#Moonshine haze

[shelovesplants]

Moonshine Haze💨

32.22% thc 🔥

#Moonshine haze #marijuana strains #marijauna #cannabis strains #cannabis #weed strains #weed #dankshots420 #pretty nugs #purple nugs #nugshot #nugs #weed nugs #nug shots #girls that love weed #my weed #weed aesthetic #my photography #my photos

[mulansaucey]

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts.

Azriel x Reader

Prompt: Rita has a new supply of Moonshine and gives a jar to the IC. This creates a blacked out drunk Azriel.

Warnings: alcohol use, flirting, suggestive, mentions of sex, drunken behavior. Let me know if I left anything out.

Note: Literally sitting in bed when I had this idea. This is just for fun and I hope you enjoy!

Music playing in the halls of Rita’s surrounds the Inner Circle as well as laughter. Shot glasses banging against their table, squeals of joy from seeing the glasses of those pretty cocktails that Feyre and Mor like so much, and the beautiful smile that graces my mates face. Tonight is for fun and bonding.

Azriel has been on a month long mission just returning to me a few days ago where we cooped up in our cozy home, enjoying the song of our mating bond before returning to society. When he’s gone, there’s a hole in my chest. Color, music, art becomes void. Life is not as exciting without him by my side. Even after decades of being married and mated the bond is still alive and thriving as if it was still the night he took a bite out of that meal I made him to accept him as my mate.

I’m an accomplished fae. I’ve strategized wars, wrote countless books on the plant life of Prythian that has helped healers cultivate new medicines, and have helped the Inner Circle for almost two centuries now. When he’s away, I keep myself occupied and have my job to thank for that but that aching feeling doesn’t go away.

That’s the strength of a mating bond, it brings males to their knees. It brought Azriel to his. Our souls submitting to one another and refusing to settle for anything less than each other.

“What’s so interesting, love?” Azriel teases as I can’t my eyes off him. Those hazel eyes trail over me, even in the haze of faelights it feels like he can see every inch of me. He bites his lip as if he’s recalling just a few hours ago when he was biting the meat of my thighs. I know I am. Heat rises in my cheeks as he laughs and leans down to the leg of my chair and pulls me closer to him. The bond between thrums with satisfaction that our beings are even closer now. His hand finds the back of my neck and he caresses.

“You, my heart. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you.” I tease him back.

The shots making my mind looser and my flirty tendencies arise. I’m a horny drunk when it comes to this male. Who wouldn’t?

Azriel raises his brows and smirks. He leans down to press a sweet kiss then pulls back.

“You are lovely in this dress. I can’t wait to rip it off you tonight.” He says as he presses sweet kisses along my cheek and jaw.

“Azriel you better not! It’s embarrassing having to keep going to the tailor because you have no self control.”

“Self control? We’ll see how much self control I have later, you’ll begging for me I promise you that.” He laughs.

Suddenly a heavy presence can be felt behind us. I don’t even have to turn to know it’s Cassian.

He slaps the back of Azriel’s chair and loudly yells, “Stop the heavy petting and come to the bar, Rita just got a new drink called ‘Moonshine’ it’s apparently a lot stronger than any wine or whiskey.”

Cassian doesn’t wait for an answer and picks me up while yelling over his shoulder, “If you want her, Az you gotta come get her!” We leave a trail of giggles as my grumpy mate follows.

Azriel trusts his brother and knows Cassian just missed him and wants to have fun. It’s why he doesn’t cut off his hands for touching my body.

Cassian drops me on a bar stool and leans over to drop a sloppy kiss to Nesta’s cheek as she bats him. From the corner of my eye though I can see her pulling him back to her to give him a proper kiss. I’m happy for my friends as they had a very tumultuous start to their mate ship. As I’m trying not to be nosy in my friends business Azriel comes to stand behind me, strategically blocking me from any other males or females view. Azriel is selfish when it comes to me. I can’t blame him, he’s waited centuries for me. And I him.

Rita walks up to us with a jar of clear liquid. It looks innocent, like water, but knowing her that liquid will make you regret ever being born. But that’s the appeal to Rita. She knows how to have fun and has quality supply.

“Alright ladies and gentlebats this is Moonshine. It’s technically whiskey but its process makes the alcohol stronger and you drunker quicker. I will give you a shot, on the house, if you like it I’ll sell a jar to you. This stuff is no joke and illegal in some courts. More recently our High Lord and Lady gave me the okay to produce it.” Rita winks to Feyre and Rhys.

We all look over them and Rhys shrugs, “Feyre wanted to try it, I couldn’t say no.”

We all laugh at the lack of ability our friend has to say no to his wife. I see Feyre eye the glass with excitement.

“Feyre you do the honors of first shot!” I yell out as she takes the glass and downs it in one gulp.

She freezes and we wait on bated breath. Her eye twitches and she gives a full body shiver. We break in laughter at her funny reaction as she immediately takes her fruity cocktail from Rhys, who was mid sip, and takes a few gulps.

Feyre’s face twist in disgust as she tells us, “That’ll definitely get you fucked up, I feel like I’ve grown chest hair.”

Laughter fills our area again. Rhys presses a kiss against Feyre’s head as he reaches for his own shot glass. Each of us besides Amren and Varian, who are currently in Summer, reach for our own. I clank my shot glass against Azriel’s and down my shot. I immediately regret this decision as pure alcohol burns my throat. It’s worse than the tonics Madja gives us. At least we get some what rewarded for that. I put my glass down and look over at my mate. His free hand softly rubbing my upper back, he downs the shot and smack his lips.

“It’s definitely strong but I don’t mind it.” Azriel says to the group.

I pout at him and say, “Of course it doesn’t bother you, Shadowsinger.” He rolls his eyes and moves his hand from the back of my neck to the front. Slowly moving my head back so far I have no choice but to look at him and only him.

“It’s Shadowsinger now is it?” He smirks down at me. Before I can reply peanuts that Rita supplies generously across her bar are being pelted at us. Azriel loosens his hold on me as we both turn to our family.

“You two are like bunnies, I feel like I need to spray you two with a bottle of water.” Nesta says.

I gasp and laugh out, “Like you have any room to talk! The House of Wind is contaminated with you and Cassian’s fluids.” All I get is more peanuts being thrown at me. The two of us dissolve into giggles as I throw them back at her. Cassian and Azriel having to take it away.

Cassian then turns his attention to Rita watching us in amusement.

“We’ll take a jar please, you always know how to make me feel good.” He winks at her. Rita rolls her eyes and passes him the jar.

“I’m charging you extra for that little stunt.” She says back to him.

“Oh c’mon that was a compliment! You’ve got the best stuff in the city.” He argues as Nesta shushes him. Nesta opted out of drinking, instead preferring to smoke mirthroot.

We all go back to our designated booth empty shit glasses in tow. We decide to play truth or drink. Azriel being the secretive person he is rather take the shot then tell the truth. I have a feeling he just wants to indulge the rare drink. I don’t blame him, he works hard for his court and he’s allowed to drop his inhibitions. Ever since we’ve gotten together I’ve taught him about self care and allowing one self to enjoy the moment. The centuries of training and spy work are still instilled in him, something even I can’t take away. But with the love of his mate and family he’s allowed himself to be happy.

I didn’t like the moonshine so I stuck to my cocktails then water, as I had a feeling someone needed to be more sober than the others. Azriel takes his eighth shot when he freezes. I still, looking around to see if anything was amiss. When I look back at him I see him smiling.

“You are a rare jewel.” He says so casually. Looking at me like I’m the only person in the world. He reaches over to brush my hair out of my eyes when instead he pokes me. This clumsy move tells me, he’s drunk. He giggles as I jump back slightly from a literal finger poking my eye.

“I’m so sorry love. Wow your skin is so soft.” Azriel starts touching my face in fascination. He then pulls me into his strong embrace. The awkward is angle but he just sighs constantly. Happy to be holding me. He starts petting my hair as if I’m a cute kitten.

The confused yet amused looks across the table have me pulling back from my mates embrace when he loudly says, “Noooooo, don’t leave me. I was so comfortable.”

I can hear and see Rhys and Cass laughing and clutching each other. Azriel RARELY gets drunk. I feel bad, maybe I should’ve limited how much he could drink since it’s not his usual stuff. Azriel has a fairly high tolerance for his usual whiskey or beer. Eight shots of his regular choice of drink would be nothing but him drinking moonshine has him reacting differently. I feel a little guilty but Azriel has carried me home and taken care of me plenty of times. Tonight I promise myself to return the favor.

“I know my heart, but I need a glass of water and so do you. I’ll be right back, I promise.” I caress his face and he looks at me with so much love I almost don’t want to go even if it’s a few minutes.

“Okay, hurry back. Take a shadow.” He says with a pout. A shadow always sticks with me regardless of his command or not. I shove my love down our bond for his thoughtfulness. Azriel gives me a goofy grin and pushes his love down to me.

“I need a drink, c’mon. Lover boy will be just fine.” Feyre says as she drags me away from my mate.

His eyes trailing after me until Cass and Rhys grab his shoulders to get his attention. Knowing my mate is in safe hands has me turning to Feyre. We talk a little about her art studio and Nyx. She confesses to having a bit of Mom guilt when she goes out. The alcohol making her a bit weepy from missing her son. I distract her by dragging her to the dance floor, after checking to make sure Azriel was still with the boys and has a glass of water.

After a few songs Mor and Nesta join us. I still keep an eye on my mate, making sure he’s okay and having fun. The next time I turn my eyes to him he’s gone. Panic fills my chest as I look around the bar for him. When I look up to the second floor I see him and his brother attempting to climb the rail. At that moment I decide it’s time to go home. I grab the girls and haul their asses the second floor before any of our mates cracks their skull open. The boys had way more moonshine than we did.

We successfully get them away from the railing, I grab Azriel’s face and he gently shoves me off of him. I frown at him, water lining my eyes at his rejection towards me. I go to ask him what’s wrong but before I do he tells me, “I am a mated male! You can not touch me.”

He sways a little grabbing onto Rhys for support. Rhys is already getting yelled at by his High Lady but she stops to turn to Azriel in amusement.

“What did he just say?” Feyre says to me. I stay silent for a moment realizing the situation. I slightly smile at my mates loyalty even though it is me who is touching him. I tell Feyre to grab Rhys and I can handle Azriel.

“Azriel, my heart. It’s me, I’m your mate.” I tell him gently helping him find his balance.

“I don’t want to go home with you. I want my mate. She will take care of me. I don’t need you.” As he’s still struggling to walk. I ignore him and help him down the stairs all the while he’s protesting insisting he has a wife and mate waiting for him at home. I roll my eyes fondly. Knowing it’s going to a rough walk home. He insists that I only touch his arm.

“I am a gentleman and my wife would be mad I let you walk home alone but I am not sharing a bed with you. She is only one I share my bed with. I love her.” He says to me, total seriousness.

I take a look at him noting his shirt is wrinkled from Cassian constantly grabbing onto him, his hair is wild, and his walk is staggered. I make a mental note to never let him drink Moonshine again. He trips slightly making me grab onto his back and front. He looks at me weirdly and takes my hands off his body.

“I don’t know youuuu. My body is reserved for my wife, I am fine with walking on my own.” His words are sloppy and he trips again. Laughing at him I ignore his protests and guide him to our shared home. The walk is a struggle as he keeps tripping yet insisting I keep my hands off him. I shove my love down the bond hoping he’ll recognize me that way. I feel more assured that even if I wasn’t with him and he was drunk he’d always come home to me. I hear him sigh with content and he lazily slaps his chest.

“This here, in my heart, she’s calling to me. I need to go home to her. I can feel her. I want to go home.” He pouts.

“Okay big guy, I’m gonna get you home to her. I’m sure she misses you.” I say, playing along. If I play along I’m hoping it’ll make him more amiable.

“She does! I can feel her even when I’m miles and miles away. I miss her too. Sometimes when I’m in the same room as her, I miss her. I just want her all to my self.” He confesses, I notice he’s started to slowly relax letting me guide him home. The thought of seeing me being his motivator. My heart is fluttering seeing him like this. Azriel is usually so smooth and calculated. His words to me sound like poetry, like a crafted song made just for me to hear. Now he’s confessing his love to, how he perceives, a stranger. Apart of me knows that he must know it’s me. Even if it’s deep down. But I can’t help but feel so special to him.

I finally spot our home, the sight of our porch makes me let an out a sound of relief.

Azriel looks to what I see and goes, “How do you know where I live? I don’t remember telling you. I wouldn’t have told you! I told you that I don’t want to go home with you.” He pushes himself away from me stumbling to our small gate. He struggled to unlock and me being exhausted from helping a 6’5 Illryian male slap his hands away and move to open it. He rubs his hand where I slapped and looks at me with a pout.

“Oh you’re okay! Stop being a baby and come inside please.” I tell him, laughing lightly at him. He moves to walk past me but turns before I can even take a step on the porch.

“This is as far as you can go. My wife will not be disrespected by having another female in our home.” He says with a serious face. The message isn’t as threatening since he’s still swaying and eyes glossed over. I smile at him and make a move to walk around him but he pushes his arms out, clumsily I might add, and repeats what he just said. I hold my arms up in surrender to this ridiculous statement.

“Azriel, my heart. I am your wife, you are mated to me. And I want to be in our bed and snuggle. Don’t you?” I ask giving him my best puppy dog eye. I don’t even know if it’ll work if the liquor made him forget who I was entirely. He goes to reply when he bends over to his side and pukes. I rush to his side and rub his back. He stand up again and leans against a pillar on our porch. His face smushed against it I can faintly hear.

“I want my mate…I’m not going home with you.” I roll eyes, trying not to get upset with him because it isn’t his fault and I know I’m not a doll to be around when I’m drunk. I walk towards our door, it unlocks automatically due to the ward Azriel insisted on placing. I try to gently push him inside. His wings knocking over a vase I was gifted from a past High Lord of Summer, I grimace as the antique lays broken on the floor. He looks around for what made the loud sound and he gasps loudly as if I was the one broken on the floor.

“My wife is going to kill me! Fuck, fuck, shit. Oh my gods I need to go to summer now! I need to go before she notices it’s broken.” He says making a move for the door. I immediately put a stop to that and drag him to our bedroom. I think he’s exhausted himself and flops down on the bed. Not making any moves. I start unlacing his boot and once I’ve got them off I go for his pants.

He slaps my hands away and goes, “I can undress myself. You have no right to touch me there! Go home before my wife finds you, she’ll kill you. My mate is verrrry possessive of me. She won’t like youuuu.” He sings at me.

He starts giggling and taking off his pants and shirt while moving to grab my pillow and holds onto it like it’s the answer of all his prayers.

“I miss her so much. I’m in bed but she isn’t here. It smells like her, I never want to smell anything again. Only her.” I make a face at him, I didn’t see how that makes sense but he’s drunk so I don’t question it. I make sure he has a glass of water and is tucked into bed before I make my move to join him. As soon as I start to move the cover he jolts back up, still clutching my pillow.

“Thank you for taking me home but I insist you take the couch. I will never share a bed with another female. I will not have our marriage bed tainted by a stranger.” He says eyeing me like I’m the King of Hybern resurrected.

“Enough, sweetheart. Tonight has been really funny and sweet but I want to sleep. Don’t you want to cuddle?” I say, I glance at the clock noting the late hour. He doesn’t make a move and stays silent. Giving me the answer I needed.

“As I stated you can take the couch as thank you but you have to leave before my WIFE comes home.” Azriel states, emphasizing the wife part as if I’m the drunken one.

“Okay I give up, I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight my love.” I say stealing a quick kiss from him that leaves him stuttering and blushing.

“Y-you just kissed me! That’s so rude, that’s-“ I close the door cutting off his rant. I go down the hall for our closet where we keep the extra blankets and pillows. I settle in our large and comfy couch that Azriel insisted on getting when we moved in. I’m now thankful he insisted. I start laughing recalling the night. Tonight was stressful but has shown me how loved I am. I have a male who’s loyal and kind. Even when he thought I was a stranger he wanted to walk me home so I wasn’t alone. I’m thankful to call him mine. I’m thankful to be his. I drift off to sleep with a soft smile, excited to tease him to no end in the morning for this stunt he pulled tonight.

——

Sunlight enters my home, the warmth of it caressing my cheek. I nuzzle closer to the warmth when I realize it’s Azriel’s hand. He’s sitting on the floor, his hair is a mess and he’s laying his head down close to mine. His eyes look groggy and I can tell he didn’t have a good sleep.

“Where were you last night? I couldn’t sleep without you.” He whispers gently, as if the sound of his own voice made his head ache.

I start laughing loudly, Azriel flinching back and rubbing his head. I start laughing so hard I start crying. My mate looks at me unamused.

“I’m sorry my love. But you literally kicked me out of our bed and made me sleep here. You insisted.” I tell him, laughter seeping through my words.

His mouth drops down in shock. He’s still rubbing his head and I feel bad so I start massaging his scalp the way I know he likes. I gets himself up off the floor and into my awaiting arms. Azriel secretly loves being the small spoon so I baby him and rub down his back and up into his scalp. The mating bond compelling me to make sure he’s okay and loved.

