there is so much understanding between them now. Natasha knows now, how Bob felt at the Hard Deck as he watched Sunny walk away. Her anger clouded her eyes before, too focused on getting answers. But, she knows now, too, having watched Sunny walk away in a cloud of stolen smoke.

When Nat finally turns back to Bob, he looks at her with such empathy, and that fucking breaks her.

A strangled sob wracks through her from deep in her chest, clawing its way out of her throat as hot tears all but burn trails down her face. Then, Bob is holding a bloody hand out to her, beckoning her closer, to sit with him. So she does, the tears coming hard and fast, almost choking her. Bob wraps a comforting arm around Phoenix's shoulders, pulling her into him, a makeshift way to ground the both. She buries her face into the now crimson jacket as Bob rubs her back, letting her cry. As the sun gets higher in the sky, and the tears slow, neither attempt to move from their space on the concrete. Both are too weighed down from the day, from the fight, from watching Sunny walk away from their fucking mess.

And so, the pair sit on the pavement, up against Bob's truck, covered in slowly drying blood; watching the road that their girl disappeared down, just hoping, praying that she might turn back around.

#bob floyd angst #robert floyd angst #robert bob floyd angst #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #best friend phoenix #best friend natasha trace #once an asshole

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gauloiseblue · 2 months

Text

Second Time The Charm

He comes back to the house the next day, still try to knock on the door, but minutes pass and it's still unopened

He wanted to be a proper guest, who goes into the house through the front door, invited, but in this case, he had no choice but to leave the shovel by the door

That is, until the door suddenly opens, and the owner of the house comes out. She seems surprised to see him, and he can't say the feeling's not mutual

"Oh hello…" She greeted, "Didn't expect you'd come."

"I came to return the shovel." He said, "Thought it'd be very rude of me if I leave without saying thank you."

"Don't worry about it."

At this point, he's at a loss for words. She's dismissive, and doesn't hide her indifference. He'd not fancy her much, if she didn't have pretty eyes

He pretends to look at the trees, before attempting to revive the conversation again, "Those are beautiful, you've taken care of them very well."

"It's not me, I have a gardener."

So that's why

"Private gardener?" He asked, knowing that a commercial one would use their own tools, and not the owner's

"Maybe. He's an amateur." She told him

He raises his brow, "It doesn't look like an amateur work."

"Seems like you thought the word amateur as a beginner." She chuckles, "He's an amateur, someone who does it out of love. He loves the garden, that's why they're beautiful."

He looks at her with interest, she seems to have her way with words

She turns her head to him, "I'm going to the farm, you wanna come?"

With a curiosity in mind, he decides to come along

They both talk for a bit, and he soon learns about her and her activities. She likes vinyl records, because the sound quality is different. She cooks her own food, and she likes to bake. She hates hot weather, and bugs. She also talks about the town folks, and how they all are eccentric in their own way

"You know Callum? He's the town's handyman. He likes to collect scraps, to the point his house is full of things other people discarded. You might find your broken plate there if you look around."

"Really?" He hums, "I've met him a few times, he's a nice fellow. Though Claudia and Flores said I should watch my belongings around him."

She rolls her eyes, "I suggest you to take their word with a grain of salt, especially Flores. She's the one who attempts to take one of my lipsticks because I said I never really wore them."

"Oh?" He said, "What happened then?"

"Nothing, I caught her red handed."

"She apologized?"

"Of course not, I told her to leave before she could embarrass herself further."

At the farm, they're greeted by the owner himself. He's an old man with big arms, though he's not too tall

"I see you bring our newcomer here." He said to her before offering his hand to him, "Name's Harris."

"John." He said, "She didn't bring me here, I was the one who went along."

"Consider yourself lucky. She hates strangers."

"Not true. I already liked you when we we first met, Mr. Harris."

