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purple-babygirl · 7 months

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don't call me daddy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 4,826

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: Bucky is mean, a couple of insults, mistreatment of age regressed reader, crying, mentions of hot liquid getting on skin, crying, mentions of the r-word and the s-word, Bucky's PTSD & nightmares

A/N: so this is an idea I've had for forever and I finally mustered up enough courage to share it with you guys. Please enjoy and let me know what you think and if you have anything you'd like to suggest for the upcoming parts. I love you 💜

“This sounds stupid,” Bucky grumbled when Sam suggested the program.

“It's not stupid, Buck and it works!”

“If it worked for you doesn't mean it's gonna work for me, Sam. You have patience and it's in your nature to want to take care of people.”

“Says the one who looked out for Steve all his life!”

“Steve was one person and he was actually dumb, he wasn’t acting like he can't fucking feed himself!”

“They're not acting. They're age regressed.” Sam tried to remain calm.

“What does that even mean!”

“It means—”

“You know what? I don't care because I'm not doing it.” Bucky smiled before leaving Sam's house and going back to hide in his own.

But Sam was persistent. He was determined to get Bucky help that would actually help. So he suggested the program to Bucky's therapist and before Bucky could punch him, she was having him sign the contract.

“Sam, I don't wanna meet anyone. It's not gonna work anyway so let's just pick any of them.”

“They're not service dogs, Bucky!”

“Really? Because that's exactly what it sounds like they are to me.”

Sam glared at him, elbowing his side as a short lady with a kind smile approached them.

Bucky didn't pay her much attention. He didn't want to be here and he didn't care what she was reciting.

Only thing that caught his attention was when she asked him what age he would prefer so she could introduce him to a group of littles.

He was dreading this. It was stupid.

“…what are you looking for?” Bucky caught the end of her talk with Sam.

“I don't know, someone who can talk like they're not retarded,” he answered the lady rudely and she smiled in understanding when Sam apologized.

“They're not retarded. All of them are perfectly healthy and okay. They're age regressed,” she told Bucky and he rolled his eyes so hard he felt they might never return from the back of his head.

He hated those two words. Age regressed, what the fuck did that even mean?

“Maybe we can meet some of the littles who are not so young, like 6 year olds?” Sam suggested and she nodded, leading them to a building with long corridors and lots of doors.

Bucky could see adult women and men playing with dolls, sleeping with pacifiers and some of them even had other people feeding them.

What the hell was this place? Did they expect him to do that? With a person perfectly capable of handling his or her own self but chooses not to?! Was this the 21st century? Because he didn’t like it very much.

The lady led them inside her office and got a group of files out of some organized drawer. She'd barely laid them out on the table before Bucky was slamming his finger on one.

“We'll take this one,” he said, staring at the lady in disinterest.

“But you haven't even seen them,” Sam said between his teeth, kicking his leg under the table. He wished Bucky cared enough to do this right.

“I've seen enough. I pick this file and I wanna leave,” Bucky seethed back.

“This is Doll. She's one of the softest littles I've ever met and I think you've made a great choice, Mr. Barnes.”

“You call her Doll?”

“Yes, real names aren't revealed for the privacy of our littles unless they decide otherwise and she chose the name herself when she joined us.” The lady smiled kindly, making Bucky even madder.

“Whatever, let's get this over with. Tell her to come so we could leave.”

“Mr. Barnes, I have to admit your attitude towards this is very concerning and I fear I cannot risk the peace of our littles who confide in us to find them safe partners! Like I said she's one of the gentlest and I need to know you're going to treat her right before I even let you meet her!” The woman voiced her concerns and Bucky sighed.

He couldn't blow this now. He's come far enough with this whole process and if he went back to his therapist like that she was definitely going to get out her dreadful notebook.

He had to take this girl home tonight or else they would make him go through this same process over and over again.

“I'm sorry. I'm just a little confused, I guess.” Bucky scratched his beard.

“That's okay.” She smiled again, “most of our visitors are, but you can always ask.”

“Well— what is wrong with them?!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands in the air.

Sam kicked him again and glared.

“What? She said I could ask!”

“It's okay,” she told Sam with a chuckle.

“Nothing is wrong with them. Them regressing in age is their way to cope and relieve anxiety or deal with other mental illnesses such as traumatic experiences, or even just stress. It's a freer, calmer state of mind for them to return to when it's no longer easy for them to be big.”

Her calm, kind manner while explaining this made Bucky even angrier inside. This wasn’t normal and they should all stop acting like it was.

“So they're supposed to be helping me with my issues but they're dealing with their own issues?”

Like he originally thought, this was stupid.

“Yes, it's a mutual helping program.” The lady confirmed.

“Oh. And what's this Doll's issue?”

“Doll reverts to age regression as a coping mechanism for her depression and PTSD. She's been doing great lately actually!”

“Is she suddenly gonna go grownup or?” Bucky continued, involuntarily asking every question on his mind.

“No, like I said, Doll reverts to little space for the comfort and safety of it and while she can coax herself out of her headspace, she rarely ever chooses to.”

“But she can?”

“Yes. But I need to tell you, Mr. Barnes, that this is not why you're here.” She reminded, wanting to ensure the safety of self expression for the little one.

“I know.”

“I also need you to promise me to be a good caregiver for her. She's a sweet girl and I can guarantee she will be good for you.”

“I promise.” Bucky knew he was lying but he couldn’t care less about his honesty at the moment.

“And it’s never acceptable to make fun of her or try to force her into a more grownup headspace. That only makes it worse and her mind regresses further.”

“So what she becomes younger?!” He was trying so hard not to get frustrated, why make him!

“That's correct.” She nodded.

“How young?” Sam asked.

“The youngest she's ever been is 4.”

“Oh.” Great. Just great.

“She can still talk just fine,” she reassured them, knowing Bucky didn't want anyone who couldn't talk or seemed 'retarded'.

“Okay, good.” Bucky nodded, wanting to get out of the place as soon as possible.

“Would you like to meet Doll now or do you wanna take a look at the rest of the files?”

“I'll meet her.” Bucky stood up, hand already at the doorknob.

The meeting thing went relatively well and Bucky was surprised the girl wasn't intimidated by his frown or intense stare. She was mesmerized by the metal arm even.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he still thought this whole thing was dumb but he needed to convince his therapist and everyone that he was okay again so they'd leave him alone.

She didn’t ask him any questions or have any conditions. She just stared at him with wide, sparkly eyes.

A minute later he heard the girl whisper her agreement to the short lady.

Apparently, she was big enough to make the decision to leave with a strange man she didn't know but not enough to properly dress herself or sleep without a damn toy.

Bucky was relieved anyway; glad she was idiotic enough to choose him so he wouldn't have to meet with any other 'littles'. And she wasn't ugly to look at either.

The old lady had a word with her privately before she was packing a bag and they were on their way to Bucky’s place.

“Where do I stay, daddy?”

Bucky hasn’t said a word to her since they’d left the institution. He made her carry her bag from the car to the elevator and from the elevator inside the apartment. He wasn’t going to be nobody’s maid.

She was physically capable and that didn’t need a professional to see it.

“I don’t know, figure it out.” Bucky shrugged, kicking his shoes off by the door and stepping inside.

She followed his lead and neatly placed her shoes at the corner by the door as well.

“Where do you want me to stay, daddy?” she asked politely, wanting to make him comfortable, seeing he was the owner of the house.

He was making her a little nervous.

This wasn’t his energy back at the institution and she tried her best not to get scared.