I start recalling the night for him. Apparently after that eighth shot he completely blacked out. He doesn’t remember a single thing from last night past that point. He grumbles and hides his face in my neck. His words coming out muffled.

“I’m so sorry. I hate not being in control like that. I’m sorry for treating you like that.” He says while pressing kisses on my neck and he squeezes me even tighter.

“It’s okay, you’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I’m drunk. I’m glad you were having fun and it was really sweet of you to defend my honor and our bond even if it was me. I love you so much for it.” I tell him making sure his eyes were on me. I cradled his face, caressing the scars and stubble that reside there. He leans down to give me soft kiss once, twice, three times before he nuzzles his nose against mine.

Azriel may be hard to read, stoic, and cold to everyone else but here, in the privacy and intimacy of our home he’s lovable and soft. A privilege to be able to see this of side. The decades of trust and memories helping him become a more loving person.

“How are you feeling though?” I ask him, he groans and lays his head down.

“I feel like absolute death. Actually death would be more merciful than what I’m feeling now.” My mate, the dramatic. I go to move to make him some tea and a light meal for his tummy but he just holds me tighter.

“Just stay for a little longer, I finally feel better now that I’m with you.”

Who am I to resist and say no? So I settle in and relishbeing with my mate and husband. Enjoying a quiet morning after such a loud night.

#azriel acosf #azriel fluff #azriel imagines #acotar funny #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel being drunk #inner circle #azriel acotar

[winterrsun]

Comfort

Reader x Daryl Dixon

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only

A/n: This is smut but it’s like the fluffiest sappiest smut, it’s meant to be really emotionally gratifying. Also I’ve really kinda half heartedly set it up for a part 2 where they reunite with the group and Rick…let me know if you think I should continue this!

Summary: after the prison fell, you and Daryl start to mourn what you’ve lost and find comfort in each other, both emotional and physical.

————————————————————————

The last couple of weeks had been such a blur. After the prison fell, you were thrown back into survival mode and all sense of security was gone. You never knew where your next meal would come from, or whether you were minutes away from death. You were grateful you’d gotten out in the company of Daryl and Beth; you’d always gotten along with both of them and Daryl was one of the most experienced survivalists. It was nice having Beth to talk to and relate to the experience as well, neither of you being natural outdoorsmen. Even if he was a grumpy ass most of the time, and she was still a bit of a bratty teenager at heart, you’d fast grown extremely reliant on both of them being around you.

You’d all found a small shack to hole up in for a couple of nights, you’d also found a stash of moonshine in the cupboard. Beth had been insistent on trying her first drink. It made you both amused and sad when you compared her experience to your teenage party years, so while Daryl disapproved you thought it was only fair to have your own little party. That’s how the three of you ended up on the living room floor, laughing your heads off.

“Really Y/N, you never been camping?!” Beth questioned incredulously.

“Yer even more a princess than I thought” scoffed Daryl.

“Yeah yeah,” you laughed, “well I suppose my whole life’s a big camping trip now.”

“Alright alright, my turn!” Daryl exclaimed. “I never… bin to a wedding”.

“You what?! Daryl that’s just sad” you said before taking a large swig of the homemade booze.

“Yeah, even I’ve been to a couple. Only other time I drank any liquor, daddy let me have a glass of champagne” said Beth.

“What part of my life was a fucking shit show before all this do you two not get” he grumbled.

You rubbed his arm, “alright we know, just teasing you” you smiled.

Beth’s giggles turned to hiccups, and she eventually lay her head down on the sofa and you realised she’d gone to sleep.

You nudged Daryl and nodded at Beth. He smiled at you, and pointed to the singular bedroom in the shack- suggesting you and he should move into the other room so as not to wake her.

The room was small; a double bed took up almost all the floor space, so you plopped yourself down on it. Daryl followed, carrying the bottle of moonshine with him. He took a sip before passing it to you, who did the same.

“She’ll be right” he gestured to the door, referring to Beth in the other room.

“I know” you replied, “we’ve all been there, she just needs to sleep it off.”

He nodded and you fell into an easy silence, both taking additional sips now and then. You grew pensive, and some of the thoughts you’d been mulling around for days started to come to the surface. The tipsy haze in your brain had your lips moving before you even knew you wanted to share what was on your mind.

“I don’t think I’ve said it,” you said, looking to Daryl, “but I’m so grateful for the two of you. The amount of times I’ve wondered what kind of state I’d be in if I was on my own…”

“Can’t be thinkin like that” he replied gently.

“I know. It’s just, it makes me mad to think about how quickly our circumstances changed. Things were so good Dar, they were finally all coming together. And then…..it’s just nothing in this world can ever really work can it?” You were rambling a little, but Daryl didn’t look like he was going to challenge you or tell you to be quiet. He just looked at you sadly.

“Do you think we’ll ever see any of them again?” You whispered to him. A tear escaped your eye and started to trickle down your cheek.

“I don’t know” he replied, and to your surprise he reached towards your face and softly wiped the tear of your cheek, “but I’m glad we’re here together too”.

He didn’t remove his hand from your face, in fact he gently cupped your chin. You leaned into it, while his head dipped closer to you and he planted a soft kiss on your lips. You closed your eyes and allowed the sweet sensation to wash over you.

When he pulled back away he looked unsure of himself, and mumbled a “sorry” to you.

You shook your head, placed your hands on his chest and leaned back toward him, kissing him more deeply this time. His tongue crept into your mouth and started to dance with yours.

Your hands drew up behind his neck as the two of you continued, and he reached for your waist, pulling you into his lap. The kiss grew needier as you straddled him; it wasn’t a need driven by pure sex and physical desire. It was like all the emotions you’d been feeling since the prison poured into your movements, and Daryl lapped them up and returned them with his own. You could’ve been hugging, or crying in each others arms, but instead you were kissing and writhing against each others bodies and it had the same cathartic effect.

You clung onto him as he pulled his lips away from yours briefly, to gently and slowly peel your dirty shirt up from your body. You allowed him to manoeuvre your arms overhead so he could take it off and toss it aside. He then reached around and unclasped your bra, and took a moment to stare at and admire the sight before him.

“You’re beautiful” he almost whispered, starting to run his hands over your breasts and grope them lightly. “I’m gonna take care of you Y/N, I promise”.

You were almost overwhelmed at this moment of pure bliss. You’d never thought there’d be anything sexual between you and Daryl. He was one of your best friends, with a bond like family. Sure he was hot. You’d notice his biceps peaking out of that winged vest and your heart might’ve quickened slightly every time you saw the way he gripped his motorbike handles. But you’d always just been friends.

Let alone the fact that you actually had a thing with his best friend. You and Rick had never defined whatever it was between you, but there was denying when he snuck into your cell nearly every night who you belonged to.

But Rick was gone. You didn’t know where, or if he was even alive, or if you’d ever see him again. It played on your mind every single day. You missed him so much more than all the others, longed for him. You were sick of it eating at you, and you just wanted to feel good for the first time in weeks.

You clawed at Daryl’s shirt, and he took a break from massaging your breasts to help you remove the black tee from his body. You pressed into him as your lips found his again and you relished the feeling of his skin against yours. It felt warm and unbelievably comforting. He began to rub circles on the small of your back and you arched into his touch.

“Daryl” you breathed against his mouth.

“What do you need baby?” He asked, pulling back and grabbing your face in both of his hands, eyes searching yours.

“You…I just need you” you said pleadingly.

Daryl shifted beneath you and lifted you up to flip you onto your back on the bed.

He slowly pulled your pants down and hovered over your torso, looking at your cotton panties. He dipped down and placed a soft kiss on your abdomen, creeping along your hip line. You hummed and wriggled at the tickling sensation, enjoying it. You felt a warmth envelop you from his touches. Then his fingers hooked into the elastic around your waist and pulled the fabric down from your body.

He ran his hand back up your leg, his eyes following the movements before he flitted them up to your face. You made eye contact and he sought the non verbal confirmation that you were okay. You bit your lip in anticipation as you gazed up at him, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable under his touch. Now fully naked on the bed.

You gasped as his fingers found their way into your fold, and began to gently stroke around. You flinched slightly as he ran over your clit for the first time, and he placed a kiss back on your lips, then trailing down your neck. He began drawing circles around your sensitive nub at a steady but not too fast pace and he lifted his head back up to study your face again.

“So beautiful” he commented. You arched your back off the bed and moan softly. He picked up the pace a little and your pleasure increased.

“Daryl” you gasped, “I need more. I want all of you”.

He nodded, stroked your hair with his free hand before withdrawing them both to unbutton and remove his pants. You lowered your eyes and watched as he freed his sizeable cock from his underpants. You sat up and leaned forward, glancing up at him with doe eyes before attaching your lips to his member.

He groaned as you took him in your warm, wet mouth. You suckled and licked around it, playing with him while lubing him up for you. His hands found their way into your hair, loosely gripping it while you bobbed your head back and forth. He threw his head back and savoured the sensation.

After a little while you pulled away and he gently pushed your shoulder so you lay back on the bed. He braced himself over you and lined himself up, gazing down into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here” he whispered, hovering outside your entrance. You nudged your head up to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Me too” you said softly.

Then he slowly thrust into you. It ached just a little on the way in, but you quickly adjusted to him. For the first time in weeks you felt whole, and human, and like you were capable of something other than simply just surviving as he sank inside you.

You tensed around him and wrapped your legs around his body, which he took as a signal to start pumping his hips in and out of you. Warmth filled your body, radiating from your core to chest at the feeling of connection and intimacy. To your surprise, tears prickled your eyes as you felt emotionally stimulated as much as physically. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit onto Daryl’s shoulder, allowing his warm skin to absorb the moan that left you.

“Don’t need to keep too quiet pretty girl” he said encouragingly. You smirked and let go, noting the love bite you’d left behind before moaning out into the room this time as his hips continued to pound into you.

He pulled out briefly and you were left feeling empty and disappointed, just for him to gently grab your thigh and push your leg back towards your face, hooked behind his arm. He pushed back in and you relished the new, deeper angle.

“Fuuuck, yesss” you hissed and he smirked down at you.

“Feels good baby?” He cooed before grind his hips in a particularly deep thrust and you nodded, moaning in reply.

He picked up the pace now and you felt the heat grow in your belly, driven more by lust at this point. Your climax was building, and it was as if Daryl could tell. He drove into you faster than before, angling his hips upwards to hit just the right spot.

“Dar! I’m gonna” you began-

“I know baby, let go” he soothed.

With an almost scream you came, it rippled through you in waves and he rode it out with you. In this moment nothing else mattered, not the situation you were in, the home you’d lost, the people you’d been seperated from. It was just bliss for a perfect moment.

As your pleasure subsided Daryl snapped his hips into a few more hard times before grunting himself and moving to pull out of you.

“Don’t!” You cried without thinking, holding his hips to yours with your small hands. You felt his dick pulsate inside you as he painted your walls with his cum. It was the last, comforting gesture you wanted to take from him tonight. The feeling of him filling you up as much he possibly could.

His sweaty forehead met yours as he stopped moving, and you felt his penis jerk inside you one last time before all was still. You panted together for a few seconds, before he slowly rolled over to lay next to you.

You felt his ejaculate trickle out of you onto the bed, and groaned at the mess, grinning at him.

He looked around and grabbed a throw blanket from the end of the bed, using it to roughly wipe up you and the linen beneath you. You both chuckled, and he tossed it aside before throwing an arm around you and pulling you towards him to lay your head on his chest.

With your head on his bare skin and listening to the sound of his heart beat and the sensation of his breath rise and fall, you closed your eyes and fell asleep. He planted once last kiss to the top of your head before doing the same.

You woke with a start to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight beginning to creep in through the window, neck stiff from the angle you slept at. You felt chilly and looked down to see goosebumps over your bare body. Not just yours, you noted the extra limbs tangled with yours and remembered the situation you were in. You smiled to yourself, knowing that the amazing night was a once off for you both.

Daryl had just started to stir at your movements on the bed, before you heard movements in the other room. A female voice groaning, before stomping quick footsteps and the sound of coughing and liquid splashing the metal sink. Beth had arisen, and was experiencing her first hangover. You almost would have giggled, except you realised you had to get dressed quick and decide how to explain the two of spending the night in a small room with one double bed.

You looked back at Daryl, now fully awake and judging by the expression on his face thinking the same thing you were.

“Well, back to reality” you whispered with a shrug.

He pulled you in for one last embrace, planting a kiss firmly to your lips before whispering back “thanks for last night beautiful”.

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon smut #Daryl x reader #Daryl x reader smut #Daryl Dixon x reader #daryl twd #twd Daryl #the walking dead #Daryl Dixon fic #darly Dixon x you

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.6k

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“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defending you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. You hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x you

[pimosworld]

Moonshine

TLOU x Triple Frontier crossover AU

Pairing-Joel Miller x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Chapter Summary-Cain makes an appearance while you and Joel reflect on your past and future.

CW-18+, MDNI,NSFW, fluff,angst, mentions of alcohol,mentions of ptsd,brief mention of abuse(not to reader),protective Joel,protective Frankie,talk of death,illusions to smut,comfort.

WK-4.4k

Character link

A/N- Thanks for being patient with me life has been crazy. I love a flashback scene. This chapter sets up the climax for the story as we meet our beloved villain and dive deeper into Joel’s past.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Moonshine chapter V- White lightning

Joel wakes before the both of you, watching you sleep as Frankie has you wrapped up so tight. His face buried in your hair taking you all in even when he’s not conscious. 

There’s a faint smile on his lips and Joel wonders what he could be dreaming about. It’s a comforting sight compared to the nightmares that used to plague him. 

Something stirs deep within,a feeling he can’t quite put his finger on but he knows he shouldn’t chase it too far down a dark path. You were both here,right in front of him -safe. He had nothing to worry about and yet it felt like if he didn’t do something to protect you it would all come crashing down. 

He fights those feelings threatening to eat away at the calm sounds of your sleepy humms and Frankie’s light snores. 

It’s too tempting to want to wake both of you, he’s desperate these days now that he’s had you both,the intensity of your love only heightened now by Frankie’s presence. The thin sheet is draped lightly over your soft form, Frankie’s arm covering the parts of you that are exposed. 

He mouths at your shoulder planting light kisses along your arm, his hands wander beneath the sheet caressing your soft stomach. Your body chases his even in sleep as you roll your hips back into his. You whimper at the feel of his hardened length pressing into the swell of your ass. 

It would be so easy to slip in, you’re always so wet and ready for him first thing in the morning. You never resisted him, it was a craving to watch you wake up to the feel of him buried deep inside you, your soft moans and whimpers of his name as your first waking thought is you coming hard on his cock as he whispers sweet good mornings in your ear.

The image is so clear in his mind he almost doesn’t feel Frankies large calloused hand brush against him. Frankie grips your ass in his sleep pulling you towards him as he mumbles something incoherent. The man is greedy. He can’t blame him though. 

He lets out a tuft of air as he stares up to the ceiling. It’s all so funny now knowing how worried you were just a few weeks ago about your advances not being reciprocated,and yet here he finds himself fighting with a sleeping giant for another moment with you. You did manage to get your hooks in him after all. 

Like most mornings now, he can’t seem to leave the comfort of you in this bed so he slinks down further into the covers and further into the depths of whatever this is forming between the three of you. 

****

You’ll never get used to the feeling of waking up with two large bodies caging you in. Frankie nestled in the crook of your neck with his arm draped across you instinctively pulling Joel flush against your back. 

Joel’s head resting on the pillow above you as his left hand rests comfortably in the valley of your breast. You stir a little and you can hear Joel’s grunts of protest at breaking the morning haze. Although it does seem like Joel sleeps in later and later these days. 

Instinctively you can tell when he’s actually awake, his hands dig in deeper as his chest rises and fall a little faster than before. That feeling of being watched by him is something you’ve grown to now very well. He often tried not to take his eyes off you for too long when you were near, as if he thought you might evaporate into thin air. 

You can hear his thoughts churning behind you as you try to play sleep, just to hold onto this moment a little longer. He tries to quietly clear the sleep from his throat, no longer able to keep his racing thoughts at bay. 

“Cains been making his way towards us.” He speaks into your hair slightly muffled. 

You don’t say anything but you know what that means. He always gets nervous and possessive at any mention of him. A knot forming in your chest because you know trouble always followed that man. 

You rub his arm as he plants a soft kiss to your shoulder before sliding out of bed. You miss his warm presence behind you as Frankie unconsciously pulls you further into him. 

“Who’s Cain?” His sleepy voice registers barely above a whisper. He stirs slightly as you trace lines down his back leaving goosebumps in your wake.

“Go back to sleep Frankie.” He begins muttering something about you ‘humming in your sleep’ and then you can hear his soft snores and the steady rise and fall of his chest as sleep begins to claim him again. 

Your mind drifting to thoughts of your first meeting with the man they call Cain. 

****

It was a crisp autumn day, the weeks you’ve spent getting to know Joel and Charity working at the bar had been some of the happiest days in recent memory. She was so thrilled to teach you and also have someone to confide in for the first time in a very long time. 

She reminded you so much of your sister it pained you to think about. Joel did his best trying to find out what happened to her when you got separated even though you both knew. You sensed there was some other form of determination behind helping you but you didn’t want to pry. 