"Aw, drop the honorific, will ya?" He chuckles, "Us cowmen are honest, of course you'd trust me. Can't say the same for other people, especially you." He then looks at him, "Y'look like you've served during a war. Navy?"

"Probably worked for the special force in the army." She said, which immediately set his alarm off

"How did you know?" He said as he smiled, keeping his friendly facade

"Your body said it all." She shrugged, "I've met a lot of people, so I developed an intuition for it."

"Special force? Someone who carried out secret missions?" He whistles, "You have a lot to share. Tell you what, I'll keep it a secret, but you gotta tell me what happened during your service. Not the government secret stuff, of course."

She chuckles, "I suggest you, John, keep your past to yourself. The town folks are very curious, so you better keep it close or they'll hound you for stories."

"Roger that."

"I almost forgot, you came for the milk." The man clicked his fingers, "Come, I'll prepare it for you."

The three of them walk inside the farm, where the occasional moos and smell of manure fill the room. They walk until they reach the small room full of gallons, and he opens one of them

"Did you bring your bottles?" She then hands him the basket, which contains 4 bottles. He begins to fill each bottle with fresh milk, before handing them back

He refuses when she tries to pay him, telling her she's done a lot for him already, and sending her out before she can insist. He then waves them both goodbye, telling them to come over and have a tea sometimes

"He's a nice fellow." He commented after offering himself to hold her basket

"He is. He's too nice in fact, that it worries me sometimes." She replied

"He'll be fine. He has good people around him."

"Hope so."

They stay quiet for a while, before deciding to ask her something. "Say, you've met a lot of people before. Did you meet a lot of people like me too?"

"Never, in fact." She replied, "I've met some people from the army—commander, secretary, almost everyone who work in the office, but never one from the field. That's why I assume you're in a special force."

"That easy?" He chuckles

She nods, "Everyone can do that, it's not hard to guess."

"Well, I disagree." He smiles, "I can't figure you out in the same manner."

"You just have to look closely."

"Won't you be uncomfortable with that?"

"I am." She told him, "But I'm used to it."

"Then I won't do it." He said, "I'm not comfortable with prying into people's life."

She seems amused by his answer, "Lying is a sin."

"Scout's honour."

"Alright, do what you want."

They part ways once they reach her front door. He insisted to bring the milk to the kitchen, but she told him it's not necessary. So they exchange pleasantries before he leaves

Halfway through his home, he realized he hadn't learnt her name at all

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#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #captain price #john price x reader #price x reader

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sundaybossanova · 3 months

Text

Witch's Love Chapter 2

Paring: San x OC

AU: Fantasy

Word count: 1,5k

Summery: It was a normal day for Sera, brewing potions, visiting the market and trying not to blow her cover but a sudden uninvited guest changes everything. Lying on her doorstep is a young man on the brink of death and she has no idea what she's gotten into after saving his life.

The sun has nearly completely risen and shines brightly on the two occupants of the house. Silence filled the room, occasionally interrupted by the sound of cutlery and quiet humming. San felt like he hadn't eaten in forever and devoured his food in record time while Sera tried to hide her amusement. “Do you want more?” a small smile graced her lips while standing up and taking his plate without waiting for a response. She returned quickly with a now full plate and placed it in front of an astonished San. “Thank you so much, I really don't know how to repay you for everything that you've done for me” he said, his eyes showing nothing but gratitude while he held her gace. Overwhelmed by the honesty in his words she diverted her eyes and busied herself with cleaning the table. Never had someone looked at her so thankful without being scared, the villagers would say their words of gratitude but often with no true meaning behind them. Most of her life she lived alone and only had short contact with others therefore the presence of San felt so overwhelming. Also she had to admit that he was quite handsome , from his chiseled jaw line to his cat like eyes, never had she come across somebody as attractive as him. Shaking her head she tried to get rid of these thoughts not wanting to get distracted even more as she already was.