“I don't want you. I never did,” Bucky told her the minute she sat on his couch, throwing his keys on the wooden coffee table, “We're just gonna pretend your presence here is changing something and then I'm gonna return you.”

I don't want you.

She's definitely heard that before.

Return her. Like she was some sort of item. She wasn't what he wanted and it cracked her trained-to-love heart.

“Yes, daddy,” she replied brokenly, tears threatening to spill over the rims of her eyes.

Nothing was worse than feeling unwanted.

“Don't call me that.” Bucky snapped.

“B— But you're my daddy.” She was seriously confused now. Why would he pick her if he didn’t want this?

“I'm not your anything and stop acting so small, you look grown up enough to me.”

Why did he take her home if he didn’t like her and didn’t want to be her Daddy?

“I'm not acting.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt more insecure than ever.

“Yeah, yeah, you're age regressed. Whatever, just don't call me that. I'm no one's daddy.” Bucky took his shirt off throwing it on the couch beside her, making her flinch.

“But what should I call you if not—”

“Call me Mr. Barnes, if you're so keen on being polite.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She sniffled.

“And stop crying.” He huffed.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly wiped at her face, holding the rest of her tears inside and forcing the lump in her throat further down.

Bucky muttered something under his breath before snatching his shirt and leaving to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as she flinched again.

He didn't say she was a good girl for calling him what he wanted, or for stopping her crying when she was told to. He didn't like her and he wanted to return her.

What was she supposed to do until he sent her back? He didn't want her help even if they said he needed it.

Was it going to be like this for the next 3 months? How was she going to do all of the grown up stuff if Daddy Mr. Barnes didn't help her? How was she going to live? And why did she still care to try her best to be good for the harsh, blue-eyed man?

She didn’t know what to do so she sloppily changed her clothes by herself, putting her socks in the hamper to be washed like a good girl.

She washed her hands and feet by herself, unknowingly making Bucky think he was right all along about letting her do things on her own as she should.

That was until he put a hot cup of instant noodles before her for dinner though. He refused to help her eat and she accidentally spilled hot soup over her hand and the wooden table. It was chaos.

Bucky cursed out loud and she started crying in pain.

He had enough pity on her to drag her to the bathroom and put her hand under the cold water. If his hold on her arm hurt, she didn’t say anything.

“Keep it there, don’t you dare move.”

“Mr. Barnes, don’t leave,” she sniffled, eyes red and in pain.

“I’m not leaving you in the Sahara desert.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “I gotta go clean the mess you made.” He left her in the bathroom and she kept her hand under the water, not daring to move like she was told.

“How hard is it to eat fucking noodles! It’s not quantum physics!” Bucky muttered angrily as he wiped the soup off the table with a cloth.

“Fuck that age regression shit I am done!” He took their noodle cups to the kitchen and dumped both in the bin.

“What are you still doing in there! It’s not like you got burnt by lava!” Bucky shouted to her, walking to the bathroom.

“I— I— Mr. Barnes, you told me not to move.” She began crying again at his angry demeanor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky groaned, “do you ever stop crying?!”

“I’m s-sorry.” She hiccupped. She didn’t know what to say or how to please him she just wanted him to stop glaring at her. She was scared.

“Get out of there and dry your hands,” Bucky told her, sitting on the couch with a sigh.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” Came her chocked whisper.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked when she came out of the bathroom, tears drying on her cheeks.

The question surprised her. Maybe he did care after all.

“Burns a little,” she told him, pointing to the back of her hand where the skin got burnt.

“I might have a cream here somewhere,” he said, trying his best to keep an unconcerned expression on.

She took a look around when Bucky stood up to look in the kitchen. It was a cozy place and she wasn’t too needy but she couldn’t help but wonder about where she was going to sleep.

There didn’t seem to be enough furniture in here.

“Try not to touch it and you should be fine in the morning,” Bucky instructed after applying the burns cream to the sensitive area of skin.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered before absentmindedly pecking Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s eyes widened at her guts. He certainly didn’t see that coming. It was her first night here how was she so bold!

His breath stuttered out of his lungs but he quickly recomposed himself.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he gave her a dark stare.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“N— No.” She quickly shook her head.

“Did I give you permission to do that?”

“No.” She shook her head again, sort of knowing where this was going. She was going to get punished.

“Then why’d you do it?” Bucky sneered through his teeth.

“To th— thank Mr. Barnes.” He made her so nervous she could barely hear herself answer him.

Bucky hated her. She had no sense of boundaries. He hated the way she cried all the time. He hated the way she referred to him in third person.

He hated her.

“You already said that, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Don’t do it again.” Was all Bucky said and she was relieved.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky scoffed and stood up to put the cream back where he found it.

Turned out, Bucky had no bed. He slept on the floor and he didn’t need one.

“But where do I sleep, Mr. Barnes?” She asked in a small voice.

“Anywhere that is not next to me,” Bucky replied, not even sparing her a glance.

“Can I sleep here?” she asked, patting the couch.

“Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She gave a shy smile.

“I didn’t make the damn couch. Just go to sleep.”

“Bad word again,” she whispered.

“What was that?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” She slammed a hand on her mouth.

“Repeat what you just said if you know what’s good for you.” Bucky glared.

“I— Mr. Barnes said a bad word,” she whispered shakily.

“Yeah, well, it’s my house! I’ll talk however I want!” Bucky raised his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She nodded, not even thinking about arguing that he shouldn’t curse in front of a little.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly plopped on the couch, covering herself with a blanket, and burying her face in a cushion.

Bucky almost chuckled; almost thought it was cute but he shook the smile off his face quickly and sighed, taking his shirt off and getting himself on the hard floor, easily falling asleep.

He always falls asleep so fast because nightmares usually wake him up few hours after; he be waiting for bed time all day.

She peeked from under the blanket when she heard Bucky snore, carefully tiptoeing to her bag to get her stuffie. She took one look at shirtless Bucky, her cheeks heating up, before sliding back under the covers on the couch.

Her Daddy that didn’t like to be called Daddy was beautiful.

It has started again. He’s chasing a person, he corners them to where they could not run anymore, his left hand wraps around their throat, they struggle and beg and then snap. He kills them.

Bucky startled awake, having a hard time taking his breath only to find her on the floor next to him.

Her eyes were full of worry and maybe even sympathy as she clutched a stuffed animal. Bucky didn’t like it.

“It’s okay, Daddy— Mr. Barnes. ‘T was just a bad dream.” She whispered, dropping her stuffie to wrap her short arms around Bucky.

He wouldn’t admit it but it felt nice to be held. Something inside him wanted to succumb to the gentleness of her gesture. But Bucky shut that down at once.

“Get off,” Bucky huffed tiredly as the girl clung to him and rubbed his sweaty back.

“But—”

“Get. Off.” He repeated, grinding his teeth and she reluctantly slipped off his lap and went back to her spot on the floor.

She stared at him as he panted and frowned for a second before leaving the room.

Bucky scoffed, rubbing a hand down his hot face. She probably went to cry in the bathroom again; such a crybaby.

Except she didn’t.

She returned with a relatively cool glass of water, only half full. She didn't want to be bad and spill.

“I got you water, Mr. Barnes.” She carefully got on her knees and offered him the cup.

“Stop saying my name so much.” Bucky snatched the cup out of her hand, gulping down the water without showing an ounce of gratitude.

She pouted, crawling to her bag to get him tissues because she didn’t see any around.

“So you do know how to act around liquids after all.” Bucky taunted, still not over the fact that she spilled soup over his table before taking the tissues from her to wipe his forehead.

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby, Mr. Barnes? It helps me after bad dreams.” She suggested, desperately hoping he would let her help.