The grief bonded you to him while he mourned the loss of Tommy, even though you never met him you knew what an impact he must have had on Joel. He often referred to him as the level headed one, that peeked your interest because Joel was nothing(to you) if not level headed. 

That day at the bar had started off like any other. It was getting busier since word got out that you could make a ‘pretty decent drink’ in Joel’s words. A few familiar faces had made their way in and a few unfamiliar ones. Joel trusted the two of you to run things when he had business to tend to around town. 

Charity has been keeping busy, you could sense her nervous energy as she stole glances at a man sitting at the end of the bar. He was handsome and older. Not much older than Joel. He was polite and seemed to enjoy your drinks, seeing as this was his second round. 

“Sweetheart I’ll have another.” He gestures to you with a wave of his fingers and a devilish grin on his face. 

This man definitely knew what he was doing, you wondered what brought him in here or why he was constantly glancing around almost studying the place. He ordered a whiskey neat and insisted on the good stuff, you raised your brows at him but he silenced you with a simple look of ‘Im good for it’. 

As you slid the drink to him he caught your hand in his, he rubs his calloused thumb across your fingers before placing a kiss to them. Bold moves from a stranger but there’s something about him that doesn’t have you shy away. From across the room Charity is frozen to the spot,seemingly forgetting whatever task she wanted to accomplish and you’re none the wiser as this handsome gentleman has some magic hold on you. 

“You’re new here.” He states matter of fact as though he’s got you all figured out from one glance. 

“Yes, I’ve been here a few weeks.” You hate how shy you suddenly sound under this spell he’s got you in. 

“Names Cain, it’s a pleasure to meet you?” You give him your name and he repeats it back to you in his low sultry tone. “Pretty name for a pretty face.” 

You try to disguise the smile as you duck your head in embarrassment. Joel had noticed your discomfort at flattery and had since made it his mission to tell you how beautiful you were everyday. It wasn’t something you often came across as you fought for your life on a day to day basis for so long. Men mostly assumed they could take what they wanted and there certainly were no compliments involved if you ever found yourself in that situation. 

“Well I’ll be damned, the lady has a beautiful smile as well.”  There was no hiding the flustered state he had you in at his forwardness and it was safe to assume you were in way over your head with him. 

“Speaking of new, I can’t say I’ve seen you in here before.” You took a step back from the bar hoping to break yourself free from whatever was happening between the two of you. 

He scrubs his stubble on his jaw as he chuckles under his breath. “Sweetheart this isn’t my first time here.”  The front door swings open and your heart skips a beat. Joel’s broad frame casting a shadow on the floor as he blocks the remaining evening sun. You meet his eyes with a soft smile but he’s staring daggers at the charming,handsome man that has captivated your time for who knows how long. The other patrons long forgotten as he so easily sucked you into his web. 

Joel stalks over to the bar with determination, his eyes nearly black with rage as he pulls up a seat next to Cain. You glance around the bar unsure of when Charity disappeared but you’re suddenly feeling like you’ve made some grave mistake in even entertaining this man. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ in my bar?” 

“It’s nice to see you too Joel.” Cain sloshes around the remaining amber liquid in his glass before taking it all down. “This drink is pretty nice too.”

“I asked you a question.” He smirks at Joel no doubt taking every opportunity to get under his skin and it’s definitely working. 

“It seems you steal all the pretty girls to work at your bar.” As Joel leans in closer to him all you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your ears. A few people sensing the tension have left their ration cards on the bar. You want to move your feet and get as far away from this conversation as you can but you’re planted to the spot. 

“What do you want Cain!” Joel’s booming voice echoed through the now empty bar as both men stand face to face. 

“Just wanted to check up on my old business partner,but I can see you’re still bent out of shape about Tommy so I better go.” A mixture of pain and anger washes over Joel’s face as Cain brushes past him to exit. 

“Thanks for the drink sweetheart,come visit my bar when you get sick of this old man.” The sinister look he gives him sends chills down your spine as he swings open the heavy wooden door stepping out into the night light. 

Joel rounds the bar quickly pulling you into his broad frame, his grip is almost painful as he tries to calm his breathing. You know whatever he’s going through words won’t fix but you tell him it’s okay anyways as you rub your hands along his back steadily trying to ground him. He’s like a wounded animal the way he looks at you with red tear stained eyes. You don’t know what Cain did to him but it’s a look you never want to see on Joel’s face again. 

“Did he touch you? Or say anything to you?” He’s looking you over as you bite your bottom lip wondering how much you should tell him. Yes this strange man was flirting with me and I wasn’t doing much to stop him, that response probably wouldn’t go over well and it seems he’s frustrated with how long it’s taking you to respond. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“He asked me for my name and he kissed my hand, he didn’t tell me anything else I swear.” You’re trembling now, unable to look into his eyes,afraid to see any disappointment in them. 

“She’s telling the truth Joel.” Charity appears behind him, her face stained with fresh tears as she looks up at him like she’s done something wrong. “I’m sorry I left her alone I just couldn’t…”

“Don’t apologize, hon' it’s alright.” Joel has softened slightly at the site of her in distress. You shouldn’t be annoyed with the situation but so much has gone unsaid and you’re feeling so left out. Joel turns to you then finally calmed down and worry written all over his face because of course you have no idea what’s going on. 

“Shine…he can’t be trusted, I can’t tell you everything now but just promise me you’ll never get close to him. If you see him out there or in here just know he’s evil and so are his intentions.” 

All you can manage is a nod as grabs Charity's hand and pulls you both into his arms. 

“You’re mine okay…and I won’t let anything happen to you…I can’t let anything happen to anyone else.”

*****

It started out like such a beautiful day, the sky was clear and the weather uncharacteristically warm. These days always make you nervous, much like the day of the outbreak. That was a beautiful day too. Beneath this idyllic facade a storm was brewing. You could feel it in your bones from the moment Joel mentioned his name. 

You did your best to smile through it as you worked but Frankie knew something was off. It’s almost as if everyone was on edge. The bar felt heavy with invisible ominous clouds as you all mostly worked without speaking to each other. 

Joel never left his office. 

The peaceful morning was crushed by his thoughts.It was one of those moments where fear worked its way into your bones until it was all you could think about.Frankie could see the tension in your body, an all too familiar feeling for him and the others. 

Some part of him still hadn’t made that last step, to put the final piece of his new life together. All he had to do was say those words, but until he did it seemed he didn’t feel worthy enough to comfort you in public. He wanted to let everyone know that you and Joel were his but something kept holding him back. He wants to shut off that nagging part of his brain that tells him he doesn’t deserve love. Maybe he should start taking his own advice and believe things that he tells Joel late at night when the lights are out and the only thing shining through is the moon. 

Winding down for the night usually brought some form of excitement for him because he knew he was that much closer to being ‘home’. Tonight most certainly felt different. 

With the last patron long gone he can see you and Charity leaning into the bar having a hushed conversation. You chance a glance back at him as your smile barely reaches your eyes. 

The door opens wide bringing the moonlight in and a man in a crisp black suit enters. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

“Sir we’re closed for the night.” Benny politely offers as the man walks past him without a second glance. 

“You should turn off the open sign.” Benny looks at you apologetically thinking he’s just let a regular customer in but your eyes tell a different story. 

Frankie can feel the shift in the room, your conversation with Charity long forgotten as you’ve both stopped talking to stare at this man. He flashes Frankie a wide tooth smile that has his stomach churning. 

He sits on the stool next to Charity and pulls her seat closer, the noise dragging along the floor sending chills down your spine. She doesn’t move, only looks to you momentarily, a sudden desperation in her eyes. 

“I’ll have a-“

“I’m not serving drinks.” You cut him off as you lean back crossing your arms. A version of you long ago would’ve backed down to the man but he didn’t scare you anymore. 

“A bar that doesn’t serve drinks.” The sarcasm drips from his voice as he turns around to survey the room. 

“What do you want, Cain?” Your tone is stern and unwavering as you toss the bar towel you were using into the sink. 

Frankie stiffens at the name, his hair on the back of his neck stands up as he notices Santi making his way over the bar, like a lion eyeing his prey. Santi and Will were all too familiar with the man in question having heard much from Joel. 

“You know I always have to pay you a visit when you cause a commotion.”

“What commotion?”

“Joel's lackeys arrived in town and it’s got people buzzing!” Gesturing around the room all the men freeze in their movements. 

(His)men were lackeys…these men were elite trained special ops soldiers. But he didn’t need to know any of that. Based on his comment he obviously knew nothing. You know he’s just sniffing you out trying to get information. 

He licks his lips as he turns his body to Charity and brushes her hair behind her ears. “You can always come back and work for me sweetheart, I’m sure you’ve missed me.”

“Kindly fuck off Cain.” She swats his hand away and stands from her seat. 

“Oohhh just as spicy as the day we met.”

Santi’s chomping at the bit but Frankie shoots him a look to back off. You’re not sure when Benny moved from the door to the opposite side of the bar but Will is slowly making his way over to potentially diffuse any situation or maybe something worse. 

Cain leans against the bar with a sickening sweet smile as he props his head on his hands. 

“The offer still stands for you too sweetheart.”

You don’t have to look to know Frankie’s inched closer to you, his presence is looming as he waits for him to make one wrong move. 

“No thanks Cain, I'm very happy here.” His maniacal laugh sends chills down your spine.

“How would you know you’re happy unless you give some other lap a try.” 

It all happens in a flash as Benny lunges for him his brother grabs at the back of his shirt, Charity manages to block Santiago but Frankie already has him face down on the bar with his hand pressed to the back of his neck. 

A loud whistle from the hallway door has everyone freeze in their movements. Joel stalks toward the bar, the only sound over your beating heart is the lumbering stomp of his boots as he comes up behind him. 

Frankie hasn’t let off his neck but the rest of the men have all backed off. Charities trying to get Santi to look in her eyes but he’s laser focused on the scene unfolding. Cain's evil laughter is only spurring him on as he’s still pinned to the bar. 

“Frankie.” Joel’s voice is soft for his lover trying to coax him to let Cain go. His eyes are black with rage and he’s way past talking. The boys know all too well when they get like this it’s hard to snap out of it.

“Francisco.” His voice is deeper now as he places a hand on his wrist gently prying it off him. 

Frankie backs away suddenly as though he’s been stung, his chest is heaving and you step in front of him rubbing your hands along his arms trying desperately to ground him. 

He finally looks at you and the pain is evident in his deep brown eyes. You lean up and kiss him on the cheek to silently convey that you’re okay. 

Cain straightens up and pulls roughly on his suit as he comes face to face with Joel. It seemed he had a permanent snicker on his face and it took everything for Joel not to slit his throat right now and have them help him hide the body. 

He didn’t want blood shed in his bar and he definitely didn’t want people asking questions. 

“So it looks like you finally learned how to share.” He tilts his chin toward you and Frankie embracing and you know if it weren’t for your deathly grip on him he would lunge for him again. 

“Unless you have business with me personally, we’re closed for the night.” 

“Remember we don’t do business personally anymore. I just wanted to stop by.” He holds his hand out for Joel to shake but he just crosses his arms across his broad chest.

“Sorry to hear your last run didn’t go so well.”

“Don’t know where you heard that.” Joel grits out through clenched teeth. 

“Pretending to be mother Theresa won’t erase all the shit you’ve done.” He laughs and pats the bar top as he slowly walks backwards. “See you soon Moonshine.” Your blood runs cold as he winks at you before exiting the bar.

Joel looks at you with that same look in his eyes he had all those years ago when you first met Cain, but now there’s another set of eyes on you with that same look. 

****

There were no more words said amongst you all as you finished up for the night. Just Joel’s hurried ‘be ready to leave in 5’ as he bounded back to his office and slammed the door shut. 

You walk home in silence…even though you walk ahead, both men are on your heels. The sight of them hand in hand loosens something deep in your chest. Neither of them have to feel alone about their past and how they may have handled things. They both told you on separate occasions how they don’t like letting their temper get the best of them. Their similarities were so eerie sometimes.

The hurried atmosphere of your walk only stirs them on when you finally enter your home. You can feel the humid air in the room as you look at both men. A possessiveness in their eyes that should have you running in the other direction. 

You know they need to forget,even momentarily about what happened tonight. The urgency to undress you,to claim you as you barely make it to the bedroom. 

It’s euphoric the way they make you feel, you don’t have to open your eyes anymore to know who’s touching you where or who’s biting and gripping you so tight they’ll leave bruises. 

They do make you open your eyes though because they ‘want to see your pretty face when you come.’ They got off on it,needing it for their own release. You’ve lost count on how many times they’ve brought you to the edge and tipped you over. 

You’re mine is growled in your ear as you’re filled from both ends. It’s space you’re suspended in as you wrap your arms around  and cling to whoever is shushing you telling you it’s okay. You’re ours 

****

It’s quiet now

Their minds are finally at rest as they watch you sleep. Frankie doesn’t know how long they’ve been laying here in silence but sooner or later one of them has to break it. 

“I’m sorry about losing my temper.”

“Don’t...don't ever apologize for protectin’ her.” He doesn’t mean it to come out as harsh as it does. 

They both look down at you to make sure you’re still asleep. You burrow into the pillow as you humm softly. You’re so angelic at peace and they wonder what they did in all their fucked up lives to deserve someone like you. 

Joel kisses him slow and deliberate, his passion always caught Frankie off guard. How this rugged man could make him feel so many things with just a kiss. 

He pulls away momentarily, the words he’s wanted to ask all night lingering in the air. “Tell me about Cain...please.” Joel shuts his eyes as he lets out a puff of air onto his lips. 

It’s brief and also painstakingly slow at the same time as he waits for him to respond. Joel leans back against the headboard with his eyes still shut. It might be easier to tell it this way, or maybe he can better see what went wrong as he replays it in his head. 

“We used to be partners…when I came here with Tommy I didn’t know shit. Cain took us under his wing so to speak. We did some horrible things to get to the top.”

Frankie knows how that feels, to do and see the most unspeakable things in the name of survival. It only starts to eat away at you when you’re no longer doing it to survive. 

“I knew he was with Charity, but when I saw the bruises…” He stops for a moment to collect his thoughts. “She just reminded me so much of Sarah it sort of made me snap.”

Frankie listens as he tells him how they were going to run both bars together, each on the opposite side of town. If they pooled their resources it would only seek to benefit them all.Cain got greedy and Joel wanted out of the business of hurting people. 

He offered Charity an out and she accepted but he couldn’t tell Tommy what to do. 

Tommy died on a run with Cain after they decided to part ways. He still doesn’t know all the details about how the clickers managed to get to him only. 

“I know he killed my brother. I just can’t prove it.” The moonlight illuminates the glossy look in his eyes with so many words unspoken. “I heard he’s running out of resources so I knew it was only a matter of time before he came lurking.” 

Here it is again the comfortable silence he often finds himself in nowadays. He doesn’t know what to say.

Frankie hates the word sorry. Hearing I’m sorry doesn’t heal the wounds...There’s other ways to convey how he feels.

He doesn’t hesitate as he leans in capturing his lips. Any dark thoughts brought to the surface are pushed to the back as Frankie conveys with his actions everything he can’t say out loud. 

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#frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #joel miller x reader #Joel miller x f!reader x Francisco morales #tlou #tlouau #triple frontier imagine #francisco catfish morales #santiago garcia reader #Benny miller #will miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou smut #triple frontier au #francisco morales x reader #joel miller au #frankie morales x f!reader #moonshineverse #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales x you #tlou x triple frontier crossover #tlou x oc

[violetlunette]

so something to know is that i am the biggest simp in the universe when it comes to my lover, very similar to YUU, as in i think of the future of us and stuff, just a big simp.

BUT WHEN I'M SICK

i become so different as in i can barely be as outgoing and open with my love and just have to keep doing stuff because there is so many things to be done like work, chores, making food. so i don't stop until i drop to the ground.

so imagine YUU one day being really sick like me and at some point silver was asked to bring me some food and/or medicine and he finds YUU collapsed on the ground, with a very high temp, and just takes YUU inside to look after, into a bedroom and tries to wake YUU up. and when YUU wakes up instead of being all love-sick crazy he see's silver taking care of them and when silver comes over, YUU, in a hazed mind says "your so kind, thoughtful and selfless, no wonder i fell in-love you."with this loving smile. then passes out. and all silver can think is that this is not true because why would YUU love him, why would YUU make him feel so warm, just for him to come into the sudden realisation that he is in love and has been for a long time.

thank you for reading this

and you're doing such a great job mate, have the love you deserve for all you life, and goodbye.

Aww, this would be so sweet! And thank you for the sweeter message! This such a sweet scenario, I just--

Fun fact; Yuu can’t actually get sick due to in-universe reasons, however--

~*~

“Silver? Why are you here?” Silver had appeared in the doorway of the old Ramshackle Dorm, wearing his PE uniform, his skin coated in sweat.

He inhaled a deep breath so he could speak.

“I heard from Kalim that Yuu was sick.” When Silver heard this, he was surprised. For some reason, it never occurred to Silver that Yuu could get sick.

“Hah. I thought fools couldn’t catch colds,” Sebek said after hearing the news. He and Silver had been training together at the time. After scolding him, Silver cut their training short and ran all the way to Ramshackle.

Though now that he was here, he wondered if he really should be here.

“You came to check on Yuu?” The chubbier of the three Ramshackle ghosts confirmed. A slightly skinnier one beamed.

“Yuu will be so happy about that!” Silver shifted.

“Is he in any condition to have guests?” He inquired, wondering if he had jumped the gun by coming when he did. Yuu might have been so sick that he wouldn’t want to see him.

The ghosts each gave Silver a flat look when he voiced this.

“Silver, he could be deader than us, and Yuu would be in perfect condition to see you,” the skeletal ghost told him.

Silver was quickly ushered through the house and to the room Yuu and Grim used to sleep in. Instantly, his eyes locked on Yuu.

“Yuu…” At first glance, no one would be able to tell that Yuu was ill.

The teen had naturally gray skin, pale as mist. His hair was wild, frizzed, and—as Vil put it—had never been introduced to a comb.

However, upon closer look, Silver could see that the other’s flesh had turned paper white with a touch of yellow around the mouth and eyes. Meanwhile, the hair was damp with sweat, which made it stick to his face.

Half-lidded eyes shot wide open upon seeing Silver, a shimmer of glee within them.

“Moonshine! What--” Yuu moved too fast for his ailing body and nearly toppled out of bed. Silver hurried forward to catch him just in time.

“Ah!” he gasped as the other fell against his chest. “Careful! Your body’s weak right now.” Yuu mumbled something with a red face, but Silver couldn’t make it out.

With the help of the ghost, he set Yuu back in bed.

“We need to leave for a while; do you mind watching over Yuu for us?” one ghost asked.

“Ah, I don’t mind, but..." The ghosts clapped before Silver could finish.

“Great! In that case, we’ll leave him in your care! Tootles!

With that, they vanished, leaving the teens alone.

As Silver turned back, Yuu began vomiting into the trashcan.

“I heard you were sick, but I don’t know it was this bad,” Silver said, looking at Yuu sympathetically. Yuu took a ragged breath, shaking his head.

“Ugh… Not sick,” he muttered. “Poison.” Silver jumped, his expression unchanged except for the growth of his eyes.

“What?!” After setting the trash beside his bed, Yuu flopped back, putting a hand on his sweat-soaked forehead.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Grim picked some mushrooms that ‘looked tasty, and well...’” He grumbled an insult towards the beast under his heavy breath. “He’s fine, being whatever the hell he is. But me…” Silver felt his pulse race against his chilled skin. Yuu was poisoned. Poisoned! That meant he--

“We—We need to get you to the infirmary right away!” He gathered Yuu in his arms, causing the other to squeak like a mouse.

“Whoa! Whoa! Hold on there, Moonshine!” he said, his colorless skin turning bright pink. “No need to panic like this!”

“Yuu, you just said you were poisoned!”

“That’s why I took a—a—Gosh, what was it?! A throw-up potion from Kalim,” Yuu insisted. “Ace also brought a potion from Sammy-boy and took Grim for the day. I’ll be fine! I’m fine, really!”

“Even so--”

“Look, I can’t go to the nurse every time I get hurt,” Yuu said, weakly struggling. He liked being in Silver’s arms, but it was more important to make the other understand. “If I do, Crowley might believe the school is too dangerous for me and send me away. Then I won’t get to see you as often—legally.” Silver pursed his lips. He didn’t want that, but...

“I’m fine, really. I promise. Cross my heart and hope others die,” he insisted. After gnawing over it, Silver gave in.

“That’s not how the saying goes.” With a heavy heart, Silver replaced Yuu back in bed. He was worried, but at the same time, he didn’t want the other to get sent away. After all, having Yuu at Night Raven...

‘But is this a risk we should be taking?’ Depending on the mushroom, this could be dangerous. Forget sick; Yuu could...

“You don’t have to stay,” Yuu murmured, interrupting his thoughts. He used his sleeve to wipe away some sweat. “I know Batman’s gonna be looking for ya soon. And don’t ya have guard duties, or whatever?”

“I’ll text Lilia,” Silver said, pulling out his phone. “This is more important.”

Despite himself, Yuu laughed. His eyes were hazy as they watched Silver, a gleam of something inside them.

“That’s so you...” He said it softly, with a tender smile on his lips. “Kind, thoughtful, selfless... is it any wonder I fell for you?”

Silver felt his heartbeat at the words. He swallowed as his tongue became thick. He opened his mouth to respond; however, Yuu had fallen asleep.

Silver watched him sleep as his face heated from his cheeks to his ears. As Silver rubbed them, Yuu’s words echoed in his mind.

“...I wonder every day,” he whispered, throat tight.

Yuu was eccentric, fun, intelligent, and had the amazing ability to sidestep the laws of physics to make the fantastic reality (both good and bad).

And Silver—was just Silver. There was nothing special about him. 

Yet Yuu always looked at him as if he were the most extraordinary thing in the world.

‘Why? I wonder what he could possibly see in me?’ And why did he care so much? 

Silver placed a hand on his chest, which felt too tight around his heart.

This feeling inside of him... What was it?

He momentarily closed his eyes, then re-opened them, a soft gaze falling onto Yuu’s slumbering form.

“I wonder…”

--

Sorry, this took so long, anon! Thanks for the ask!

#mine #twst #twisted wonderland #silver twst #twst silver #silver vanrouge #silver twisted wonderland #ramshackle ghosts #yuusona #twisted wonderland oc #ramshackle #twst oc #twst yuu #ramshackle prefect #twst ficlet #silyuu #yuusil #silver x yuu

[ofstoriesandstardust]

one thing i like about me (is that i’m nothing like you and i never will be) (lt. bradley “rooster” bradshaw)

a/n: the title came together for this and then the rest all just fell into place. currently, this is the last thing i’ve got planned out for same mistakes-verse so if there’s something else y’all want to see in particular... i’m all ears. first, this is tagged as a rooster fic because same mistakes is but it’s got a hefty dose of Coyote. this is a behemoth of a thing. honestly, you gotta read best bud, you alright bud? and a slice of life before you read this, no exceptions (otherwise you’ll be lost lmfao). this is the longest thing i’ve ever written

summary: Coyote decides to put an end to the legacy of the Green Vipers. the truth comes out, much to Rebel’s chagrin. what happens next leaves their friendship in pieces.

based on this request from an anon

title comes from mean! by madeline the person

part of the same mistakes-verse

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: swearing, physical violence, same mistakes-verse canon bullying/hazing, this is so not how the Navy works, like i really made shit up this time, like seriously i know this isn’t how the Navy works, this got away from me, i feel like this needs to be said because people in my fics (like im not the one doing it) keep insinuating it but Rebel and Coyote are just platonic besties like Rooster and Phoenix k thx, one of the lines comes from the title, Cyclone’s a hardass but he looks out for his kids (but he’ll never admit it)

word count: 8,975

“Lieutenant Machado, thanks for meeting us with us today.”

“Of course Admiral.”

“Your report was, quite frankly, concerning. In light of the active investigation we’re opening, we’d like to get more information from you.”

-

Your eyes adjust slowly to the light of the bar, taking in the patrons. The Hard Deck is unusually noisy and rowdy, all thanks to a certain squadron occupying the pool table. Your heart falters a bit as you take in Raven’s figure first. You pause next to Hangman, who’s settled up on the bar talking to Penny. Coyote’s behind you as the team swarms to Penny, not looking at or even paying attention to the same people the two of you are. 

"Well, they’re new.” Coyote states, crossing his arms. He’s right, there’s a petite red head girl standing next to a tall, lanky brunette man. 

“Must be our replacements.” You say, grabbing the beer from Rooster’s outstretched hand over Hangman’s shoulder. 

“Ain’t nobody replace us baby.” Coyote says with a teasing smile and you laugh. He grabs the beer Hangman’s handing him and takes a sip. A smirk appears. “We should go say hi.” You won't deny that the thought of going near them makes your heart crawl into your stomach, but you’ve got Coyote and Rooster won’t be too far away. Besides, you’re more than curious about your replacements and how long these two have been with the team. You find yourself nodding and you and Coyote leave the Iron Daggers behind, weaving through the patrons to appear next to the pool table. Owl glances up at the two of you first, a smile erupting on her face.

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” She sings, alerting Arrow and Moonshine. Moonshine nudges Ghost, who looks over. 

“Machado, my man!” He exclaims, moving towards the figure of your best friend, pulling him into a hug. You glance at your boyfriend, who’s watching the scene unfold with caution. “Rebel.” He grunts, moving back away from you. That catches Shadow and Raven’s attention and the dark looks on their faces makes your stomach curl. 

“What’re y’all doing out here?” You ask, crossing your arms, not giving them a chance to talk. Charm sighs from her place next to Redwood. 

“We’ve been grounded indefinitely. We’re not sure why.” She answers and you frown. Grounded indefinitely? 

“All of you?” You ask, curiosity raising in your voice. If something happens, there is always the possibility a few pilots would get grounded, but never the whole squadron, never brought all the way back out to Miramar. Coral’s nodding, her ever curly hair bouncing along with her. You glance at Coyote, who’s got the same confused look on his face. He shakes his confusion faster than you can and clears his throat. 

“Who’s the fresh meat?” Coyote asks, pointing to the two new figures. You turn back to Rooster’s gaze and you see the entirety of the Iron Daggers are watching this unfold and you subtly nod your head. Rooster understands the gesture and pulls the crew over to the pool table. You turn your attention back to the Green Vipers, listening to Shadow introduce Ruby and Swiper. Rooster settles in next to you, arm around your shoulder, causing Shadow to narrow his eyes. 

“You know man, the last time we were here, I didn’t catch your name.” he says, and Rooster glares. 

“Rooster. This here’s Phoenix, my wingman, and Bob, her WSO.” 

“Bob?” Raven’s cackling and your eyes roll so hard you think you might get a headache. “What kind of callsign is that?” 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you considering the only reason your callsign is Raven is because your voice sounds like one.” You shoot back and she’s turning to you. 

“I see Rebel’s finally found a voice.” Ghost taunts and your eyes narrow but Coyote’s intervening before things can go any farther. 

“We definitely did introductions that last time y’all were here, this is unnecessary.” Coyote says, moving in front of you. You see Hangman glance at Rooster, the two exchanging a look you don’t understand. 

“Why don’t we play a game of pool?” Hangman’s offering. “2v2? Vipers versus Daggers.” Ghost chuckles and tosses Hangman the pool cue. 

“You’re on. Whose your partner?” 

“Rooster.” He answers like it’s the most obvious choice in the world, like these two didn’t used to spend everyday at the other’s throats. “Yours?”

“Shadow.” There’s bile rising in your throat as you realize your boyfriend is about to go head-to-head with your tormentor. The two squadrons spread out and you take a seat sandwiched between Phoenix and Bob. Payback and Fanboy are just behind you, watching the team carefully. And then the bell to the door of the Hard Deck is jingling again, and both squadrons turn to catch the entrance of a tall man with dark brown eyes and even darker hair to match. He seems to be looking for someone and he finds it at the pool table. Something changes on Coyote’s face and then the man is pulling him into a hug.

“Venom, man, how are you?” Oh, Coyote’s old wingman. Coyote turns to you, nodding you over with his head. “This is Rebel, my wingman.” Venom bypasses your outstretched hand to take in the rest of the team. “What’re you doing out here?” 

“Oh, you know, the Navy is still looking for a replacement for Admiral Kazansky. Or multiple, not sure anyone can replace that man.” You wince at the carless reminder that your godfather is gone. Coyote glances at you. 

“Oh yeah, I heard about your promotion to commander. Congrats man.” Venom nods absentmindedly.

“Yeah, well, we’re in the final rounds of interviews. The Navy really wants some Captain, callsign Maverick I think, but apparently he’s got a squadron of his own. The Iron Dangers or something.” A ripple of laughter goes through your squadron.

“Iron Daggers.” You correct and Venom looks back down at you. Coyote clears his throat. 

“That’s where I’m stationed right now.” Coyote clarifies. Venom looks back over to Coyote and then shrugs. 

“Well, tell Mitchell to give up Kazansky’s position. He’s like 60, he shouldn’t even be flying.” 

“Captain Mitchell could outfly you ten times over any day, I’m sure of it.” You respond, eyes narrowing. The two squadrons are watching this exchange intently and you’re just waiting for the opportunity to drop the bomb about who you really are. 

“Yeah, sure. God, I just wish he’d get out of the picture, let someone younger and better have all the glory. Not like Mitchell needs anymore anyways.” Your Dad didn’t fly for the glory and neither did Ice. 

“You don’t deserve Admiral Kazansky’s position.” You say cooly, and you can feel Rooster move just behind you, anticipating your next move. 

“God, who are you? Why do you keep talking?” Venom snaps, looking back to Coyote. 

“I’m Admiral Kazansky’s goddaughter.” Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see Fanboy snickering into his hand as Venom’s face falls. “And Captain Mitchell is my father, so you be very careful about what you say next.” 

“You’re who?” Owl asks, eyes going wide. 

“Is that why Kazansky was there that day you and Coyote went down?” Moonshine’s asking and you’re nodding. 

“Uncle Ice wanted to make sure I was okay.” You slip the name in on purpose, and it had it’s intended effect. 

“Uncle Ice?” Raven practically screeches. 

“Nepotism at it’s finest.” Venom snarks, eyes narrowing. Ghost has a hand on the back of Venom’s uniform before he can do anything, pulling him back. 

“C’mon, Venom, we were just a about to play a game of pool against the Daggers here.” Venom nods dangerously, his eyes never leaving you. You move back to your seat next to Phoenix and Bob, watching the game unfold. The game is uneventful, each pair neck and neck until the Green Vipers start making digs at you and Coyote. 

“So, Coyote.” His head pops up from where’s he’s chatting with Owl in the direction of Arrow’s voice. “Why do you put up with Rebel really?” Raven’s laughing. 

“I’m telling you, they’re sleeping together.” Despite the fact that the thought of sleeping with Coyote is mildly disgusting, you find yourself rolling your eyes instead of gagging. Here we go. 

“We are not sleeping together.” Coyote says adamantly. Owl snorts and he looks at her. 

“I don’t buy that for a second Machado.” She says and he looks bewildered. 

“Why not?”

“Because your head is so far up her ass that I would hope you were getting some.” 

“My head is not-” 

“Yes it is.” Comes the unison voice of Coral, Moonshine, and Owl, the only girls left on the Green Vipers. Coyote elects to ignore it and move on. 

“Well, we’re not and we never have.” Coyote states, taking a sip of his beer, pointedly avoiding Rooster’s look. 

“So then why do you defend her like you do?” Coral’s asking. “I mean, you don’t have to look out for her anymore, no more obligation to have her back. She’s got a team that likes her. By all accounts, your friendship should’ve fell apart the day you left the Green Vipers.” 

“Because she’s my wingman and she’s never left my ass, even when she should.”

“So? Moonshine’s never left me but you don’t see me defending her the way you do Rebel.” Ghost proves and you’re itching to say something, but you hold back, knowing this is between Coyote and them. 

“What’s your point?” Coyote asks dryly. 

“That there’s something more between you.”

“She’s got a boyfriend.” Coyote states blankly, as if he’s lost interest in this conversation. At some point Hangman meanders over to you, leaning over to your shoulder. 

“Why are they worse then what you originally told us?” You shrugged, willing for the game to be over. It’s Hangman’s turn to shoot, and so he doesn't get a chance to pry more but Bob and Phoenix are giving you too many questioning looks so you stood up and move next to Coyote. He glances up at you, briefly nudging your hand, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by Revenge. Revenge rolls his eyes, leaning over to make a comment to Coral and Arrow, who are snickering at it. You ignore it, glancing down at Coyote. 

“That means nothing, you do know that right?” Raven’s taunting and you feel your blood began to boil. 

“Fuck you, I’d never cheat on my boyfriend.” She’s putting her hands up in the air, in mock surrender. 

“Never said you would. Doesn’t mean Machado’s not pining after a girl he can’t have.” Shadow picks up the taunting now, leaning on his pool cue.

“Hey, do the two of you still sing?” He asks smirking and Venom chokes on his beer. 

“Sing?” He asks incredulously. You snort, looking down at Coyote, knowing exactly what’s being discussed right now. Shadow’s nodding.

“Yeah, when the Terror Twins,” God, not that nickname. “here used to get people out during training they’d go-”

“Na na na, na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.” You and Coyote finish, laughing lightly. Coyote’s favorite movie was Remember the Titans and after a late night watching the movie in the common area, it was something the two of you had picked up. Despite the light-heartedness of the statement, you’re still nervously watching Rooster out of the corner of your eye, who looks like he’s one more comment from smashing someone’s face in. Hangman seems to be aware of it too, never going far from his partner. 

“God, no wonder no one liked me.” You respond and Coyote’s snorting. The end of the game is nearing, all that’s left is for one team to pot the 8-ball. You wait with bated breath as Shadow leans over to take the shot, but he’s smirking. 

“You know, I should’ve shot her out of the sky when I had a chance.” He says, missing the chance to pot the 8-ball but it doesn’t matter because that’s the comment that causes Rooster to snap. He’s close to you, making it easy for you to pull him back as he tries to go launching after the pilot. Coyote’s grabbing his shoulders and Hangman’s there in an instant. A quick glance over to the bar tells you Penny and Mav are watching carefully as you push Rooster back. 

“That’s enough.” You say, moving in front of your boyfriend, coming face-to-face with Shadow. The man is tall, uses it to his advantage to intimidate you, and you will yourself not to shrink back. Coyote’s lingering just behind you. 

“Is it? Is it enough Rebel?” Shadow taunts and your shaking your head. “Man, I can’t believe Coyote puts up with you.”

"We’ve been through a lot together.” Coyote defends, his anger radiating off of him. Shadow raises an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” He chuckles darkly. “Well, here’s what I think. I think that the day the Navy rescued you from the ocean was a mistake. It was a waste of Navy resources. They should’ve rescued Coyote and left you to drown. You were never supposed to come home from that mission, but you just had to go and fuck it up, didn’t you?” Shadow’s dangerously close to your face now but you stand firm in the face of what’s being said. 

“That’s enough Shadow.” Ghost calls and Shadow pulls back, but the glint from his eye isn’t gone. 

“You’re going to spend the rest of your life searching for a validation and approval you’re never going to get. Because you’re a waste of space.” What happens next is a blur. 

You feel Coyote pushing you out of the way to get his hands on Shadow, and the pair are tumbling down as Coyote lands a sweet punch to the man’s face. You move forward to pull Coyote off but Hangman (you think, you’re not entirely sure) is pulling you backwards. You stumble, running face first into your Dad, who, after a quick once-over, is running into the pile to pull the two men off of each other. Shadow’s being pulled back by Ghost and Venom, Revenge moving in the middle. Hangman’s got a hold on Coyote, Fanboy keeping Rooster at bay, Payback standing between the two of them. There’s shouting, from Penny probably, and the Green Vipers take their leave. Your heart is hammering in your chest as you glance at Phoenix, who’s worry is evident as her and Bob take you in. You somehow end up outside, Coyote sitting on the bench, the rest of the group crowded around. You’re leaned up against the railing, eyes closed as you try to sort out your feelings. The front door opens and you briefly open your eyes to see your Dad exiting the Hard Deck to toss a bag of ice at Coyote. Your eyes close again as you try to bite down the nausea surfacing. The group is quiet, waiting for you to make the first move. Finally, you shift, opening your eyes to look at your best friend. There’s a sweet bruise forming around his eye, another on his jawbone, but nothing is broken or bleeding. 

“Coyote, what the hell were you thinking?” You ask lowly and he grimaces. “Tell me you weren’t thinking because you’ve never done that before.”

“I was thinking I wanted Shadow to shut the hell up and the only way to do that was to put my fist in his face.” You groan, not hearing you wanted. 

“Coyote, in the almost three years I’ve known you, that is by far the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” Coyote sighs and leans back up against the bench. 

“I don’t regret it. I regret a lot of things but finally punching Shadow’s face is not one of them.” You really take in Coyote’s figure for the first time since the fight broke out. He’s slumped against the bench, defeated. “I was complicit in their abuse and I’m sorry.” 

“Coyote-” You protest but he shakes his head.

“(Y/N), I’ve done something that you’re going to find out about over the next few days. You’re going to be really angry at me and I’m sorry that this is how this is going to come out, but I need you to know that I don’t regret it.” 

“Coyote, what are you talking about?” You’re confused but there’s an element of fear appearing as well. Coyote’s never talked like this.

“What I’ve done is probably going to end our friendship.” There’s a weakening in your knees at the thought that there might be a day where you and Coyote aren’t friends anymore. “(Y/N), I need you to know that whatever happens over the next few days that I’m sorry, but I don’t regret what I did protecting you and making things right. Being friends with you has been some of the best years of my life and I’m sorry this is how it’s ending.” You think you might be sick as tears surface. The way Coyote’s is talking is scary and you look at Hangman, who is confused about the scene unfolding. You glance at Rooster, who looks equal parts baffled and concerned. Coyote glances at your Dad, handing him the ice. “Thanks for everything Mav.” He finished, standing up. He’s moving past the group, out to the parking lot and before you knew it, he’s driving away. 

“Dad?” You find yourself asking, fighting back the tears. Rooster’s hand finds yours. Your Dad sighs, looking away from you. 

“You’ll find out in your meeting with Admiral Simpson tomorrow.” You sigh as your Dad stands up, disappearing back into the bar. 

You feel Rooster tugging on your arm. “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

-

You knock on the door of Admiral Simspon’s office and then open it. Warlock is there too along with another Admiral. Cyclone clears his throat upon seeing you, beckoning you further into the room. “Lieutenant, please come in.” You shut the door behind you, walking to the desk cautiously. “Lieutenant, this is Admiral Oliver “Mercy” Davis.” The man puts out his hand and you shake it, forcing a smile. 

“Admiral, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“You as well Lieuetnant.” The two of you sit and you face Cyclone.

“Admiral Simpson, uh, am I in trouble?” He shakes his head. 

“No, no, far from it. Admiral Davis here just has some questions for you about your previous assignment before the Iron Daggers.” It takes you a moment and then it clicks. 

“The Green Vipers?” Mercy is nodding.

“Yes, we’ve gotten reports of harassment so we’re just doing a routine investigation. We’ve been talking to previous pilots who’ve flown with them, people who were stationed at the base with them. Numerous people, including your wingman, have named you as a primary subject of the harassment so we’re just looking to get your side of the story and all of the information we can about this certain squadron.” You nod. “You’re not in any trouble of any kind and you won’t be in any trouble for speaking with us or for the things you share with us. The Navy can protect you from any kind of retaliation they may try to enact against you.” You glance at Cyclone. 

“There’s no chance any of this will get back to my Dad?” Cyclone shakes his head, despite Mercy’s eyebrow raise.

“No, what you say in here is confidential and won’t be repeated to Captain Mitchell.” A wave of relief washes over you knowing you won’t have to disclose these experiences to your Dad. 

“Oh, you're Maverick’s daughter?” Davis asks, chuckling. You nod. 

“I’ve flown with him a couple times. Good man.” 

“He’s the best.” You respond. 

“Well, let’s just get started, why don’t we? Let’s start with something easy. How long did you fly with the Green Vipers?” 

-

The words came tumbling out of you after that. Experiences you had shoved down came pouring out and poor Admiral Davis didn’t seem like he could keep up. Cyclone’s face went stony the longer the interview went on. Finally, after at least two hours, the interview began to wrap up. “Well, thank you for sharing your experiences with me Rebel, I do appreciate it.” Davis says and you nod. “Do you have any questions for me?” You nod again.

“What happens now?” He sighs, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, you’re the last person we had on our list to interview. The Green Vipers are grounded indefinitely. I have to report back to the investigation committee and we’ll discuss each pilot’s future individually, but there’s going to be a disbandment of this squadron. Some are facing dishonorable discharges.” Ghost, Shadow, Raven, certainly. Revenge and Arrow probably. Maybe Coral and Moonshine too. Hopefully not Owl. You nod, taking in this information. 

“Swiper and Ruby weren't there when I was. I don’t want their careers to be ruined over this.” You clarify and Davis smiles at you. 

“For a team that tried to break you, you only seem to be kinder.” He pauses. “No, Ruby and Swiper are grounded for the moment while we complete the investigation but they’ll be re-assigned.” 

“Can I ask who made the original report?” You asked, fearing the answer. You were certain you knew but you needed to hear it. 

“Your wingman, Lieutenant Machado. Said he was guilty for his part played in the harassment and wanted the Navy to be aware.” 

“Is he... is he facing grounding too?” Davis hesitates and glances at Simpson. He nods. 

“Because he didn’t come forward sooner and did play a complicit part in it, yes he is facing some form of repercussions. There was discussion of grounding him, yes.” You glance at Warlock panicked. 

“Don’t ground my wingman, please.” You say, the panic obvious. Cyclone raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, this probably isn’t professional but I’m- he’s my best friend and I’ve never had a better wingman.” Davis nods. 

“The way the two of you fly together is what’s keeping Lieutenant Machado’s wings at the moment. Rebel, you have to understand that the Navy needs to take these kinds of reports and especially to this magnitude seriously and there needs to be repercussions for everyone involved.” 

“If Coyote were to get grounded, would... would I be reassigned?” You ask, voice low as you think about having to start over. 

“No, no, not at all. We’d find you a new wingman or assign you to Rooster or Hangman.” Cyclone assures, although it doesn’t make you feel better. “You’re too much of an asset to the Iron Daggers.” 

“What about Thompson?” 

“That’s a bit more difficult. He’s highly decorated but his disregard for the rules and wellbeing of some of his pilots raises a lot of alarm within the higher-ups in the Navy.” You nod. 

“How many pilots on my squadron know about this?” Warlock is the one to answer this time. 

“Rooster and Hangman have been informed because of the possible switch-up of wingman. They’re not aware of what’s happening, other than there’s an investigation involving you and Coyote about your previous assignment. They were informed this morning.” You take a deep breath, leaning back into your chair. 

“Sorry, this is just a lot.” You mumble. Davis shakes his head.

“No need to apologize. We’re more than grateful for your help. I just wanted to let you know that the Navy has resources for you to further discuss your experiences and what’s currently happening should you need to. Admiral Simpson can direct you to them should you need them. No shame in asking for help.” You nod, knowing you weren’t planning on taking a trip to the base therapist over this. Davis excuses himself and Warlock follows. Cyclone folds his hands on his desk as you look at him. 

“Rebel, I know this is hard on you.”

“Do you?” You ask, words said with an edge that probably shouldn’t be said to your CO but you find you don’t care. “The Iron Daggers, Coyote, they’re the first family I’ve had in a really long time. And now, it’s getting ripped out from under me, for people I’d rather never think about again. How am I going to explain any of this to my Dad?” Cyclone sighs. 

“The Navy failed to protect you (Y/N) and I’m sorry.” You look up at him, seeing the seriousness of his face. “I’m fighting for Coyote, believe me.” Cyclone looks at you for a while and then sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Sort of what you need to with your Dad and Lieutenant Machado.” You nod, find yourself numbly pulling yourself up from the chair to wander out of the office. You wander through base, starting to feel more than a little lost and dazed and you eventually find your way to the parking lot. Climbing in the car, you drive aimlessly before eventually pulling up in front of Rooster’s home. The Bronco is in the driveway, meaning he’s home and you climb out, opening the front door. 

“Darling?” He calls from the kitchen and you round the corner. He looked up at you from where he’s examining a pizza menu. “What’s- oof.” He says as you throw yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around him. He returns the hug, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Darling, you’re still dressed from base. Why don’t you get changed and I’ll order food and we can talk about your meeting?” It’s a great idea but the words are out of you before you can stop them.

“They’re talking about grounding Coyote.” He takes a step back, looking at you. 

“What? Why?” You shake your head. 

“Pizza first.” He huffs out a laugh, nodding. 

“Yeah, I’ll order it right now. Go get changed darling.” You make your way to the bedroom, pulling on some of the extra clothes you’ve left here over the course of the last six months and when you return, Rooster’s on the couch. He pulls you into his arms and you settle on his chest. His fingers are carding through your hair as your brain tries to wrap itself around everything that’s happened over the last 24 hours. The two of you sit there until the pizza arrives and you shift to a crosslegged position as Rooster sets it down in between the two of you. Rooster’s watching you carefully as you eat the food, thinking through what you want to say. 

You finally settle on, “I don’t want to lose Coyote.” 

“You won’t.”

“I’m so mad at him. Why, why did he stick his neck out for me like this? What the fuck was he thinking?” You take a deep breath, setting the slice you had been holding down in the box. “He’s so dumb. I’ve never held what happened against him. I know sticking up for me would’ve cost him, I knew the friendship was damage enough. It doesn’t even matter now so I don’t understand why he’s doing it. I’m gonna lose my wingman and there’s nothing I can do.”

“(Y/N), why didn’t you ever tell anyone about how bad they were? Tell me or Mav? The shit they said last night, that was just the tip of the iceberg wasn’t it?”

“Because. It’s humiliating and embarrassing and I’d rather not think of those two years ever again.”  You pause. “Did you know what he was doing?” He shrugs. 

“I... might’ve overheard him tell Mav he was going to file a report about your previous assignment.” You shoot Rooster a look, angry he hadn’t told you. “But I didn’t know why or what was gonna happen, I promise.” He rushes to defend, seeing you get tense. You groan.

“What do I do now?” 

“Talk to Coyote.” 

“No, I’m so fucking mad at him over this dumb, self-sacrificing, noble bullshit.” Rooster sighs. “God, and how many more things is my Dad gonna keep from me?” Rooster shifts, moving the pizza box to the floor and is then reaching for your legs, pulling you against him. 

“No matter what happens, he’s still your best friend.” 

“Well, obviously.”

“Does he know that?” You shrug.

“He should.” 

“Well, maybe you should start by reminding him.”

-

It’s been a few days since your meeting with Admiral Simpson and you haven’t spoken to Coyote since he put his fist in Shadow’s face. The group is at the Hard Deck, a game of pool happening as you sit quietly in the corner. You’re ignoring Coyote and he knows it and so does everyone else. You’re still not certain what’s happening with the Green Vipers or Coyote’s future. Hangman has temporally been re-assigned as your new wingman, Coyote taking his spot as Rooster’s. No one involved is happy about the switch and it’s ended in no less than three different arguments between the four of you. To which your Dad yelled at the four of you today, a conversation approximately no one enjoyed. You wanted to go home but Rooster had begged you to come with him and you really couldn’t ever say no to the brunette so here you were. Coyote’s looking at you and you’re avoiding his gaze, studying the records on the wall of the Hard Deck. 

“(Y/N).” He says firmly and you glance over at him. “We need to talk.” 

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.” His face falls but he pushes on. 

“Where do we stand these days? Because not knowing is killing me.” You look at him, with a shrug. 

“I don’t know, I’m still really mad at you.” He sighs. 

“Look, if this is the end of our friendship, I’ll accept that, but at least just tell me.” You sigh, feeling frustration bubble up.

“No, Coyote-” You sigh again. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Look, (Y/N), I’m sorry that this came out, I know you didn’t want anyone to find out about it but-”

“Coyote, I could not give less of a shit about that.” He pauses, looking at you. 

“So... why are you mad then?”

“Why- why am I mad? Because you’re an idiot for putting your career on the line for something I don’t care about. I’ve never blamed you for standing by while we were there and instead of talking to me about it, you went and told the Navy. I might lose my wingman because you decided to pull some self-sacrificing noble bullshit. You’ve left me with fucking Hangman because of this.”

“Hey, I thought we were friends.” Hangman protests and you whip around to face him. 

“You’re on thin fucking ice Seresin, shut up.” He puts his hands up in surrender and backs away. 

“I want my wingman back. What the hell were you thinking?” Coyote looks baffled. 

“So... just to clarify, you’re not at mad me because everyone found out about what they did to you?”

“Jesus fuck- no. I mean yeah, I would’ve rather they never found out and not like this certainly, but I’m more mad that I might lose my wingman.” Coyote’s staring at you. “Nothing? You have nothing to say.” He opens and closes his mouth a few times, looking like a fish out of water with how wide his eyes are. You shake your head. 

“Fine, whatever.” You push past him, walking out of the front door of the Hard Deck. Your Dad’s following you, Rooster not far behind him. Your back is turned to your Dad as you look out of the ocean, trying to rub the tightness from your chest. 

“(Y/N)-” He starts and you turn. Rooster’s leaned up against the wall, trying to look as if he’s not there. 

“How many more secrets are you going to keep from me?” He sighs. 

“Like you don’t keep secrets from me?” 

“Oh, please, enlighten me, what have I kept from you?” 

“You almost dying? The way your last squadron treated you? You don’t think those were important things to share with your father?” 

“Could you have handled the truth?” He’s stunned for a moment. 

“Look, I had an obligation to Coyote as his instructor and superior officer to not say anything to you. And maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be here right now, but Coyote’s made his decisions. You need to respect that.” 

“You don’t think I had a right to know?”

“And what about my right to know my kid almost died? That she was being actively harassed for two years? What about that?” 

“Mav.” Rooster warns and your Dad seems to deflate. 

“You figure out what’s going on with you and Coyote because I need my best wingmen back.” 

“Well, he might not even be my wingman anymore because they’re talking about taking his wings.” Your Dad doesn’t respond, just watches you carefully.

“Lieutenant Machado needs you.” He finally says after a moment. “Look, Ice isn’t here anymore. We don’t have him to help us. And maybe he would’ve done something different, but this is what I did.”

“Dad-”

“Figure it out.”

-

You walk into the Hard Deck the next day. It was a long day of training, the bickering between everyone following you the whole day. The team is falling apart and you’re not even sure they know why. You haven't explicitly told the Iron Daggers what’s gone down, and you’re not sure who did (you suspect Rooster, you’re pretty sure there’s a group chat without you in it, dating back to the days of before the Iron Daggers were the Iron Daggers) but it’s tearing the team apart. But there’s no way to be certain and you’re not about to find out. You were the first out of the locker rooms today, ready to drink beer and eat pretzels and sit around for an answer to come. Coyote’s already there, nursing a beer at the counter. Jimmy’s chatting to him, clearly trying to cheer him up. With a sigh, you sit next to your (maybe not anymore?) wingman and he glances at you. Jimmy hands you a beer and then looks between the two of you.

“The two of you still not talking?” He asks and you glance at the older man as Coyote shakes his head.

“How’d you know that?” You ask, starting to pick at the label of your beer, a nervous habit you’d adopted at the Green Vipers. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Coyote’s hand twitch, like he’s itching to take your hand to stop it, something he’s always done. 

“Penny. Well, Mav told Penny. Penny told me.” 

“Of course he did, Dad can’t keep his mouth shut for shit.” You mutter and Coyote’s snorting because it’s not really all that true. Your Dad could get stabbed and he’d keep it to himself if he could, never trying to worry or burden anyone. You glance over at Coyote, really studying him for the first time in days. He looks tired. He looks up at you, meeting your eyes. He opens his mouth to says something when the door to the Hard Deck is being slammed open. You go cold when Shadow comes barreling through the door, Raven and Ghost not far behind him. The rest of the Green Vipers are following, Venom, Ruby, and Swiper bringing up the rear, looking more than slightly confused. 

“You bitch!″ He yells and you fall off of your chair in fear, stumbling back into Coyote’s chest. His hand reaches out to the small of your back, gently keeping you upright. “You bitch, you got me dishonorably discharged!” Before you know it, Shadow’s got a fist full of your jacket and he’s bringing you close to his face. 

“The hell’s your problem? Hate us so much you had to report us to the Navy for harassment?” Ghost fires and you’re mildly panicking. 

“Let her go Shadow.” Coyote says calmly. 

“And why the hell should I do that?” Shadow snaps, fire lighting his face. “Give me one good reason.”

“Because she’s not the one who asked the Navy to do an investigation.”

“Then who the hell did?!” Raven shouts and Shadow’s grip on your shirt is getting tighter and tighter by the second. You’re afraid that at any moment his hand is going to go from your clothes to your throat.

“I did.” Shadow’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t let go of you. 

“And why the fuck would you do that Machado?”

“Because she’s my best friend and I needed ensure no one would hurt her that way again.” Shadow’s looks is venomous as his look goes from you to Coyote. 

“You two, you deserve each other, honestly.” Owl states and you look at her. 

“You know,” You start, finally deciding you’d had enough of them. You were done being scared. What more could they do? “One thing I like about me is that I’m nothing like you and I never will be. You can’t hurt me anymore. You tried to break me and you failed.” You didn’t think anyone’s eyes could go any darker with rage but Shadow’s do as his second hand comes up to the other side of your shirt. You’re really afraid now as Coyote stands up abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. 

“Lieutenant Robinson, I suggest you let go of my pilot before I have you arrested.” Comes Cyclone’s firm voice. You’re not certain he’s going to let go, too far into his rage to think clearly, but it resonates somewhere in Shadow’s brain and his hands slowly slip from your clothes. In an instant, Coyote’s pushed you behind him, effectively cutting Shadow off from getting to you again without having to go through Coyote. “Get out of this establishment, all of you, or I’ll have the police called.” Shadow doesn’t make to move but Shost pulls him back. After a few moments, they’re gone, save for Venom. Your heart is racing with what just happened and the realization of what all of it meant. Cyclone being here, Coyote’s early arrival, Shadow being dishonorably discharged... it all meant one thing. 

They had taken Coyote’s wings. 

The thought alone is enough to make you want to vomit as you move away from Coyote, who's trying to ask you if you’re okay. Distantly, you hear Venom angrily start an argument with him. You slip out of the back door of the Hard Deck, feeling the emotion crash over you like waves crashing onto the shore not so far away. Before you know it, you’re vomiting up into the trashcan sitting on the back deck, just out of Coyote’s line of sight. You don’t stop until you’ve dry heaved everything out of your stomach and are borderline sobbing into the trashcan. 

You had just lost your wingman.

-

You walk through the doors of the hangar classroom, feeling like shit. Apparently, you look like shit as well as Fanboy lets out a low whistle. “Damn, who pissed in your morning coffee?” Payback asks but you ignore him. 

“Seresin, have you heard from Coyote?” He looks up at you from where he’s talking to Rooster and Bob, taking you in. He shakes his head slowly. 

“Not since we left here yesterday, why?” 

“They grounded him.” Hangman’s face falls and Rooster’s next to you in a second. You don’t tell them about what went down at the Hard Deck the night before, a conversation for a later date. 

“Rebel, I’m so-” Phoenix’s voice is soft, coming from just over your shoulder, but you turn, shaking your head. You push past them, taking your usual seat. Usually, Coyote would be next to you. Guess that’ll never happen again. 

It’s not too much longer then before Cyclone and Warlock walk in to the classroom, but you feel like your ears are filled with water as you look at the empty seat next to you. It’s something so mundane, a piece of furniture, but his absence left a huge hole in the team. You weren’t sure where your friendship stood these days with him, leaving an even larger hole in your heart. Cyclone’s halfway through the training debrief for the day (one you’re not actually listening to) when the phone on the desk rings. Everyone looks at it confused, the thing never actually having rung before. Cyclone moves to answer it as everyone looks on with curious fascination. 

“Admiral Simpson. Yes, uh huh. Well, Captain Mitchell and I would be happy discuss that with you. Yes, we’ll see you in a few moments.” Cyclone hangs up and looks back at everyone. “You’re all dismissed to go get changed. You’ll meet us out of the tarmac. Captain Mitchell will finish giving you instructions then.” He turns to Maverick, already moving towards the door. “Maverick, will you follow Warlock and I please?” He’s nodding, moving to follow the pair out of the doors, but then Hangman’s talking.

“Uh, Admiral Simpson?” He asks and you look over at him. Cyclone turns. 

“Yes, Lieutenant Seresin?” Hangman makes eye contact with you and you shake your head. You know what he’s going to ask and it’s not worth it. You’re not sure you can withstand hearing the words come out of Cyclone’s mouth. 

“Uh, never mind.” Cyclone nods and the three resume their walk out of the classroom. You stand up and follow the team to the locker room. The walk is quiet and when you go to split off, Rooster’s arm is reaching out for you. You brush him off, heading towards your side. The mood is solemn as you change into your flight suits. At one point, you groan, your head making an awful thud as it makes contact with the front of your locker where you had face planted. Halo’s closer and she chuckles, reaching out to pull you back. 

“Don’t worry Rebel, I’d feel the same way if I was stuck with Bagman.” She jokes and you force a smile. There’s knocking on the door of the locker room. 

“Hey, everyone decent?” Fanboy asks. 

“Yeah, we’re all good.” Phoenix calls and the doors open to reveal a swaying Fanboy, who’s still got a hand covering his eyes. Phoenix snorts. “Seriously Fanboy.” He peeks out from behind his hand, a light blush covering his cheeks. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt it’s just-” He pauses, looking over to you.

“Just what? Spit it out Fanboy.” Halo urges, moving up off the bench. 

“It’s Coyote.” The alarm bells in your brain start ringing as you push past Fanboy, through the group of men crowded around your side of the locker room, trying to keep your feet from running to the airfield. Hangman and Rooster are close behind you as your pace never falters. Out on the airfield, there he is, with Cyclone and Warlock and Admiral Davis. They’re chatting with your Dad as Omaha and Fritz look on. Coyote catches your gaze and he gives you a half-smile. 

“What do you think’s happening?” Yale whispers and you look over at him. 

“I don’t know, but that’s the admiral who interviewed me as part of the investigation.” Hangman glances at you. 

“Well shit.” Hangman responds. You can feel Rooster’s eyes on you, urging you to not go over there but it’s too late. You’re striding over to the group of men with whispered protests from Bob and Phoenix as you hear Hangman’s “Damn Bradshaw, your girlfriend’s got balls.” You appear just next to your Dad, smiling brightly at Admiral Davis. 

“Admiral Davis sir, it’s good to see you.” He returns the smile. 

“Mav, I gotta tell you, your daughter- she’s something.” Your Dad smiles, resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Thank you Mercy, I’m proud of her everyday.” 

“As you should be.” Cyclone states and your cheeks go warm from the praise. Coyote’s nudging your hand, trying to hold back a laugh. 

“Well, Cyclone do you mind if I stick around? I’d really like to see these two fly together.” Davis says, gesturing to you and Coyote. A flare of hope alights in your heart as you look at Coyote. 

“Of course Admiral Davis. Coyote, why don’t you get suited up while Mav instructs the groups?” Coyote’s nodding as the group breaks apart. 

“Alright, all of you, listen up. We’re changing things up a bit today...” Your Dad’s voice fades off as you follow Coyote to the locker room, even though you’re probably not supposed to. They let you go and you’re grateful. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Coyote asks after a beat of silence. “Last night was scary.” You nod. 

“Yeah, I was fine. You were there.” He huffs out half a laugh. “Coyote, why- why wouldn’t you just talk to me? I’m not worth you risking your career over.” He falls silent, mulling over this words. He shrugs. 

“I’ve carried that guilt for a long time. And you’re happy here and I wanted to make sure the Navy would never take that from you again, even if it cost us our friendship.”

“And your career?”

“You matter more than my career.” You’re at the door of the locker room and you turn to face him. 

“Coyote-”

“Look, you’re my best friend. You know things about me only a handful of people in this world do. I’d give my life for you and I’d do anything to make sure you’re happy and safe. And what happened at the Green Vipers was a wrong I needed to fix. I don’t give a shit about my career if you’re not the one flying up there with me.” You open your mouth to respond but Coyote’s cutting you off again. “You and I both know that wingmen have an unbeatable bond and we’re one of the lucky few that get to keep flying together. That work as seamlessly on the ground as they do off of it. I know your Dad had that bond with Ice, know he was that close with Goose. You’re my best friend and you weren’t happy there and you’ll never say it outloud but you and I both know you were questioning your place in the Navy because of them.” Coyote’s rushing the words out now, like if he stops, he’ll never start again. “I couldn’t watch you hurt anymore, wait for the opportunity for you to get hurt like that again. And if that meant that if my career went down with theirs, so be it. You have a really good thing going right now, with the team, with Rooster, with your Dad, I couldn’t- couldn’t let you fucking throw it away.” You’re stunned, reeling as you take his words in.

“How close were they to taking your wings?” You whisper. 

“Pretty damn close.” He breathes out, tears surfacing in his eyes.

“Why didn’t they?”

“Because of you.” 

“The hell I’d do?” Coyote gives a watery laugh. 

“Fly with me.” 

“I only want to be here if you and I still get to fly together. You know that, don’t you? You know Hangman and I would get each other killed.” Coyote shakes his head, giving you a look like he wants to hug you but restrains himself. 

“Mav and Cyclone were instrumental in keeping me here, and we didn’t know for sure until this morning whether I’d keep my wings, but I was told explicitly the only reason the Navy didn’t make an example of me was because of how we fly together. How we’re too much on asset to this team and the Navy to split up.” 

“Jesus, Coyote.” You say, because you don’t know what else to say. He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, trying to keep in the tears and you take that as the perfect opportunity to barrel into your best friend’s chest, pulling him into a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything, just returns it. After a few moments, he pulls away. 

“I gotta go get changed.” You nod, but don’t move away. He gives a silent laugh, understanding that you’re not leaving. When he returns a few moments later, the two of you head back to the airfield, a comfortable chatter emerging. You pause in front of those left (Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, and Payback) and Hangman smirks. 

“I still think you hooked up.” He says and Rooster’s promptly shoving Hangman over as you laugh. 

“You know Bagman, unlike you, I don’t need sleep with everything that moves.” Fanboys snorts as Hangman glares you. “Sorry, but your reputation as a man whore precedes you.” Hangman’s flipping you off as Hondo approaches, warning the six of you that you’ll need to get in the air soon or Maverick will have everyone’s head. You all break off for your planes and soon you’re back in the air, with Coyote on your side, things better than they have been in weeks. 

“Hey Rebel, what do you say we put a little friendly wager on this?” Coyote calls. The six of you have been broken off into pairs. You and Coyote, Rooster and Hangman, and then the other four. The goal is to get as many other people out as possible without leaving your wingman. 

“What do you got in mind Machado?” You call back. 

“If I get more kills, you and Hangman have to go on a friend date.” Rooster’s laughing through the comms as you shoot a dangerous look at your best friend through the canopy. 

“Fine, but if I get more kills, you have to go on a friend date with Rooster.” It wasn’t that Rooster and Coyote didn’t get along, but despite the fact that they were two of the most important people in your life, Coyote’s alliance to Hangman made it difficult for them to co-exist. Rooster’s laughter ceases as Payback erupts into laughter from his plane. 

“Oh, now we’re talking.” He calls.

“You’re on Rebel.” Coyote shoots back, and then you’re breaking apart. You successfully get Phoenix and Bob out, with Coyote getting Hangman out. Another successful kill from Coyote takes out Fanboy and Payback, leaving Rooster pretty much defenseless. The two of you are doing some of the best flying you’ve ever done together. “Rooster, c’mon man, give it up, you’re not gonna win.” Coyote calls over the comms. “Give me another kill so Seresin and Mitchell here have to go hang out.”

“Over my dead body.” Rooster shoots back. Coyote’s still far away enough that he doesn't see Rooster, but you almost have a lock on him, unbeknownst to either party. 

“Hey Coyote, what was that Marvin Gaye song from the 60′s? Something about a mountain?” Coyote chuckles. “It goes something like ‘Cause baby there ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you.” Coyote starts singing along with you and then the dial tone’s sounding.

“Shit. Mav, that has to be cheating.”

“Cheating? For what?” You ask incredulously. 

“Sorry Rooster, no rules about singing.” Mav’s voice comes from the comms, laughter hidden behind his words. He’s only up there to make sure no one goes down, so you know he’s enjoying himself. 

“Hey Rooster.” Coyote calls. 

“What?” The man asks, clearly disgruntled. 

“Na na na, na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.” The two of you sing. 

“Fuck you!” Rooster calls as the two of you start laughing. 

“Sorry babe, can’t help that I’m such a distraction.” You call. He grumbles as the seven of you make your way down to the ground. You climb out of your plane, laughing with them as you join the other pilots who are gathered on the ground. 

“Wait, does this mean I still have to hang out with Bagman?” You ask and Phoenix is roaring in laughter as you panic.

“Technically, no one won.” Your Dad says, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“But no one lost either.” You defend hastily. 

“I mean, I’m still game if you are.” Coyote says as Rooster groans. You glance at Hangman. 

“Fine, Coyote, I’ll hang out with Bagman, if you hang out with Rooster.”

“This seems more like punishment for Rooster than Coyote.” Omaha says with a laugh. You smile at Rooster, who despite everything, returns it. 

“Yeah, but he’ll do it for me because he loves me.” He presses a quick kiss to your cheek. 

“I’m not doing it because I love you.” Hangman states, looking disgruntled as he glances at Coyote. You snort.

“I don’t knowwww, the two of you looked pretty loved up to me that morning you guys were cuddling in guest room.” You sing as Hangman goes pale. 

“Hey! You swore never to bring that up!” Coyote practically yells as you snicker with Fanboy and Payback. Halo looks at you in confusion. 

“Pics or it didn’t happen.” She says firmly and you tilt your head. 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty on my phone in the locker room.” And the team is scrambling up, dying to see them. Distantly, there's a shout from Fritz about why you didn’t send it to the group chat. Coyote’s eyes narrow.

“You better run Mitchell.” You shove your helmet into Rooster’s chest as you take off, hearing his oof as Coyote’s footsteps follow you. He’s faster, always has been, and soon he’s got you in his arms. He doesn’t tackle you, thankfully, as the thought of being tackled into the hot tarmac asphalt sounds less than pleasant. “Take it back! I’m not in love with Hangman!” He yells, humor coloring his tone.

“Never!” You shout back, but the two of you are laughing and if it wasn't for Coyote’s grasp keeping you close to his chest, you’d fallen over. “Good to have you back Lieutenant.” You whisper and he smiles at you.

“Good to be back. We still best friends?”

“Ain’t no way in hell you’re ever getting rid of me Machado.” 

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw imagines #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fics #rooster bradshaw imagines #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fics #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fics #javy coyote machado #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fics #same mistakes

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Who is the Sexiest Fictional Podcast Character?

After a Round 2 which saw 28,069 votes on 32 polls, we are on to Round 3 of the tournament! This time we are finally bringing in characters from Welcome to Night Vale.

Round 1 Masterpost

Round 2 Masterpost

Round 3:

Scripted Bracket

Isabel Lovelace (Wolf 359) vs The Witch Queen A.K.A. Daughter Dooley (Old Gods of Appalachia)

Sir Caroline (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs Alé (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel)

Peter Nureyev (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Antigone Funn (Wooden Overcoats)

Mabel Martin (Mabel) vs Oleta (Within The Wires: Season 1)

Everyone from the Strange Case of Starship Iris vs Static Man (Archive 81)

Mina Murray (Re: Dracula) vs Georgie Crusoe (Wooden Overcoats)

Yaretzi (Hello From The Hallowoods) vs Hera (Wolf 359)

Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) vs Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359)

Unscripted Bracket

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies) vs Taako (The Adventure Zone: Balance)

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Chine (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Gable (Campaign: Skyjacks) and Nicky Close (Dungeons & Daddies) vs Fourteen Fifteen (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Killian Fangbattle (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Suvirin “Suvi” Kedberiket (Worlds Beyond Number: The Wizard, The Witch, and the Wild One)

Tender Sky (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage) vs Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia)

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea) vs Ibex (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight)

Ver'million “Millie” Blue (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN) vs Kravitz (The Adventure Zone: Balance)

Adelaide Tristé (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron) vs Hella Varal (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Night Vale Bracket:

Cecil Gershwin Palmer vs Steve Carlsberg

Erika vs Francis Donaldson

Deb, a sentient patch of haze vs John Peters (you know, the farmer?)

The Glow Cloud (Sr.) vs Josh Crayton

Dana Cardinal vs Susan Wilman

Earl Harlan vs Dr. Sarah Sulton

City Council vs Amelia Anna Alfaro

Hiram McDaniels vs Joseph Fink

Dr. Carlos Dave Robles the Scientist vs Lee Marvin

Huntokar vs Nazr al-Mujaheed

The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home vs Eunomia the General

Michelle Nguyen vs Fey

Kevin vs The Man in the Tan Jacket

Maureen Johnson vs Kareem Nazari

Station Management vs Leonard Burton

Old Woman Josie/Josefina Ortiz vs Simone Rigadeau

#Round 3 #Mod Update #podcasts #Tumblr Bracket #Welcome to Night Vale #I was falling asleep when I wrote this. I'll catch it later.

[elmundodeflor]

CRACKS ON PORCELAIN - a gift for @someonestolemyshoes

READ THE FULL FIC ON AO3

The third flash of realization comes unexpected, one late-night where he's bathing them. He had to drag them there, — out into the common showers. They would have stayed in their room for another day, signing off papers and permissions, hadn’t he done so.

“Oi”, he’d asked, soon as he’d opened the door. “How long has it been?”

Hanji’d barely looked up at him.

“My brain’s fried, Levi.”, they’d sighed, as they ran their fingers through their hair. Good thing he didn’t even need to be specific. “I can barely remember my own name by now.”

He’d nodded.

“More of a reason to get moving, then.”

Now, mercurial blue hours twinkle in the haze between dusk and morning. Hanji’s bare before him, and the pale moonshine traces contours on their body. They’re concave and convex, frail and strong. All too swift, all at once. Levi can’t help but find shapes upon their back, — like he’s connecting dots between muscle and scar. A planet, a cloud. He pretends that he’s a painter. That each stroke of light and shadow brings his work to life.

He lathers up soap between his hands. Water ripples at each one of his movements, as he washes down their neck, their nape, their shoulders. He’s careful handling them, — he always has been. There’s a part of him that feels that Hanji’s made of glass, — that a single blow could shatter them to pieces. They don’t need the extra pressure— the world puts enough on them already. It’s why he holds them with sheer delicacy— as if they’re Erwin’s vase, and he’s trying to bring their broken back to earth. Not everyone gets to see the softer sides of him, but Hanji; — Hanji’s different. They understand him— simple and complex as that. Everyone else is intimidated by his presence, and yet they tease him for being clean-cut. Will say titans don’t shit just to play around with him.

His fingers trickle down their spine, their waist; shy, meticulous. As if all his endings have turned to sea-foam. They have a secret pact. A tacit agreement that goes unexplored, untouched in moments like these, where they’re too hush and helpless. They don’t ask him why he does all of this for them, and he never speaks the two words that would give them enough of an answer.

“You stank, you know.”, he says, instead. His voice’s sweet, but then he stops himself.

He can feel bone under his palms. Sharp, and fierce and rigid. He doesn’t recall it being there before, the last time he’d bathed them. Sure, Hanji had always been skinny; tall, and with a languid frame. Still, it was never like this. It was never this bad. He would know. He’d engraved each scrap of them into his heart before.

When was the last time he’d even seen them eat?

He clears his throat, and swallows hard, and lets out a sigh. He can count each vertebra that pokes from under the skin. It seems that, beneath the shadows, they’re different phases of the moon: one crescent, one full. There’s little muscle in sight; only the thinness of flesh. The tough realization that this is all it’s come down to.

“Hanji…”

They tell him nothing back. They don’t wish to talk about it, and he knows better than to push them further. All of a sudden, it’s like they’re a kid who’s been caught red-handed. A famous criminal found at the theft scene.

It does make Levi’s soul shrink, — to watch them like this, all too small; knees pulled to their chest. They used to shine with every color in the rainbow; a whisp of bright and vibrant. Now, they’re only rain. Nothing but the cracks on a porcelain vase; no liquid gold to glue them back together.

He gets up from the chair he’s in, goes fetch for a warm, fluffy towel. Hanji stands up to their full height, and covers up their breasts with their hands, but he can see it, still. Their weak build, the protuberances on their hips and ribs. For a moment, it almost looks like they’ll bend and fall. Like water will weigh them down, and they’re not sturdy enough to carry themselves to make it.

He’s worried sick about them. Oh, God forbid, he’s so, so worried. He doesn’t understand, — how could he be this selfish; much too focused on his own pain to even notice Hanji’s.

“I’m cold.”, they whisper, barely audible.

And when he wraps them up in cloth, at last, beaming with all the love that he’s capable of, he can only promise himself one thing:

He won’t let them disappear. He can’t. He’ll never.

He won’t let Hanji Zoe become cracks on porcelain.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi #hange #hanji #levi x hange #levi x hanji #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff and angst #canonverse #canon compliant #post return to shiganshina #mentions of depression #depression #darker themes explored #hurt/comfort #angst and hurt/comfort #light fluff #light humor #teasing #playful banter #friends to lovers

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Muscle Heads: Ohma x Raian

Chapter 1: Shut up, Raian

“Oi brat, wake up.” A large fist rapped on the Japanese-styled door separating the man and his neighbor; the occupant still fast asleep on the other side. He waited impatiently for a few seconds before knocking again.

“Hey,” Ohma Tokita raised his voice this time, eye twitching slightly as the sound of Kure Raian’s intense snoring somehow increased in volume.

Noisy idiot.

It was the middle of the night, the only light illuminating the room was thin, slivers of silver moonshine slipping through the curtains. The lithe fighter had about all he could take from his neighbor’s incessant snoring, if it could even be called that. It sounded like a motor engine malfunctioning, dying down every now and again only to suddenly start back up. Raian woke him up three times already, three times in the last five hours, and at this point he was on the verge of throttling him in his sleep. 

As expected, Raian wasn’t exactly the quietest roommate, but it wasn’t exactly like he had much of a choice. The main Kure mansion was mostly full, with the only room left at the end of this hallway a joint room next to Raian. Ohma could guess why his room was the only one unoccupied. Raian, the troublemaker that he was, liked to train late at night, meaning midnight or after, and oftentimes Ohma could hear him smashing something at one in the damn morning, a peal of his familiar cackling laugh piercing his peaceful slumber. For the sake of the old man Erioh who let him live there without rent, he grit his teeth and bore with it. And boy was it hard sometimes.

There’s free food here, Ohma reminded himself. Free food and all the strong fighters anyone could wish for. 

The first day he had moved in after his surgery he had found Raian squatting and looming over him at three a.m., staring down at him with a silent, toothy grin on his face right next to his futon. Ohma never thought there would be anyone weirder than Kiryu Setsuna until then, and in a sleepy haze he threw a sloppy punch that Raian easily dodged. And then that fucker proceeded to jump out his window. In his defense, Ohma was still a bit woozy from the medication for his heart and wasn’t expecting Raian of all people to break into his room, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have missed his target. Karla he had expected, which was why he made sure everything was locked down before he went to bed. But somehow Raian had managed to get through the locks without a sound and then proceeded to leer at him like a stalker.

Regardless, Ohma had grown accustomed to his weird habits as he himself was not exactly normal. But these past two days Raian had begun snoring loudly and constantly, and he was at the end of his rope. Or else he wouldn’t be standing in front of the backdoor, freezing in the chilly winter night in nothing but his boxers.

Damn, Ohma growled as Raian let out a particularly loud rumble, opting to just break the lock and deal with him before he was sentenced to another sleepless night. 

The bolt snapped easily under the pressure of his hand, the door creaking softly as he slid it open, revealing Raian spread-eagle on his back in the middle of the room. Somehow the demon Kure had migrated from his bed to the floor during the night without waking up, mouth parted and drooling.

The wool blankets were strewn around him, tangled around his powerful legs and barely covering what Ohma assumed was his naked groin.

Really? During the winter? Ohma sighed.

He let out an irritated huff and padded towards the younger fighter, nearly tripping over multiple items thrown haphazardly on the floor. Nudging him with his foot, Raian just snorted and rolled over to the other side letting out a string of curses under his breath. Several prods later and he was still snoring soundly, and Ohma subtly wondered how he hadn’t been murdered in his sleep yet. The Kures had a lot of enemies, and he was sure Raian had even more than the average clan member.

“Hey wake up,” Ohma stooped down and shook his shoulders hard, finally waking up the resting boulder.

Apparently Raian wasn’t used to being woken up in the middle of the night, immediately lurching forward and pushing Ohma to the ground with a snarl. “What the fuck do you want bitch?”

“For you to stop snoring, moron,” Ohma squeezed the wrists that were holding him down, eye blazing and rearing for a fight.

“Oh yeah?” Raian taunted with a wide smirk on his face, applying more pressure to his grip and drawing out a growl.

Pulling his leg back, Ohma rammed it into Raian’s stomach and threw him across the room, sending slight tremors through the walls of the house from the force of his kick. It was a miracle none of the other Kures were woken by the racket, but then they were probably already used to whatever unholy sounds came from Raian’s room at night.

Barely fazed, said Kure lunged forward and met him halfway, locking hands and wrestling each other to the carpet with an audible crash.

They rolled across the floor, knocking over any furniture in the way and spitting insults that would make any sailor blush. Normally Ohma was relatively immune to threats and curses, but something about Raian made his temper short-circuit sometimes. Perhaps listening to him “snore” that loudly for over a week had done it.

Eventually, Raian was able to get the upper hand on Ohma, hard knees digging into his waist as he rocked his weight back on the other man’s thighs. His body weight kept him pressed down on the ground, though Ohma could have easily broken free. 

But he was feeling generous (tired) today.

Ohma was almost tempted to smack the sneer off his face, but he knew that would just escalate the fight. Honestly he was surprised the whole place hasn’t been demolished-excluding the fist-sized holes in the plaster-and waking up the entire neighborhood wasn’t exactly on his to-do list.

Just bear with it for now, Ohma thought grumpily. I’ll slap the shit outta him in the morning. Just you wait kid.

He had completely forgotten about Raian’s state of undress until he glanced down, suddenly bucking up his hips and trying to push him off. It wasn’t like Ohma cared much about nakedness, but he’d much rather not have a grown man sitting on his dick when he was only in his boxers. Especially not Kure Raian, who was fully naked like the weirdo he was.

“Get off and put some pants on dipshit!”

Raian’s grin grew impossibly wider and he stuck out his tongue, forcing Ohma back down with his ass. “What, does it bother you or something, you perverted fuck?” With a harsh bark of laughter he roughly ground down on Ohma making him hiss.

“Son of a bitch!” Ohma swore noisily and redoubled his efforts to escape, whipping his head back and forth. This was giving him serious flashbacks to Imai Cosmo. Except back then his adversary was thankfully clothed.

“Uncomfortable? Or just excited to see me?” Raian thrust his face close, making Ohma bang his head on the ground with a solid thump to avoid being headbutted.

“Motherfucker,” Ohma grunted and turned his head to the side, too tired to deal with his bullshit anymore. His eyelids felt heavy, he had barely slept the last two days after all, and training over eight hours a day definitely didn’t help.

For a moment the only sound in the room was their panting, and neither men moved. 

“Going to sleep already?” Raian’s breath was hot on his face, so close that Ohma could smell the scent of the udon he had for dinner mingled with a faint trace of sweat and cologne.

Cologne? Since when did Raian wear cologne?

“Back off, your breath stinks,” Ohma groaned and held a hand between them.

“Oh yeah, you fuck? How about a closer whiff?” Raian cackled.

“For fuck’s sake-” The rest of his sentence was abruptly cut short as Raian surged forward to collide their lips together, or at least tried to. A jolt of pain shot through Ohma’s mouth as their teeth clashed, the familiar metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

Raian latched onto his bottom lip with his teeth, biting down hard as Ohma moaned in pain. Grabbing his shoulders, Ohma tried once again to push him off, but Raian had his biceps in a vice grip and neither fighter was budging.

Fine then, if he wanted to play rough then so be it. 

Snarling, Ohma shifted his weight onto one side and rolled Raian under him with all his strength, placing him on top this time. It shocked the Kure enough to let him go-finally, he was about to chew through his lip, and damned if he had to answer questions the next morning.

“You mothefucker! You call that a damn kiss fucking brat?!” Ohma roared, blood spilling from his cut and dripping down his chin, where it splattered in crimson pools all over Raian’s chest.

“What, like you can do better you dumb virgin fuck!” He flung his head forward again, but this time Ohma was one step ahead of him and got there first, trying to force his tongue in his mouth.

The ensuing battle for dominance was nothing short of a gross mess with an excessive amount of spit and blood, but as Kengan fighters it was nothing compared to the battles they’ve experienced. As expected, neither gave an inch, at least not until Raian suddenly grabbed a fistful of his seaweed hair and gave it a vicious tug, strong enough to pull out a clump of dark brown strands.

“Fuck!” Using the opportunity to slip into his opponent’s mouth, Raian’s victory was short-lived as Ohma took the chance to exact retribution by sinking his teeth deep into his tongue. Huffing through his nose, Raian saw red as Ohma bit down even harder. 

Sharp stabs of pain shot through Ohma’s back as Raian dug his fingers hard into his muscles, which Ohma returned by jabbing as hard as he could into his bulging biceps.

White hot agony exploded behind Ohma’s eyes as the delinquent rammed a knee into his groin and his legs gave out, his forehead bashing against Raian’s upper lip. 

“That...was for the fucking tournament…” Raian wheezed between breaths, chest heaving with the other man still laying on top.

“Shut up...Raian…” Eyes shut tightly, Ohma could feel himself drifting away in the darkness, too tired to even bother getting off of him.

“...You weigh...like a goddamn truck.”

“Shitty brat,” Ohma’s voice was barely audible and he didn’t respond to the poke in his ribs that would have normally pissed him off. There was the soft sound of rustling as Raian shifted underneath him before falling still, hand relaxing on his shoulder.

Giving up trying to fight back the darkness threatening to engulf him, he let the sound of Raian’s quieting pants and warm body lull him to an easy, dreamless sleep. He could always beat him in the morning, after all. 

There was no more snoring for the rest of the night.

***

“What the hell?” In the doorway stood Kure Hollis and Reiichi, who were sent to find them after neither man showed up to breakfast.

“Should we wake them up?” Reiichi whispered. Raian twitched from his position on the ground, face scrunching momentarily but didn’t wake. 

“No, I don’t want to deal with waking up that devil Raian in the morning.”

“Why are they covered in blood? And why is he naked?”

“I don’t know, but don’t tell Karla.” Hollis sighed.

“Don’t tell me what?” Speak of the devil, and she shall arrive.

“Oh fuck.”

#kengan ashura #kengan omega #tokita ohma #kure raian #ohma x raian #tokita ohma x kure raian #raian x ohma

[barkskins]

── @luriddaze , striker & norah !

in a 24 hour span, striker cannon could get up to just about anything. as he stumbled through the streets, he attempted to pinpoint exactly why it felt as though birds were twittering around his head in a taunting loop. he had long since lost track of his concussions—was it eleven? twelve?—and instead treated them with a glug of whiskey and a good sleep. that morning, though, he had woken up in the gutter behind the trashcans, his head throbbing and his knuckles blued. tattered converse clung to his feet as he stumbled. the morning was sleepy beneath the haze of the early sun; the only people out were the early risers, the commuters, the yoga moms and, of course, the men that had never returned in the night. his trailer couldn’t have been far, but without a phone (he was quite the technophobe) and feeling as though his head was twirling like clothes in a washer, he decided against an attempt to navigate. one of his brothers would find him, eventually. that’s if the cops didn’t get him first. “scuse me, ma’am.” ever the southern gentleman, just like his mama taught him. “i don’t know whether you can help me, but my head smarts real bad and i can’t remember where the hell my trailer’s parked. could i trouble you for a glass of somethin’?” water, juice… moonshine?

#i hope this is ok lil angel #interactions ── striker & norah .

[sandsorghum]

03.02.2023

1st fic of 2023, and obviously it's for a very special someone's birthday! I would also like to dedicate this to the person who so graciously and generously encouraged me to keep writing in 2022, in their hands all my scraps and ramblings and odd ends become treasure maps for plots and perhaps even a few things yall can keep a look out for down the road 👀

That individual is none other than @sukunasun. Not only are they galaxy-brained, they're somehow both the comet from which i tailspin and the sextant parsing constellations from the cosmic chaos of my fictitious obsessions. They're both moonbeam and moonshine, without them i would be lost and have to face that most horrible prospect of sobriety. TLDR if you're a JJK fan and not following them wtf are you doing with your existence. Go, be illuminated.

Anyway I wish I had more time to polish up this piece but I didn't want to procrastinate any further, so hope yall enjoy this. Feedback and reblogs greatly appreciated as always!

Studies in Graphite

Genre: High School AU, Humour, Romance WC: 2.6k Point of inspiration

You abhor these afternoon classes. They were despicable especially at the height of summer. 

The post lunch haze was extra insufferable, the satiation from a food coma conspiring to coil anaconda like around your bones, urging hibernation. You had anvils for eyelids and the drone of the teacher only added extra weight to them. 

But there was one thing helping to keep you awake, a singular saving grace that prevents you from entirely loathing the midday heat which made the hours ooze by excruciatingly. You don’t mind the minutes melting together, the taunt of the second hands’ tick tocks is ameliorated by the way he’s illuminated.

Your classmate sits one desk and several eternities away from you, silhouette radiant against the 4pm sun. The sharp slope of his nose and the jutting edges of his jawline cast shadows in all the right places, delicate strands of his fringe that frame his face begging for a breeze. Still, that forehead remains unfurrowed, even with the bead of perspiration that rolls past his temple, arcing across the high cut of his cheeks to drip down in the hollow of his throat. Your own grows scratchy and dry at the descent of this dewy melodrama, mesmerizing in its mundanity, causing you to swallow hard. 

The pen perched upon his lips inspires you to lick your own chapped, cracked ones as he fiddles and flicks the writing instrument around, so his knuckles now rest against that plush bottom lip, joint tentatively pressed in thought to it. 

God, how the sun adores Geto Suguru. 

And then there were those eyes, brighter than any beam daring to stream in through the windows to challenge his gleaming coal gaze. It appears attentive enough and yet he exudes an aura of boredom. If only that sight might slide a couple inches to his right, where you were. Although, you realise immediately as the thought forms, that’s a foolish thing to wish for - he’d catch you staring, and you’d burn to a crisp in a moment.

Focus, you chide yourself, dropping your eyes to your notebook, graphite grazing against the paper in languid loops and swoops. You could never quite get his expression right, maybe fuller lashes, or a little less shading of the philtrum? 

There’s an echo of annoyance in the distance, words muffled by their irrelevance but then you hear the syllables most familiar to you spill from an unfamiliar voice, much closer and quivering with the timbre of amusement. He knows your name? Your sight flicks to the side, and oh, there’s the quirk of Geto’s lips to match your silly little hopes. They tilt further with the incline of his head, and at last you trace the sound of exasperation to your teacher. 

“Uhm, sorry sir, what was that?” you stutter, shooting up too abruptly and knocking your textbook to the floor. 

With a long suffering sigh, the teacher repeats himself.

“Name the solution.”

“Just one second, Yaga-sensei…” You scramble to retrieve your book, bending down but a pair of hands beat you to it. Suguru passes it to you, mouthing page 56. 

You duck your head in an abashed gesture of appreciation, flipping like a hurricane through the pages. You clear your throat, stalling for time as you frantically scan for the relevant question. Suguru hums low, signaling assistance and your eyes dart over to his index, tapping the top right corner of his page. You feel the glare of your teacher barreling towards your bowed head yet you still steal a second to flash Suguru a grateful grin before glancing at where he’s hinted. 

Perfect! You actually knew this one for once.

Triumphantly you raise your head, reciting in a voice loud and clear, “Here we can apply Pythogoras’ Theorem, which is a squared plus b squared equals…” 

You trail off noticing your teacher’s perplexity at your unwarranted confidence, though it switches to irritation in a moment.

“If you’d like to join us, we’re on page 89,” he says in a clipped tone. 

“Ah, right. Sorry…” your fingers fly through the pages.

“...of the geography textbook,” he adds after an unnecessarily cruel pause. 

It’s not the tittering that swells over the rest of the classroom that make your ears burn scarlet, it’s the stifled snort from the side. Your entire body freezes but your eyes snap to the left, rebelling against your better instincts. And now you’re really scorching, regarding the way Geto Suguru has clasped a palm over his mouth to choke back his chortles, but you see them wracking his body, belly tensing and convulsing with slight shudders. 

Amidst the inferno of your infuriation and shame, any gratitude towards Geto goes up in smoke. Still, some small part of you appreciates the view before you, his eyes glittering with mischief, attention fully on you and your seething stare, as you expect embers of embarrassment to spark where your fingernails bite into your palms. Alas, even the gasoline fumes of his grin don’t ignite any real flames in your hands to char that stupid smirk off him. 

You’ve heard the rumours, Geto Suguru was pegged to be the next valedictorian. 

But now, for a fact, you know he’s also made it to the top of your list of Handsome Assholes Not to Trust. Ever. 

As you slump back into your seat, dignity shriveled, you barely register the exasperated sigh of your teacher.

“Would anyone else like to volunteer the answ- oh great.” His grumble gets cut off by the shrill of the bell, indicating the end of the period and thankfully, the school day. 

You haul up your books and hurry out to the corridor, deliberately ignoring Geto calling after you, despite how sweet the syllables sound ringing out from him.

You yank your locker door open, snatching your bag and stuffing everything into it haphazardly. You had to get off campus as quickly as possible but - your pack feels less bulky than usual. You’re missing your notebook. Shit, it had all your assignments - or more accurately the distractions from your assignments in it. You rummage through files and folders. Of course your bag chose this precise moment to unfathomably transform into a black hole, of course -

“Looking for this?” 

And of course Geto Suguru had to be the one holding up the very thing you were looking for, bemusement twinkling in his eyes. As he strides toward you, you wonder if the inexplicable cosmic phenomena in your bag could swallow you up first. 

It doesn’t, naturally.

“Hello,” Geto says, unnaturally chipper. “You dropped this just now.”

You can tell by the sparkle in his eyes the worst has happened, he’s already rifled through it.

“Give it back,” you snap, holding your hand out. Geto’s a good several feet taller than you, you’re not about to humiliate yourself in front of him a second time today by treating him like a basketball hoop. 

He waves it back and forth anyway, seeing if he can get a rise out of you. And sure, if someone popped an old-fashioned thermometer in your mouth, the mercury would be rocketing up. 

“You’re so quiet, I always took you for the diligent, studious type ya know? Turns out you’re quite the day dreamer, aren’t ya?” 

“Give it back,” you repeat with pitch-perfect stoicism. 

“But I wonder what you dream about at night,” Geto muses, as if you were mute. “Or should I say who?” 

That thermometer under your tongue has turned into a cat’s claw.

He presses the spine of your notebook to the corners of his mouth in mock contemplation, and your mind screams louder Don’t say anything! Just make him submit with your stare. Your brain always provides the best advice.

That your mouth just doesn't abide by.

“That’s none of your business. Probably nightmares of Yaga-sensei, thanks to you.” 

“Sorry, sorry. You were just so perfect…” 

“Excuse me?” You’re caught wholly off guard by the combination of Geto’s half-assed apology and what seems to be his entirely sincere compliment.

“For my plan,” he elaborates, advancing toward you. Your heart skips a beat for every step Geto takes closer to you. 

“Class was almost over, I just needed an incident to make sensei forget about giving us homework. Or maybe, a few more minutes to help me get through the day,” he hums, voice dropping low. You don’t need to lean forward to hear Geto, with how he’s looming over you now, your body caged between the locker and his arm. 

“Either way, you were the perfect distraction.” 

“If you want to express your thanks, you ought to return my property.”

You clutch your bag to your chest, trying to form some sort of shield between you and the hot gust of Geto’s chuckle. Or perhaps it’s a sound barrier, so he doesn’t detect the drumming of your heart; you have a hunch that’s futile though. 

“Your property? See, I don’t know about that. Sure, you bought this book, but the intellectual property inside, the likenesses of certain images, that I certainly don’t remember authorizing the replication of...”

“You gonna stand there and lecture me about...about copyright infringement?” You huff, incredulous. 

“Well, no,” Suguru cocks his head, contemplating your retort.

“I suppose involving you in my earlier stunt is payback enough.”

“Payback?”

“Mmhmm, for invasion of privacy.”

“You’re the one who went through the contents of my-”

“You must have taken a picture of me without my permission,” Geto frowns, as if disappointed that you’d try to fib so pathetically.

“I didn’t!”

“Hm? How else do you explain the quality of your art? You must have had some sort of reference, or sneaky recording.”

“I- I did no such thing! I just drew you from memory and thought about your face a lot!” You yell, composure shattering like glass. You see Geto’s smug victory reflected in its shards.

Too late you realise the outburst his accusation triggered is just what he wanted.  

“All that from memory? It’s awfully accurate, that’s impressive.” Geto murmurs, and you’re taken aback again by how much he means his praise.

“You honestly think that?” You mumble, temporarily forgetting the original transgression that allowed him to have any opinion of your work in the first place. 

Geto nods, holding your gaze level with his. “Although you probably shouldn’t doodle in class so you can avoid humiliating scenarios.”

“Oh yea, and what should I call this then?”

“Well, we’re technically outta class now, I can’t give you any guarantees there.” 

Your breath hitches with the slender finger that Geto slyly slides beneath your chin, tilting them so your mouth is perfectly angled to meet the one you’ve been fixated on for months, breaking in dozens of 2B pencil points on their outline, the precise shape of their smirk remaining elusive. Now, that you had an up-close study though…

“I - um - I suppose I should concentrate during lessons more,” you admit, “Art’s not a real subject anyway…” 

Geto’s lips twitch downward in the same motion he arches a brow. 

“Not real?” There’s a huskiness, a promise, a risk to his rhetorical inquiry. 

“This subject doesn’t feel real to you?” 

Suddenly, a weight collides against your mouth, Suguru’s scent invades your senses - but not his taste; something feels wrong. There’s just the texture and flat flavour of wood pulp, no warmth of flesh or curve of a wicked grin crashing against your lips, certainly no wet muscle stroking along them, probing aggressively for entrance. 

You had cinched your eyes shut to brace for the impact of your first ever kiss but they fly open again to investigate the abnormal sensations, so foreign to your fantasies. You’d always anticipated some degree of incongruity with reality but this wasn’t how any man’s mouth should feel, definitely not Suguru’s. You would know, after all, you had devoted a...not insignificant amount of time and mental capacity considering what his in particular might feel like.

The cunning bastard’s gone and slipped the notebook between your mouths, the pages pressed between lips. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) the notebook’s less thick than when you’d purchased it. In your exasperation you’d torn out dozens of pages of failed starts and imperfect sketches of Suguru. And now, you’re further frustrated by the irony that if only you’d ruined more of your drawings, the individual you’d based them on would perhaps have been able to give you a proper kiss, damned fantasy obstructing reality.

But even now, you feel his heat, his hunger. 

This close to him, your noses are brushing, foreheads bumping. Obviously you can’t see the smirk etched on his mouth blocked by the notebook, but it’s traveled to his sparkling eyes, mirth apparently finding permanent residence there. You think it probably is unlucky after all, for the pages to be so thin, you wouldn’t want anyone catching you and Geto Suguru making out (not making out?) in the school hallways, that would be-

“Oiii Suguru, I’m finally freaking done! Let’s head to the arcade, I’m gonna smash your Street Fighter record!” 

You glimpse a shock of white hair and dark sunglasses, and hurriedly shove Suguru away. 

“Oh. Is there another record you’re more interested in setting?” 

Suguru shakes his head at his best friend’s snarky comment. Birds of a feather, you think, dazed at the close shave. You barely register Suguru curling his fingers around you, but the light squeeze of his hand sends a bloom of warmth rushing through your body. 

“I was just swapping notes with her,” Suguru responds nonchalantly. 

“Yeah? Looked more like you were swapping spi-”

“How about you get some practice rounds in first, you could use the head start.” 

 “Now you’re telling me not to dawdle? After spending all semester sighing about…”

Your schoolmate squints at you, then his friend, then back at you. His face is inscrutable beneath his shades, but Suguru seems to have picked something up. 

“Give us a few minutes, Satoru. Alone.” 

He clasps his hands behind his head, scoffing, “Right, because that needed emphasis.”

“Whatever. Bring enough change later, no excuses for copping out this time,” he drawls, drifting back down the hall. You turn back towards Suguru.

“Street Fighter?”

“It’s an ongoing bet. Long story,” he responds with a vague gesture.

“Right.” 

“Right.”

You lock eyes with him, curiosity ballooning, the question you’re so tempted to ask stretching the silence even tauter. For once, your muse studies you instead, patient and observant.

Slowly you ask, “Was I really that obvious in class?”

Suguru shrugs - or attempts to, the jerky movement of his shoulders syncing with the grin splitting his face. “Nah I just have extraordinary peripheral vision.” 

You bury your face in your palm, fingers valiantly attempting to dam back the flood of blood to your cheeks. 

“You know, I wouldn’t have noticed if the resemblance wasn’t that striking.”

You shoot a glare at him. “Are you humble-bragging about your looks right now?”

He laughs, an unfettered full-throated ribbon of sound reverberating in your bones. “Not intentionally. I just meant, you’re talented. You should keep it up.”

He notes the incredulity wrinkling across your expression and his smile widens.

“In fact,” he taps the hand clutching your notebook. It’s light and playful, but there’s a touch more tenderness in his tone, “if you want to keep improving your drawing skills, next time just ask me to be your model, all right? I can’t promise I’ll sit still the whole time though.” 

Airily, too daringly, you reply, “I don’t expect you to.”

Suguru’s eyes glint, in recognition of your challenge.

Since that day, you've stopped tearing out the pages.

Not that it really mattered how thick or thin your notebooks were when the pictures leaped out of them at you, that same charcoal gaze turning your skin to canvas; His very own work of art, a portrait to savour in private.

#geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru x reader #suguru x y/n #suguru x you #jjk suguru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #geto x you #sandsorghum #that drawing of him is 100/10 #isn't it so SO gorgeous #it makes me insaNe

[shelovesplants]

Got some new strains for the holiday weekend 💨

Babe on fire 🔥

Moonshine haze 💨

#weed strains #weed #cannabis strains #cannabis #marijuana strains #marijauna #my photos

[fabulous-nest]

Hello Blog! Has I sit here on my beach lounger... you are thinking "who is this Bunny boy?!" Well Lads, Ladies and Lalas I am here to give you a brief introduction to... ME!!

First off my name?

Well you can call my Haze and that's all the name I want to give currently. BUT if you want to know the others... well... you can have a look around..

And where can you find me?

I am based on the Light Data centre but from time to time I visit Chaos Data Centre.

Okay now that we are ALMOST buddies I'll give you little fun facts about myself.. Eh I am not good at these but I will try so please bare with me.

I am a expert in burritos. Now before you get too excited.. the bed burritos.. with blankets and pillows.. I can wrap you up so tightly Zodiark will have trouble getting through.

Clumsiness is my middle name... anything you can think was impossible to do.. lets say... I find it possible.. like twisting my ankle while sitting... don't know how it happened but it did!

I am a Carnivorous bunny. I HATE vegetables.. and if you want to bribe me throw your carrots away and give me a meaty burger I will 10000% listen to you then.

I love looking Fabulous. Hay can't blame a bunny for wanting to look sexy and dashing!

Stealing Moonshine's clothes... yeah I like stealing his clothing and making a bunny nest.. his clothes are highest of quality so that means the highest quality nest!

Being Koala to Moonshine... enough said, I just to be around him as much as possible.. even if it means being his koala.

Winter love! Summer HATE!! I love winter the cold is nice and I love it... summer feels like hell and feels like Ifrit is slapping me with hellfire.

I can sleep anywhere.. as long as I am comfortable I can sleep..

Crafting is a Swear... Yea want to scare me and run away show me a crafter and I will quiver in fear.... moonshine can show me crafting because of... reasons.. -smirk-

Exercise + Me = Lazy bunny .... yeah exercise isn't my strong point.. I am a mage not a cave man.... I will find lazy ways to do what I need to do...

Well that's 10 facts! AND hopefully with this blog I will share more fact through my stories! So lets get on this journey and I will love to see where this Bunny Dairy becomes!!!

So BUNNY out!

#final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy 14 screenshots #final fantasy xiv endwalker #final fantasy xiv blog

[strikercannon]

new years — the bar !  ( closed for — @blairambrose​ )

the mason jar striker had been cradling the entire night may have looked like water , but god would such an assumption have been wrong . brewed in their own rusted bathtub ( the one in the trailer labelled ‘ his ‘ , as though both of the trailers weren’t shared by all three brothers ) that moonshine sure did pack a punch . it had his already pigeon-toed gait tripping over himself as he walked his way to the bar , using the wood to aid in propping up his oversized , gangly , 6′1″ frame . blinking through the liquor-haze , a crooked smile shot across his face like an axe through the air . “ well , if it ain’t little blair ambrose ... “ a dark chuckle as he clung to the bar top , “ i ain’t seen you for god knows how long . am i right in assumin’ you an’ dodge are callin’ it quits once again ?? i keep tellin’ him , i said you jus’ gotta tell her how you feel , bubs . he ain’t never takin’ my advice , not after the racoon incident ... “ the more he spoke , the more he slurred as he used blair herself as some sort of support . 

#alcohol tw #interactions ── striker cannon & blair ambrose .