“I have to finish some potions today, you should go back to bed and rest more for your wounds to heal” Sera didn't want to waste any more time, still having orders to finish as well as making a new ointment for her surprise guest. San looked lost. “I am not tired and I feel much better, can't I help you somehow?” He tried to convince her with a pouty lip and puppy eyes which in the end worked. “Okay, sit down and read me the ingredients” with her mind already elsewhere she pointed at an old chair in her little workspace and shoved a book in his hands.

Rummaging through drawers and shelves she searched for all her tools “What is the first ingredient, the page is marked with a dried flower” Sans fingers quickly flicked through the book searching for the said page. “Found it, the first thing you need are rosemary seeds” he recites the rest of the list with her working quickly on finding the right things. Both of them fall into a comfortable rhythm as they work together. Time flies by and the witch has finished her potion with the occasional questions from San about what exactly she is doing and what effects the different ingredients have. It was nice having someone being interested in your work, showing genuine curiosity about the process and being open to just listening to her ranting on about something she cares so deeply about.

“I’m sorry for taking so long, I will cook lunch right away” after a quick glance outside she corrected sheepishly “well I guess it's dinner instead”. Hurriedly she rushed into the kitchen already getting immersed in her work. San just smiled, the feeling of belonging reappearing making him shake his head a little. Reminding himself to not get used to these feelings he follows her into the kitchen like a lost puppy. “Where is your pet, I haven't seen him since this morning?" It was his way of starting a new conversation and getting to know her better. “Oh Bram is probably out in the woods or the village he won't be gone for too long. He will probably return by tomorrow. It's a way for him to relax but also find new customers and information” her answer was kept short as she cut their dinner ingredients carefully.

Yet again both of them fell into a rhythm with each of them working simultaneously. The comforting silence was only broken when San asked her a question about the whereabouts of certain things that he needed to set the table. At dinner Sera asked about his brothers, wanting to know more about life with a group of people instead of solitude. “Wait so Wooyoung tried to take the ring off of the sleeping king's hand? What if he would have woken?" her voice got higher at the end not being able to contain her shock and disbelief at the young man's actions. “He doesn't care about that, he's way too reckless most of the time but the ring was worth a fortune and we could feed a village nearby for nearly half a year with it.” his smile grew with each word and memory that he shared and it was contagious to say the least. Sera was jealous of his connection and relationship to others, she never knew she craved for something like this until San showed her how life could be.

Hours passed with more stories of the brothers and their adventures yet Sera’s curiosity wasn't satisfied. With each question she dived deeper into the lives of Sans family that she wished was her own. Each time he would ask her questions about her own family or past yet her responses would be short and simple, to her there wasn't anything worth telling.

“If you want I can prepare a bath for you, it would be good to clean yourself a little, tomorrow you should be able to go home.” San couldn't help but feel a bit of disappointment; he didn't want to leave, enjoying their conversations, her calming presence and the feeling of belonging that he only gets when being with his brothers.

Sera might have seen San shirtless before but it was under completely different circumstances, before he was hurt and she needed to act fast to help but right now she can't help but stare at his back. His shoulders were broad, all the muscles defined and his bronze skin only highlighted them more. “Is the wound looking better?” his voice brought her out of her thoughts, not realizing how long she has been ogling at his back. “Oh yes it looks way better, I’ll leave you to your bath, just call if you need anything.” she tried to contain the nerves not wanting to show how much his half naked presence affected her. Before she could leave the little bathroom San turned around, his chest and abs on full display, smiling at her. “Thank you again, I will try to finish quickly” Her face turned red, the tip of her ears burning as she turned around trying to calm her racing heart. “No problem, but I should really leave now, get in before it gets cold and take as long as you like” her words were rushed as she hurried outside. San on the other hand was grinning to himself satisfied with the effect he has on her.