“Not all of us act like kids to flee our nightmares.”

“Mr. Barnes.” Her eyes filled with tears and it was the last thing Bucky wanted to deal with, “I’m not acting.”

She was hurt but he didn’t care. He said what he said.

“Get back on the couch, I wanna go to sleep.” Bucky dismissed, pushing the empty glass against the wall.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered dejectedly, taking her friend and crawling back to the couch.

The same thing happened every night for another four nights. At this point she was really worried about the man she started singing lullabies anyway, not waiting for his permission.

“Hey, you!”

“Doll,” she corrected.

“Whatever! Shut up already. I told you I don’t need your stupid singing.” Bucky growled into his pillow.

He was lying. He hated admitting it but he was. Her voice was actually angelic. He never went back to sleep again after a nightmare but that changed when she ignored his wishes and started singing. Bucky could drift off again to her soft voice.

He could get more hours of nightmareless sleep because of her lullabies. But he was too stubborn to admit anything that came from her was working for him.

It must be a coincidence. He probably fell asleep again because he was exhausted from being mad at her all day.

“I know Mr. Barnes doesn’t need it. It’s for me.” She lied as well. She knew lying wasn’t good girl like but she was helping Mr. Barnes; it was for good reason.

“Mr. Barnes,” her small voice called to him but Bucky was ignoring her.

He was pretending he couldn’t hear her and continued staring at the TV because she talked too much for his liking.

“Mr. Barnes.” She ever so lightly touched Bucky’s arm.

“What!” he spit suddenly, making her jump.

“We— We need to go shopping. Mrs. Morrison will visit tomorrow.”

She knew the process and for some reason didn’t want to be taken away from Bucky.

If Mrs. Morrison came and saw the way the apartment was or the way Bucky treated Doll, she was definitely going to make her leave with her.

“What?!”

“It’s day five.” She reminded, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah, so?” Bucky’s body fully turned to face her.

“Tomorrow’s visit day. We have to go shopping.”

“How do I know you’re not lying just to get me to buy you things?”

“I don’t lie, Mr. Barnes.” She assured him, looking hurt at even the suggestion.

“It’s in the papers,” she told him, referring to the contract he’s signed as well as the guide he was provided with her file before leaving the institution.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but stood up to look at the papers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer in the kitchen a few days ago.

“Shit,” he muttered when he saw she wasn’t lying. He heard her whisper bad word but chose to ignore it.

There were scheduled visits listed with different time intervals between each visit for the next three months.

Bucky groaned, throwing the paper sheet back in the drawer and slamming it shut.

“Put your clothes on, we’re going fucking shopping.”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t even—” she ran to the bathroom to change before Bucky could get angrier.

What has Sam gotten him into?

“Why’s your hair so messy!” Bucky asked, shoving her out of his way to grab a jar of peanut butter and put in the cart.

“I don’t know how to do it on my own an’ Mr. Barnes kept telling me to hurry up.”

Her voice was so small and if Bucky wasn’t so infuriated by the situation he would’ve felt bad for how he spoke to her.

“You’d think you’d actually look decent enough after taking forever to get ready.” Bucky huffed.

She remained silent, looking down and closing in on herself.

“Do you eat this?” Bucky asked, waving a box of corn flakes in front of her.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nodded, throwing the box in the cart.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying my name so much?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barn—” Bucky’s cold stare stopped the word on her tongue.

“Call me Bucky.”

He didn’t want her to call him Bucky. But if that Mrs. Morrison was visiting tomorrow she couldn’t know he made her speak to him formally.

“Bucky?”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Bucky.” She smiled shyly, feeling one step closer to the man.

Bucky didn’t know his life would turn upside down so fast.

He never cared about grocery shopping because he didn’t need that much stuff and he mostly ate at restaurants or diners or bought take out. He mainly just had beer filling his fridge.

But with her tied to him now he was buying all kinds of food: fresh vegetables and fruits, juice boxes, snack bars and way too many Oreos. Not to mention the toiletries he had to pay for because aside from her tooth and hair brushes, she came with nothing.

“Bucky, can we please get this?” she asked, pointing to a stuffed white wolf.

“No, you already have one at home. I see it every night.”

“Please, Bucky, please. Pretty please,” she begged, giving puppy eyes and pressing her palms together even.

“Okay, fine, shut up. God!” Bucky grumpily put the toy in the cart and got them to the nearest cashier before she could pick anything else.

She was so happy and was going to cherish her new stuffie more than ever.

Bucky was pacing back and forth in the living room. He needed to find a way to convince her not to tell Mrs. Morrison or whatever her name was how he treated her.

He didn’t want her to know she had any type of power over him because of the situation.

Bucky definitely wasn’t going to say please, but he also knew he couldn’t scare her into saying what he wanted.

“Bucky, please go to bed. Wolfie can’t sleep.” She whined, hugging her newest stuffie to her heart.

Bucky gave her yet another hard glare. She made him so angry that sometimes he forgot how to function. She was so spoiled and oblivious.

“I won’t say anything to Mrs. Morrison,” she whispered.

“You think I care what you have to say?! They could take you right now for all I care!” Bucky replied angrily.

“I know…” she mumbled, “I don’t want them to.”

Her words left Bucky without a reply. He was confused. She didn’t want to leave? Why not? Bucky hasn’t said one kind word to her since she’s been entrusted to him.

Was she some type of masochist?

“I wanna stay with Bucky. Sing him lullabies and eat noodles with him,” she said, her voice soft and heavy with sleep, before her eyes shut as she drifted off.

Her words put Bucky at ease for now and he got on the floor to finally try to get some sleep. He tried to ignore the way they affected him though.

“Bucky,” she called gently.

“Hmm.”

“I need to shower,” came her timid whisper.

“Do you see me using the bathroom?! Help yourself.” Bucky huffed, stirring the sugar in his mug.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?!” he snapped, throwing the spoon in the sink.

“I need Bucky’s help.” Her face was on fire with embarrassment of having to say this out loud.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky rolled his eyes, pushing his mug aside before grabbing her arm and pushing her to the bathroom.

She whimpered as they stood before the glass door of the shower.

“This, because you’re not stupid you’re just age regressed, opens the hot water.” Bucky pointed to the tap handle on the right. “This opens the cold water. And this—”

“Bucky, that’s not what I need help with.” She shook her head, biting down on her lip.

“What do you want from me then?!” Bucky had no patience and her bashfulness wasn’t helping.

She raised her arms up before whispering, “I need Bucky to gimme a shower.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t start now! You don’t know how to shower?!”

She shook her head, pouting as her eyes got teary again, “not when little.”

“This is bullshit. I didn’t even wanna do this. Damn you, Sam Wilson!” Bucky said, walking out of the bathroom angrily as she trailed behind him like the lost puppy she was.

“Bad word.”

“Stop!” Bucky boomed and she put her hands behind her back timidly.

“Please, Bucky,” she begged, getting hold of his hand.

“No! On my dead body!”

“Stand straight or I swear I’m gonna leave you here and go!”

“Yes, Bucky,” she giggled, the water trickling down her spine tickling her.

“Now what?” He huffed, trying not to stare at her naked chest.

“Now, this.” She held up the bottle of conditioner for him and Bucky sighed before taking it and squeezing some on his hand.

He was about to smooth it down her scalp when she moved away.

“No, no! This goes on the ends or else it gives you dandruff,” She said and Bucky would’ve facepalmed so hard if it wasn’t for the slippery matter covering his palms.

This was going to be long.

She was fast asleep on Bucky’s couch after her shower, so peaceful and without a care in the world.

Bucky envied her as he got in place on the floor. He really wished he had enough flexibility in him to accept help and care from someone.

But no, he didn't need her. He didn't need any of this. He just had to go through tomorrow and the rest will figure itself out.

Yeah, yeah just tomorrow for now, Bucky thought as he drifted off.

part II

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brynn-lear · 16 days

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a/n: I won't be writing a oneshot about this since I already have a yan!capitano fic series I'm committing to, but I might randomly post about this idea more every now and then lol. tagging this AU as #the captain and his duchess

Yandere noble!Capitano who couldn't stop asking Fem Tutor!Darling to spar with him. With the weight of his inheritance, █████ must strive to be as great— if not greater— of a Captain like his father, the Duke.

But before he gained his infamous strength, you were his beloved mentor. You were a prodigy in swordsmanship with high confidence to boot. Hence, you gleefully accepted the Duke's request to tutor his eldest son. Coming from a minor noble household with only a title to uphold and not much else to boast, it's only natural to grasp unto that opportunity. It just so happened you've been clearing off competitions, and the duke has a good eye. Your parents, bless their souls, wouldn't dissuade you from your decision. Pride meant nothing when there's not even food scraps on the table. With a heart that still bleeds for the misfortune of those around you, you set off on horseback alone.

Whoever it was you were expecting to teach, it certainly wasn't a terrified noble hiding behind a helmet. Young █████ was not to blame. He carries the same dignified moral compass as his house, but he was ill-prepared to talk to people other than his family and servants. In fact, you couldn't get a word out of him as soon as you're done assessing his skill level with a first match.

Much to be desired, but the foundation is there.

... Perhaps you were too harsh with your phrasing.

"Young master," you shook your head, knocking on his door. "I couldn't teach you if you scamper about- hiding like meek prey in the closest room you'd burrow yourself in."

█████ didn't made a sound. You sighed. Truthfully, you wondered if you had done something to offend. It couldn't possibly be due to fear of authority. You're 21 and he's 19, not to mention that he is to be future sovereign Duke of Snezhnaya while you're not even reserved a seat in the council.

"F-Forgive him, Lady (Y/n)!" Elena squeaked. "He's not usually like this. I believe this is because..."

You raised an eyebrow. "Because...?"

The maid hurriedly shook her head, heat crawling up her neck. "N-No, I mustn't say. As a servant, I would step out of line."

"I'm pretty good at keeping secrets, you know?" You grinned. Skillfully, you placed a hand on the wall, leaning closer as if cornering her. You tucked the few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "I'm not from this House, I wouldn't scold you for a little bit of sin."

She looked extremely offended. Suppose you should've expected that much from the most honorable Harbinger House's staff.

"I'm inclined to believe that this young maid's hypothesis requires no detective to solve."

You both looked to the direction of the voice. It was Prince Zandik, cousin to █████ and heir to the throne. Though to both of you, you are his most favorite gladiator and he is your best sponsor.

"Greetings, Zandik. You appear just about anywhere, huh? Are you sure you're not pulling my leg about the secret twin rumors?"

"Not one for tact, as always. But that's just how I like you, Lady (Y/n)."

Elena looked at you incredulously, wondering just where on earth did you find the audacity to refer to the Prince without proper decorum. Zandik doesn't seem sensitive to your lack of sensibility. You and Zandik have been friends since childhood was never a secret, but those who would recently find this resurfacing fact never fail to act surprised.

"I'd ask you why you're here, but the answer would be dull and overly verbose." You feigned a yawn, which made Zandik chuckle. "So, instead, why don't you tell me what you know about this █████ situation? Does he fear women?"

Zandik schooled his expression, but you can almost just about hear him say that's your best guess?

"█████ has never been one for sublime subtlety." Zandik rolled his eyes. "He admires you greatly, couldn't you tell?"

"Me? And greatly?" You scoffed. "Please, he'd outpace me with just a few lessons.

Zandik laughed. You both knew that to be true, but the future isn't quite as close to that prediction.

"Since the day I discreetly snatched him from his quarters to observe one of your sparring sessions, he has maintained a keen interest in tracking your career." The Prince remarked. "Do you recall the first bouquet of roses you've received?"

"I wasn't meant to be the recipient, do not reopen old wounds." You cringed. It was an unfortunate mistake from the messenger.

"Forgive me, I meant the second bouquet you received." He crossed his arms. "One from a secret admirer who curtly explained how he couldn't bear to see the sadness from your face and made it his honorable responsibility to buy you a larger bouquet."

You blinked.

"N-No way. I'm pretty sure that's from, um, my father."

"Buy you the most expensive bouquet in Snezhnaya? With what money?"

... A cruel but fair point.

"He even dons the same headwear as you do— the helmet he would rarely take off, did you not find it identical to your own?"

You paused.

... Wait a second.

"Well, I shall remove myself from this conversation. I have dull and overly verbose matters to attend to."

"Zandik, halt!"

#█████ = Capitanoʼs real name #the captain and his duchess #i like to imagine this is also ruffiana!reader- this is just them in another au lol #yandere capitano #capitano #yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #genshin capitano #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines

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idkyetxoxo · 17 days

Text

Criston Cole - Guarded Obsession

Summary - Navigating court gossip and unwanted advances, a confrontation erupts where her obsessive protector, Ser Criston, steps in with fervent determination. His unwavering devotion to her becomes evident, revealing his willingness to defy all norms and protect her at any cost.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Strong language

Word count - 2158

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"I believe he'ss warmed his lady wife's sister's bed more often than hers," I whispered, my wine goblet becoming an extension of my slight hand gestures as Criston's eyes tracked each subtle movement.

"Scandalous news," he murmured, his voice barely rising above the hum of conversation around us. Together, we watched the couple awkwardly mingling with other nobles, their forced smiles and stiff postures betraying the simmering tension beneath the surface.

"And yet, I hear Lady Marjaery is expecting," I continued, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "Though the whispers suggest the father might not be her esteemed husband, but rather the charming stable boy."

Criston stifled a laugh. "The stable boy? Imagine the uproar if her husband were to find out."

"Indeed," I agreed with a smirk. "And what of Lord Cedric's latest escapade, have you caught wind of that?"

"No, but I'm eager to hear," Criston replied, leaning in closer.

"Apparently, he's been seen slipping out of Lady Evelyn's chambers on more than one occasion but here's the twist, Lady Evelyn's husband has been turning a blind eye, likely because he's rather occupied with a young squire himself. It's a whirlwind of infidelities."

Criston chuckled. "It seems everyone's playing musical beds these days. Speaking of unusual liaisons, have you heard about Lord Tommen?"

"Ah, yes," I said, grinning. "Lord Tommen, who has more interest in the blacksmith's son than any lady of the court. It's caused quite the stir, but he doesn't seem to mind the gossip one bit."

"Bold as ever," Criston remarked with a smirk. "I suppose it takes all kinds to keep the court entertained."

"Princess, may I have this dance?" a voice interrupted, cutting through the murmur of conversation that surrounded us.

My head snapped up, momentarily forgetting the grand ballroom and its dazzling surroundings. A young lord stood before me, exuding an air of confidence as he awaited my response.

"That is a kind offer, my lord, but—" I began, attempting to frame a polite refusal. Before I could finish, my mother, Alicent, approached with quick, purposeful strides, her gaze fixed firmly on me.

"She would love to dance, wouldn't you?" she interjected, her tone a blend of expectation and command, as though the matter were settled by her mere insistence.

The young lord, Lord Baratheon, shifted awkwardly, his face betraying a mixture of eagerness and discomfort.

"Lord Baratheon, the princess will join you on the floor," my mother continued, her words decisive and unyielding.

He opened his mouth as if to correct her but seemed to think better of it. "Please, Your Grace, Lord Baratheon is my father. I am simply Alyn," he said, offering a respectful bow before moving to the edge of the dance floor, where he waited with an awkward half-smile.

As my mother turned to me, her eyes flashed with a simmering rage that was impossible to ignore.

"I have told you time and time again to act like a princess," she scolded, her voice low but firm. "Stop standing off in corners to gossip and laugh. It is unseemly."

I sighed deeply, knowing this was a battle I was unlikely to win. The weight of her disapproval settled heavily on my shoulders.

"Ser Criston?" she called, and the man beside me tensed visibly. "I expect better from you. You may be her sworn protector, but that does not mean you indulge her in evading her duties," she continued sharply, her eyes narrowing at him.

Criston nodded, his expression stoic.

"Ser Criston is not at fault for my behavior," I interjected, but my mother spun to face me, her frustration barely contained.

"Do not defend each other," she snapped. "Frankly, I am tired of this friendship you've formed. Do not give me a reason to have you removed from your duties," she warned, her voice cutting through the ballroom's din.

Without waiting for a response, she turned her back on us, her skirts swishing with finality.

"Now go be a good girl and dance with Lord Baratheon's son," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for further discussion.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the evening's expectations pressing down on me. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I set my drink down on a nearby table with a resigned clink.

"In a while, Ser Criston," I said with a wry smile, our eyes locking for a brief, charged moment. He nodded, his expression unreadable as he followed my progress toward the dance floor with a gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As I approached Alyn, the weight of the ballroom's gaze seemed to press down on me. The glimmering chandeliers bathed the room in a warm, golden light, illuminating the swirling couples and lavish decor. Yet, despite the opulence, my focus remained solely on the young lord waiting before me.

I placed my hand in his, allowing him to guide me into the midst of the dancers. The music swelled around us, wrapping us in its rhythmic embrace.

Criston watched from the edge of the dance floor, his internal struggle evident despite his outward composure. He was painfully aware of the inappropriateness of his feelings, feelings he could neither voice nor fully suppress.

An overwhelming sense of protectiveness enveloped him every time he saw me, a girl whose striking presence was only matched by the grace with which I moved.

As I twirled in Alyn's arms, I could almost feel Criston's gaze searing into my back. His jaw was clenched so tightly that I imagined his teeth might shatter.

Though his face remained a mask of stoic professionalism, a storm of raw, turbulent emotions brewed in his eyes, a tempest he struggled to contain, lest it consume him entirely.

"Alyn," I said softly, slightly breathless from the relentless movement of the dance. The lilting waltz wrapped us in its rhythmic embrace.

"Yes, Princess?" he replied, his fingers pressing possessively against my waist.

"Perhaps we should take a break," I suggested, yearning for a respite from the endless spinning.

Alyn's eyes flickered with a darker emotion, perhaps frustration at his inability to charm me or an impatience born of entitlement.

"If you must," he conceded, his voice tinged with barely concealed exasperation, as if my request were a significant inconvenience.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath, my face contorting into a sour expression. I glanced towards my mother, who shot me a look that unmistakably said, "Fix your face before I do it for you."

As Alyn guided me off the dance floor, the crowd pressed in tighter, adding to my discomfort. Amid the swirling dancers, someone moving backward collided with me, sending a goblet of wine cascading over my dress.

The wine splashed across my gown in a scarlet cascade, the rich, red liquid seeping into the delicate silk like blood staining fresh snow. It clung to my skin, cold and sticky.

"Seven hells," I muttered, frustration evident as I felt the wine seep through to my skin.

"I apologize," the man responsible for the mishap stammered, his face flushed with embarrassment. I waved him off, striving to maintain my composure despite my growing irritation.

"Princess, allow me," Alyn said quickly, pulling out a handkerchief and beginning to dab at the stain. His touch, though ostensibly helpful, carried an unwelcome lecherousness, lingering just a moment too long.

"It's alright," I said, trying to gently push his hand away. Despite my efforts, he persisted.

Alyn's hands were unseemly, lingering on me with a familiarity that was far from appropriate. He seemed to relish this opportunity to play out his fantasies under the guise of assistance. The feel of his touch, so bold and unwelcome, made my skin crawl.

"I said don't touch me," I snapped, grabbing his hand as it trespassed to an inappropriate place.

The sharpness of my voice cut through the room, freezing the surrounding nobles in place.

In a blur of motion, Criston appeared by my side, his grip on Alyn's wrist like iron. The crack of bone echoed as he twisted Alyn's arm behind his back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain that sliced through the ballroom's murmur.

A hush fell over the crowd as Criston leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "She said stop."

Alyn's eyes widened in alarm, but before he could react, Criston's voice dropped even lower, edged with menace.

"So stop, or by the Seven, I will sever this very hand and feed it to her dragon," he hissed, his tone cold and unyielding. The threat hung in the air, a grim promise of the depths of Criston's protective rage.

My mother, her face a storm of barely contained fury and mortification, rushed forward. Her eyes, a storm of anger, locked onto me and Criston.

With surprising strength, she pulled Alyn away from Criston, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

"Apologies," she said to Alyn, her voice strained as she attempted to maintain civility. Alyn mumbled curses under his breath, clearly displeased with the turn of events.

"Princess, Ser Criston, take your leave," she commanded, her voice resolute and devoid of any room for dissent.

I sighed deeply, the weight of my actions and the ensuing turmoil pressing heavily upon me. With a resigned nod, I turned to leave the banquet hall, my head lowered in shame and guilt.

Criston's heavy, measured footsteps followed closely behind, each step echoing the gravity of the situation as we exited the grand hall.

As we exited the ballroom, the cacophony of laughter and conversation receded, enveloping us in a tranquil silence as we moved into the cooler, quieter corridors. Each step took us further from the scene of my humiliation, the weight of the evening's events pressing heavily upon me.

"Fucking cunt," I muttered as we reached the sanctuary of my chambers. I began roughly removing my jewelry, the once-glittering gems now marred and sticky from the spilled wine.

"Did he offend you?" Criston asked, his eyes respectfully averted, though his internal struggle was palpable.

I could sense the tension in his posture as I attacked the stubborn stain on my dress with a cloth, frustration evident in each vigorous rub.

"Stupid Baratheon brat," I muttered, almost laughing at the absurdity of the nickname I'd invented in my irritation. The bitterness of it all brought a wry smile to my lips.

"Offend me, he did," I said, throwing the cloth aside in exasperation.

"My mother can't even see past her sense of duty," I continued, gripping my hair in frustration. "It's as if my well-being doesn't matter to her as long as I maintain propriety."

Criston remained silent, his presence a steady anchor amidst my storm of emotions.

I paced the room, venting without restraint. "She apologized to him," I said, disbelief and anger mingling in my voice. "She apologized to the man who dared to lay his hands on me, the princess," I finished, collapsing onto the edge of my bed.

Criston moved closer, his expression dark and protective. "Your mother is bound by duty, Princess, but her actions tonight were unjust," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"Right," I sighed, closing my eyes and massaging my temples. "No doubt she'll be here later tonight, reprimanding us." I could almost hear the familiar knock on the door, followed by her stern voice.

Criston's quiet laugh was a comforting sound in the tense atmosphere.

"I believe those are the only words she directs toward us," he remarked, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"The blind leading the blind, that's what she said last time?" I recalled, a laugh bubbling up as the memory resurfaced. It was a sharp, biting phrase, but now, in the safety of my chambers, it seemed almost absurd.

"Indeed it was," he agreed, his smile easing the tension in his face.

"She can't take you from me," I said, leaning forward with a fervent intensity.

"I will not let it happen," he replied, his expression resolute. Though his face was a mask of cool determination, beneath it lay his fierce resolve to remain by my side.

The bond between us was something neither of us would easily relinquish.

"I still remember the first time you stood guard outside my chambers," I said with a wistful smile. "You were so serious, as if the fate of the realm depended on it."

Criston chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "I remember," he said, his eyes twinkling with the memory. "I thought if I showed even a hint of levity, I'd be dismissed on the spot."

"I appreciated your seriousness," I said, my tone softening. "But I also remember sneaking out past you more than once."

"Ah, yes," he replied, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "You were quite the handful. Still are, if I may say so."

I laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room.

"Thank you, Ser Criston," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Your loyalty means more to me than you know."

"For you, my loyalty is unwavering," he replied firmly. "No matter what your mother or anyone else says, I will stand by you."

Criston knew there was no force that could sever the bond between us.

To him, I was his, his lady to protect, his princess.

A/n - Love a good gossip

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team green #criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston x reader #hotd criston #ser criston cole #criston cole imagine #criston cole x you

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hor3nee · 8 months

Text

• Union •

Gojo and his arranged marriage with Reader.

CW/TW: Fem! Reader, Arranged marriage, BREIF Suggestive stuff, Corny Gojo, Reader & Gojo ages implied to be very young (18-23), Gojo typical flirting, SFW (Lmk if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Gojo x Reader

AN: Gojo is bitchless in this fic bc I say so. Pt 2 here.

Weddings aren't supposed to be this boring. In fairness, boring is better than a bad wedding. Could have a roadhouse-type fight between in-laws, an ex breaking through the doors proclaiming their undying love or a runaway bride. Or a runaway groom. Maybe he should've been a runaway groom? Internally, Gojo's sure it'd be more exciting than sitting in a room full of family and 'friends' who are discussing his marriage more than he's even caring to think of it.

"Congratulations to The Strongest and his bride." Another blanked-out random voice says giving polite blessings to him and the lady dressed in bridal wear beside him, you.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest, they call him, well he calls himself, and yes, he is, he without a doubt is the strongest. Born with the Six Eyes technique after ages of the Gojo clan, while relevant in the Jujutsu world, unable to have a child with such technique for so long, Gojo was instantly hailed heir, no questions asked.

And with all of that, comes responsibilities, that, as immature as the man acts, he does take care of. Responsibilities include many things other than killing curses though, responsibilities include managing the clan, doing his part in Jujutsu society, mentoring the students and keeping peace with the other clans. Just to list the few, less action-based responsibilities. Marriage is an obvious one as well.

And you're the bride.

He knew it was coming. It wasn't specifically because he was the strongest he was gonna be strung into a marriage as quickly as possible, though that played a role in it. He saw it with his parents, relatives, and the other clans, Zenin especially who practiced it most rigidly perhaps, marriage was a necessary part of holding a certain status, it's simply expected. Arranged are ideal.

It's not that he was forced into it either, everyone knows this is Satoru Gojo, he does whatever he wants. He gets whatever he wants, he's spoiled, both by the hands of Jujutsu society that almost worships him for his abilities and his own self, the ego he holds very proudly and very loudly that he shamelessly keeps up. If he wants something, he takes it, if he doesn't, he'll leave. He holds that sort of irrefutable power.

So he's okay with this, with marriage. With an arranged marriage, to you, whatever his reasons are that much is clear.

"You gonna eat that?" He's not asking really, he's already got his freakishly long arm drawled out on the table grabbing the plate out of yours. Fingers wriggling comically and he doesn't even make eye contact, looking at the slice of cake with a deeper passion than he bothered to look at you with. Not that you're expecting it, but.. you are the bride, he is on board.

"..Uh guess not." Is all you can reply, slightly awkwardly as he snatches the slice and gobbles it, humming like an overgrown toddler. Was he feeling as awkward too? He didn't look it, he looked fine, bored out of his over-active mind but not mad or anything. Much less mad at you, nor nervous. You're sat close, right by his side, being the main events the two of you of course, Gojo more so because he's the main event in everything in his life.

"This shit's good." He's moaning now, at cake. Almost makes you cringe but with that huge grin of overabundant confidence he has, he somehow makes it seem less cringe.

"Wedding cake's always good-" He gulps down another piece as he speaks. "Best part of any wedding."

Was that?.. Was that an insult? Felt like it, you're sat there all prettied up prim and proper to marry him, and you know he accepted this marriage and he's calling the cake the best part of the wedding? No, you can't even blame him. If anything you probably agree, save for the overly expensive gifts of cold hard cash the other clans and guests were leaving those were also good parts. Because this is, arranged.

You two, are, for the most part, strangers to each other. Together yes, married actually since you and him signed the legal documents no less than 10 minutes earlier into the wedding.

Still, it's awkward.

Soon the cake is gone, mostly by Gojo's abyss of a stomach, and the guests leave. Caterers clean up and family members give some last tidings before leaving. As well as you, and Gojo.

"So, do you think I'm hot?" He perks, sprawled on the couch with his formal wear lazily pulled off scattering around the floor from when he took it off the instant he was inside the residence. His residence, of course. A grin showing no signs of the tense awkwardness one would expect a young man freshly married to a wife he's only married to through arrangements would be. But no, he's Satoru Gojo, if there's one thing he has, it's an overwhelming amount of self-assurance.

"Do I- Do I think you're hot?" You reply, standing a bit awkwardly in front of him, still trying to process the fact you're sleeping here tonight, no for the rest of your life you'll be sleeping in this house. Home, you should call it, it is your home now. Might take time to properly digest that but it is.

"Yeah, am I hot?" The question is, by his expression, obviously self-explained. He IS attractive, with pretty big blue eyes, tall and decently built, and gorgeous lips too, he knows it, he knows he's hot. Gojo just likes to tease, he's a little shit.

"I mean, am I attractive to YOU?" He asks again, putting more emphasis. For all the slightly passive-aggressive things he's said the evening and immature behaviour, the question is poised genuinely. He's smirking, humming almost as he asks but the way he looks at you it's also clear that he is asking you, seriously.

His gaze never breaks with yours, and though you only take a second to respond, it feels like an hour with the heavy weight of the situation in your brain and the almost stinging feeling of his wide baby blue bright eyes piercing through yours waiting for your response.

"You... Yes, you are attractive." He is, he knows that already though and that wasn't what he was asking. But you know that wasn't what he asking. His expression doesn't falter though, but there's an obvious disappointment, boredom more specifically in it at your lack of response. You're talking but the words are white paper plain, even you can taste it on your tongue, how chaste you sound.

"I think you're attractive, too." His reply is more genuine than yours as well, maybe not genuine but a lot more emotion in it. Maybe he's just more confident, which he is no doubt.

"Thanks-"

"Like, seriously." He whistles, christ that's jarring. "seriously hot."

He's up off the couch before you can give another disingenuous 'thanks' and standing right in front of you, eyeing you down with little to no attempt to act ceremoniously, which he was showing at least the faintest ounce of at the wedding earlier. That gawky tension of whatever the hell the two of you have going on is back, but not for Gojo. He doesn't even have a semblance of humility in him to feel that tension that's burning inside of you right now.

"We're supposed to like each other, you know." He adds, keeping his eyes trained on your body shamelessly.

It feels like his hands are folded around you but they aren't, they're hanging loosely by his side all dangly as his limbs are, the man is a giant. It's more a feeling, suffocating, as though you've been cornered when you aren't. It's the middle of a decently spaced living room and the front door is unlocked. And Gojo, as devious as his smirk is, would never hold you by the binds of a pressured marriage. If anything, you were almost under the assumption he didn't care for you, or this marriage.

"I guess, yeah." You start. "You like me then?" You finish, a bit bolder now, he's seamlessly talking and you are married now, till death do you part as they say. Might as well match his energy.

"You bet I do, sweetheart." Petnames? Okay maybe too much, he might need to dial it down. But Gojo is Gojo, the strongest, an eccentric man. He doesn't 'dial it down' for anything, or anyone. You're his wife, and he likes what he sees. Smiling as he speaks, genuine and concise in his words, he means what he says. As confusing as this situation is, he is young, he's accepted it, and not begrudgingly at all. "I got me a pretty wife- you, you're my wife, so I like you."

"Thanks Gojo." Ah, there it is, not disingenuous. Though minimal he picks up on it, you also mean it. Maybe not in the way he means it, maybe more than he means it, who knows, not him. Confident as he says he is with the ladies, he's never actually been with one before, this whole relationship shtick, marriage shtick, is new.

Marriage is built off of love, his elders told him, he saw in shitty rom-coms and pop songs blasting the radio. He'd like that, love, as much immaturity and disregard he’s shown at the wedding, the engagement, the arrangements when he first heard they'd picked a partner for him, it has appeal. And he wants it, and this woman, you, you're going to be the one to give it to him, love. Not today, not tonight. Maybe not in a month or a year, but it'll grow, and fester over time. He's sure, as he is in everything, this marriage will last.

"I'm tired as hell from all that wedding crap," Gojo says, his feet ever so minimally backing off so he isn't smothering you with his presence and wide sapphire-like eyes boring into your understandably unsure eyes. "There's a guest room, I'll sleep there and you can take the main bedroom-"

"I can sleep with you." You cut him off.

"In the guest bedroom??" He questions with a blink, okay so he's a bit stupid. That's okay though.

"No, with you, in our bedroom." You correct him, feeling more assured now, eased by Gojo's, thankfully.

"Right." The cheeky grin is back. Actually, it isn't very annoying anymore, it's kinda attractive. He is attractive that much is sure, but he's starting to be attractive to you. "Let's go sleep in OUR bed then, how's that sound?"

"Sounds good."

It's oddly domestic, the walk to the bedroom he previously had all to himself, showing you the way, and showing you the bed you're gonna be sleeping in for the rest of your days. The way his slender fingers, which you were almost sure would poke out your eyes, gracefully helped you dissemble the layers of jewelry and fabrics you were dolled up in. His touch was feather-light, in stark contrast to his smug demeanour, making it clear, the boy has never undressed a lady.

Nothing goes further than that though, he doesn't push for anything more, and considering how new and confusing everything still is, you don't either. Instead choosing to lay back, and shut your eyes beside Gojo, letting exhaustion overtake you both and just sleep for the night.

Sleep beside your husband.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #no use of y/n #husband!gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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dragons-and-handcuffs · 7 months

Note

What about Stark!reader x Aemond but it's entirely political like, they can just about tolerate each other's existence until reader somehow stands up for Aemond - like full defence squad - and he just becomes instantly infatuated with his fierce wolf wife?

Ps...absolutely adore your blog ❤️

Your marriage to Aemond was arranged and was completely for political reasons. The first time you met him you two were both young and Aemond had both his eyes, and the second time you two met was just a month before your wedding and Aemond wearing an eye patch.

Aemond was more than certain that you had no feelings for him and he never expected you to. But he would be a fool to deny your beauty. He would be a fool to not admire your beautiful smile or how your eyes twinkle by the simplest of things or how you just gracefully carry yourself.

You have heard stories about the one eyed prince. You have heard how cold he can be. You were understandably worried thinking about your future and whether your emotional needs would be met. But you were raised well, and taught well about your duties. No one needed to teach you your duty as his wife or as the new member of the house Targaryen.

After your wedding night you rarely saw Aemond. He would either be away with his dragon or bury himself with books in the library or training armies. He would join you in bed after you fall asleep.

Aemond thinking you would never develop any feelings for him. And you were mentally prepared to have a husband whose interests lie somewhere else. But it doesn't mean that you two don't long for one another. But the hesitation has led you both to argue and fight. Small annoying fights, and both stubborn to back down.

But imagine moments like Aemond ruined his eye patch while training and can't wear it. He was angry and refused to go out of the room without it. And most importantly he didn't want you to see him like this. Imagine he was about to yell when you entered the room but stopped and instead he hid his face. "I..I made you this," You put the newly made eye patch near him. You didn't want him to be uncomfortable and you knew he would be if he doesn't cover his eye in front of others.

Aemond was surprised and picked up the patch. He turned to thank you but you were already gone. He put it on and it fit him perfectly, even better than the previous one.

One thing is for sure is that you respect your husband and you won't tolerate anyone speaking anything bad against him.

Imagine you heard some lord and ladies at a feast gossiping how you were forced to marry Aemond. One lord even said he would still take you as his wife since you deserve a husband who has both eyes. What they didn't know is that you heard them. No one disrespect your husband and not face any consequences.

Aemond was surprised to hear you defend him and even threatened those lords and ladies. He was offended by their insults but every word from mouth made him smile. You had no idea that he witnessed the scene.

That night you were surprised when Aemond came to the room much before you would fall asleep. Your maid was helping you get dressed for bed but you dismissed her.

"Did the library run out of books for you?" You asked, curious about his change of routine. "No," Aemond almost chuckled. "I just realized I have been a fool," He replied as he took off his leather robe and his eye patch, which surprised you a lot. Aemond was acting like it's no big deal, but this is the first time you are actually seeing his sapphire eye.

You stepped closer and gently touched his scar. To Aemond the touch was comforting, almost like his scar was waiting for the gentle sensation. Suddenly you realized what you were doing and immediately pulled your hand away, but Aemond caught your writing. "Don't stop," He breathed out.

As you traced his scar his eyes shifted to your lips. His thumb coming in contact with your lower lip. Soon you felt him close the gap between you two. He captured your lips with his own. "Aemond..." "Shh! Don't say anything," Aemond passionately kissed you.

The next morning you found yourself naked and in your husband's arms. Aemond was gently caressing your back. Overnight your relationship took a complete turn.

Imagine Aemond now completely infatuated with you now. The feelings that he tried to bury deep down his heart is coming out.

Imagine Aemond calling you "my fierce wolf" or "my beautiful wolf"

Sometimes you would find your favorite flower on the bed and you just know it's from your husband. You would tuck it in your hair and Aemond just knows that you know it's from him.

Now he has this constant need to know about your whereabouts. He will mostly find out himself. Looking at you from far away. You can just feel his eye on you and couldn't help but smile.

It's just the beginning of your marriage and it's going much better that both of you expected

#aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd #game of thrones #house of the dragon #game of thrones imagines #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #hotd one shot #house of the dragon imagine

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moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami · 7 months

Text

To Vex A Viscount (of seas and torment entry)

based on this ask ♡

— regency era au

summary: simply nothing more could be required of a perfect evening when invited to a masquerade with the pleasure of vexing an easily irritable viscount.

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

warnings: none (though please do feel free to inform me if you find any!)

of seas and torment, make do (of seas and torment entry)

⚔°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You thank the gods for the salvation the mask wrapped around your face offers you. It will not do well if the other gossip-mongers see your distaste for the evening's festivities; they'd call you insolent, and you simply couldn't have that if you wished to find a husband.

Truly, you'd prefer readying yourself for a long night of restful slumber than being forced to simper and be delightful in the presence of the ton.

"Lady Jackson." You turn at the sound of your name, the voice all too familiar for you to mistake his identity even with the elaborate mask of golden feathers hiding his features.

"Lord Castellan." You acknowledge the viscount with a pleasant tone, though you were well-aware that the niceties shared between the both of you were merely for show. "Good evening."

"I wasn't expecting your presence tonight." Luke continues, speaking as he moves to stand closer to you. You take a deliberate step away from him, weary of anyone who might get the wrong idea.

"Neither was I." You answer truthfully. "But my mama and brother insisted on our attendance."

He looks down at you in amusement. "I do hope the soiree is to your liking."

"Of course." You nod, taking a sip from the beverage cradled in between your gloved fingers. "Lady Castellan always throws such magnificent balls."

You look for his mother amidst the crowds, her grin wide and welcoming as she conversed with your own.

Luke hums. "It was my idea to make it a masquerade. I hear it's quite fashionable in Italy."

"Ah, that must explain its banality." You twist your mouth. It was definitely a rude response, but Luke, at least once in the years you've known him, has never been offended by your brazen remarks. He took all of them in good humor.

He snorts. "I think it's rather romantic."

"And what do you know of romance, my lord?" You turn to him, eyes glinting in the candlelight as you begin to tease him. "Do enlighten me. You seem to be quite well-versed on the topic now that you've returned from your travels. I assume the continent must have been good to the matters of your heart."

He glances down at you from his peripheral. "It was. Very much, actually."

You raise an eyebrow, an invitation (or provocation) for him to speak more. He doesn't elaborate further.

You turn your attention elsewhere instead, watching as several young ladies are led onto the dance floor by the gentleman. The first few notes of a quadrille hum through the air.

"May I write my name on your dance card?" He asks after a moment, his eyes intently looking at the paper that dangled from a ribbon around your wrist.

You looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise. "Me?"

"Surely, you will not have me dance with Percy?" He responds with pursed lips. His hand rises to pinch your card in between his fingers. He raises his brow for confirmation.

Your eyes narrow instantly. Your tone is near accusatory when you voice your confusion. "Why, may I ask, should you wish to dance with me?"

"Must I need a reason to?" He counters.

"Seeing as we've been at each other's throats throughout the entire season, I would assume so, yes." You nod your head. He was acting out of sorts, and it was terribly bothersome. Ever since he returned from abroad, there has been an evident shift in his attitude, more so in his treatment of you. "I believe I am owed an explanation."

You clear your throat, adding: "Perhaps you've taken a sip too many of your whiskey."

"Shall I breathe in your face to prove my sobriety?" Luke remarks dryly. "Indulge me for old times' sake. We learned to dance together, after all."

Memories of a sweltering july tucked in your family's country home came in a vague recollection— guests invited over to stay for a short retreat, taking daily swims in the bay, relaxing underneath a canopy of trees, munching on more sweets tinted blue than you could ever consume again, and a disgruntled gentleman teaching (or at least attempting to) you and Luke the beginning sequences of a routine.

He stands with an arm against his hip, his gaze neutral but his fidgeting made you aware of his impatience. You squinted your eyes as if in thought, aiming to irk him further.

"Vexing woman," He mutters underneath his breath as he grabs the drinking glass from your hold and gingerly places it on top of a cabinet. He takes your hand in his and leads you to the dancefloor just as a waltz is announced.

"Another gentleman's name could have been written on my card." You chastise him. He stretches your clasped hands to the side, his other hand moving to rest at your waist. Though you've not danced with him in a long time, your other hand immediately lays on his shoulder. Both of your feet move in tandem, limbs moving gracefully without much thought.

"I highly doubt it. You've been keeping to yourself the entire evening." He sniffs to dismiss your point. "I must admit, I found it difficult to discern where you ended and the wallpaper began."

You step on his foot. He groans. You smile.

He guides you through practiced circles around the dance floor, never missing a step or beat. His eyes bore into yours, a deep brown that reminded you of chocolate ganache and dancing flames, of warm summers and breezy evenings, of playful goading and a mutual respect, of innocence and an imperciptible heat you've not paid any mind too up until his return.

"You look very lovely." He says abruptly, soft like a whisper; almost as if he had no intention of speaking the thought aloud.

"What?" You reply in disbelief.

"Unfortunate that such a pretty face should belong to a woman with such faulty hearing." He sighs mockingly, murmuring under his breath but loud enough for you to hear. You attempt to step on his foot again, but he moves just in time with an omniscient grin. He repeats his words with more clarity. "I said you look very lovely."

"I..." You struggle for a response. You avert your gaze, blushing. "Thank you."

The music slowly comes to an end and as you separate to bow, he seizes your hand once more. He places a gentle kiss on the back of your glove before turning your palm. His eyes lock on yours as he bends down to kiss your wrist, his lips meeting your pulse. You feel your heartbeat become more erratic with each moment his gaze lingers.

"Well done, sister." Percy claps his hands from behind you. Luke stands straighter, though his lotions are more fluid. "This is the first time I've seen you dance without tripping on your own feet."

"Oh, shut up." You huff, pushing him back into the crowd. Luke follows behind you with a chuckle, his fingers dancing with the ribbon dangling at the back of your frock.

taglist: @ryujinraven (SORRY POOKIE IT SLIPPED MY MIND)

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy pjo #pjo tv show #percy series #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson

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cdragons · 13 days

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hiii i see you lurking :3 miss u love u muah muah muah!!!!

I don't know what you're talking about, my love O//W//O, but please enjoy this little drabble dedicated to another one of our brainchild. Happy 1K followers, my love! It's been so wonderful to see how much your blog has grown and it brings me so much joy to know that others see what an incredible writer you are.

"It's not fair!" Sansa insisted to her parents, stomping one foot on the stone floor, emphasizing her anger and ire. "Birdy is MY friend, not Robb's! He can't keep trying to steal her!"

"She's not an actual bird, sister," Robb quipped back, annoyed that his younger sister was making such a pointless fuss. "And I wasn't stealing. We were simply talking."

Lord Eddard Stark was exhausted after a long day of acting as the high lords of his ancestral home. The last thing he had expected was his solar to be barged in by his eldest daughter, demanding that his eldest son and her older trueborn brother be barred from speaking from her favorite handmaiden. However, it seemed that dealing with Robb was going to be as much as a dread, if not more than Sansa, if his tense shoulders and scowl were anything to go by.

It wasn't that Ned Stark wasn't grateful for your presence, however strange the circumstances of your arrival were. It was highly unusual for a bastard of a noble to come to be the handmaid of a highborn lord's daughter such as Sansa, even more so when your sire was none other than Roose Bolton himself. Truly, he was shocked when Sansa begged him and his wife to promote you to such a high rank. But he couldn't deny how happy you've made his daughter.

"Look, Father!" she was beaming the other morning when she came down to the Great Hall to break fast with the family. "Do you notice anything different today?" Now, Ned loved all his children, but he was the first to admit that he was as ill-informed as any other man regarding matters of women and young girls. However, looking up from his plate, he was surprised to indeed have noticed something different about his daughter's appearance today. "You've done something with your hair," he replied, inwardly delighted with himself from how Sansa smiled wider. "It looks lovely, dear." "Isn't it beautiful? Birdy brushed and braided it for me!" