#which was not entirely intentional but I did end up leaning into it as I went on with the drawing.

[chiropteracupola]

granby + iskierka + keynes

[lushlovers]

arms, J. Burrow

summary; as joe's preparing for the upcoming season he just gets thicker and thicker in all the best ways

warnings; a little subby joe😋, smut, oral (m receiving), little slut-shaming, pet names, teasing gaaaassssppppp.

word count; 950

note; okay, he's been looking extra good and I just wanna eat him all the way up, I hate this, the abrupt ending yuck, nd also dunno how it went the way it did but it happened so...

"Can you put me in a headlock, baby?" Joe choked on the bite he had just taken, not only at what you'd just said but at the look of pure seriousness on your face. He's still in that tight in all the right places sleeveless shirt, shorts that made his ass look incredible, and the snap-back that had the perfect amount of his hair falling onto his forehead. It's taken you months to get him to grow his hair back out finally and now that you've succeeded you're begging to pull at it while your legs close around his head every chance you get.

After his miniature coughing fit comes to an end you're smiling at him ever so innocently from across the kitchen as he sips his water eyeing you curiously, "I'm sorry, but that's an interesting, request, sweet girl," you shrug, still keeping this faux naive demeanor, and the bedroom eyes you're throwing his way has jokingly him shaking his head and rolling his pretty eyes.

Kissing your teeth as you walk around the counter revealing the fact that your legs are bare in contrast to the sweatpants you were wearing when he had first got home is now an afterthought, he cocks his head slightly to the left, raising his eyes brow, "what brought this on?" However, he's not entirely shocked this is an everyday thing. Holding his welcoming hands out and spreading his legs for you to tuck yourself into him, which of course, you do. "just the slutty, compression shirt, tight shorts combo, also tiktok edits!" you state completely honest, leaning into him and when he doesn't reply with anything other than a snort, you find yourself kissing up his neck, to his jawline, and back down till you meet his shoulder searching for even the slightest reaction.

He sighs, soaking in the feeling of your lips and tongue moving sloppily over the delicate, sensitive spot on his neck that you locate out of sheer muscle memory, absolutely sucking a dark hickey into the skin running along his jugular, "It's not a no, mama. Whatever you want, wanna make you happy." Now, you're smiling against him at just how breathless he sounds over a few sloppy kisses, "No one makes me happy like you, Joey."

as your lips find themselves grazing his bare shoulder, you lace your fingers together, "We better head upstairs, 'fore my mom and dad get here for dinner," when your eyes meet his you find that they've glazed over and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Suddenly it is so damn hot in here, feeling like you need to come in and get some air conditioning after hours in the Ohio sun.

Whatever you were making, now somehow you have completely forgotten what it was, is in the oven, you two have a bit of time and you will be using every millisecond of it to your advantage. Before you both know it, you're on your knees in front of him running your palms lightly over the tent in his shorts as he sits on the edge of the bed watching even your tiniest of movements. He takes the hat he has been wearing and gently places it atop your head, smiling down at you and your teasing fingers, lifting his hips into your touch.

He catches on to the slight tug at his shorts and lifts his lower half for you to remove both items of clothing separating you from his dick, you watch intently as his face contorts and his abdominals flex when your hand wraps around him. He groans from deep in his chest and you absentmindedly press your thighs together, "More, please."

His tone and actions completely radiate submission, and it's rare to see this side of him, and you sure as hell relish in that as you spit in your palm, focusing your attention on the tip alone as he ruts against your hand searching for just a bit more. Using both hands now, one on his cock and the other raking your nails down his thighs leaving goosebumps in your wake. You keep up your teasing and Joe's lost all control, completely unable to sit still and the only thing leaving his mouth is stuttery, 'so good's, moans, and grunts.

The sound of the oven beeping downstairs falls on deaf ears but the obnoxious timer that sounds from your phone does not, completely breaking you from the trance you had seemed to be in, "Oh, there's dinner, maybe you should freshen up, sweetheart," You stand above him momentarily awaiting his reaction, as his jaw goes slack, "baby, two minutes, please? Was so close." Shaking your head, you slip into the walk-in closet finding one of his college football tees and some sweatpants.

"Mom and Dad, remember, Joey?" Upon your exit you find him tugging up his briefs as he heads in the direction of the shower going out of his way to avoid even your hands brushing his, you catch him by his shirt pulling him back toward you, "Tonight, I'll make it all up to you, I pinky promise," poking out your smallest finger, waiting for him to loops his with yours and he does. You step up on your toes to kiss him on his lips, then his cheek, his chin, his jaw, and just before you make it to his collarbone, he grabs your waist pulling you back to prevent any further torture, "'Kay tonight, you fuckin' tease."

As you descend the stairs and head into the spacious kitchen, you hear the shower turn on and exhale a breath you didn't know you had been holding in. Coming to the realization that you both managed to receive the short end of the stick this time, you've gotta finish cooking something nice enough for his mother and he needs a cold, cold shower.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Four

A/N: Hello friends! This chapter is one of my favorites, full of angst and longing (my favorite things to write). I got to write from Rhaenyra's perspective, too, which was a new challenge. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged! Thank you for all your support of my writing! It's been so long since I've been invested in a story and part of that is due to your encouragements. <3

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 3.8k Synopsis: Things come to a head, as a tense argument breaks out in the Dragonpit. Jace reaches out to his mother for help.

Tag List: @rinisfruity14, @gaiaea, @rexorangecounty

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The next few days pass in a blur. Jace is embarrassed; you rejected him. But more than anything he is frustrated. You didn’t reject him because you don’t share the same feelings, you did so because there is not a chance for the two of you to be together. Jace can’t change the fact that he is a prince, and even if he wasn’t betrothed to Baela, you are still titleless.

The truth of what you said in the gardens settles within him. So few got to marry for love. But his intentions have still not changed. He will keep fighting for you, he will find a way to change the current situation.

He spends the next few days staying away from you, shielding his pride, and coming up with a plan.

When he arrives at his mother’s door, a few nights after the garden, he doesn’t even realize he has come there, until he is knocking on the door. He is let in right away, and he finds his mother dining alone, smiling at something Elinda says.

“Mother,” he says. He cannot remember the last time he came to his mother’s chambers like this, upset and unexpected. His mother looks up with a smile, at the sound of his voice, but it falls when she sees his face.

“Jace?” she asks, standing up, “What is it?”

“I request an audience with the queen,” he says, straightening his spine, hoping to emphasize the severity of his arrival. A hesitant smile breaks across his mother’s face, and she lets out a chuckle.

“What is this?” she asks.

“Please,” he says. Something in her face changes at his look. She gives a curt nod to the maids, and they scurry out of the room. Once they are gone, Rhaenyra leans against her dining table, looking at him with curious eyes.

“You have the floor, Jace,” she says. He takes a breath, giving himself one second before he throws his entire life into disarray.

“I want to end my betrothal with Baela,” he says.

Rhaeynra knows Jace completely. He is part of her, after all. Her first son, her rock in so many ways during the war. But sitting at the head of her table the next day, watching her son speak with Baela, she is seeing someone new.

Jace has had a hard life. He’s seen so much heartbreak – chief among them, the loss of his brother. But through it all, he has always been a prince. Strong when he needs to be, with a kind heart, and a devotion to duty. She has never known him to bock at responsibility, in fact, he often seeks out more. He is the example of a perfect prince, a perfect son.

She chides herself for not realizing sooner that something has changed with him.

She remembers vividly the day he came back from the North, so many years ago. Just that short trip had made him grow up so much. She had foolishly assumed it was only due to the loss of his brother, that had flung him into adulthood. But he had grown on that trip, excelled with the lords and ladies he met with, brokered deals for her, and apparently, had fallen in love.

There were thralls of guests at her table, but Rhaenyra didn’t pay them any mind. She barely even looked at Daemon next to her, or Joffrey on her right. All night, her eyes were on Jace, and his were on you.

Rhaenyra didn’t know much about you. You arrived in King’s Landing about two months back. When Jeyne Arryn had requested you to take ward here, Rhaenyra had thought little of it, so entrenched in the war. Even when you had arrived, she didn’t think much of it. There were so many faces coming and going in the Red Keep, you were just another one, albeit a beautiful one.

She knew that you were close with her younger boys, and Rhanea, too. She had seen Jace spending time with you, but she hadn’t noticed his feelings. She sees them now, though.

You are a beacon for Jace. Every move you make, whether it’s to laugh at your tablemates, or simply flicking your long hair over your shoulder, Jace’s eyes follow. And to Rhaenyra’s surprise, your eyes search for him just as often. A few times, your gazes collide, and a blush forms on your cheeks.

She thinks back to Jace’s words in her chambers. She had been completely blindsided. They had grown apart, now that he was older, and the war was over. They had begun to explore separate paths. But she thinks, even if they had been as close as they used to be, she still might have missedthe change.

“I want to end my betrothal to Baela,” he says. Rhaenyra looks at him, speechlessly, shaking her head to make sure she heard him correctly.

“What?” she asks.

“I want to end my betrothal.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I have fallen in love,” he answers. She studies his face, as if she hasn’t seen him until now.

“With whom?” she asks quietly.

“Y/N Arryn.”

She believes him now. She had been worried, when he told her, that he was being compelled by lust. But watching him now, it was true love in his eyes. And beneath that, lay a sadness she knew all too well.

Rhaenyra wants him to have everything. He deserves everything. But he is a prince, and he has a duty to his country to marry well and produce noble heirs.

If it had been another highborn lady he was betrothed to, the choice might have been easier. But this was Baela. Rhaenyra loves her, and she knows Jace does, too. Just – not in the way he feels for you.

“What would we tell Baela?” she asks.

“I- I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “But it’s killing me, not to be with Y/N.” Rhaenyra frowns at her son, cupping his cheek gently with her hand.

“I made a promise to Rhaenys years ago, that I would wed our families together.”

“I know,” Jace says, his voice hollow.

She searchs his face for a long moment. She wants to tell him no. There is no way it would work out, but he had already seen so much heartbreak in his life. And she knew the pain of an arranged marriage.

So, she hadn’t told him no. She told him she had to think about it. But she saw, it wasn’t going to be an easy answer, either way.

The next morning, Jace finds you reading in a corner of the castle, alone. It is the first morning you’ve spent in so long without Rhaena at your side, talking over suitors, or meeting with those suitors themselves.

Seeing Jace, at first, makes you blush, remembering the night in the garden. But then you settle when you realize how much you’ve missed him. He has become one of your closest friends here, regardless of the feelings you have grown for him, and not seeing him the last few days had hurt.

“Good morning, My Prince,” you say as he sits across from you.

“No one is here,” he says with a frown, “You can call me Jace.”

“Why are you up so early, Jace?” you ask. He gives you a soft smile and sighs, hopefully letting out the tension in his shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I might see Vermax, go for a ride,” he says.

“Is it tiring to ride a dragon?” you ask.

“It can be, I suppose. Although Vermax is gentle, when he wants to be.” His eyes flick to yours, and for some reason, you get the sense you aren’t just talking about his dragon anymore.

“It’s hard to imagine a creature of that size being gentle,” you say, closing your book.

“You should come see for yourself,” he says simply.

“What?”

“Come with me to the dragon pit. I’m sure Vermax would love to meet you,” he says with a smile.

“I don’t desire being burnt alive,” you say quietly, leaning in conspiratorially. Jace laughs softly, the dimple in his cheek prominent.

“Vermax would never hurt you if you’re with me,” he says. “I promise.”

“Well, I did come to King’s Landing to further my education. Feels wrong to come all this way and not see its dragons up close.”

The entire walk down to the pit, you are anxious. Your heart thuds and your breathing is shallow. You are starting to regret your agreement in coming down when Jace grabs your hand for one second and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re safe, Y/N,” he says as he guides you into the entrance of the Dragonpit. The look in his eyes makes it easier to believe him.

The pit is dark, even at the first light of morning. The temperature is at least ten degrees warmer, and there are sounds you can’t begin to distinguish coming from somewhere deep. Jace leads you to a long platform that looks over a slope. Glancing down at it, you see the tread of giant clawed feet. You take in a quivering breath as Jace greets one of the dragon handlers and requests that Vermax be brought out.

“Doing alright?” he asks, coming to your side.

“Yes,” you say, in an unconvincing manner.

“Vermax is on the smaller size,” he says lowly, “Although I wouldn’t repeat that to him.”

“Even small dragons are massive,” you say. Jace looks at you with a smile, opening his mouth to say something, when you hear a sound coming from the dark entrance to the pit. You move behind Jace out of instinct, as a very large green dragon walks towards you. Jace laughs to himself.

“You’re alright,” he says softly as the beast comes to a stop. Vermax turns his attention to Jace and lets out a breath of steam. You grasp onto Jace’s shoulders, momentarily terrified.

“Hello to you, too,” Jace says with a laugh. You sigh when you realize the steam must have been a sign of affection.

Vermax moves his massive head closer to the two of you, close enough that Jace can pat his snout. You want to shrink behind Jace, want to run, but you know that quick movements around a dragon are not wise.

With his other hand, Jace reaches behind himself, and grabs hold of yours. He doesn’t let it go.

“Do you want to say hello?” he asks, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or the dragon. Vermax’s eyes look to you then, and a shiver of fear races over you. “I promise, he’s scarier than he looks.” Vermax chuffs in response to Jace.

Slowly, you move to Jace’s side, dropping his hand for only a moment to switch which one you’re holding. You give yourself a moment to relax before meeting Vermax’s eyeline.

“Okay, now slowly raise out your hand,” he says. You do as he says, your limb shaking at the movement. Vermax’s snout, which is a good five times larger than your hand, sniffs at the palm. You wait with bated breath, until he nudges against it, and lets you rest your hand on him. You let out a sigh, relaxing as Jace smiles.

Now that you’re this close and settled, you realize that Vermax isn’t entirely green. There are spikes of orange-red that run down his neck. The contrast is striking.

“Oh,” you say with a sigh, “He is beautiful.”

“I’m in love with you,” Jace says in response. You whip your head to him so quickly, something in Vermax’s demeanor changes. Jace tenses and puts out a hand to the creature, at the same moment, pulling you back a step. It’s only a second, and then Vermax eases. Jace turns back to you and reads your wide, sad eyes.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” he says, “Don’t. It’s going to hurt me, and Vermax won’t like that.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you say, whisper soft. Jace shrugs.

“I don’t either.”

“We talked about this in the garden, it’s not something—” You stop when Vermax shifts again. Another breath of steam washes over the two of you, but this one somehow feels warmer, deadlier. Jace sweeps you behind him, holding you close to his back.

“Y/N is our friend,” he says to the beast, his words firm. “Our friend,” he says, and this time, chances a glance back at you at the word, friend.

“Maybe I should go,” you say. You realize you are still holding onto him, and then how much you don’t want to let go.

“He’ll settle,” Jace says, his hand covering yours, resting on his shoulder.

“Yes, but will I?” you ask, making him let out a tut of laughter.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says to Vermax. The dragon trills in response. Jace takes your hand and guides you back towards the Keep. “Don’t worry, everyone feels like this when they meet a dragon for the first time.”

“He really is beautiful,” you say, “In the most terrifying way possible.”

“Vermax is well tempered,” he says, “Be grateful you never saw Vhagar.”

“The stories were horrifying enough,” you say as you come to a stop outside the door to the castle. Your hand is still in Jace’s, the Dragonpit far behind you. You drop it, trying to do so indiscreetly, but Jace notices the absence and sighs.

“You were going to kiss me, you know. Back in your chambers,” he says. You stutter over a response, shaking your head in disbelief.

“There was one moment, yes,” you say, “But then I came to my senses.”

“No, Brigitta walked in,” he says, stepping closer to you. “That’s why you didn’t. And now, you can't even hold my hand.” He gestures around the empty space. “No one else is here!” he shouts. Below, Vermax calls out in response.

“You don’t get it,” you say softly, trying to keep your frustrations at bay.

“What don’t I get?” he asks.

“Do you know what I risk, just being alone with you? You are our crown prince, Jace, there is very little you can do to damage your reputation. If one person gets the wrong impression about us, if we give in to this feeling—” You stop when he moves closer still, his eyes alighting. 

“I would be ruined,” you say. “It wouldn’t matter that you are the prince. I would be tainted goods.” He snarls at the description.

“Y/N,” he starts, but you reach for his hand, stopping him.

“Jace,” you say breathlessly. “I wish there was a way but—”

“What if there was?”

“There’s not.”

“I asked my mother to end my engagement.”

“You what?!” you ask much too loudly, stepping back from him.

“I assumed you’d be pleased,” he says, hurt etched into his features.

“What did she say?”

“She is considering it,” he says. You sigh, leaning against the rocky cave wall. “There are a lot of moving pieces.”

“Of course there are. You and your family just went through so much grief to assure your mother’s claim to the throne. Why risk any of it again?”

“Because I love you,” he says plainly.

“We shouldn’t even be discussing this. We need to forget this; you need to forget me.”

“You act like it is so easy,” he says, approaching you again, “Tell me, have I confused your feelings for my own?”

“No,” you say quietly. “It’s not easy, at all. But what makes it harder is the fact that you keep bringing it up. You keep giving me hope,” you say, meeting his eyes. His are wide and nearly pull you in with the affection you find there.

“But there is hope.”

“Your mother is not going to cut Baela out like that,” you say, “And even if she did, I am no queen.” He looks at you sadly, like he wants to argue.

“You would make a good queen, Y/N,” he says delicately. You scoff. “Don’t you think I’ll be a good king?” he asks.

“Of course I do.”

“Then you know that I wouldn’t make the wrong woman queen.” He moves closer, taking your hands in his. He studies the way your hands fit into his, before speaking. “But even if my mother doesn’t agree, who is to say we have to be married? That we have to fight our feelings?”

“You’re suggesting I become your whore,” you say, face paling as you pull away from him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, reaching for your hand. You stay just out of his reach. “You would be taken care of—”

“Think of what you are saying,” you spit, “I would be an outcast. I would be your whore, and Baela your lady wife. Any children I bore you would be bastards. Is that what you want?” you ask. You think there might be tears forming in his eyes.

“Of course not,” he says firmly.

“As much as I wish things could be different, Jace, I just don’t foresee them changing. But you wound me, every time you get my hopes up.”

“You are not the only injured party, Y/N” he says. “What would you have me do?”

“Let me find someone else,” you say quietly. “Let me do what I came here to do and then I’ll be gone.”

“And I’ll just have to watch you with someone else?” he asks in disgust.

“Is that not what you just suggested I do with Baela?” you ask. He groans, gripping the railing along the walkway tightly.

“So, let’s say I agree to let you find someone else.”

“Let me?” you ask incredulously.

“That I stop fighting for you,” he corrects with a roll of his eyes, facing you again. “What if my mother changes her mind?”

“She won’t.”

“What if she does?”

“By then, it won’t matter to you anymore!” you exclaim.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“These feelings will die, if we let them. You’ve had this crush for so long, you think that our story must end with us together, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Y/N,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Let’s just call this what it is – an attraction that we danced around for too long.”

“Do you think me so foolhardy? That I would confuse lust with love?” he asks, taking your face in his hands, so you can’t turn away from him. “I am not that boy you met in the Vale years ago.”

“I know,” you say, putting your hands around his wrists.

“I have laid with women before.”

“Jace.”

“I have even thought I was in love,’ he says. “But never, did I feel anything close to this.” You close your eyes with a sigh, leaning into his palm. His thumb brushes your cheek as he frowns at you. You are speechless. You believe him, want to believe that his hopes can come true, too, but the logical part inside of you is more insistent than your heart.

“I just—” you start, sighing when his face falls. “Jace,” you say smally. He pulls away from you, retreating. “I think we need some time apart, to figure things out.” You are certain there are tears in his eyes now. He bites the inside of his lip and nods.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” he says.

“Jace,” you say, “We have to try.”

“Okay,” he says with a shrug. He looks so broken, you don’t want to leave him there, but you know there is nothing you can say right now to make him whole. You slip out the entrance, and it’s not until you get to your chambers that you let your own tears fall.

You are filled with so much anger. Anger at your father for fucking up your life in the first place. Anger at Lord Yorbert for arranging your initial betrothal. Anger that Lord Blacktyde left you so cautious about your next match. And anger that no matter how much you know you need to stay away from Jace, you can’t seem to.

You think you know the reason why, but you aren’t ready to face it yet.

Jace spends most of the day flying. The fresh air and altitude seem to clear his head a little. The moment in the Dragonpit never fully leaves his mind. He wants to do what you ask, because of the pain on your face, the pain he could practically feel himself.

But he loves you and doesn’t want to be apart from you. He thinks he might go see his mother when he lands, plea to her again. He needs advice at least on how to navigate this next bit.

When he gets to the Dragonpit, though, his mother is already waiting for him. He dismounts and moves hurriedly towards her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, breathlessly.

“There is trouble in the Iron Islands,” she says. “It seems skirmishes have been breaking out since my ascendence.”

“Ser Tyland?”

“He’s there now, fighting for what he claims is Lannister territory.”

“You want me to go lend our assistance?” he asks. She searches his face, a sad smile on her own.

“It will be dangerous.”

“I assume so,” he jokes, making her laugh to herself. “I’ll be careful,” he adds.

“I know you will.”

“I’ll leave tonight,” he says, “There’s just something I need to do first.” She examines his eyes, like she knows what he has to do, but she doesn’t argue. She just nods and leans in to kiss his forehead.

“Thank you, Jace.”

Night has fallen over the keep, and it is improper for him to go to your chambers this late, but he wants to see you before he goes. He must. The hallway is empty, save for one guard posted at your door.

“Your Highness,” he says, standing up straight. Jace knocks on the door and your maid, Brigitta, comes to answer it a full two minutes later. She does not look surprised to see him.

“Your Highness,” she says in greeting, curtseying as the door shuts behind her.

“I need to speak with Y/N,” he says. The color drains from Brigitta’s face.

“I’m sorry, My Prince, Lady Y/N does not wish to see you,” she says, whisper soft. Embarrassment floods his cheeks at the uncomfortable looks the guard and Brigitta give him. He isn’t sure why he is shocked at this answer, you had said that you needed space.

For one horrible second, he thinks about ignoring your request and ordering his way into the room. But he knows that would just make you angry.

“Very well,” he says with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Brigitta says again.

“Don’t be. Can I request a favor?”

[summercourtship]

WASTE NOT (18+)

or, the reader is travelling with the Ghoul when he discovers she's never fucked before. You figure out what comes next.

cooper howard/the ghoul x reader | warnings/notes: loss of virginity, masturbation, exhibitionism, piv sex, oral sex, barely proofread | side note: i might end up reusing this general plot for a longer multi-chapter fic, we'll see

read on AO3

Five hundred caps, two hundred upfront.

That’s how much it took for you to get out of the gilded cage that was your hometown, a decent sized settlement inside of what used to be a Rodeo stadium and aptly named for it. That’s all it took for you to escape your father, the mayor of said town who kept you under lock and key, both literally and figuratively. You’d tried to escape before, attempts that had been thwarted before they even began. It only led to you being locked in your room and only allowed to walk the town with a bodyguard, someone hired to make sure you didn’t run for it. 

Some people might say that it was a privilege to be cared for so much that you didn’t have to constantly fight for your life. You thought it was a surefire way to get you killed when you finally did leave his grasp.

Since running away, you’d done many things for the first time that most people did before they were even ten years old. Held a gun, caught your own food, killed a man. 

And the man you’d paid to take you through the wastes was the first ghoul you’d ever met. Your settlement didn’t ban them from entering, but they weren’t exactly welcoming either. But you’d been immediately drawn to him, which you at first chalked up to the novelty of meeting a new kind of person, the kind you’d only read about.

However, as you’d continued traveling with him and the novelty wore off, you quickly realized that the draw you felt to him wasn’t just because of culture shock. 

The Ghoul, which was the only thing you called him because he’d given you nothing else to call him, was sitting by the fire he’d built, a slow curl of smoke drifting from the cigarette hanging in his mouth. You looked over at him, observing how the light from the flames reflected off of his worn and imperfect skin. It was a sight you’d seen almost every night this week, but every time you felt like it was the first time you were seeing him. 

Your week was almost up. When you’d hired him, you’d told him you only wanted to leave your town for a week, just to experience the Wastes before returning to your “ivory tower,” (his words, not yours). It had taken some bargaining on your end (and you had to give him chems in addition to the caps) but it had worked. You were out of the clutches of your father, you were finally experiencing life for the first time.  

And you had no intention of going back when the week was over. 

You were sitting across the room, perched on an old bed that was still standing in the half-ruined house, though shack might be more accurate. An entire wall was missing, letting you look right into the starry night sky from your seat. But mainly you were looking at the Ghoul, who was looking after one of his guns. You brought the drink you’d been nursing- just a Nuka-Cola you’d found on your journey and saved for this moment- taking a deep sip of the fizzy drink when he spoke up. 

“Stop starin’ at me.” 

You choked, sputtering up the Nuka-Cola in your attempt to catch your breath. In your coughing, you only managed to spill more of the drink on yourself, an unfortunate chain of events that left you with a soaked through shirt. You cursed under your breath, looking down at the brown liquid that would surely stain the fabric. Did you even have a clean replacement in your bag?

Leaning towards your bag, you placed the almost empty bottle on the floor before flipping the flap, peering inside. 

“You might wanna take that off before the flies smell the sugar.”

Your current task forgotten, you stared up at the Ghoul, who wasn’t even looking at you when he said it. But the idea of taking your shirt off around him when you knew that he could see it was terrifying. However, he was right when he said you’d need to get the shirt off of your body soon and put it into your bag. Who knows how much sugar was in Nuka-Cola, how far its sweet scent would travel if it was out in the open. And you certainly didn’t want to attract any bugs your way. 

Sitting up straight, you cleared your throat. Your fingers worried at the hem of your shirt.

“Could you turn around…” Your voice trailed off at the look on his face, a brief glance your way. 

“It’s nothing I ain’t seen on other women.” 

“Okay, but I’ve never-” You stopped yourself from finishing your sentence, realizing exactly what you were admitting, but the damage was already done. The Ghoul leaned forward and you tightened your grip around yourself, as if the shirt still being on your body would protect you from his judgment. 

“You’ve never…?” The pregnant pause hung in the air between you, but you weren’t going to clarify. You didn’t move, which must have been enough of a confirmation for him because he whistled low in his mouth. “Why am I not surprised? You didn’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

As if shooting a gun naturally came before losing your virginity. (Maybe it did, you wouldn’t know). 

“Can you stop?” You huffed, your face hot. “If I had wanted to, I would have.”

But it seemed that any of your attempts to get him to drop the subject wouldn’t work, because he was looking at you intensely, an unreadable look in his surprisingly human eyes. Not for the first time, you wondered what he looked like when he was human. You’d tried before, to imagine what it looked like when his skin was smooth and he had a nose and hair, but nothing seemed to match his demeanor as well as being a ghoul did. 

“And why didn’t you want to?”

“I-” You swallowed nervously, your heartbeat in your throat choking you. “I didn’t see the point, not when my dad is probably going to marry me off to some geezer who can’t get it up anyway. And I don’t need your judgment about it.”  

You were now trying to hold onto any semblance of dignity you had left. Pretending like you’d made a conscious choice to not lose your virginity instead of it being a result of your virtual imprisonment by your father. Like you hadn’t yearned for the touch of someone else. (And, of course, like you hadn’t yearned at all for him over the course of the past week.)

“Do you touch yourself, at least?”

You froze, looking across the room at him like he was a Deathclaw. He leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. Like he could smell your apprehension, or worse, your burgeoning arousal. 

“Do you touch yourself?”

This isn't something you had talked about ever with anyone. But you couldn’t help answering him. “Y-yes.” If he looked surprised that you actually spoke, you couldn’t tell over your own embarrassment. 

“Show me.” When you didn’t respond, still sitting there staring at him like he had grown two heads, he sat back in his seat again, his hat dipping low. “Or don’t. I’m not going to force-”

You cut him off before he could continue, suddenly not wanting this opportunity to pass you by. After all, you only had this last night with him and then you would go your separate ways. If you horribly embarrassed yourself, it would only be for tonight. “Okay.” You think that this is your biggest streak of surprising the Ghoul. But he recovered quickly, a sly grin sneaking onto his face. 

“Take your shirt off first.” 

Nodding, you slowly reached down to the hem of your shirt, trying and failing to will your hands to stop trembling. Then, quickly, you peeled the sticky fabric off of your skin. You were a bit annoyed that you had managed to spill so much onto the shirt- it was a nice shirt, a rare find on the surface. But it didn’t matter now, considering where it had led you. 

You dropped your shirt onto the floor, unable to look at him as he surely looked at your chest. 

Suddenly feeling bold from his gaze, you did more than just take off the glorified rag from your chest- you divested yourself of all of your clothes, placing them into a messy pile by the mattress. You were now exposed to the elements and to his gaze, heavy as he looked over your body. Once again, he didn’t betray any of the surprise he might have felt. 

“Should I-”

“Lie down.”

You stared at him before you slowly lowered yourself, trying to keep your eyes on him. When you couldn’t anymore, you closed your eyes. If you couldn’t see him, it wouldn’t be nerve wracking to be watched. But even as you thought it, you could feel the heat of his gaze on you. 

“Touch yourself.” 

At his surprisingly gentle command, you exhaled shakily. Gently, you dragged your hand down your body, your breath quick. After a moment of teasing yourself, you pressed the pads of two fingers against your clit, rubbing a slow circle against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Immediately, you sighed, relieving tension you didn’t know had been building. While you had masturbated every night at home, you certainly needed the relief it gave you after a week of stress and almost dying. You were surprisingly wet, though not enough to qualify as dripping. your fingers circled your clit, your hips sudden bucking slightly. 

Across from you, the Ghoul groaned, and you tilted your head up, looking at him. His eyes were entirely focused on your cunt, watching the wet slide of your fingers over your folds. His teeth were clenched together, and you gasped at the sight of him watching you so intently before you bit your lip to muffle the sound. Then his eyes moved from your fingers, looking you straight in the eyes as he started to speak.

“I bet you touched yourself all quiet, trying not to let daddy hear you fucking yourself. But your daddy ain’t here, and I want to hear the noises you make.”  

You whined, his words going straight to your cunt. What was more painful was that he was correct- many nights you’d bit your pillow as you’d fucked yourself with your fingers, trying to keep quiet. 

“Go ahead, slip a finger inside-“

You stopped moving, looking at him again, taking the moment to catch your breath. 

“I’ve never really done that-“

The Ghoul cursed, and before you could blink he was off of his chair, moving closer. He was now knelt in between your legs, his gloved hands on your knees and staring up at you. 

“I gotta fuckin teach you everything, don’t I?”

Swiftly, he removed his gloves, throwing them onto the pile of your clothes. Then he swatted your hand away from your cunt before replacing it with his own fingers. At the dramatic shift in skin texture you gasped, immediately grinding against his rough fingers mindlessly as your hands flew to your mouth to muffle your cries. 

“None of that, I told you I’m gonna hear the sounds you’re making ‘cause of me.”

He moved down your body, pressing kisses and delivering brief bites to your flesh. With each nip of his teeth you gasped, torn between the desire to push his head away or beg for more. Then he reached your sex, pausing for a moment and letting his warm breath fan over you. You squirmed, unsure if you wanted to beg him to touch you or if you wanted to run away from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all.

Then his mouth was hot against you, his tongue licking a thick stripe up the length of your cunt, and you wondered why you’d ever thought about not letting him do this. With no nose in the way, he was able to press his face fully against you. He dipped his tongue into your opening, flicking it against your walls and thrusting a few times, the movement of his tongue in addition to his fingers overwhelming. 

He groaned against you as he lapped up your wetness, sounds of a man dying of thirst reaching an oasis. 

With a final wet sound, he removed his tongue before moving to suck on your clit, his hand moving from your thighs to return to your core. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He murmured as he pressed two of his fingers inside of you. You’d tried before to fuck your self like this but always found the feeling unsatisfactory. But his fingers were larger than yours, able to hit the places inside of you that you had begun to think were myths. 

It was overpowering, and any thoughts that weren’t about him quickly dissipated. 

Every indent and ridge of his skin dragged along your cunt and the sensation of being filled combined with the attention he was giving to your clit started to build you towards your peak. 

“Come for me, cmon.”

But even though you’d never come before at the hands of another, you knew what you wanted. You were afraid that if you came now, he wouldn’t actually fuck you. And if you were taken back to your rinky-dink town, you wanted to at least say you’d been fucked by someone you wanted. 

“I want to feel you- hm- inside me.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” His teeth were gritted together again, like he was so entirely focused on making you come that he didn't want to hear anything else.

“Yes, I do.” You raised your hips to meet the thrust of his fingers. “I want your cock, I need you to fuck me-“

“Fuck.” He murmured, eyes lidded as whatever shaky resolve about actually fucking you he had broke. “For someone who never killed before this week, you’re dangerous.”

With swift movement, he pulled himself out of his pants and climbed up your body, pressing his hips against yours. He hovered above you, the head of his cock rested heavy on your clit, his hips rolling once to grind the length against your wet cunt. 

“Please.” You murmured, raising your hips to meet his cock. He gave you a dark look, and if he had eyebrows you’re sure one of them would be raised as if to say ‘you ready?’

Then he started to press in, his thick head catching before he pushed through the tight ring of your opening. Your mouth was slack, eyebrows furrowed as you focused on relaxing for every inch that was slowly pressing into you. When you looked at him, he was entirely focused on watching his cock disappear into your wet heat. 

He was slow, but you didn’t think it was due to any care for your comfort. No, from the look on his face, you would hazard a guess that he enjoyed slowly taking your virginity, feeling each inch of you give way to his thick cock. He liked the surrender. 

When his hips finally nestled against yours, he rested for a moment, his breath heavy. 

“Ready?”

Okay, maybe he cares slightly about your comfort- the thought was quickly erased when he pulled out and slammed back in, filling you quickly. You cursed, your hands flying to the bed to scramble for something to hold on to. But there were no sheets on the filthy mattress. So instead, you reached up to him, grasping the back of his duster for dear life as he began to fuck you in earnest.

He lowered himself as you wrapped your naked legs around his hips, bracing himself on his elbows above you. 

“So fucking tight.” He murmured against your face. One of his hands slipped from where it was braced above you to circle around your clit, the pressure just enough to send you back towards your peak. “This cunt belongs to me now, y’hear?”

“Yes- fuck.” You babbled, and when he whispered against you to finally come, you did so with no hesitation. Your legs gripped him tighter against you, his thrusts shorter but more forceful with the constraint. With your cunt clenching around him as you sighed through the aftershocks of your orgasm, he removed his hand to suddenly grab your chin, looking you in the eyes.

“Where should I-“

“Inside me, inside me please.”

For a moment he looked like he was going to argue with you. But then you clenched down on his length again and his hips stuttered against you, a low groan escaping him. Reinvigorated, he began fucking you even harder, which had seemed impossible. 

“Take it, take my cum like a good girl- that’s it-“ his words left him as he finally finished, his hips pumping as he cursed and spilled his warm spend inside you. You hummed at the feeling of it, the tiny thrusts as he pumped you full of him dragging his cock along your sensitive walls. 

When he finally pulled out of you, watching as his cum dripped out of your opening, he looked back at your face with a sly smile. 

“I hope you have some RadAway at home.”

____

The Ghoul didn’t bring you back into the city. He seemed to think you were experienced enough to handle the last hundred yards of desert without him. I’ll come back later for the rest of my caps, I have some business I need to deal with. Did you feel a little bad that you were cheating him out of three hundred caps? Yes. But you hadn’t thought this far when you’d paid him the first time, and now it was too late. 

You barely said goodbye. 

Once you were out of sight, you took off running in the opposite direction, only looking behind you once to make sure no one was watching or worse, following. 

You were free.

____

Well, you were free for about two days. 

Then, one evening, you sheltered yourself in an abandoned house. Two stories, though you only peeked in the upper story to see if there was anything worth grabbing. You didn’t want to risk the floor falling out from under your feet. 

A noise in the doorway draws your attention upwards, to where the Ghoul stands, silhouetted in the setting sun, like he had just left for a second, not for days.

You’re allowed a split moment of happiness at the sight of the familiar figure before you recognize what's in his hands. You barely have a second to try and escape before, like a flash, he whips the lasso around your torso, drawing it tight and pulling you closer as you struggled against the rope. But it held fast, and with every passing second you were losing ground. Finally the pressure of the rope was too much and you collapsed to the ground, the sun bearing down in your eyes until a shadow fell over your face. 

“Y’know, when I went back to your little… Rod-e-o to collect on the final portion of my payment, I really expected to see you there. Tellin’ people you regret ever leaving. Maybe I’d have to rough you up a bit for the caps, though I’m sure you’d enjoy that. So imagine my surprise when I find out your father has put up a reward for whoever finds ya and brings ya back.”  He laughed, a cruel and humorless thing. “I’ll get paid for takin’ you out and takin’ you in. And the word around town is that there’s a man there willin’ to take you off your father’s hands.” 

His last words made your stomach sink, more than anything else he had said. It was something your father had threatened, even if he hadn’t meant it as a threat. Maybe he thought it was your dream to marry and have children. But you knew that whatever man he picked for you to marry would be powerful, powerful enough to ensure that your father would remain in office until he died. 

And powerful men were cruel. 

“No-” You gasped out, suddenly out of breath. 

“Ah-ah-ah.” The Ghoul tuts softly, leaning down. “D’ya really think a week is enough experience to survive out here?”

“I won’t go back.” You spit, renewing your struggle against the rope. “You can’t make me.” 

If you were a complete idiot, you’d say: I’d rather die than go back. Because while, in spirit, it was true, you knew that he would take your word for it. And you really didn’t want to tempt him to put a bullet through your brain. 

You may have fucked him, but you certainly weren’t anything special to him. 

“You don’t have much of a choice, sweetheart.” 

“He wants to marry me off!” You said, like saying it indignantly would change his mind about taking you in as a bounty. “I refuse.” 

“And what’ll you do when I drag you back?” 

Find a way to escape again, even if it takes years. 

Like he read the answer in your eyes, he stood up straight. 

“I sympathize, I really do-” You sincerely doubted it, but let him keep talking, “but unless you’ve got something better to offer me, I’m afraid you’re going in.” 

“How many caps is he offering you?”

“600.”

“I have more saved.” You laughed, though it lacked any actual humor. “Every cap he gave me for years, I’ve squirreled away. Not letting me leave my room really helped me save money.” 

“And how, exactly, are you going to get to your stash without your daddy finding you?” 

You tried to find kindness in his words and were surprised when you did. Though he may not have meant it, he had already given you a perfect out the night before. 

“No self-respecting man is going to want to marry a woman who fucked a ghoul. And no mayor will tolerate his daughter making a fool of him like that.”

For a moment, you think he takes offense to this. But then a smile creeps across his face, hot and hungry.

“Well then, I think we can come to an agreement.” 

[samodivaa]

┊Impure Thoughts┊

《Part 2┊ Reader x Bucky Barnes?

Bucky is getting more comfortable with going out without the prosthetic. You are getting a little too comfortable with the idea of using it...as a pleasure tool.

Warnings - smut, metal dildo lmao?, mastrubation (f), fingering Words - 1700 ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ In the living room, you are settled on the couch with your book, but you pause halfway through reading a sentence when it finally sinks in. You have unconsciously placed yourself directly across the room from the armchair, and something seems to be filling your entire field of vision—Bucky’s metal arm—pitifully, the first coherent thought that emerges, is undoubtedly something that you have been thinking about these past weeks—you grind your teeth and chew your tongue. That is followed closely by the realization that this is probably an instinctual reaction born out of being alone for too long. Right? The thought has you swallowing hard while you feet the beginnings of arousal, you shift uncomfortably, crossing your ankles—the beginning of the end. Here it is again: that feeling of complete addiction, of an irrational kink, need. A craving, a thirst, blood rushing to your ears to chant in your mind once again: God, I want to try it.

Your eyes flicker between the book and the prosthetic. A ripple of gooseflesh erupts down your whole body and you squeeze your eyes shut in mortification, you even change positions and straighten your back, leading to several cracks up your spine. Why did he need to leave his prosthetic arm on the armchair?

You feel your jaw slacken. The inevitable desire floods your brain too quickly, irritation prickling at your chest. “He is not coming home tonight…” you note mentally with a magnanimous twinkle of your eyes. Two identical streaks of pink appear on your cheek and you avert your gaze, shaking your head. You have imagined what it might be like to use it as a pleasure tool countless times, but you have never considered that you would actually be bold enough to do it. But even as that transient thought flits through your brain, the image of your legs spread while fucking yourself on it…the fantasy swirls hazy— This is so wrong, but you are so exhilarated by it—but it’s akin to torture. You rub your eyes and try to focus on the letters and shapes, but it is difficult.

"Right," you mumble to yourself, trailing your fingertip under the sentence to steady your gaze "The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment…”

Fuck…

You have already read that sentence twice.

You attempt a denial, tongue stuck to your teeth “Some things are beyond help” you confess, smothering a yawn into your sleeve. You sigh impatiently, but get up from the couch nonetheless. As you head to the bedroom, you stupidly lean your body in the door frame, attempting to dispel the notion that you are so turned on just thinking about it. You let out a stealthy, thin smile, but you instinctually clasp a hand over your mouth. You stare intently into the prosthetic. Head clouding. Heart taking off again. It is not that you don’t want to do it now—it is more like you don’t want your little bubble to pop just yet, the bubble of your innocence. You have finally just given up on the feeble attempt to get your body and mind to settle down to sleep. Your phone, which you have ignored for some time by then, buzzes with a new text. The phone on the coffee table buzzes yet again, but you don’t even acknowledge it.

You make your breaths as quiet as possible, managing to walk over to the armchair without making the faintest noise. A growling soft leaves your throat, followed by an annoyed moan—mentally swooning at the idea you will actually do it this time. Instantly, you feel your blood run cold, and your face immediately falls. Embarrassment, that is all, just sheer and utter embarrassment as you find yourself caught in the act.

Quickly, you let out a nervous laugh, amused by your own antics.

“It's okay, no one will ever find out” you are quick to try to convince yourself, to urge yourself to take the opportunity. You lost in the end. You get on your knees in front of the armchair, leaning down to get in eye level with it before your hand reaches out and finds the metal fingers, using the pad of your thumb to brush against vibranium there. You lace the cold fingers with yours, they move so easily. …you didn’t know that. You are far too entranced by the arm, that you have forgotten about the appendage pressed in between your thighs, until you shift a bit. Instantly, you feel that spot between your legs head up even more and that reminds you of the throbbing sensation you have been ignoring. You apply pressure with your free hand, prying a sharp exhale from your own lips, finding relief on the soft carpeted floor, and spreading your legs—but still the wetness between your legs is growing, and it is unbearable. You whimper as your fingers press into the clit. You start to rub circles into it as you soak the fabric. But you need more, it’s not enough. That's why you reach down and grab the fabric of your panties in between shaky fingers and gently pull it to the side, rapturously rubbing without the fabric in the way. No, this is not enough. Hands are shaking with desperation.

One by one, you place your fingers in your mouth and lick them before running them up and down your slit, finding yourself instinctually moving quicker. You slid one finger inside, shivering a little at the feeling. It is quickly followed by a second, then a third. You jolt in pleasure when your fingers nudge up against the spot. With newfound vigour, you finger yourself even harder. Your body fizzes with a heady sensuality, where you are constantly in the process of getting aroused, bringing yourself closer to an euphoric climax, but you don’t really want to orgasm like that.

You have such an unambiguously bad feeling—awful, really—but you couldn't look away, couldn't stop. But the nearness, the possibility of this fantasy becoming reality, it has dwelled in you for too long. Every embarrassment is forgotten. It has seized hold of your heart: desire is terrible. Your insides clench longingly at need to be filled, practically singing at the thought of something being buried within you. Your hand moves alternately in a frantic blur, then achingly slow, edging closer and closer, fingers are buried deep inside you while the thumb rubs your clit and lips, with you being so wet that you can hear your fingers' movement, but—No, no, no, this is not enough—the fingers are still inside you, moving in a now broken rhythm before stopping completely. You are so tight around your own fingers, how will you feel around the metal ones? You have fantasised about this more than once.

You have touched yourself to that fantasy more than once. “Jesus…I might actually do it” It is unusual to be so nervous, but the words that come out of your sweet lips cut off any rational thoughts you have. Then the inevitable—your pussy throbs at the idea. A reflex, a response, a curse. 

It is actually rather exciting that no-one will see you. You take a deep shuddering breath, eyes are stormy with a ravenous hunger. There are resolved cracks as your desires win this time. You latch onto the index metal finger hungrily and suck it like it's the sweetest treat, staying still for just a second before moving up and down, tongue swirling around the cold digit. Then, wrapping your tongue around a second finger and tasting the slightly metal tangy taste of the vibranium. You bend the fingers of your other hand in that come-hither motion again and again until your cunt is squirting out onto the hand in a stream of clear wetness.

Shit.

Suddenly, you get up and snatch the prosthetic from the armchair, heading to the bedroom.

Your lip quivers as you drink the sight of the arm onto the mattress, all the while loosening your panties and Bucky’s t-shirt you love to wear, but not now—whining through the back of your throat and then heaved breaths through your nose—What, what are you doing? Your mind whirres; you can hear your own heartbeat, your palms are clammy. You take the lube before laying on the bed, squeezing some onto your fingers and applying some to and inside of yourself before you start fingering yourself, spreading yourself open and sliding your fingers inside once again. Breathy little noises, helplessly turned on, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking into it as you turn your gaze to the metal prosthetic. “Okay…” you murmur quietly, shifting a little so you can grab the arm with both hands and finally align it with your entrance. You are beyond ready.

“H-holy shit…” you pant as the cold surface of the fingers lightly touches the sensitive skin of your stretched hole, and you moan shamelessly, squeezing your eyes shut and arching into the feeling as your skin erupts in goosebumps, unwilling to acknowledge the frissons of pleasure washing over you with each flick of the metal. Anger boils in your stomach as well as a fair bit of shame, because you are not sure if it will fit—it's way too big. You want to come on the metal, want to feel the coldness, but your face contorts in both pain as much as pleasure as you try to push it inside more. You make a strange whining sound, desperate to come, desperate to fit it beyond the knuckles—you gasp out when you begin to move it, thrusting in and out in a slow, grinding motion. You finally look down when you finally fit in more of it—your mouth hangs open and your limbs feel like they are frozen. You have made a terrible decision, you know you have when you see blue eyes illuminated with curiosity, horror…? 

“H-hey” you speak airly, shivering and groaning faintly as his coveting blue eyes meet yours.

Oh yes, you didn't check your phone.

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ might write a part two, i personally need more metal arm stuff fr :0

《Part 2

[dipperscavern]

dippy I’m sorry I’m a bit stupid I did not read either of the prompt bit 😭 but if possible could I just add a prompt to my previous Cregan bit? If so, ‘voices change around each other’, bc pookie would be all ‘👹👺fuck y’all I am the lord of winterfall RAGGHHH- Oh hi darling 🤗😘’

urs truly, ur very stupid cheeky anon

you’re ALL GOOD!! thank u for your congrats & i hope u enjoy!!

9. voices changing around each other (whether it deepens or their tone in which they speak changes)

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

in cregans defense, he was usually ever level-headed.

being lord of winterfell and warden of the north, you had to be — patience and understanding is cregans middle name. it’s not often he loses his temper, even less often is it unjustified when it happens, and right now, his men had royally fucked up.

winter is approaching, and with it, cregans main task has been securing enough food to last winterfell & its inhabitants for as long as necessary. the maesters can foretell when winter comes and summers ended, but how long winter lasts is never known. strengthening alliances with other houses, expanding food stores, implementing more farms and crop production — cregan had pushed everything else aside to ensure the security of the people.

even if it put pressure on cregans soldiers, his hard work had made it so winterfells’ food stores were filled to the brim — and cregan was looking forward to being able to cease his constant worrying about having enough to eat.

unfortunately for him, the gods see fit to test him once more.

one of his men hadn’t closed a food store properly, and wasn’t aware until cregan himself checked on it a few days later. by then, the food inside of it had rotted.

it wasn’t the guard himselfs fault, as one of cregans council members had failed to instruct the newly appointed guards on how to close the stores properly. in cregans opinion, error truly laid with his council. you cannot expect people to perform properly if not taught or instructed, and this was so simple a lesson, cregan felt frustration at the prospect of having to teach it.

“Am I to understand, that because of your err, we’ve been lessened an entire store?”

the men in front of him glance at one another, attempting to swallow their nerves. the food store was now being emptied in the background, as cregan had not waited to “properly” assemble in the council room. they stood outside, where cregans tone had deepened, the way it does when lord stark is angered (which is, thankfully, not often)

cregan pauses, waiting for a response, and is only offered a- “Yes, I’m afraid so, my lord….”

“Winter is almost upon us, and you intend on crippling me further. How are you meant to advise me if I must coddle you as a babe?” his tone is harsh, unforgiving. he thinks to hear ideas of solution, about what could be done, but cregan notices something else.

instead of looking at him, every man is looking past him instead. ‘have they no respect for their liege lord?’, a part of him whispers; but curiosity takes over. he turns around, and is met with you.

he blinks in surprise. “Wife.” he says, not expecting your presence. his tone is light now, airy — alike to the cregan that usually graces winterfell. the contrast in his voice from a moment ago to now would make some grin if they weren’t afraid of inciting more of their lords anger.

“I missed my lord husband at supper,” you say, as if nothing was even amiss. “You worried me, Cregan.”

cregans tongue darts out to wet his lip, momentarily forgetting about the men behind him. “That was not my intention, I-“ he cuts himself off, turning back for a moment to glance at the food store being emptied. he sighs, choosing his next words carefully.

“I shall join you momentarily.” he says, turning to face you once more.

you hum, reaching to interlock pinkies (you’re close enough to be discreet). you lean to look past cregans shoulders (a hard task), and you’re met with the faces of cregans council. instead of their usual smug-ness, their faces are a mix of awkwardness, discontent, and embarrassment. the sight of it only makes you smirk, and when you return to cregans gaze, you find a hint of bashfulness swimming in his pupils.

“Behave yourself, my love.”

cregan nods, and you shoot him one last knowing smile before you move to return to the castle.

your presence has calmed him, allowing him to think without the cloud of emotions hanging over his head. he turns back around, and shoots a look at his council before focusing all his attention on the nearby food store.

“What can be done?” he says, tone still edgy, but nowhere near what it was before. his council share an equal relief, grateful to their lady stark for her rescue.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

[lupinmoonlight]

Mine

Masterlist AO3

Summary - Some Slytherin boy distracts you during class. Professor Lupin catches him passing you a note. He gets very jealous and gives you detention. Smut ensues, obviously (3,650 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, rough sex, smut, jealousy, implied reader masturbation, no safeword, dom/sub dynamic, marking, biting, possessiveness, not proof-read, my grammar.

Notes - I decided to merge these two requests because I found them quite similar I hope it is okay!! Thank you for being patient. Also, please always use a safeword if you are to engage in such activities, this is just fantasy :)

You sat at your usual spot in the DADA classroom, eyes never straying from Professor Lupin as he lectured. Your attention, however, was not entirely academic. In fact, it was not academic at all. 

Unknown to many, you held a special place in Professor Lupin's heart and for this, he was convinced that Hell had a special place for him. He didn't care, though. Your relationship was secret, concealed, forbidden. But it was strong and intense, bordering on something closer to a possessive obsession. You were his, and his only. And you loved it. 

So you sat there, intently focused on the "lecture", at least you tried, because your concentration today was being constantly disrupted. 

Sat next to you, a boy, noticeably smitten with you, kept stealing glances at you and giggling like a pompous little shit with his friends. Of course, he was a Slytherin. And of course, he was blonde. 

The boy scribbled something on a piece of parchment and stealthily passed it to you. Snapping out of your trance-like focus, you looked at him, slightly confused and, unaware of its romantic implications, took the note and tucked it under your textbook with a polite smile, your gaze immediately returning to Professor Lupin. 

Lupin's keen eyes, which often lingered a moment too long on you during class, caught the exchange. The thought of anyone else, especially a boy, showing interest in you stirred a primal, protective feeling within him. He couldn't help but feel territorial, believing that no one could cherish and care for you as he did. 

He tried to refocus on his lecture about the properties of moonstones in werewolf lore, but his words faltered slightly, his thoughts clouded with an uncharacteristic yet potent jealousy. "That will be all for today," he announced abruptly, ending the class earlier than usual. 

Taken aback, students around you started gathering their things and filing out, but the Slytherin boy and his friends lingered, approaching you with grins plastered on their faces. "Hey, L/N", the boy started, leaning casually against your desk. "About that note..." 

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling cornered yet still oblivious of his intentions. "Um, yes? I haven't read it yet..." 

"You should. It's important," the boy pressed, encouraged by his friends snickering behind him. 

Feeling the pressure, you glanced towards Lupin for a fleeting moment before unfolding the piece of parchment the boy had given you earlier. 

Lupin, pretending to organize his papers, watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. His hands clenched into fists as he fought the urge to intervene. He was not fighting it very hard because the next second, he cleared his throat loudly. 

"Miss L/N, could I have a word?" he called out, his voice unusually stern. 

You looked up, surprised at being addressed by your last name. He never addressed you by your last name. In fact, he never addressed any of his students by their last names. 

"Of course, Professor," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. 

The boys hesitated, exchanging looks of confusion and annoyance, like they were worth your attention more than Lupin. 

Lupin's gaze turned icy as he addressed them. "Gentlemen, I believe your presence is no longer required here. Please, see yourselves out." 

Reluctantly, the group shuffled out of the classroom, throwing glances with an air of superiority over their shoulders. 

With the classroom now empty, the air felt heavier. Lupin's expression was stern, a stark contrast to the usual warmth he reserved for you. His gaze was fixed on some papers on his desk, avoiding direct eye contact. "Miss L/N," he began, emphasizing your last name again as if to stab you with his words. 

"I need to speak with you about your conduct in class today." 

"Remus, what's wrong?" you responded softly, taken aback by his formality even when you were now both alone. 

His eyes finally met yours, sharp and unyielding. "It's Professor Lupin," he corrected you firmly. "In this classroom, I expect you to address me appropriately." 

Confused and slightly hurt, you corrected yourself, "Yes, Professor Lupin. I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

Lupin sat and folded his hands on the desk, his voice laced with a restraint that bordered on frustration. "Your focus in class today was...lacking. You were distracted, and frankly, it was distracting to me as well." 

Your brow furrowed in disbelief. "Distracted? But I-"

"I am not finished," he interrupted. "Such behaviour is unacceptable, and as a result, you will serve detention." 

Your mouth fell often, but no words came out. This was a side of Remus you had never seen- so cold, so distant. Of course, you were accustomed to his occasional possessiveness, his dominance behind closed doors, but this was entirely different and you couldn't tell if he was serious or not. 

"But, Remus, I don't understand. This isn't like you," you managed to stammer, your voice tinged with hurt and confusion. 

His expression did not soften. "I said, it is Professor, and what is or isn't 'like me' is not for you to decide. What matters is maintaining a proper student-teacher relationship in this classroom. You will serve detention tonight after your last class of the day, and I expect you to not be late. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," you replied quietly, your mind racing with a growing sense of unease. 

"Good. Dismissed." 

You turned to leave, your mind a wild mess of unanswered questions. You glances back at your Professor, hoping for any sign of the warmth and gentleness that you were so used to, but found none. 

If Lupin had found you distracted in his class, it was nothing compared to the rest of the day. Not only did you have to deal with a semi-heartbreak and try to focus on your other classes, but that blonde idiot kept pestering you about going to Hogsmeade with him over the weekend. First, you were not into blondes. Second, you were most definitely not into boys. You were into men. Men old enough to be your dad. Men with scars. Men with gentle eyes. Men with nice hands. Men with a mustache. Men who wore cardigans. Men with voices that sounded like liquid gold and made you fold. Men like...Remus. 

You felt a twinge in your heart at the thought of his name. His name he had forbidden you to say earlier. It was not abnormal though. He often made you call him Sir or Professor when you were alone in his quarters, when you were on your knees before him. But this time it felt different. It felt cold. Distant. Uncharacteristic. 

Your steps echoed in the empty hallways as you made your way to the DADA classroom for your detention. Your head was just as empty. No thoughts. Just Remus. 

Professor Lupin was already there, seated at his desk, when you entered the room. Without a word, he flicked his wand, and the door closed sharply behind you. You noticed another subtle movement of his wand, casting wards around the room. Clearly, what was about to unfold was meant to remain private. 

Lupin didn't rise from his seat, his expression stern and unreadable. "Come here, Miss L/N," he said, his voice strict, almost commanding. 

You walked over, your steps hesitant. He pointed to the space between his parted legs, silently indicating for you to stand there. You did, looking down, unable to meet his gaze directly. 

His voice broke the silence again. "Do you know why you're here, Miss L/N?"

"For detention, Professor," you replied quietly, still looking downwards, although you were starting to understand that you were not here for detention at all. 

"Look at me," he commanded in a tone you didn't hear very often. Usually, this tone was reserved in moments that required you to have a safeword. But right now, your mind was blank. Empty. Useless. And you didn't remember your safeword. And you panicked, silently. 

Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his. There was a possessive hunger in his gaze that made you shiver. You gasped softly when his wand came into view, slowly tracing the hem of your skirt. The tip gently lifted the fabric, revealing a mark on your thigh - a mark you knew all too well. His creation. 

"Who did this to you?" he asked in a tone that was a strange mix of sternness and curiosity. 

"You did," you replied. 

"No. Who did this to you?" he corrected. 

Your heart was basically in your throat and you were about to combust, but you gathered your courage and let out a quiet "You did, Sir." 

"That's better. And why did I do this?" he continued, watching you intently. 

You hesitated, searching for the right answer. You knew the wrong one could change the course of your interaction. He watched you, a slight smile playing on his lips as he saw your thought process unfold in your eyes. 

"Because I... I wanted you to?" you ventured tentatively.

"No, try again," he urged, a hint of satisfaction in his voice at your struggle to find the right words. He was peeling you apart right there, between his legs, with the mere touch of his wand and a few simple words and he loved every second of it. 

Your heart pounded as the realization dawned on you. He had been jealous. And he was claiming his territory, right where that stupid boy had tried to lure you in. 

"Because I am yours," you said with a little more confidence. 

"That's right," he replied, a small smile playing on his lips. "What a good girl you are, understanding your place." 

Your cheeks burnt with a mix of embarrassment and thrill. You tried to look away, to escape the intensity of the moment, but he wouldn't allow it. He reached out, firmly directing your face back towards his. "Eyes on me," he commanded. 

"It will do you good to remember this feeling, Miss L/N. Remember it when another little boy tries to distract you again, especially in front of me." 

His wand traveled up, pausing briefly over another mark of his on your neck, and continuing its path to your lips, lightly brushing against them. Your breath hitched at the touch, your eyes still locked with his.

"Whose are these?" he asked. 

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You were overwhelmed, momentarily speechless. 

His eyes held yours, patient but expectant. "Y/N," he prompted again, this time using your first name. He was not playing anymore, and you didn't know if you should feel relieved or worried. 

Swallowing hard, you found your voice, albeit a whisper, "Yours, Sir." 

"Very good," he praised. 

He then moved his wand again, this time directing it downwards. He paused for a moment at your waist before sliding it further down, under your skirt. The tip of the wand hovered over your core, gently grazing you through your panties. 

"And what about this? Whose is it?" he asked again, increasing the pressure slightly. 

"Y...Yours, S-Sir," you stuttered. 

"Good girl, you're learning." 

Your gaze dropped down, landing on the bulge in his trousers, evidently straining against the fabric. He abruptly removed his wand and grabbed your chin firmly. "Eyes on me, I said." 

"Yes, Sir," you murmured, your gaze finding his again. 

"Do you want to continue with this?" he asked, and this time his tone was not hard, not stern, not cold. It was just his tone. Just Remus. 

"Y-Yes, Sir," you replied almost instantly. 

"Do you want your safeword?" he asked seriously. He knew that sometimes, you didn't want it. You wanted him to be fully in charge. You wanted him to decide what you could handle and couldn't. It was dangerous, but you trusted him implicitly, sometimes more than yourself. 

"No, Sir," you answered a bit too confidently because truthfully, your mind was too blank to formulate any logical thought, let alone remember a safeword you never used.

"Do you want to please me?" he asked, his gaze insistent and penetrating. 

"Yes, Sir," you breathed. 

His eyes traveled over your body, taking in every curve and contour. "Then show me how much you want to please me," he commanded. "Touch yourself." 

You bit your lip, almost frozen on the spot, before letting your shaky hands move over your body, teasingly caressing your skin through your uniform. Your hands reached the hem of your skirt, and you looked at him, seeking permission to continue. He nodded, urging you on, and you did. You let your fingers travel over your panties, feeling the damp patch there, and gasped as you reached the sensitive bundle of nerves slightly prominent through the fabric of your underwear. 

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Make yourself feel good for me." 

Your breath caught in your throat as you continued to touch yourself, imagining his hands on you instead. You could feel your arousal growing, and you moaned softly, unable to contain your pleasure. 

Lupin's eyes darkened, and he reached out, grasping your wrist. "Enough," he said, his voice low and gritty. 

He slowly pulled you closer, the space between you diminishing until you were mere inches apart. He was so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath as your faces drew near. Just as your lips were about to meet, he stopped, hovering there, so close but not touching. 

"Do you think you deserve this, Y/N?" he asked, his voice a whisper against your lips. 

A breathless "No, Sir," was all you could manage. 

"That's right, you don't," he affirmed. 

A pathetic whine escaped you, a mixture of frustration and desire. 

Lupin let out a low, almost mocking chuckle at your reaction. "Aw, you poor little girl."

Your response was a mix of a sigh and a whispered plea, unable to contain your arousal. 

"But you know," he murmured softly, "I feel rather lenient today." 

Without warning, he pulled you abruptly close, closing the gap between you. Your lips met in a kiss that felt more like a claim, a statement, a declaration. His. His. His. 

His hands traveled to the back of your thighs, pulling you against his arousal. His face buried in your neck, he grazed his teeth against your soft skin before sinking them into it, creating another mark. "Mine," he growled against your neck. 

His hands suddenly left you and the sound of a zipper getting undone filled the room. You dared looking down as he let his erection spring free. 

"Eyes. On. Me." he said again sternly. 

"S-Sorry, Sir," you whimpered as you forced your eyes back up. 

"Take these off for me," he commanded, his finger tugging gently at your panties. 

You obeyed, slowly sliding them off until they pooled at your feet. You stepped out of them before picking them up and placing them onto his desk. 

"Very good. What a good girl," he praised. "Now, come here," he said softly, pulling you into his lap. 

You found yourself straddling him, a position that caught you off guard, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from your lips. 

You were acutely aware of him, of your proximity, of how exposed you were in the middle of the classroom, at his desk, feeling both vulnerable and...strangely cherished. His hands moved to your face, holding you gently. His eyes, now soft and filled with the familiar warmth you knew so well, silently searched yours. It was a silent question, a non-verbal communication asking if you were alright, if you wanted to continue. 

You met his gaze and nodded, trying to hide how desperate you actually were. 

He shifted his hips slightly, the tip of his length teasing your entrance. "Relax for me," he whispered.

You nodded again and fought yourself with all your might not to simply sink yourself down on him. You were practically shaking and it was pathetic. Almost sensing your lack of self-control, his hands found your hips, gripping them with a force that would certainly leave marks. 

"Someone's impatient," he remarked. "Go on, then. Tell me what you want." 

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Sir," you begged, doing your best to keep your eyes locked onto his. 

"Tell me. What do you need?" he teased and god it was too much. You tried to lower your hips, to even get just the tip inside of you but he wouldn't allow it. 

"I...I need you...inside me, Sir. Please." 

"There's my good girl," he cooed and with that, he thrust his hips up just enough so that the tip of his length breached your entrance. "Now, show me just how much you want me." 

You didn't need to be told twice. You responded by lowering yourself onto him fully, causing him to groan as your warmth surrounded him. You began moving your hips, slowly at first, because the hands on your hips controlled the pace, but then his grip loosened, one hand moving up to your hair, pulling your head back, the other landing around your neck. 

You started increasing the pace, finding a rhythm that matched his as you began moving together. 

"That's it," he praised. "Take what you want from me." 

You moaned softly, your breath catching in your throat as you felt him going deeper and deeper inside you. 

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice filled with lust. 

"I-I want you, Sir," you panted, your words coming out in short gasps. "I want you to make me yours." 

"Then take it," he commanded. "Take what you want. Take it." 

You cried out in pleasure as you continued to bounce up and down in his lap, your movements becoming more urgent as the pressure in your core built and built. Your mind was a blank slate, filled with nothing but the intense sensation of having him inside you. 

He could feel how close you were, and he tightened his grip around your neck, bringing you closer to him. "Let go for me," he whispered, his lips soft against the shell of your ear, and it was all it took for you to reach your peak.

He groaned at the sensation of you clenching on him, your muscle tightening around his hard length. It was his turn now. His turn to take what he wanted. What was his. With a growl, he hauled you up from his lap and stood before swiftly bending you over his desk, books and quills and ink pots falling to the ground with a clatter. 

He hiked up your skirt around your waist and entered you from behind in one sharp thrust, your body jolting forward as you were forced to balance on your tiptoes. Barely recovered from your orgasm, your face was pressed onto the cold surface of the desk, and he started to pound into you with abandon. 

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he lifted your head up, forcing you to look at the empty classroom in front of you. "Next time you get distracted by some little boy in my class," he said, his voice filled with disdain, "remember this moment. Remember being bent over this desk. Remember the sensation of having me inside you. Remember how it feels when I take you. When I take what's mine," he growled. "Mine. Mine. Mine," he continued, each word punctuated by a hard thrust. 

You cried out a pathetic "Yes, Sir," unsure if you were able to handle this, but he continued, indicating that you would handle it, even if you thought you couldn't. 

His pace increased, each thrust pressing you further into the desk, his movements becoming jerky and losing rhythm. He was getting close. So close. 

"Fuck..." he breathed as he leaned forward, his body covering yours. "I'm going to fill you up," he growled. "I want you to be full of me." 

With that, he thrust into you one last time, his hips snapping against yours, groaning obscenely as he emptied himself inside you. His hips continued to pump into you with each wave of warmth, as if he was pouring his soul into you. 

Finally, he stilled, and the room fell into a quiet stillness. Lupin, his energy completely expended, relaxed with a deep, contented sigh, his body lightly resting on top of yours. He began to plant gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulders, and the back of your head, each touch a soft echo of his love for you. There was a tenderness in his actions now, a shift that enveloped you in a sense of safety and warmth only he could provide. 

Gently, Lupin slowly withdrew from you, and you whimpered quietly at the sudden emptiness. He waved his wand in a few discrete movements, adeptly cleaning you both with an effortless flick before carefully readjusting your uniform. 

He pulled you close, and you nestled into his embrace, your body quivering slightly from what you had just been through. 

"It's okay. You're okay, love," he whispered soothingly against your hair. 

You whimpered softly against his chest, trying to ground yourself in the steady beat of his heart. 

Gently cradling you, Remus sat down in his chair, his arms enveloping you in a protective cocoon. "You were such a good girl. You took me so well. I love you so much." Gradually, under the gentle cadence of his voice, your breathing began to steady. 

Sensing you were in a more stable state, Lupin carefully shifted his position. He took your hand in his, guiding it with a deliberate tenderness until it rested over his heart. Through the fabric of his shirt, the steady thump of his heartbeat was strong and real under your palm. 

"And whose is this?" he asked softly, his eyes meeting yours with a playful glint. 

You let out a quiet giggle and simply said "Mine." 

[lilhoeforevanpeters]

Tate Langdon Headcannons <3

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<3 Life dating Tate <3

<3 Tate x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Tate, murder, suicide, p in v, fingering, oral (both m and f), grinding, humping, I think that’s it

<3 I lost the request, but someone did request this, hopefully they see it lol. Thanks for the request, it's appreciated!! I might make a post about who I write for so people can send requests, but I'm not sure yet. Love you!!

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SFW

Listening to old rock (i.e Nirvana ofc)

Borrowing his sweaters

Cuddling in bed

100% the little spoon, he wouldn't like being the big spoon but will do it if you're sad (or simply ask)

He's kind of a creep, so he'll stare at you all the time. silently.

Anything you do, he's watching admiringly

He thinks your perfect in every single aspect

Movie nights on Fridays

He totally seems like he'd enjoy horror and true crime

Misses you when you leave Murder House for anything

Would be scared you're going to leave him constantly

Helps you through anxiety attacks, depression episodes, mental health struggles

Listening intently whenever you vent to him

Does anything to protect you

He would try to hide his past from you for a while until inevitably find out

You don't argue often, but when you do it's usually not over serious things. An exception being when you find out what he did before (school shooting, Vivien, murder, etc.) ... You can decide if you want to forgive him or not

Reading with him, both of you silent yet still resting against each other

Introducing him to social media and him begging you to follow fan pages of bands he likes

You die in Murder house, which shouldn't come as a surprise, since everybody dies in that damn house. Maybe you commit suicide for him or something, but another ghost or entity killing you is a high possibility as well

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NSFW

Riding his thigh while he softly encourages you, whispering in your ear as you do so

I get switch vibes from him, but heavily leaning towards being more submissive, and when he would be dominant, he would definitely be a soft dom. He wouldn't want to hurt you; he doesn't seem to be into that

You giving him blow/hand jobs and his hips buck up slightly>>>>

He whimpers and I will not hear ANYBODY out.

His pull-out game seems weak, and he's dead, but as we've seen before, his sperm certainly isn't- so I'd use some contraceptives babe

Missionary and cowgirl are your top two- and the one where you're like sitting on his lap

Average, maybe on the bigger side, but he isn't packing a foot long cock

He really values your pleasure, and wants to make you cum first

Your back would be pressed against his chest and you're sitting on his lap while he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you

He seems like the kind of guy who does not give a fuck about periods

He likes when you're sitting on a chair or the side of your bed and he's kneeling on the ground eating you out

As he said before, gay porn is hot, so you two watch porn together, usually ending up with you and him acting out what you just viewed

He'd be gentle and respectful the entire time

Enjoys watching you masturbate when you don't know he's there, especially when you grind against a pillow. His heart races every time you whisper out his name when you think he isn't there

Shower sex, car sex (when he can leave the house), beach sex (on Halloween), any possible place that you could imagine, he's not opposed to

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[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ FROM THE DINING TABLE . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀呪術廻戦 ; gojo satoru x fem reader

⊹ ⠀⠀ is it possible to fall out of love? ...apparently so. (0.7k)

contains; exes, reader sees gojo w/ his new girlfriend, ur just the sad and lonely ex who can't get over him idk author's note; i am stressed and this is how im coping

it's been three months.

only three months since you and satoru broke things off. since satoru told you he lost feelings and could no longer string you along as you gazed at him with lovesick eyes etched in hearts; which were well deserved considering your relationship lasted a little over three years.

you loved him so much. no. you love him so much. you'll never stop loving him for as long as you can breathe, because who is he if not your soulmate? there's no one else that understands you, listens to you, and notices all of your ticks and little emotions that are blind to the common eye. satoru is the one that you're supposed to end up with; that you're supposed to marry as you walk down the aisle awaiting that bright smile he always flashed in your direction.

if you're supposed to marry satoru...

...why is he smiling at someone else?

"oh, shit." he finally notices your presence and it's somewhat insulting considering the market isn't too crowded. "hey, how've you been?"

his tone is almost condescending. why would he be asking that question? he should know that you're an absolute and complete mess over him. he should be an absolute and complete mess over you, too. you don't care that he claims to have fallen out of love. that's impossible. that's just something that happens in the movies; and if your life is anything like one of those cheesy romcoms— you desperately hope that you're not the character that gets their heart broken for the main lead.

"i'm okay." you lie. you're not okay. your heart is pounding at a rate that's so rapid you think you're about to pass out, thudding inside of your chest in its best attempt to leap from your body and land in satoru's open hands. now that you're noticing them, though, they're not open. they're firmly clasped to whoever this new stranger is. whoever his new girlfriend is. "who's this?"

he waves his hand dismissively. "don't worry about it." to which the girl giggles and leans into his side.

they're mocking you. you can't help but feel that way.

you can't help but feel your heart break into glass fragments that once were a stained glass mural of your love story. the images of him confessing his feelings after the snow melted in spring, whispering his love for you for the first time when summer began, and the promise ring he was so excited about giving you during your last holiday together, all clash to the ground— becoming incoherent memories that only you care to recall. it's clear that satoru is happily cementing new moments with this girl who's likely somewhat similar to you. she seems sweet and kind, and you hope that she escapes being strung along far sooner than you did.

"you look cute together." the smile on your face is clearly phony. he knows you well enough to be able to tell, and you're sure that she's able to understand, too.

"thank you!" she's so nice? why does he always go for nice girls? if you could take a guess, it's because he enjoys watching them fall for him...watching them give up their entire hearts for his love, only to shred them to pieces like receipt paper that he no longer cares to hold onto. what a monster.

...but you still love him.

"you're welcome." your reply is as genuine as you can fake it to be, and it's possible you've fooled her. you haven't fooled satoru, though. your ex is staring at you with knowing intent, seeing the bitterness in your soul that you hide from everyone else. "satoru, can we talk?"

please.

"what is there to talk about?" his laugh practically drowns you. you feel as if there's a weighted anchor attached to your ankle with a rope that's impossible to break apart with your bare hands. it's pulling you deeper and deeper into the depths of abyss, giggling as you struggle for air and water fills your lungs. the fish say hello. they watch as your lungs close in. they wave goodbye when your eyes finally close.

"forget i said anything."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[ellewritesalright]

The Lost Princess - Part 2

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Part 1

Synopsis: The old Queen Mother of Kerch's former royal family is offering a hefty reward to whoever returns her rumored-to-be-alive granddaughter to her. Kaz being Kaz hears about the reward and hatches an elaborate plot involving a fake princess. Reader is a lowly amnesiac orphan and escaped indenture who flees to Ketterdam where she gets tangled in Kaz Brekker's plot.

A/N: Hi folks!! I hope you've all been good--it's been a busy time for me but I'm so excited to be posting part 2! Just a reminder to everyone that the story is inspired by the movie and musical Anastasia. Once again, I hope it makes sense lmao

Warnings: mentions of sickness, death, drowning, violence, the Kerch indenture system. Me rambling. pls let me know if I've missed anything

Word count: 2901

.........

The dreams were worse tonight.

The once gentle, whispering voices turned to screams. Someone was calling for you, crying into the pitch black night with a painful tremor in their voice. You wanted to call back but couldn't find the strength. Honestly, when have you ever had that kind of strength? You're not brave, not like you should be. There were times at the big house where you would get so angry with the other servants, angry enough that you felt ready enough to cuss them out, yet you never did. You were too afraid of the consequences that stepping out of line would yield.

Your nightly visions only further prove your cowardice. In the dark of your nightmare, there was no hope, and you woke up shaking and nauseated.

The streets below the window of your room were still populated despite the late hours. It was the end of the week, though, and you figured people were using the night to let loose. The lantern beside your bed had long burned out, and you rummaged in your trunk for the pair of shiny candlesticks and matches you had stolen from Devisser's home--the wax had almost all burned out but there were still the holders. The brass would fetch enough money for you to survive maybe two weeks. It was not enough, though. Nothing was ever enough. You could have stolen his wife's entire collection of jewelry and you still wouldn't be able to get a ticket out of Kerch. No amount of money could strike your name from the lost indentures list.

There was always that Brekker that the shopkeeper had steered you towards. If he could do what she said and help you get to Ravka then you should find him as soon as possible. You had nearly gone to see him several times in the last few days, but you always chickened out. You would head over to the Crow Club with every intention of meeting Brekker, and yet, you could never bring yourself to go inside.

You were about to light one of the candles but instead you packed them away and pulled your day clothes from your trunk. You probably looked disheveled as you hit the streets, but not less composed than most of the people around you. A man stumbled past you, drunk, before he leaned into a post and emptied his guts into the street. The barrel really was a lovely place. You should have come sooner.

You pulled up the collar of your jacket to protect yourself from the wind that seemed to pick up the closer you got to the Crow Club. People were milling about the streets, their chatter and whispers carrying through the crisp air. What kind of secrets did they share? And how long would it take before their secrets infected the entirety of the barrel? In the short time you had been here it seemed you had heard the phrases "I heard it from" and "I assure you it is true" a thousand times. Everyone was a gossip, which made everyone dangerous. All it would take for you to be found by Devisser or the stadwatch was a rumour about your origins. Speculation about you might lead to the uncovering of your deserted indenture or people might think you were a runaway Grisha. The last thing you needed was for people to think you were valuable or worth notice. You were just another face in the crowd; your only goal was to go to Os Kervo.

The club was bustling with people as you arrived. You stood back a bit, biting at the inside of your cheek. For a moment you debated whether you should just go home, but you couldn't seem to make up your mind. You could only wait. As for what you were waiting for, you had no idea. A sign from the saints, maybe? Anything at all that would tell you to trust the club and the Brekker inside of it.

A young man stood against the building, staring directly at you as you eyed the crow sign above the door; it swung in the breeze, as though it was about to take flight. The man had been outside before when you passed by, watching you closely then as he was now. He called out to you.

"Have you finally plucked up the courage to come inside this evening?"

Your stare snapped down to him. He palmed a pair of pistols at his waist, but there was no threat in the action. It looked like more of a comfort or a habit that he had. He had never interacted with you before, just stood watch.

"I don't know," you answered, truth in your words. You stepped closer to the building, closer to the man. "I was thinking about it."

"Well, you look cold, perhaps you should think about it inside," he smiled.

A short scoff escaped you and you moved to stand before him. "If I entered the club I wouldn't need to think about entering the club."

"Sounds logical to me." He tilted his head at you. "What are you afraid of?"

You paused. There was nothing innately scary about the club. You weren't a gambler nor were you a drinker, so you wouldn't be trapped in a cycle of either if you decided to go inside. What you were doubting was the person you were supposed to see. If you were to believe the shopkeeper, this Brekker could be the key to your future. He could help you attain your lifelong dream of finding your family in Os Kervo. It was the idea that you might finally be getting what you wanted that made your stomach turn to lead.

"I just… I have to ask a big favour of someone I've never even met and I don't know how they'll react," you decided to tell him. It was close enough to the truth, and he considered what you said.

"There's no use in worrying over it, then," he said. "It sounds like something you just have to do."

His words were encouraging, and you smiled at him.

"If I may, who are you asking a favour of?"

"Someone called Brekker."

His mouth desperately wanted to curve into a smirk and you could tell that he was doing all he could to stifle a laugh. This reaction made your fear return, and you frowned up at him. He noticed your pointed look and managed to clear his throat.

"What's wrong with Brekker?" You questioned.

"Nothing at all. It's just funny to me that you're so afraid of seeing Kaz."

"You know him?"

"Know him? We're great friends. You're gonna love the man." He leaned towards you, raising a brow. "In fact, why don't you and I go inside and meet him right now."

His tone was playful with a hint of deceit, but you could tell he was not entirely dishonest. If you had to go out on a limb you would say that he was not trying to lead you astray.

You nodded, and he grinned, leading you inside.

……….

The breeze caught the curtains in Kaz's office. He had been doing the books when Inej came in, giving him a report of the whispers on the street. She was still there, explaining to him about an actor that Pekka Rollins was training to be the missing princess. Apparently the actor was very convincing, and--to add insult to injury--she had been one of the ones Kaz auditioned and ultimately turned away. But if he rejected her it must have been for a good reason. Still, the thought of Pekka fooling the old lady and getting the reward put a sour taste in Kaz's mouth. That reward was his. She was his pigeon.

Inej was interrupted by the door squeaking open, making a wedge of space just big enough that Jesper poked his head in.

Kaz spat his name, glaring daggers into his friend's face. "What could possibly be important enough for you to be here? I told you to watch the door."

"I was watching the door," Jesper replied, "when I came across someone who wanted to meet with you."

"Tell them I'm not seeing anyone right now," he dismissed, turning back to Inej. He knew he was being harsh, but the information he had just been given put him in a foul mood. He would likely seethe for the rest of the night, snapping at anyone who bothered him.

"Oh, you'll want to see them, I can promise you that." Jesper opened the door, gesturing for someone to come in with a "here we are, my dear."

You stepped past the threshold and immediately Kaz felt his anger diminish. After waiting for nearly a week since that day in the shop, you had made your way to him. There was apprehension in the muscles of your shoulders as you took in the room. Your eyes fell on him and he stared back, studying your features properly for the first time. There was something uncanny about your face, and you certainly looked more like the missing princess than everyone else he had seen for the job. You murmured a quick introduction, eyes darting to Inej but quickly falling back to him as you told them your name and began to explain why you were here.

"I have an issue I was told could be solved by a man named Brekker. I assume that's you." You tilted your chin at him, uneasiness in your stance. It didn’t take a genius to tell that you were nervous.

"You assume correctly, Miss Vos." He motioned for you to sit in the armchair before his desk, and he stepped behind the surface. Jesper and Inej stood by the wall, and you glanced over your shoulder at them before meeting Kaz's waiting stare. "Your issue?"

"I need to go to Ravka, but I don't have the money for travel papers. Also… it's not exactly legal for me to leave the country."

He half expected you to lie, to say something other than what he had overheard in Eugenia's shop, but you didn't. You either trusted him enough to be honest--which didn't seem likely judging from the way you sat with your spine as rigid as a marble post--or you had no other choice but to be frank with him. It was probably the latter.

He looked down at you, responding smoothly, "Normally I wouldn't be able to help you with something like that, but as luck would have it, I can obtain the proper documentation."

Your shoulders relaxed a bit, your face softening. But you had barely any time for ease as he spoke again.

"However, my offer is conditional," he said, leaning into the desk. You swallowed, brows pulling together as you looked up at him. "Have you heard the rumours of a missing princess?"

You gave a quick nod.

"And have you heard of the Grand Duchess Marien?"

"I know the name."

"Good. Then perhaps you'll know that the Duchess is the mother of the late king," he explained. "She's been searching for any leads on the missing princess."

"I don't see the relevance of this."

"I can help you get to Ravka, but only if you help me by posing as the princess."

You scoffed. "That would never work."

"Why not?"

"I-I was brought up in servants’ quarters, not a palace--I wouldn't even know where to start if I were to pretend to be a princess."

"That's where we come in," he said, nodding to Jesper and Inej. You looked at them, and he kept on, saying, "We can teach you everything you'll need to know."

"This is ridiculous. I'll find my own way," you huffed, moving to stand. Kaz was quick to react, his cane blocking your path to the door.

"Sit down," he ordered. Your glare, piercing as it was, could not rival his. The sight of yours did nothing to intimidate him, whereas--after a long, unblinking moment--his had the required effect. You took a seat.

Kaz pulled a book out of his desk drawer, flipping to a dog-eared page. He turned it around, motioning for you to look. A portrait of the royal family peered up at you, and you stared at it with pursed lips.

"The princess was six years old here, and though the resemblance is not exact, it is there," he explained, pointing at the youngest girl in the image. She stood beside a little boy, hands folded atop his shoulder. You stared between them for a moment. When you looked up at Kaz he swore he saw a glint of sorrow in your eyes. You recovered in a split second, shaking your head.

"No way." You crossed your arms, casting an irate stare at Kaz. "I'm an orphan. I don't have a family. I know for certain that I don't because if I did I would remember them--especially if they were a royal family."

There was a bite to your voice, a bitter sting of something which seemed to pain you. It was hopelessness that marred your words, and yet a lack of hope should have led to despair or exhaustion, not bitterness. Perhaps you hadn't lost hope. Perhaps it was the slim possibility of hope he presented that made you recoil. He could work with that.

Kaz sat down in his chair, levelling with you in the aim of coaxing information out of you. He wasn't trustworthy enough when he stood over his desk. If he wanted you to be vulnerable, he had to show vulnerability, and sitting would do that. He even briefly considered sending Jesper and Inej away but figured you seemed comfortable enough already with them in the room. They weren't as imposing as him, he supposed.

"What do you remember?" He asked, trying to be gentle with his words. You stared at the wall over Kaz's shoulder at a painting of the harbour. He saw Jesper start to fidget where he stood and even Inej looked slightly disinterested, but once you started to speak they listened carefully.

"I was ten or so when I was pulled from the True Sea. A group of fishermen found me floating on a barrel, said I probably jumped from a slaver ship. I was barely breathing, at least that's what they told me. They wrapped me in blankets, gave me food and a name; I still can't remember what my old one was."

You picked a bit of fluff on your pant leg, averting your stare even further. Your words were ghostly, devoid of all feeling like you had rehearsed them your entire life, and yet there was a faint tremor to your voice. How curious.

"When we got to shore they handed me over to their boss, a mercher named Devisser. I worked in his second home on the southern shore until a few weeks ago. Almost all of my memories were made in the kitchens of that place; I don't remember anything before the fishing boat." You met his eyes again, folding your hands in your lap, a neat little pile of rough knuckles and calluses, nothing fit for a princess. "Look, all I want is passage to Os Kervo. I don't even need to be taken all the way there, just as long as you get me to Ravka."

"And we can help you," Kaz insisted. "If you pretend to be the princess, learn the etiquette, the history, you can get to Ravka in mere months."

"I don't want to lie to make my way in the world."

"But if you think about it, It's not really lying," Jesper jumped in then, and Kaz held his breath. If he ruined this for them… "For all any of us know, you could really be the princess. I mean, you look like her, right? Plus, you've got family in Os Kervo, she's got family in Os Kervo."

If it weren't for the softening in your brow–your thoughts rolling through your mind with Jesper's words–Kaz would have put a stop to his friend. But, as it was, you seemed to be coming around to the idea. Jesper was playing on your lack of childhood memory in order to alleviate your guilt about tricking an old woman, and Kaz might have commended him for it if he really wanted to.

"We can show you to the old bat; if she says you aren't her granddaughter then there's no harm, no foul." Jesper smirked at you, "Plus, you'll have made it to Os Kervo where you can look for your real family."

You stared between the three of them, perhaps measuring the degree of sincerity in each of their eyes. In a rare attempt to be like Jesper, Kaz let his expression fall, making his face friendlier–or, at the very least, neutral. When you looked at him he looked back with eager eyes. They ought to do the trick.

"Are you in?" He asked.

"Why not?" You sighed, folding your arms. "If it gets me to Os Kervo…"

Jesper was grinning behind you, Inej had a small smile, and Kaz felt his mouth nearly imitate them. All the anger he had ten minutes ago had melted away. Pekka Rollins was far from his mind. The only thing that mattered now was making this amnesiac orphan into a princess.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the upcoming parts of this series please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @clockworkballerina @happyhauntt @mysticalfuncollectorus @aislinrayne @littleshadow17 @tooru-bread @katrina0-0

[deepseagraveyard]

They totally leaned way too hard on the framing of their incredibly complex and loving relationship with literally so many beats that has subliminally been this underlying cornerstone of the whole series since as early as season 4-5 as this "totally definitetly more on the toxic side + is totally unchangeable and unfixable" which isn't entirely deniable but its tone feels way more antagonistic than necesary

obviously the tragedy and unhealthiness in their relationship is their cycle of self-sacrifice for the other + undervaluing themselves, but that love and that compatibility was still there! It majorly ignored how mutual the incredibly long chain of both simon and betty spending ages trying to see/save the other, and I'm glad that betty's perspective is elaborated on slightly (again the last episodes had really rushed pacing and didn't take advantage of all of its incredibly unique cast, concepts, settings and universe, etc) but it overviewed everything they had together and created this really tone-deaf take that simon didn't appreciate her as much as he should as if he hasn't been spending next-to-forever grieving over all of her sacrifice and how much he knows and loves her. Their relationship is wonderful and complex and has so much depth, and I'm worried about the kind of misinterpretations of them and their characters that could stem from this ending.

Also, it was probably intentional, but it also just felt incredibly anticlimatic, especially compared to the A-plot in fionna's world. This isn't like when ships don't get together in other media either, after all of this series focusing on how this specific relationship between these two subliminally being the key defining factor to the entire universe existing the way it did, they just break up so easily without so much as a single struggle or tears or anything? and then they're just fine afterwards so easily never seeing each other again despite the love that shaped and impacted and rewrote the entire planes of existence they lived in. You're going to tell me there's literally no way in this magical multiverse with curses and dieties and paradoxes and everything imaginable that there is no way they can be safe and happy together. that's what's impossible? My tone's really salty but the buildup vs the execution is unbelievable. that doesn't feel like well-written tragedy, more like a climax that wasn't really thought through fully. I thought I was satisfied with the ending initially, and while it feels alright on the surface, actually thinking about it for more than five minutes really has me feeling dissapointed. They deserved so much more and so much better.

[infiniteimaginings]

Begging for a part two of that angsty Percy fic😭😭😭 plz remind me if you do end up posting one

It’s just dull. (Book!Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You and Percy broke up because he gave more attention to Annabeth than he ever did to you. You were done and he wants to prove to you that he still cares about you. Will you hear him out? Part One: Who’s in this relationship? Pronouns: You/Yours, She/Her Warnings: There's a suicidal thought near the end, we don't go much into it though, but warning for it. (It's brief) Word Count: 4.5k A/N: I have heard your prayers, believe me I have (see below this a/n) (there's even more since I made this). Here is the very requested part two to ‘Who’s in this relationship?’ I will tell you guys, there was no intention for this to have a part two, but there is one now, because I love you guys! Enjoysies! (For anyone just joining us, you can read this stand alone, you don't really have to read part one to understand what's going on, it's explained well here.)

It had been two weeks since you left Percy by the now defiled space that once belonged to only the two of you. The sacred place where you would sneak kisses, have picnics, stargaze, listen to the ocean or each other's breathing. The place you considered safe because he was always there with you.

A place that was no longer safe because he invited Annabeth Chase to the one area of camp the two of you had away from prying eyes. 

At the abandoned building, on the almost caved in roof, the daughter of Athena sat next to the son of Poseidon. He was sprawled out on his back, silent as he looked to the stars draped over the night sky, lighting their vision. Well, his vision because Annabeth was far more interested with her shoelaces.

She was picking at the aglets, peeling the plastic off and chewing at her lip, deep in thought. The sound of the ripping plastic caught the attention of the raven haired boy next to her who looked over lazily, his expression generally neutral. He raised a brow, lifting himself so he would be leaning on his elbows, the roof tiles digging into his skin.

Annabeth heard the sound of his shifting so she looked over, her stormy gray eyes meeting his deep green ones. He gently smiled at the eye contact but she looked away, hugging her knees to her figure. 

Percy blinked in slight surprise at the reaction, “What’s wrong?” He asked her, now sitting up entirely, body facing her. The sound of his voice caused the girl now in front of him to sigh, face turning to him.

Her eyes were sad, she was chewing at her lip, fidgeting with her hands. Before she could even speak, as if Percy knew exactly what she was communicating, he put his face into his hands. He sighed heavily, pushing his hair back, now looking to the sky.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about her too.” He mumbled out, eyes for some reason refusing to look at Annabeth.

“She was right…” Annabeth spoke, looking up to the stars as well.

“About?”

She gulped, blinking her eyes rapidly to stop from tearing up, “None of this is fair to her.” She told him honestly, her voice so soft the air could barely pick it up to reach Percy's ears.

He pinched the bridge of his nose at the words, he knew it wasn’t fair. He knew what you said was true, he just couldn’t accept it. He had known Annabeth since day one of being at camp, he hung out with her a lot. He couldn’t see the problem until you were gone and he found himself missing you more than usual, a feeling he never had before which led him into a spiral of questions about all he never noticed.

He could’ve argued, he could’ve said that none of it made sense. He could’ve said none of it was true but instead all that left his lips was a whisper. He pulled his knees up, dropping his head to them, “I know.”

Annabeth stood on the roof, the tiles slightly shaking but she paid no attention to it. She just looked at Percy. She didn’t brush herself off, she didn’t fidget with her hands, she was still and silent. 

When Percy looked up from his sat position, he inhaled sharply at the serious expression on the blonde's face. Annabeth was frowning a bit, her eyes were watery, but they were narrowed a bit. 

She looked away, sniffling, before looking back to the boy in front of her. “This isn’t fair to her.” She repeated to him, her voice airy. “After what happened, I just…” She paused, tongue poking the inside of her cheek, “You still bringing me up here always makes me want to puke.” She spoke simply, shrugging at her own words.

Percy's eyes slightly widened, his eyes reddening at the rims. He furrows his brows at her words, “I…” He couldn’t finish his own thought because if he was being honest, seeing Annabeth there made bile rise from his throat everytime he looked at her. It felt wrong, as if you placed different characters in each other's stories and expected them to move along.

The girl nodded, “Yeah, it makes me feel,for lack of a better description, physically ill.” She continued on, swallowing harshly, eyes clearing up a bit. She gently crossed her arms, not of anger or waiting, as if she was crossing them to warm herself though it wasn’t cold. “You brought me somewhere that was just for the two of you, and I know if I was your girlfriend, that would be it for me too.” She explained honestly, frowning deeply as she shook her head, Percy staring at her quietly. Annabeth kicked her foot on the roof softly, barely grazing the tile. She looked to the tile so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes again, “I do like you Percy.” 

Those five words were five words that Percy thought he would be ecstatic about. Twelve year old him would’ve been utterly buzzing, but years later, he doesn’t feel anything to them. When she said them he scowled a bit, not realizing, but he fixed his expression when he noticed, grateful she wasn’t looking at him.

Annabeth continued on, “But, after all this…” She inhaled deeply, hand on her chest to control her own breathing. “After all this, I am disappointed in myself.” She spoke, nodding, finally meeting his eyes again. “I’m disappointed in myself for even being a part of this, and I can’t do this with you and feel comfortable.” Her words were echoing, for Percy at least. She kept talking, walking to the ladder but her words were merged together and muffled. Before he knew it, he had no sight of the golden haired girl who was just sitting next to him. 

Another week passed and Percy was nowhere to be found, to the point that some campers were worried. So worried that they would go to archery practice, find you, and ask you where he was. 

Everytime a young camper would approach you while you held your bow and arrow, drawn into position, asking about Percy, you would release your hand. Your arrows would wisp through the air, piercing through the cloth target with such a force it almost tears in half somehow. You would turn to them, eyes in a glare as you seethed for the millionth time in the past few days, ”I don’t know.”

One of these days you were practicing archery, some of your friends call it releasing frustration, you call it practice.

One of those days as you were practicing, your bow was at your side, you were turned to get more arrows until you noticed they were gone. You huffed, rubbing your eyes. You had no idea how long you had been out there, but it had to be a while if there were no arrows left. You turned back to face the target to walk over and grab the discarded practice arrows until you were making eye contact with someone.

This person had gray eyes, they flickered from your eyes to lower. You followed the line of sight and they were holding all of your discarded arrows.

“I thought you might need these.” Annabeth spoke quietly, a gentle smile on her face, but it was clear she was nervous. She held the arrows out, stepping back a bit as if she were presenting a crown to royalty.

You clasped the arrows in your hands, putting them in your bag. “Thanks.” That was all you said, you readied your bow, back to her, counting your arrows because if you didn’t some of the people in Apollo cabin were going to be very upset with you.

Footsteps didn’t retreat in any sort of direction so you licked your lips and turned to face the girl still standing in the same spot. Your mouth was in a tight lipped smile, eyes darting around, “Can I help you?” You asked her, brows slowly furrowing.

She puffed air through her cheeks, eyes wide as she blinked, seemingly thinking about something. In the silence you just nodded and went to turn back to your arrows until you heard, “I’m so sorry.” suddenly blurted from her lips.

You faced her once more with a raised brow, lips slightly parted. You were clueless to what was going on so you kept looking around to see if she was being forced to say these things or something. No one else was around, it was just the two of you. You closed your mouth before putting your bow down, “For what, exactly?” 

“Everything. Percy, the abandoned building, all that time. It…” She paused, looking down, “It wasn’t fair to you.” She continued to apologize, rambling about everything she was sorry for but when she looked back up to you, you were just confused with a small smile on your face. She quickly shut up and her facial expression morphed into one of slight horror of your chuckle leaving your lips.

You shook your head, “Annabeth, I’m not mad at you.” You assured her, hands on your hips, eyes crinkling slightly. The blonde girl in front of you tilted her head, arms dropping to her sides, “You’re not?” She asked, now genuinely confused.

Now, Annabeth was a nice girl, she was so intelligent, incredibly kind. She didn’t defile the secret held space by being herself, she was a friend to you. She didn’t defile the space, Percy did. She wasn’t the reason the space was longer safe or comforting, Percy was.

You shook your head at her once again, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, rubbing it gently. “I understand how it feels to have a connection with someone.” You explained to her, your words caused her to look at you softly. “I know how long you’ve liked him, I’m not blaming you. You can’t control how you feel.” You shrugged, frowning a bit and she mirrored your expression. 

Her whole body seemed to fall into itself as she hiccuped slightly, “I feel terrible.” She mumbled, twisting the tip of her shoes into the grass nervously. You patted her shoulder, placing your head into her gaze so she would look at you. “You didn’t force him to choose you.” You said, the words made Annabeth go silent, as if she went through her mind to find how she did.

Nothing in her memories supported such a thing.

You smiled at the small spark of understanding in Annabeth's expression. “He made the choice to choose you over me, no one told him to do that.” You continued on, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This all felt like a weight on your chest you just needed off so you could breathe without struggle. “He decided to let his girlfriend be a second thought, you didn’t control his thoughts.” 

There was more silence, you didn’t know what to say to her then. So, you just adjusted her necklace and told her to be careful, your friendly eyes just made her feel guiltier. She apologized again and you took hold of her hands.

“No, I’m sorry.” You told her, the words were confusing to her, but she would understand soon enough. “I hope he doesn’t do whatever it was he did with me, to you. You deserve better than that Annabeth.” You nodded as you spoke so she would understand she doesn’t need to stay with someone who doesn’t cherish her.

She frowned and scrunched her nose awkwardly, “We aren’t…um..” 

“You decided not to?”

“I didn’t think it would be right.”

You nodded with a small hum, looking at the sky, mindlessly rubbing the backs of her hands with your thumbs. You had to squint due to the brightness of the sun before looking back to the girl who was looking right at you. “Well, you might’ve made the right choice.” You told her, letting go of her hands and turning back to your arrows, packing them up. You gathered your things, walking away, “You’re smart Annabeth, you make smart decisions.” You announced to her a little loud since there was distance between the two of you.

Annabeth didn’t run after you, when you walked away without looking back she turned around. Your backs were facing each other as you both walked away, distancing more and more. She knew this was distance, she knew that you might not ever talk to her the same way. What she also knew was that it wasn’t because you hated her, it was because you knew what was best for the both of you. You knew she was wise and could move forward with the knowledge that you weren't upset. She knew something about you too, she knew that you seemed more content than you were before, and that thought made her steps a little lighter as she walked away.

After the conversation with Annabeth, about a day or two later you felt better. Not completely, of course, but better in a sense you didn’t have to place your anger in archery that day. You went to the lake, walking across the beachside to admire some wild flowers that grew around. You wanted to see if you could find some of the flowers that a few of the demeter kids made grow on the beachside (somehow). 

You walked slowly, observing the area quietly. No one was around, everyone was at training, in their cabins, or in the plaza. You enjoyed these quiet moments to yourself where you didn’t need to be angry, where you didn’t need to be anything.

As you continued on you closed your eyes, inhaling the scent of the ocean. It was peaceful. Well, peaceful until you felt a cold, wet hand on your shoulder. 

It startled you so much to the point you jumped, twisting the hand, turning and kicking the person in their stomach out of pure reflex. It terrified you for someone to suddenly sneak up on you, for all you knew it could’ve been a surprise duel, so you have to stay on guard.

When you turned around to see who decided to grip your shoulder instead of just calling your name you were met with the sights of Percy Jackson. He wore his camp halfblood shirt and some jeans, soaking wet with ocean water. His hair was stuck to his forehead from how it was drenched. None of that matter though because he was clutching his stomach and his arm, the action making you roll your eyes.

“I deserved that.” He grunted out, shaking his arm and taking a deep breath, smiling at you sheepishly.

You stared at him blankly, “There are other ways to get a girl's attention you know, like saying her name, yelling something, or even standing in front of her.” You told him, crossing your arms. “Those options wouldn’t have ended in,” You waved your hand to him, “that.”

Percy winced at how you reacted and rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry, I saw you and just had to talk to you. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“Clearly.” You told him with a sigh, “Where did you even see me fro…” You trailed off, looking at him closely and then seeing how close you were to the water. “You’ve been in the ocean all this time?” You asked with a quizzical look. He looked, just as confused, shaking his head. “I’ve been in my cabin, I usually come out here for about an hour.” He explained, tilting his head at what you were implying but, he decided not to question it.

He rubbed his nose a bit, his cheeks and nose were pink, probably from the sudden hit he took from you. He bit his lip, “Can we talk for a minute?”

“We are talking.” You spoke bluntly, unsure of why you guys were talking. 

Percy smiled a bit at your comment due to him feeling suddenly uncomfortable, but he took the chance anyway, “I messed up.” He told you and you nodded. He waited for you to say something but you blinked at him, he continued, hoping his words would get a response from you. “I didn’t treat you with the respect you deserved, with the love and care you deserved.” He told you gently, green eyes looking at you through his lashes like a sad puppy. 

You scoffed with a roll of your eyes, “Yeah, you're right.” You emphasized your nods. “You didn’t treat me with the respect I deserved which is exactly why you can go be with someone else.” You told him, unsure of what he wasn’t getting because he was staring at you dumbly.

His eyes were big, his lips parted, his cheeks pink. He looked like a little kid who just got in trouble for accidentally renting a movie for an extra day. His facial expression transformed from an innocent trouble maker to a frustrated teen. He huffed into his hands, putting them on the back of his neck, “How many times do I need to say I’m sorry for you to just…listen?” He asked you, exasperated for gods know whatever reason.

Your eyes lidded, your mouth in a thin line. You refused to give him any sort of reaction. “How about we start with once and see where we get from there since you haven’t said it yet.” You told him, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. It wasn’t a suggestion either, your tone proved that. You crossed your arms, body tilting to the side as you blinked, waiting.

Percy realized in this moment, he messed up, again. He didn’t know how to make things right. You knew he always thought he messed things up, but usually you were by his side reassuring him of things. That people are human, have feelings, make mistakes. How does he prove he’s not a huge mistake when he messed up by letting you go? By hurting you? There’s no one to hold his hand through this.

He nodded, swallowing hard, looking into your eyes, “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked,his breathing became uneven. “While you aren’t around, I feel like my lungs are filled with water.” He explained quietly, looking at the sand. 

You thought the sentiment could come from poetry, the words deep with meaning...from anyone else. This is from the son of Poseidon, so it only leaves a bitter taste in your mouth rather than warmth in your heart. Why? You looked to the water, back to him, “It’s a good thing you can breathe in water then.” That’s why, the son of Poseidon will never know the feeling of water filling his lungs.

Percy clapped his hands together, “Okay, I don’t even know what to say anymore because of that.” He told you, deep frown on his face, his eyes getting a bit darker.

You walked a little closer to him as he ran his hand through his wet hair, moving it from his eyes. “Do you really want me to tell you how I’m feeling right now, in this moment?” You asked him seriously, and he nodded feverishly. “Please, just give me something.” He begged, his eyes pleading for some sort of emotional response, his hands quivering to stop himself from taking yours in his.

“I don’t care.”

“What?”

You repeated yourself, “I don’t care.” 

Percy laughed from slight annoyance, scratching his cheek, “Yeah, I heard you the first time.” He told you seriously, his irritation clear in his words. “Can you elaborate?” He asked slowly, blinking at you, trying to understand what you meant.

You tilted your head in though, not making eye contact. It wasn't because you were scared, it was because you didn’t owe him an intimate moment, you didn’t even owe him this conversation. You clasped your hands together, letting them fall in front of your figure. “Percy,” you began, looking at the boy who desperately waited for you to speak to him, “when you’re in a relationship with someone who decided to share all the special moments you guys have with someone else, the feeling dulls after a while.” You explained, moving on your heels a bit, moving your head to see if he understood.

He stayed silent, his posture straightening, his eyes blinking slowly. 

“After we broke up, it didn’t take very long to get myself back up.” You told him since your breakup was only about a month ago, “You practically prepared me during our relationship.” You thought about it aloud and realized how bad it really sounded. 

Percy seemed to realize that too as he tried to sputter out a response of how he didn’t mean to but you stopped him. “Unintentionally, intentionally, inadvertently, it doesn’t matter, I don't care.” You told him once more, unclasping your hands to shrug a bit.

The wind blew, ruffling you guys’s shirts. 

“You don’t care.” Percy spoke quietly, voice deep with heartache.

You felt tears begin to well in your eyes and tried to shake them away, blink them back. “I love you Percy.” You told him, the words weren’t spilling out your mouth you meant to say that. He looked a little hopeful at your words but when you bit your lip and your eyes glossed over he knew there was nothing good for the two of you. “The hurt may have dulled, but it’s still there and it will always be there.” 

Percy nodded, sighing out as his own eyes filled with tears, slowly turning red. 

You looked at him still, the eye contact was unbearable, causing your chest to tighten but you couldn’t look away. “I don’t forgive you.” You told him honestly, he nodded, a tear falling as he bit the inside of his cheek. You continued on, wiping your hands on your pants, “And I’m told to be the bigger person and forgive people so that what they did isn’t always on my mind.” You explained, your throat felt like it was closing, your voice got a little higher in pitch but Percy never looked away. “But I will never forget.”

His jaw tightened as he tried to bite back his tears, using his palm to wipe the stray few on his cheeks away.

“I will never be able to forget how you kept me near you, and let Annabeth get just as close to you.” Your sob choked your words but he could still hear them, your hands were in fists at your side. You didn’t want to get emotional in front of him, but if you didn’t it would just fester up inside you and create an ugly version of yourself. A version you would hate looking at.

Percy tried to speak, “I-” 

“Please don't interrupt me,” You began, mouth tightened, brow knitted, “because you’ve spent way too long not listening to me and I’ve spent way too long just letting it go.” Your voice was hoarse, trying not to cry and it just made Percy want to crawl into himself.

For once he wished he couldn’t breathe underwater, because nothing in camp half blood could’ve prepared him for the biggest monster of all. He felt like the biggest monster he’s ever faced because how could he hurt someone like you? How could he make the girl of his dreams cry? How could he cause so much pain, so much hurt, so much heartbreak and not even notice? For once he hated that the water could heal him, because he did not deserve it.

As much as he wanted your words to muffle, as much as he didn’t want to hear what you were saying he had to. 

“I don't know what you think I am.” You suddenly said, taking a deep breath, palm tapping at your chest to calm yourself.

“What?”

You sucked your teeth for a moment, “I supported you, fought for you, killed for you.” You listed to him, nodding with each word. “But Percy.. I am not your fan.” You told him, eyes staring straight into his, your head shaking, corners of your mouth deeply turned downwards. You could tell you were going to cry, but at the same time it seemed like no tears would fall.

Percy huffed, crossing his own arms, sand and water making it uncomfortable but he had bigger worries. “What is that supposed to mean?” He asked you seriously, gritting his teeth together.

“It means that I didn't do those things because I thought you were cool and admired you.” You explained simply, telling him the truth. “I did those things because I genuinely cared about you.” 

“I know that.”

Your head tilted, “Really?” You asked, before he could speak you waved your hand, “Because you treated me like some girl who was following you around and would do anything for you because you looked at me.” You told him, eyes narrowed, only a slight sniffle leaving you. 

He walked towards you, trying to speak, but you packed away, hands moving back to cross each other in a closed off manner.

“So many people thought I just had a hopeless crush on you because you treated me like a stranger.” You told him, the words were sharp and cut right through him. His eyes were wide, the whole conversation, his mouth was opening and closing, he didn’t know what to say.  You did though, “You didn't talk about me, you didn't hold me in public, we were never together… physically.” You explained and Percy just shook his head.

He may have been physically denying it but he knew it was true, he knew what he did, he knew he was wrong.

He wanted to explain, he wanted you back, he wanted you but you were so far away. You were standing right in front of him and somehow he couldn’t reach you, and it was torture.

You looked away, turning around, wiping your eyes, “I don’t want to have this conversation again.” You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. “If I’m being honest, I don’t want to talk to you at all, ever again.” You told him, beginning to walk away. 

Percy didn’t try to chase after you, stood at the beach, watching your figure get further and further away. He lost you, he tried to get you back and lost you even more. 

Percy Jackson was never really good at anything on purpose. He was chosen for a great quest at twelve to retrieve a bolt he never even stole, he stopped a war, he was a hero for years because he saved everyone over and over again. 

Who saved Percy though? You did. Now, he didn’t have you and he felt as if every piece of darkness held in crevices you shined with light, was now taking over the corners of his mind, slowly spilling everywhere. He didn’t know what to do without you.

Percy Jackson was a hero, but without you, he’d rather leave the world to die.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Can you write some hcs modern!chubby Aegon headcanons pls?

From you know who

I combined these two asks because I can :) BUT PLEASE I THINK I MIGHT KNOW WHO YOU ARE NONNIE, but I am very much a dumb bitch. hope you enjoy this, because I sure as hell did writing it 💗 + @godrakin (thank you lele for the mental image) 🥲

Strangers to Lovers.

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Modern!Chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,870.

WARNINGS: NSFW, size kink, breeding kink, praise kink, slight degradation kink, p in v sex, female receiving, Daddy kink, lactation kink, dom!Aegon, slight reference to fatphobia, short time jump (****). DNI !!!!

A/N - I am craving for this man, you guys must be SICK OF ME!!! but this was meant to be the short fucking hell...

Aegon is OBSESSED with you [as cliche as it sounds] since the moment he laid his lilac, doe eyes on you. It should have frightened you how infatuated he would eventually become: although you knew deep down that his affections were well-intentioned and sincere.

He is just incredibly smitten of you. If he was being brutally honest with himself, he never thought a guy like him would ever have the chance nor end up landing an utter and complete babe like you.

You see, Aegon leans a tad bit more towards the chunkier side, when it comes to his physique. Just above the average male height [taller than you], he maintains some muscle from participating in college football in his previous years, however he rarely continues now nor did he pursue pro. Much in his prime in college [during his initial years] his hobbies were much rather indulgent; often found in campus parties, drinking, feasting and fucking [repeat].

However, as his weight swelled over the coming semesters and seasons, he became slightly more reclusive. Still sociable when wandering campus and in classes, he maintained his notorious reputation amongst his peers.

However, he was first introduced to you in the library: caught in your own dreamy world and incomprehensible thoughts... You were stunning.

Something about how isolated, yet serene you appeared in your own company, reading through the dense pages, as you concentrated in jotting down words and sentences, was somewhat comforting for him.

He sat a few tables in front of you, the perfect view [so long as no one dared to interfere], having already forgotten the reason for his visit to the library in the first place.

He'd attempt to act busy and mindful, sneaking a few fleeting glimpses, often struggling to stop himself from capturing long, devious glances [spotting your cleavage from the tight, low-cut sweater you wore, each time you lean in a little closer to the pages, he caught a sneaky peek, making him smile].

Aegon made this a fixed habit, often finding you in the same 'hidden', corner. For the next few days, which ultimately became weeks, he'd find you in the quiet of the library, taking the precious time out of his day to simply observe you: absorbing your entire, delicate being.

The first time you'd actually spotted him in the distance, you'd managed to catch each other's attention, exchanging a faint, half-hearted smile [bashful you seemed], before resuming your focus back onto your books at hand.

Aegon felt himself growing flustered and hard, simultaneously.

You rarely socialised to anyone else, at times listening to music as you studied, although on this occasion, you were not alone...

A male [with a more leaner, toned physique, not that it mattered although Aegon did not dismiss it] had keenly approached you, and despite abruptly disturbing you, you remained polite [from the looks of it, unable to hear nor decipher what was being said] it seemed pleasantries were solely exchanged.

Aegon felt his blood begin to boil in a few mere seconds, the rage coursing through his body like never before. He was LIVID.

He refused to look away although would often remind himself to look down, fists and jaw firmly clenched. It was obvious the guy had his own intentions, although he'd come to the conclusion that you were either naive or simply gratifying. [He definitely believed the latter option].

Nothing escalated, although he was now determined to actually approach you the following day, he swore to himself that he would.

Aegon was quite experienced with the ladies, however, it had been a hot minute since he was in an exclusive relationship. Just occasionally did he fill the empty void that was his bed, with the company of some, desperate girl [however it had been over a month now since he had actually slept with someone, more so aligned to when he had met you].

He definitely would masturbate to you though in his own privacy, just vividly envisioning you, forcing a mental image of you completely bare and naked, aching and begging for him [a whimpering, wet mess].

When he finally heard the soft, tenderness of your sweet voice, he finally had a tone to match the mental image.

"Aegon, please-Big boy, I need you."

It wasn't the confidence in himself that made him finally seek you out directly, it was the rage from the previous day and the daunting thought, that another man would snatch you from him.

Aegon had come to realise, you made him a jealous man. Having contemplated in his delusions and fantasies of you, the possibility that you may have already a partner at hand that he knew nothing of their existence frustrated him. His dilemma of whether he'd continue to pursue you, or let you be, agonised him.

Although, he was more convinced he'd be incredibly regretful if he did not try...

"I-I'm Aegon, Aegon Targaryen-I have seen you around, seems like you live in the library-"

"I could say the same about you," You wittingly tease, a sly smirk streaked across your familiar face: seeing you so up-close and personal, your details prominent to his naked eyes, you were even more gorgeous.

Although, it seemed much to his amusement, you had noticed him too, despite his efforts of being incognito [he should've known better with his mass and size that he'd be impossible to miss].

"I'm Y/N by the way, pleasure to finally meet you."

Since that surreal moment, Aegon was determined to keep you in his hold. And much to his sheer luck, he'd initially befriend you, coming to find the truth that you were single, did his affections only begin to grow stronger.

However he feared that his attraction to you was simply that, a mere crush and nothing more. And yet, he wanted to know everything and anything about you, willingly devoting most of his spare time if he was not in class nor gaming or forced to attend some frat party, was he found in your presence.

The longer you remained exposed to Aegon though, his insecurities began to seep through the cracks of his false facade. The main self-doubts he had cemented in himself, were often surrounding his:

Weight: Aegon supported a subtle baby face, his jawline bedded beneath a decent layer of fat, with a double chin, his waist was quite round and fleshy, often swoll after eating a meal, his biceps were quite stocky and his thighs were thick. You absolutely adored his appearance, the though that he could easily overpower you, drove you wild.

Or that you would be the one to simply lose interest, finding a more attractively equivalent partner to your tastes and degree. How could he stop you from leaving? It was his worst fear, the risk of abandonment... Or perhaps, you'd grow disgusted by him overtime, becoming more familiar to his "slob" livelihood, how could you stand for it?

Much to Aegon's relief, you were just as keen and determined to stay: committed in your chances and efforts of creating a viable, loving relationship.

Although, he was intent on changing his risqué ways, for the betterment of you.

Aegon LOVED to spoil you: provided he was from a wealthy family [you'd come to realise], he enjoyed showering you with lavish, costly gift, even in the early stages of the relationship, from designer clothes/bags/shoes to opulent jewels. He wouldn't even require a designated occasion, when he felt like it [which was more often than not] he would surprise you.

In return you tried to shower Aegon with gifts, although ones with more sentimental value then one of cost. However, he begged for you not to, as he knew you were working to support yourself [which he often insisted you stop, reasoning that he would provide for you].

He was hesitant to introduce you to his friends, for he knew what most of them were heinously like. Although, he made certain they wouldn't dare to act carelessly nor snobbishly around you nor in your proximity. If anything, you rarely met with them, for Aegon now had differing interests and priorities to them.

The person Aegon often met and hung with were his brothers, cousins and nephews: Baela and Jace, you'd met and acquainted with in previous classes, whereas Aemond, you also shared a few classes with, however you each minding your own business.

One, particular thing you'd come to realise, Aegon was keen for physical touch as signs of affection. He often displayed his love towards you naturally, kissing you, hugging you, keeping you in as close as possible proximity, and in his firm embrace at all times, even if it was a simple hand over your waist/hip.

He loved to grab your ass, the more relaxed you were around him.

God forbid, if he saw you fashioning a well-fitted, summer dress during the warmer climates, his pudgy hand would graze over your thighs, as he'd occasionally squeeze your sensitive, tender flesh, earning a faint whimper from you. If given the chance, he'd fuck you then and there: "easy access" he'd reason.

He never pestered nor coerced you into the act of sex itself, not wanting to frighten you off, nor endorse you to regret the first intimate moment you'd share with him.

Although, the need to wait was new for him, and he found it challenging, as his crotch would often, helplessly itch for your cunt, desperate to bury himself deep inside your core.

The first time you'd be together intimately though, would be unexpected and more so in the 'heat of the moment' although, it was worth the wait.

Aegon initially was hesitant [although eager for you], "let's keep the lights low", "I'll keep my shirt on": you had to spare a few, important minutes reassuring him that he had nothing to be ashamed of. You [in fact], found him to be rather desirable.

His cock is THICK as hell, you grow worrisome over how he'll fit but he reassures you with such suave "I'll make it fit, baby...It'll only hurt for a little while."

Overtime, the more exposed and familiar you'd both became with each other's bodies, the confidence grew, especially with Aegon.

The way he'd use his larger, stockier mass to pin you down, as he fucked you senseless, was unlike anything else.

You'd often be the one reminding him to use protection [on top of your own contraceptive methods] for the last thing you needed in college, was a baby.

And often you'd have to remind him to be gentle, he easily lost his way mentally, the only thing on his mind was to selfishly sate his gluttonous self...

Aegon had a deep, dark lust to breed you. This was a first for him, thoughts of you carrying and swelling with his child, walking aimlessly around campus/town, as everyone laid eyes on the evidence of his undoing, provoked something carnal and raw inside of him. He'd surmised it was his own, methodical way of keeping you strapped to him, although he respected your autonomy, and knew that when the time was right, it would eventually be inevitable. You wouldn't be able to deny him any longer...

You both shared a major size kink difference: this was your first, for you had never truly been with someone of Aegon's size, and yet, something about how effortlessly and somewhat aggressively he could man-handle you. Lifting and guiding your body according to his motions and positions, as he eased himself inside of you. Often and unintentionally he'd leave marks and handprints all along your gentle skin that eventually would bruise, to which he'd later feel incredibly guilty for, only to be comforted by you that he meant no harm. If he was in control, he'd often use his body weight against you, pinning you down as he thrust his thick cock inside, painfully stretching your throbbing walls from within, as he forcefully parted your legs as wide enough to fit him through.

He loved eating you out: an insatiable hunger for your cunt and the wetness that oozed was delectable, his tongue always making you cum.

He loved to praise you in bed, how much of a good, little girl you were, taking him in extremely well.

"My precious baby, I know it hurts but look at me- You are doing so, so fucking good. You feel so good and tight for me, baby."

"Keep going princess, making me feel so good, letting me ruin you like this, fuck."

Although occasionally he'd tease and degrade you with some sharp name-calling: referring to you as his "whore" and "slut" which surprisingly, you vividly enjoyed.

chubby!Aegon is dom, even from below.

Aegon was an aftercare KING! Although he rarely did much for his previous companions, he actually took the time and effort to research what needed to be done.

He knew how painful sex could be with him, considering how he'd handled you and his overall larger size, he felt obliged to nurture you.

In the late hours of the night, he'd open up about his childhood, his parents and how neglectful and disappointed they often were with him. Vice versa, you would naturally open up too.

It saddened you deeply that he endured through such traumatic matters, that consequentially led to his poor, disorderly behaviour: the drinking, the smoking, the promiscuity. After outgrowing his habits, he explained that he sought comfort in food, and gaming, leading a sedentary lifestyle. The pace had caught up with his figure [alongside the stresses of college and scrutiny of his family].

"I'm proud of you, Aeg. I mean it, as should you be."

Aegon would be the first to ask and insist if you'd be happy to meet his family. Having never been in a relationship quite like this and for this lengthy amount of time, he had no doubt things were getting serious: he at least wanted to give you the courtesy of meeting his family, and them, you.

You were actually ecstatic that he felt you were right enough to meet his family, agreeing to his offer. Efficiently he arranged a time and day for a family dinner. Aegon was more nervous than yourself, although much to his relief, his family were quite fond of you, his mother, Alicent, especially.

She was more than aware of Aegon's internal self-conflict and could see the noticeable joy you brought into his life: that she could not deny her eldest.

In the coming year, Aegon offered you a decadent, lush promise ring, that you hastily accepted out of sheer excitement.

"If I intend to live this life, I only intend to live it with you. I don't ever wish to part with you, Y/N. That I can promise you."

****

Fastrack a few longing, years ahead, Aegon aiding in his family's law firm, and yourself now successfully graduated and living together cosily.

Aegon struggled in his final year, often losing hope in his degree and grades, yet you helped him to persevere [Alicent was thankful for that].

A few months after college, Aegon was too eager to marry you, he could no longer wait to deem you his wife, binding you to him for eternity in this lifetime: his family financed the entire wedding much to their pleasure, the night was one to remember: an intimate, yet opulent ceremony...

And as Aegon was deeply optimistic for, you had given birth to a healthy, thriving son in the year to follow.

Much to your admiration, Aegon was officially a certified DILF, still supporting his larger physique, as he'd cradle the newborn babe in his arms, the sight was touching. The babe looked incredibly feeble yet protected in his father's strong arms.

He is a family man through and through: despite being anxious of fatherhood since his own experience with his father, he was driven to being the best: present in his child's life.

He'd grown super protective of you during the pregnancy, attending your appointments and scans with you always. He refused to let you go alone.

Pregnancy sex, because he is horny all the time. However it was a challenge getting used to, working around both your swollen bodies, yet he was determined [reverse cowgirl is now his favourite position].

Aegon definitely develops a Daddy kink, after you accidentally moan the word, as he's on the verge of fucking you to a climax. An instinct kicks in, and the lustful appetite stirring in his eyes is unlike anything you'd seen before in your husband.

Always having a thing for your tits, as he latched himself on only to be met with the creamy coating and sweet aftertaste of your milk since the birth, it became an obsession for Aegon. Often late hours in the night, he'd crave for your milk: now you had to ration between the baby and the bigger baby.

Eventually, Aegon discusses his intent on expanding his little family with you [eager to start right away].

"Y/N please, one more little bub surely wouldn't hurt right now...We could easily handle it."

"One more will lead to two more, Aeg, you think I don't know you?"

[sserpente]

Happy Ending

Synopsis: Out of all people you could have been assigned to for your lifeguard training, it had to be Billy Hargrove. You hate the guts out of his cocky and flirty demeanour and during your lessons, Billy has no mercy and it shows—muscle cramps torment your entire body after another intense training session, and (un)fortunately, Billy takes notice and offers to give you a massage. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Request from anon. You asked, I delivered! But hear me out… what if he gave RC a seductive massage beforehand? ;-)

Words: 2654 Warnings: pure, shameless, and filthy smut

“Ugh…” You groaned, rolling your shoulders. Your lifeguard training was killing you. You’d be as stiff as a piece of log by the time you’d made it through the final exam. That’s how you’d end up saving drowning folk. They’d just use you like a piece of wood.

But you were determined to push through, if anything to prove a point. Billy Hargrove aka the pain of your existence, was pushing you to your fucking limits. Out of all people you could have been assigned to… well, technically, it had been a fifty-fifty chance. But boy, would you have preferred Heather over him.

Billy was a cliché on two legs. A cocky boy from California with abs, a womanizer, and a classic jock—not to mention he preferred to resolve disputes with his fists. You knew what he stood for and what his intentions were with the women he wooed and you hated yourself for being insanely attracted to him. Nothing good would come out of giving in to his recurring flirting attempts. He knew exactly what he was doing—knew about the effect he had on women and he was bathing in it. His ego was too big for his head, that was for sure; and the fact that during your lifeguard lessons, Billy repeatedly had his hands all over your half-naked body didn’t exactly make things easier for you.

You groaned once more, attempting to stretch a little. You had absolutely no idea how you had survived the past hour.

“You okay?” Billy came walking into the changing rooms, still wearing nothing more than his red swimming trunks. He was chewing on gum, a sly smirk playing on his lips when he noticed your struggles. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yeah… just tense. Muscles cramps.”

“I wasn’t going too… hard on you, was I?” He asked, playfulness playing in his voice. Damn him.

“No… I’m just not used to excessive workouts every day.” You realised your mistake, or rather, your poor word choice, the moment he started grinning.

“Oh, you’re not?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, stop it already. I hate you, remember?”

“I can help you, you know,” he said, unimpressed by my complaint and clearly still amused.

Raising your eyebrows, you glared him down suspiciously. “Oh yeah?”

Billy nodded. “I know a few… massage techniques.”

Your eyes widened and you took, no, jumped a step back.

“Absolutely not!” Billy’s hands slowly gliding all over your body, kneading away the knots? That… that sounded horrifying, it sounded… really hot. Which was why you could, under no circumstances, agree to it.

“Come on… Are you scared it could be… good?” He leaned in close and you cursed internally. Yes. Yes, that is exactly what I’m afraid of, for Fuck’s sake.

“No. I just… I don’t need you of all people to massage me, Billy. If I need to release some tension, I’ll go to a professional.” You winced, again slapping yourself mentally for your poor word choice. Billy chuckled.

“Follow me.”

You didn’t know why but you did. Billy led you to the lifeguard office in the back of the building. There wasn’t much in here—just some equipment, first aid kits, a surprisingly neat desk, and a low treatment table for injured pool guests.

“Lie down, stomach down.” He pointed at the treatment table. You hesitated. This was a bad idea. This was a really bad idea. So why the fuck did you move toward it and did as you were told?

“Is it just your shoulders and your back?” Billy went to grab something from the sink area—you could only assume it was some sort of massage oil. You doubted this was part of the equipment here, he must have brought it himself at some point.

“Yeah…” you croaked out.

You tensed, staring at the wall and avoiding his gaze at any cost when Billy slid the straps of your swimsuit off your shoulders and then proceeded to pour some massage oil into his hands. He rubbed them together, the soothing sound sending pleasant shivers up and down your spine, and then… you felt his hands on you.

Billy’s fingers were surprisingly soft and yet, they went to town firmly. A moan escaped your lips when he located the knots and began to massage them away.

“Told you I’m good,” he purred. You groaned by way of a response. Because the fucker was right. It felt amazing. He felt amazing. Billy knew exactly what he was doing—you didn’t even protest when, after a while, he pulled your swimsuit down further to reveal the entirety of your back. Up and down his hands went, exploring your bare skin and working away all of the tension his training had caused in the first place.

You could get used to this. You could fall asleep to this. Fall asleep and dream of Billy’s hands further down… no, stop! That’s exactly what he wants to achieve!

You were about to protest and opened your mouth when he travelled south with a start, testing the tense flesh on the back of your thighs. He tsked at you when his thumbs rolled over the knots and tense spots.

“I don’t think you were completely honest with me, doll.”

“I’m fine…”

“Flip over,” he suddenly said.

You ripped your eyes open, only realising now that you had closed them. You were naked from the waist up. If you turned around now, you’d give him a full front-row view of your tits. He wished, huh?

“I’m good, Billy.”

“Flip. Over,” he repeated. His voice was darker now, almost a little intimidating and… taunting in the most delicious and fuck, sexual way.

Grunting, you pulled your swimsuit back up just enough for it to cover your breasts and rolled on your back, meeting his blue eyes and staring daggers at him. He only chuckled.

“You’re really cute when you’re pretending to be angry.”

“I’m not pretending. I am angry.” Angry at how good it felt. Angry at how good he made you feel.

Billy smirked and poured some more oil into his palms. Next thing you knew, he was working your thighs so thoroughly that you tensed up in order not to wriggle around.

“Relax, babe…” Ha, easy for him to say. You had no doubt that he was enjoying this, perhaps even more than you were. Especially when his thumbs moved toward dangerous territory. Again and again, he grazed your inner thighs just a little too close to where you kept claiming he didn’t have an effect on you. A circumstance that was getting harder and harder to deny because fuck, you were growing wet. You could already feel the heat pooling between your legs, your breathing quickening.

And before you even knew it, your legs fell open further, inviting him in. It was over there and then. Fuck it. Fuck him, literally. You could only hope he had locked the door behind him. He won. He fucking won.

Your lips parted as Billy’s hands took the invitation. You bucked your hips the moment his thumb brushed directly over your still clothed clit, your nails digging into the treatment table, though this time, he didn’t tell you to relax. Instead, he did it again. And again. And again.

For a brief moment, he paused. And then, when you didn’t protest, he slowly pushed the thin stripe of fabric out of the way to reveal your glistening pussy to his greedy eyes. You were panting at this point, lost in the pleasure he was promising you without even speaking a word.

His fingers were slippery with the massage oil, his left thumb slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasped when you felt him push two fingers inside of you. He fucked you languidly, savouring every single second and you bucked your hips and arched your back, meeting his thrusts, silently begging for more.

You almost flinched upon hearing his seductive voice again. “I think that swimsuit needs to go, doll. It’s in the way… and we wouldn’t want to get massage oil all over it, now would we?”

Biting your lower lip, you hummed in agreement. All of a sudden, you did not mind him seeing you topless anymore at all. Quite on the contrary—it turned you on even more knowing that you’d be lying before him completely exposed, all his for the taking.

Billy did all the work for you. He removed his fingers from your pussy and chuckled when you whined at the loss. He then hooked his fingers into the hem of your swimsuit, pulling it all the way down—at an antagonisingly slow speed—to your ankles. You kicked them off, unable to hide your trembling. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this aroused, except, perhaps, this one time you’d been unable to fall asleep and instead decided to masturbate to the thought of Billy fucking you. Shit, you were a goner. A complete and utter goner.

“Jesus, I knew you’d look even hotter without the swimsuit.”

You moaned in response, still unable to meet his gaze. You kept your eyes shut, a sigh of relief escaping your lips when his left hand cupped one of your breasts as if they’d been made for him. His other hand returned to your slick cunt. Sweet, wet noises echoed through the otherwise empty room as he fingerfucked you all the while the hand on your breast kept teasing your hardening nipple. By the time he moved on to the other breast, you were breathing heavily, a warm knot tightening in your stomach—fast.

And yet again, you had to admit… Billy knew exactly what he was doing, working you toward what already felt like the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life. His voice alone almost tipped you over the edge.

“Do you wanna come, babe?” he rasped.

“Please…” You barely recognised your own voice at this point. Begging Billy Hargrove for an orgasm… you’d most definitely lost your marbles.

But before you could slap yourself for your horny stupidity, you fell. Billy made you see stars, his fingers working your cunt like an instrument and hitting all the right keys. You clenched around his fingers, drenching them in your juices as your toes curled and you came hard.

He made sure help you ride it out before he released you, wet hands gliding all over your bare body. He massaged your breasts for a little while until you came back to your senses, your eyes still closed in pure and utter bliss. You didn’t protest when he tilted your head and stroked your neck.

For just a brief moment, he stopped touching you. Then, you felt something hard pressing against your parted lips. You didn’t care what you were, didn’t care that he was a player and would move on to the next girl after this. You didn’t even care that you were supposed to hate him. You wanted Billy and you wanted him now. His cock in your mouth seemed like a good place to start.

Moaning with relish, you closed your lips around his tip and sucked gently, testing the waters. You’d given a couple of blowjobs before but with him, you felt the odd need to impress with your skills. The results were almost immediate. Billy sucked in air audibly when you took him deeper, tongue darting forward to tease his slit. He pushed forward slightly—surprisingly patient, he let you take him inch by inch at your own pace until you rolled over to taste him properly.

You were done for the very moment you tasted a salty drop of precum on your tongue. Accompanied by another moan, you started bopping your head up and down, your left hand busying itself with his tight balls. You released him with a smacking noise, right hand covering what you could not take, and suckled on his tip like a popsicle before licking over the entire underside of his shaft.

“Fuck…” Billy threw his head back just when you opened your eyes. Pleased with his reaction, you repeated the motion and then took him in your mouth again, faster this time. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, thrusting forward now and slowly taking control. You let him. You let him fuck your mouth until your gag reflex hit and your eyes were watering and yet, when he pulled out of your mouth, leaving your lips swollen and tingling, you made a disappointed noise.

“Where?” was all he said. You bit your lower lip and nodded toward the desk. He didn’t need to elaborate on his question. You knew exactly what he meant and quite frankly, you were too far gone to back out now.

“Condom?” you breathed out as you slid off the treatment table and approached the desk naked, your limbs still trembling a little from your intense orgasm earlier.

“Yeah…” You figured he went to grab one from his bag stored away in the corner, always prepared for a quick fuck with a girl he’d wrapped around his finger for sport. As much as you attempted to force yourself to, you couldn’t complain about it. Not right now. Not when you were desperate for him to finally fuck you and get that remaining tension—the tension between the two of you—out of the way.

Billy didn’t disappoint. His blue eyes were dark with lust when he returned to you without his trunks and quite an impressive erection still glistening from your saliva under the thin latex of the condom. He flipped you around so your hips hit the edge of the desk and bent you forward, fingertips ghosting over your spine.

You shivered, your lips parting to beg him to put it in already when he knocked all air from your body. Billy sank himself into you with but one eager thrust, a groan escaping his lips in the process. He grabbed your hips tightly, holding you in place for him as he began to fuck you, withdrawing almost entirely only to plunge back in so forcefully your breathing became uneven.

Your hands reached for the opposite edge of the desk to hold on to something, your legs almost dangling in the air. On your tiptoes, you kept your arse lifted to meet his hungry strokes. Hunting his own pleasure now, you could all but let your eyes roll the back of your head. He was fucking you so good… Billy hit all the right spots inside you and his stamina… fuck, all of the other guys you had been with would have creamed their pants long before you could have brought your lips anywhere near their dick.

It felt good… it felt so good… oh god.

“You gonna come for me again, babe?”

You nodded and hummed in response, too dazed for a coherent answer, feeling yourself tightening around his hard cock right before you exploded a second time. Pleasure coursed through your body, filling you from head to toe.

Billy grunted. He fucked you through your climax relentlessly, stilled only moments later when his own release overwhelmed him and he emptied himself into the condom. Shit, for a second you wished you’d have asked him to fuck you raw just so you could feel him coating your walls with his seed. You whined when he withdrew. But there was always a next time. You’d make sure of it.

You were certain now that you didn’t actually hate Billy Hargrove. You had hated how much you had wanted him.

“I think I’ll need a… ‘massage’ after every training session from now on. Your lessons are so exhausting,” you said, panting.

Billy helped you turn around and stand up straight, naked bodies pressed against each other. He grinned, his lips ghosting over yours. “You know what, I think so too, doll.”

A/N: Check out my blog for more Imagines and my original novel(s)! ♥

[wwinterwitch]

buy me presents — joel miller

summary: you and your ex situationship reunite at a christmas party

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.1K

tags: age gap (mid 40s and mid 20s), no outbreak, you fell hard and didn't know he fell harder bc he's an idiot!, miscommunication, angst, awkward reunion, everything gets fixed at the end tho don't worry, tommy is featured

note: i've been listening to fruitcake non-stop and i had this little idea that turned into an entire fic. it was kinda shitty at first but i decided to give it a try anyway

reblog or comment if you enjoy please!

all masterlists | pedro pascal masterlist

You always thought that going after older guys meant having absolutely no problems when it came to maturity and commitment. Guys your age are so good at playing games, keeping you guessing, too afraid to make it official.

So, evidently, when you met Joel at his workshop you were over the moon. He was charming, incredibly handsome and single. You still remember his attractive smile and the way he'd lean way too close to you, offering to fix the piece of furniture that you showed up with that day in exchange for a nice dinner and your phone number.

Everything looked good in the beginning. He was a true gentleman, so sincere and attentive, and you were foolish enough to believe he actually considered you special enough to pursue a relationship with you.

In your defense, he really tricked you. Showing you pictures of his daughter, taking you out on countless dates, interested to know as much of you as possible, texting non-stop...it was like a dream come true. After many terrible relationships with pathetic and insecure little boys, you found a wonderful man willing to give you exactly what you were craving.

But then everything changed after seeing each other for almost four months. Because he'd always get super defensive whenever you asked him why you always had to meet at your apartment and never at his house. Or why he refused to introduce you to his family. Or why he kept introducing you to people that happened to see the two of you together as 'a friend of his'.

Tired of this uncertainty, you decided to confront him. It was a very messy conversation. You asked what you were, he said he didn't know. You asked if he had any intentions of asking you to officially be his girlfriend, he said he probably wouldn't. You cried, he didn't know what to do about it.

You kicked him out of your apartment that day and that was the last time you ever heard of him. No texts, no calls, no one waiting outside your apartment or showing up at your work with a well-deserved apology.

Were you just stupid for thinking he was into you the way you were into him? Did you get your hopes too high a little too soon? Was there something wrong with you? Were you overreacting?

Yes, no, whatever– you wanted someone to go all the way with you, thought it was Joel, and he turned out to be like every other guy you've met. It sucks, but you gotta move on. You've dealt with a lot of shitty men to know better than to suffer for one.

The heartbreak Joel caused soon turned into a mixture of disappointment and annoyance before it turned into nothing but an unpleasant memory. Soon enough, Joel Miller was out of your mind, and you were more than ready to jump right in into the dating world again. Maybe it was pathetic, but you still refused to lose hope that the right guy will show up in your life and change things for the better.

You kept your options open for a while, not wanting to immediately rush into something like you did with Joel. If any of these guys you're seeing want to keep you to themselves, they'll have to put that extra effort. You're just tired of always chasing after them.

A whole month went by and you never heard from Joel again, which was completely fine by you. He doesn't even cross your mind at this point. He's probably spending all his hours at his workshop, keeping his nights free for his no-commitment dates. And probably getting ready for the holiday season too.

Christmas has always been your favorite holiday. There's something about it that cheers you up like no other festivity. Maybe it's the decor, the food, the fact that it's everywhere you look...it's always been a magical time.

You also love the parties and gatherings around this time of year, so you immediately agreed to be someone's date to one of them. You met this guy a few weeks ago– three years older than you, tall, dreamy eyes and great in bed. There was no reason as to why the two of you couldn't have a good time at this little party...or so you thought.

He casually mentions who's hosting on the way there. A friend from work, he said while offering you a hand to help you out of his car. His good ol' buddy Tommy Miller.

Your smile practically drops at the mention of that name, immediately going back to that date at the bowling alley. Joel bought a large portion of nachos to share after you completely beat his ass at bowling (he totally let you win, he said), remembering the way he talked about a brother named Tommy.

But...surely this is all a coincidence. The universe couldn't possibly hate you that much, right? At one point you almost thought you were crazy for even thinking of the possibility of this friend being the brother. There has to be a million Tommy Millers out there. It's such a common name!

What are the odds of this actually happening? That you're really going to Joel Miller's brother's Christmas party? And even if you are, that doesn't guarantee that you'll see Joel there.

And why should you care? You haven't spoken in so long, he probably doesn't even think about you when he hears something that could potentially relate to you. He doesn't think about the chances of reuniting with you for longer than a second. He surely doesn't think about you at all! You should give him the same treatment.

Holding onto your date's arm, you walked inside the impeccably decorated apartment. Red and white everywhere you look, with a large table filled with various snacks, a lit fireplace that gives the room a much cozier look, and a Christmas tree standing tall on one of the corners of the living room.

Tommy Miller was at the entrance greeting the two of you and enthusiastically introducing himself to you. Nerves were starting to overtake you because shit, there's definitely some resemblance.

Still, you tried to ignore your racing mind, wanting to have a good time with this great guy who's glad to keep you close to him, introducing you to all his friends in a manner someone should introduce their date. You feel important next to him, like he's really trying to show you off. Something Joel failed to do.

Eventually, you were able to relax when you got to meet everyone at the apartment and realized Joel wasn't there. With a beer in hand and a polite smile on your face, you joined a conversation by the fireplace, talking amicably and genuinely thinking the night was safe.

That is, until you heard the doorbell.

You watched Tommy walking towards the door, immediately opening his arms wide to receive whoever just arrived. When the stranger leans forward for the hug Tommy was offering, your smile completely fades when you notice it was none other than Joel.

He walks inside the apartment and leaves his jacket hanging by the door, taking a quick look around. You immediately turn around, not wanting him to recognize you– yes, it was stupid because he'll sooner or later notice your presence, but maybe you can avoid the awkward encounter for a few more seconds.

It takes everything in you not to turn around again, putting your hand on your date's back as you lean closer to him, trying to seek any kind of comfort you possibly could. He immediately wraps his arm around your waist, inevitably making you smile. God, this guy really knows how to treat you exactly the way you want it.

Unfortunately, Joel reaches the group of people you were talking to. He starts greeting everyone until his eyes land on you, standing there completely speechless for a few seconds before a smile appears on his face.

He leans forward for a quick kiss on the cheek as a way to greet you, and you barely move away from your date to return the greeting, moving back immediately to refugee on the guy's side.

"You two know each other?" your date asks. You almost wanted to kill him.

You stay quiet, deciding to leave Joel the responsibility to answer. It's genuinely intriguing to see what he has to say.

"Uh, yeah..." he starts, clearing his throat. "I think...you took a coffee table to my workshop for a repair?"

Wow. Glad to see things haven't changed in the slightest! Of course you two just met each other for a little repair. Of-fucking-course! It's not like he woke up completely naked next to you on your bed more times than you'd like to admit out loud.

"Yes. Exactly," you faked a smile, agreeing with his statement.

That was pretty much the only thing you said to each other. After greeting everyone he quickly joined a completely different group to talk to (because it's obvious he couldn't handle being close to you for much longer). You actually appreciated that, making the task of ignoring him until you left that apartment just that much easier.

Things went downhill when your date had to go to the bathroom and you decided to get another beer from the kitchen. You didn't notice Joel following you, and by the time you did realize, he was standing in front of the exit, blocking it entirely.

"Oh, hey, workshop guy!" you greeted with fake enthusiasm, sarcasm dripping from your words.

You hear Joel sigh, and as if that didn't piss you off enough he decided to open his mouth. "Yeah, I figured you'd get upset."

"Then why did you say it?"

He raised a brow. "What, you wanted me to tell everyone– your date included, that we were seeing each other like a month ago?"

The kitchen was completely silent after that. Perhaps he had a point there, but it was impossible to deny you were still hurt by the way things ended and how poorly he treated you, so that last thing you'd ever do is admit he's right.

"I thought perhaps now that it's done, you wouldn't care about keeping it a secret anymore," you shrugged defensively.

He smiles softly, seeing right through you. "Perhaps I've just never been the type to kiss and tell."

Again, you didn't have much to say, so you just scoffed. "Whatever."

Much to your irritation, he laughs. A low, deep chuckle escapes him before he's looking at you up and down. "You look good."

"I know."

Another chuckle. "Of course you do," he sighs, the smirk on his face fading. "You always look fucking incredible."

You stand there like a complete fool, taken by surprise when you hear him say that. It sounds so...defeated? Is that even a thing? As you try to come up with an answer to that, you just look back at him with a lost expression.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" you eventually ask.

Now it's him who's looking back at you in complete silence. Unfortunately, you know him enough to know there's something in his mind and he's not telling you anything about it. He's hesitating, doubting, the engines in his brain moving faster than ever.

For a moment, you thought he'd say whatever random bullshit he can come up with in that very moment and be done with it. And you'd roll your eyes because you know that's not what he wanted to say, right before moving him away from the door so you can go back to the party.

But in a surprising turn of events, he doesn't do that. He looks at you with nothing but honesty, and you even catch the smallest glimpses of hope when he speaks. "Yeah," he answers your question. "I've missed you like crazy."

If you were speechless before, it's almost impossible to even remember how words work right now. Never in a million years would you've expected Joel Miller to confess he misses you. Not when it was you who was always trying to arrange dates. Not when it was always you the one remaining him you really liked him and him barely saying anything back.

Maybe he just needed a wake up call? Had to live that 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone' type of situation to realize how he feels?

Your heart beats faster as you process his words. He's missed you like crazy.

Still, despite feeling so fuzzy inside, you show none of it on the outside. "No," you promptly warn him. "No, no. We're not doing that."

"What?"

"That, Joel!" you exclaim, frustrated. "You can't break my heart and then say shit like that when we happen to meet by accident."

"Is it an accident?" he asks shortly after.

You chuckle sarcastically. "Oh, so is this some Christmas miracle? The festive season brought us together because of some nonsensical fate-thingy that's written up there in the stars?"

Joel looks slightly embarrassed, letting out another frustrated sigh. Before he can answer, you hear footsteps down the hall that leads to the kitchen so the two of you stay completely silent and turn around to see who it was. 

"Hey...oh," Tommy says, his initial smile fading when he notices the tension between the two of you. He quickly raises both of his hands in the air as he walks towards the fridge to grab two beers. "Don't mind me, I just wanted to grab these," he quickly explains.

When he turns back around, he immediately focuses on his brother. At first he looked very confused, like silently trying to ask him what the hell is going on, a small smirk appearing on his face just seconds later. Without another word, he quickly makes his way outside the kitchen to give the two of you much needed privacy. You could feel your cheeks heating up after witnessing that little exchange.

Focusing back on you, Joel decides to continue the conversation. "Okay, if you put it like that of course it sounds silly..." he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. "But, I don't know, I’d like to think something out there wanted us to meet again so I could make it right."

"No," you repeat. "You had a chance to make it right as soon as I kicked you out of my apartment. There was a chance to pick up your phone and give me a call or send me a text or...anything, Joel– fucking anything!"

There's a brief pause, and you're so glad to see he has nothing to say because boy, oh boy did you have things to say.

"You don't get to come back a month later and claim to miss me when you didn't even try to get me back. And you were a real piece of shit with me, by the way. You really made me think we had something special, just to treat me like it was nothing," you continue, visibly upset by the incredibly uncomfortable and difficult situation he's putting you in. "You made me feel...you made me feel like I was some stupid little girl you only wanted to get into bed with."

He looks absolutely horrified by your last statement, taking a few steps forward until he's standing right in front of you. The proximity makes it so much worse, forcing you to look down at your shoes. He gently grabs your chin to force you to look into his eyes, and for some reason you allow it. Maybe you were vulnerable, maybe you wanted to feel his touch. Maybe both.

"I promise you, that was not my intention at all," he immediately assures you in the most serious voice you've ever heard coming from him. "It was never just that. I was really falling for you."

You frowned, feeling so incredibly confused and frustrated. "Then why did you never show it?"

"Because I was dumb and I was scared," he reveals simply. It surprises you how honest he's being, how you don't have to ask more to get information out of him. "You were the first woman I started developing actual feelings for after my divorce, and at the time I thought things were moving too fast between us and...I didn't know how to handle it."

Joel can tell you're still not having none of it, so he decides to continue. "I really wanted to be with you officially, but I guess my insecurities got the best of me. I'm just an old man and you're gorgeous, and young, and...Jesus Christ, darling, you're the most amazing person I've ever met," he sighs again, hoping you'd understand what was going on in his head when he made the terrible decision of letting you go. "I didn't want to fuck it up or get my heart broken again...but I totally did fuck it up, and the worse thing is that I broke your heart in the process. I'll forever be sorry for that."

You were speechless yet again, and Joel didn't know how to take that. Are you going to say something nice or are you going to yell at him and tell him to go fuck himself? The uncertainty was eating him alive at this point.

Eventually, you speak up. "You did fuck it up," you agree. "Like, big time."

He sighs yet again, nodding. "Yes, I did. And I know I don't deserve it, but I'd like to have a second chance to prove to you just how much I care about you," he continues, not giving up this time. He couldn't live with himself if he managed to lose you twice. "To give you all that you deserve, to be there for you, to show the world how happy I am that you're my girl...I'd make it right."

Letting go of your chin, he moves his hand to the side of your face, anxiously waiting for an answer. The fact that you're not pushing him away is already a good sign, because he knows you're capable of throwing a beer bottle at him for saying what he just said.

You considered your options. There's a guy outside in the living room waiting for you. There's a bunch of other guys on your phone that'd run to your doorstep if you give them the chance. All of them have behaved better than Joel...but you can't fool yourself.

Even if you combine all of them, there's no way that everything you've shared with them can come close to what you experienced with Joel. You've never liked anyone so much before, and holy shit how badly you've missed him.

If he thought your proximity was a good sign, the soft smile that appears on your face makes him relax considerably, almost wanting to pull you in for a hug and start thanking you already.

"I guess you can take me out to dinner or something to prove you're sorry," you eventually reply, making him grin from ear to ear. You notice he's leaning even closer with the intention of kissing you, but you quickly stop him. "Don't even think about it. You'll have to earn the right to do that."

Joel silently agrees to that arrangement, immediately taking a step back from you, the smile on his face never disappearing. He doesn't care that you're not kissing him right now, not when you agreed to give him a chance. That's more than enough for him. The best Christmas gift he could've ever received.

[tojiwrd]

4: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings family problems, bad, sad, emotional infidelity, dangerously short chapter im sorry getting you ready for the next one &lt;;33 flashback flashback y did satoru end it with u??

word count 1.3k

a/n i'll beat both of them up i promise

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

People said promising yourself to someone you love was euphoric; it was a feeling you couldn’t achieve through any other form of happiness or drugs. Satoru believed that because when he asked you to marry him and you said yes, he felt as though he could rearrange and hang every star in the sky to spell your names for the rest of eternity. It was electric, the feeling, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

But Satoru wasn’t somebody who was ever in the midst of two lines; if he was happy, he was so fucking happy, and if he was sad, he was so fucking sad. 

Growing up in his home hadn’t taught him many things, but he’d come out of it with two lessons he’d always abide by:

Never, ever make promises you can’t keep.

If you can go against Gojo Takayashi’s wishes, do it.

He knew that he should wait to tell his parents about his engagement with you until you were with him, which is why he didn’t let it slip during the first dinner he had with his parents since he put a ring on your finger. When his father said he’d invited a guest over, Satoru felt more at ease to keep his mouth shut because, even though his parents were not his favorite people, he was itching to see their reaction. The little boy that lived somewhere in the abyss of his mind expected them to pop champagne, for his mother to immediately call each and every one of the people she knew to tell them the good news, for his father to pat him on the back with a gleeful smile that made him feel like he’d at least done one thing to make him proud.

And, even though his second rule was to always strive to go against his father, he felt it would be some sort of a twisted poetic number for his father to be proud of him for loving you. For you loving him back.

Kimura Hana was pleasant, and her parents even more so. Despite that, both children on the dinner table that night had a hard time trying to entertain themselves with the dull conversation. Their fathers droned on about their next upcoming business ventures, constantly toasting to the point they’d made a toast to the art of toasting, claiming that it was the best excuse for people to down more alcohol with good intention. 

Hana kicked his leg underneath the table from beside him and Satoru, Y/N-loving, elated-over-his-engagement-in-private Satoru, almost sent her a glare for being so close to him. But he covered it when he noticed a small napkin she passed his way, a small giggle leaving her lips. 

He opened it, and there he read, in pretty and small handwriting with red ink:

this is sooooo boring.

He looked around and patted his pockets subtly when her lithe fingers reached out, right above his lap, and offered him a pen. He gave her a small smile before replying:

If i have to hear another stupid toast, I’m going back to my room

She scanned his reply, and he noticed her lips curve up upwards as she did. Satoru leaned back, fork mushing the leftovers of his desert as he waited for her. Her hands reached down, and placed it right on his thigh and he almost jolted at the slight hint of her fingers against his jean-clad thighs.

He shakily opened the response, a misplaced sense of guilt ravishing his brain.

what about me???

He tried not to think much before he replied, reminding himself that this was friendly. She was being friendly.

You can come up too. I’d hate to leave you here with the wolves.

“Gojo,” Hana said, her voice loud enough for the entire table to hear. Satoru turned to her, raising his brows. “You wanted to show me that book, right?” She turned to her mother. “Ma, do we have enough time for me to go up and check it out?”

Her mother smiled a very specific kind of smile, and Satoru once again reminded himself that this was friendly. 

“Oh, of course. With the way things are going, I think we have about twenty more toasts to go.”

Satoru glanced back at his father who, in his drunken stupor, paid him no mind while his mother barely looked his way, eyes focused on the empty plate below her. 

When Hana went through his small bookshelf, something he didn’t think she’d actually do, he sat on his messy bed and watched her. She stopped at one of the books and pulled it out, a small smile on her lips as she turned back to look at Satoru. 

“What is this?” she asked, plopping down on the bed as she scanned a CD he’d placed in the middle of all the books. It was something Geto had given him once after a fight he’d had with you two months into your relationship, and if he remembered correctly, he’d written, on top of the case with a thick, black marker: move on bro!! Geto had brought it up in one of your recent conversations and said he wasn’t right in the head to think either of you could ever move on from the other, and followed that statement by saying you were meant for each other.

“Uh, my friend gave it to me after I had a… well—”

“A breakup?”

It was a small falling out, but he didn’t correct her because it was so long ago. So, he nodded. 

“Breakups are so—they’re so annoying.”

Satoru chuckled, curious. “Got your heart broke or somethin’?”

She shook her head vigorously, as though she hated that statement with every fiber in her bones. “No, at least not recently. Probably because I hate the idea of meaningless relationships.”

Meaningless relationships? “Elaborate.”

“I don’t know! Like, I’ve thought about it and I just don’t see the reason to tie myself down to someone, you know? I’m young and I have a lot of time to get serious and have joint bank accounts but now? I feel like if I ever tied myself down, it’d end sometime because we end up hating each other for holding each other back while we’re so young.”

He tried not to think about her words too much, but it was hard. He was sure she’d say something completely different were he to tell him about you and your engagement, sugarcoating her words and saying stuff like not you! I’m just talking about me, of course. And that was what he didn’t want. He appreciated her brutal honesty because she was unknowingly giving her perspective on something he hadn’t thought about before getting engaged. 

You love her and you’re her fiance, a part of his mind told him, holding him back from probing further. But another part, the part of him that was always scared over one thing or another pushed him to ask her more. 

And he did, he asked until he was unconsciously convincing himself that the two of you shouldn’t go through with this, but not enough for him to break it off with you. 

What did convince him to break it off with you was something that happened around a month later, after he and Hana had hung out plenty of times due to the increasing closeness of their parents. It was because he found himself shifting his chair closer to hers during dinner. It was because he unconsciously raised his thigh everytime she passed him a note and didn’t reach out his hand so her fingers would graze over it. It was because he was texting her more than he was texting you, and a part of him didn’t seem to mind it. 

He knew it was wrong, despite the plethora of times he tried to convince himself that it was platonic. He couldn’t deny that there was something so utterly wrong about how he didn’t want to tell Hana that he was engaged to you. He didn’t end it with you after doing something that would instantly cross the line he’d been teetering over the edge of for a month, he ended it with you when he felt like if she would cross that line unknowingly, he wouldn’t stop himself from giving in. 

And Satoru didn’t want to cross that line.