By the time the next morning arrived Sera had calmed down, forcing the image of the half naked boy out of her brain. She prepared breakfast for the two of them and packed an extra portion with some fruits into a bag for his journey back. Sadness was creeping up on her, the thought of San leaving not feeling right. Still the young witch tried to move on and went up the stairs to wake her guest.

“Wake up sleepyhead, breakfast is finished!” she was knocking lightly on the door but to her surprise it opened right away with a smirking San on the other side. “Sounds great I am starving” and with that both of them went downstairs to share their last breakfast together.

“I packed some fruits, I hope you like them if not it's okay just give them to someone else or throw them away” the girl was fiddling with her fingers continuing her rant “Also there is the ointment I used for your wounds in there, get one of your brothers to apply it twice a day for your wounds to heal as quickly as possible.” Her mind was racing, trying to think of everything she wanted to tell him and subconsciously extending their time together.

San sensed her nervousness and put one of his strong hands on her shoulder. “Thank you” these two words made her stop rambling and finally look at him. Sera’s eyes were fixed on his chocolate brown ones that felt like they held the world in them. “I don't know how to repay you for your kindness. I will forever be in your debt.” His voice full of sincerity and the smile on his lips made her feel small butterflies in her stomach.

“It's nothing, just promise me to take care of yourself and don't get yourself hurt like this ever again” the girl's words were stern, yet her eyes showed how much she cared for him. “I will try but I can't promise anything my little witch.” and with one last smile he started walking into the woods, leaving the comfort of the little cottage.

“San wait!” she shouted before thinking about her words. His body turned around quicker than she had expected, eyes filled with curiosity. “Will I see you again?” the question sounded unsure, she feared he doesn't want to see her again. “Of course, you won't get rid of me that easily” His eyes formed into crescent moons, smiling from ear to ear as he waved one last time and went on his way. Unbeknownst to the other, both of their ears were turning red unable to contain the overwhelming feelings.

For the rest of the day Sera tried to keep herself distracted by brewing a new potion as well as cleaning her home until no dust or dirt were to be found. The evening came faster than she had expected and yet her thoughts only circled around San and his safety. “I hope he is home already, or maybe he found a shelter for the night. Did I let him go too early? Oh god what if his wounds open up again?” her mind was racing with all these questions.

The young witch was too distracted to notice the front door opening only when she heard a loud thud did she lift her head. “Bram, is that you? I think I made a mistake. I shouldn't have let him - she couldn't even finish her sentence before a clothed hand covered her mouth. With all her strength she tried to escape but the stranger held her body against his and slowly she could feel her eyes feeling heavy. “Sleep tight you little bitch” were the last words she heard before her eyes shut and her world became dark.

🖤 here's chapter two with a little cliffhanger 🖤

border by @cafekitsune

#ateez #ateez au #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez fantasy au #san x oc #san choi #ateez san

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klbwriting · 3 months

Text

Broken Prism

Chapter 6

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: talk of violence and sex trafficking

Summary: YN goes in search of information on Robin

Notes: how many chapters/words do I need for something to be considered 'slow burn'? They haven't even spoken yet and I'm 12k words into this. I never write real slow burn so I'm sure when I hit that mark, any opinions? Thank you to those who have liked this! Comments/critiques are loved and appreciated!

You needed to get some work done before you went hunting for rich billionaires again. Your roommates had returned from their trip to find you listening to your loud ‘Dead Boyfriend’ playlist as they called it and searching everything from reddit to the dark web for information on several leads around the city. The GCPD was trying to hunt down Black Mask and finally get some information they could use to arrest him and keep him in Blackgate for a long time. You were doing your part by finding accountants, money lenders, hedge fund managers, pretty much anything that might lead to tax evasion because if there is anything you know about America, the IRS will lock you up forever if you forget to declare a penny. As ‘Afraid’ by The Neighborhood blared out your speakers your friend, Jocelyn peeked in the room.

“Are you busy?” she asked though she knew you were. You threw her an annoyed look and paused the music, locking your screen. She rolled her eyes. “Guess you finished actually working. What is it this time? Did you find a rumor about a zombie in Metropolis or something?”

“Fuck off, I’m working on a new lead,” you said. She grunted. Your friends were a little tired of you and your assumption that Robin was somehow alive. They thought you had just gotten lucky, one of the rare ‘double soulmate’ people. It happened to one in every billion people or so and they were sure that was why you were seeing color again, not some crazy idea that Robin had come back from the dead.

“I have someone you could meet, they’d be really good for you, and you know that you don’t have to be with your soulmate,” she said. You growled, the sound low and bitter. “Stop it, give her a chance…”

“I’ve given them all chances…” you started, the same argument coming back. You did this every few weeks with both of your roommates, they had someone who would be perfect for you, you tried for a while, then you found any and all reasons to leave them, listing them out until the other person was angry enough to leave you. You hated leaving people but seemed to relish in making them abandon you, that was a cycle you understood. You walking away wasn’t in the cards.

“You’ve ruined them,” Jocelyn shot back, and you just rolled your eyes. “But fine, keep searching for a ghost, a person who didn’t even want you to begin with.” That was a low blow, and she knew it the moment it was out of her mouth. The color drained from her face; she was sputtering as you packed up your laptop. You needed to get out. You would drop off what you had on Black Mask’s latest addition to his team, an assistant with ties to the Triad, and then go to Wayne manor. You had to admit she had a point. Robin had found her, probably got a better look at her than she at him, and then nothing. Either he was scared that knowing him would get her hurt or he didn’t like what he had seen, and considering her track record of foster homes, pointless romances that went nowhere, and friends that left her behind, she figured it was the second option. She knew she was a lot to deal with, too much anger and sarcasm, not enough sweet and gentle. Maybe Robin would have liked that if he’d given her a chance. She shook the thoughts from her mind as she walked down the street towards Old Gotham and the GCPD.

The deputy was pleased to see you, sending you straight up to Gordon. You glanced back to thank the deputy and noticed him on his phone. You chuckled; someone was going to get in trouble for that. Jim Gordon was notorious for taking phones off of deputies when they weren’t on patrol. You didn’t need your phone in the precinct, there were other phones, and if there was something so secret you couldn’t say it out loud then wait until you were off duty. It was supposed to build trust between the officers or something, you weren’t sure. All you knew was you weren’t surprised when a higher-ranking officer came and snatched the phone from the deputy. You knocked on Jim’s door and he told you to enter.

“YN!” he said with a smile. You smiled back. If anyone in this city could feel like a father to you it was Jim Gordon. He’d taken a chance on you back when you were on the streets pickpocketing. You had been able to steal a cop car right from the precinct’s garage and when confronted about it in interrogation later you had also stolen the handcuff keys right off the arresting patrolman. Instead of throwing you into a hole Jim had been impressed, said you reminded him of someone, and hired you. After the snipe from your roommate, hearing him so happy to see you made the burn feel better.

“Hey Jim, I have some information you might be interested in,” you said, handing over the USB with what you had just gathered. He put it onto his computer, looking over the data, nodding slowly.

“This is great, we can use this. This assistant has an interesting record, might be able to turn them into an informant if we play our cards right,” he said. You smiled, always glad to help him. The rest of the precinct could burn but Jim was a good guy, hell even the Batman knew he was trustworthy. That gave you an idea.

“Jim, can I ask you something?” you said, voice quiet. He looked up at you and you swallowed hard. “I know you work with the Batman sometimes, but did you ever know any of the Robins?” He stood, eyeing you. If you hadn’t been working with him for literally years, he might have kicked you out, told you that your services were no longer needed, but considering you had never asked anything about Batman before he hoped you weren’t just fishing for information. If he only knew how much you already found out about the vigilante.

“Sure, I’ve worked with all of them a few times, why do you ask?” he said, motioning for you to sit in the chair by his desk. You sat and he joined you.

“The second Robin, he saved me once, before I left school, I was taken hostage by to goons of somebody and he was the one who saved me, got me to the ambulance. I was just wondering if you knew what he was like? It’s been on my mind lately,” you said, trying to sound casual. Jim thought back, a stormy look on his face. You wondered what kind of memories this man had of young boys, pretty much children, taking on the lowest scum in the city. Wondered if he ever thought that Batman was unnecessarily cruel by pushing them into that life.

“I remember he was very different from the first, the first Robin was a chatterbox, always there with a joke or charming remark, very good with civilians,” he started. “The second was quieter, didn’t talk to me much, let Batman do it. The few times I met with him alone he would say what he needed to and then leave. But honestly, he was probably more caring than the first. The first one was great, did care about the people of the city, but the second one seemed to care about the lifeblood of the city, how it was going to get better. While Batman and the other Robins seemed to think that anyone could be saved, that the city could be saved with kindness and maybe a naïve love of what it used to be before Joker and Bane and all the rest, the second one would get his hands dirty. I never told Batman, but I found a Batarang in the neck of a sex trafficker who was selling underage girls to the highest bidder. That was the kind of person the second Robin was.” He sounded conflicted, like he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing to kill that man. You didn’t see how taking a man who touched children off the streets was bad but kept your mouth shut, offering a tight smile.

“Thank you for that, I was just curious,” you said. “I need to get going, have another appointment, but as always Jim it was great to see you.” You stood, grabbing your bag.

“You should come by my place sometime, meet my daughter, she’s your age and I think you two would be good friends. Maybe meet her boyfriend too, you look like you could use more good people in your life,” he said suddenly. This was new. He’d never pushed his daughter or boyfriend before. You vaguely knew of them, had seen the picture on his desk of a pretty red head in a wheelchair and her equally pretty boyfriend in her lap, laughing, but he’d never talked about them. You felt a smile creep to your face. He must have been worried about you after asking about such a weird subject.

“Ya, that actually sounds nice,” you said, thinking about the argument with your roommate. Maybe trying to make new friends wasn’t a bad idea. You could try and if they decided to ghost you it wouldn’t matter. If anything, you were used to being left.

Your next appointment was at Wayne manor where you walked right up to the gate and rang the bell, waving at the camera. You figured this would be easiest, the tour was too expensive to do again, and you didn’t really want to come up with an elaborate plan to break into the place, but you could if they didn’t let you in now. Luckily the gate swung open, and you walked up the long driveway, Alfred waiting for you by the front door. He looked you over, seeming to listen to someone in his ear before letting you in.

“Did you scan me for weapons?” you asked dryly. He simply led you into a parlor and asked if you would like some tea or coffee. “O, tea would be great, thank you.” It had been a while since you’d had good tea and you assumed Bruce Wayne probably imported leaves straight from China. Alfred left and soon Bruce Wayne walked in, sitting down across from you on a high-backed chair. It struck you as funny that he looked like a king in a throne and you laughed, making him narrow his eyes. “Good afternoon your highness,” you said before you could think. You thought you saw an uptick on his mouth, but it disappeared. “O lord smile sometimes Bruce, your face muscles need a workout too.” That actually made him smile, but just a little. “Better.”

“What do you want?” he asked as Alfred set the tea tray in front of you, pouring you a cup. You sipped it plain, enjoying the hints of vanilla.

“I want to ask you about the second Robin,” you said. He sighed, seemingly expecting that answer. “Look, I’ve been searching for you for years just to get to know what he was like. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering about him. Please, just, why did you take him in? Was he your actual son?”

“No, he was adopted, and I took him in because, well, he made me smile. Crime alley, he was around ten at the time, little skinny thing clearly living either on the streets or in one of the crappy apartments in the area. He tried to steal my car,” he said. Your eyes widened.

“Wait, a car like the one I stole, or, the other one?” you asked, not sure if you should say ‘Batmobile’ out loud.

“The other one,” Bruce confirmed. “He was brave, reckless, but brave. I smiled for the first time since my first Robin left to be his own man. So I took in J…” he stopped and looked at you. You shook your head, still not ready for his real name. “So I took in Robin, found out his parents were dead, well assumed dead. Penguin took his father in for some gambling debts, he wasn’t ever found. His mother died of an overdose, leaving Robin alone. I raised him, trained him, made sure he was capable as well as brave and smart.” You felt your heart ache. Bruce Wayne looked haunted talking about this, and you felt the hatred you normally held for him ebb a little. You motioned for him to keep going. He took a deep breath. “Robin was many things; he was angry and aggressive as much as he was kind and passionate. He hated when criminals would hurt children, hated it in a way that I was scared of.” You thought to Jim’s story of the batarang, the memory making you a little proud. “He was reckless and quiet, but funny and could devour an entire library of books in just a few days. Alfred gave him cooking lessons and I gave him driving lessons. He was my son.” You swallowed hard, trying to fight the tears the welled as Bruce spoke of him. He sounded wonderful.

“What happened to him?” you asked. Bruce looked at you, really studying you. “Please…” you hated that it sounded like begging, but you had to know what actually happened. There were so many rumors about the death of the second Robin. You had to know the truth.

“Joker. We were doing work in another country, tracking Joker to a drug smuggling operation. I was an idiot, too high on my own importance. I didn’t stop to question why Joker had gone himself just to pick up pills and weapons. We arrived and Robin, he went to scout the warehouse where the trade off was supposed to take place while I went to a town in the south where the theft was taking place. I didn’t realize that this was the Joker’s plan, get us separated. He didn’t know who would be going to warehouse but it didn’t matter, he wanted blood.” Bruce looked at his hands and you noticed how tired he looked, exhausted of his own legend. Being the Batman must weigh heavy on him. “Robin got there, and the Joker was ready. I’m not sure what happened entirely, there was a bomb and when I found his body.” He couldn’t finish. You heard a sniffle in the doorway and turned to see Alfred openly weeping. This seemed to give you permission and the tears you had been holding in poured down your own cheeks. You wiped them quickly, hating being vulnerable in front of anyone let alone people you had only just met.

“Thank you, for um, telling me all this,” you said. “You know I never got to talk to him, but I think about him, did he ever want to meet me?” You really hoped the answer wasn’t going to break your heart. Bruce looked at you and if he could he looked more guilty.

“That was my fault too,” he said. “I thought he was too young to balance his life as Robin and having a soulmate. He didn’t only want to meet you, he wanted to watch over you. He did watch over you. I used to catch him sneaking out in the early morning so he could make sure you got to school alright, he would come back late for patrol carrying empty wrappers of Big Belly Burger because he couldn’t imagine letting his car get cluttered. He may not have met you but you were always on his mind.” You closed your eyes, but it was impossible to stop the flew of tears. You stood.

“Thank you again Bruce, I’ll show myself out,” you said, leaving before either man could do anything. You left the manor gates and stood for a moment trying to collect yourself. You saw the squad car pulling up and frowned as the deputy from the station climbed out.

“Can I ask what you’re doing here m’am?” he asked. You frowned, something felt very off right now. You stepped back, going for the switchblade in your pocket, but he was faster, the shocks from the taser going through you. You dropped the knife and collapsed onto all fours. You had been tasered before but that didn’t make it fun. The officer used this time to yank you up by your hair with one hand, the other pulling off your backpack and tossing it over the fence into the Wayne compound. He must have figured no one would notice with all that land, at least not until the landscaping was done. He cuffed you and shoved you in the car, making you hit your head on the roof. With cloudy vision from the hit you watched him start driving towards the Narrows. This was bad, very bad.

#redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd #jasontodd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #brokenprism

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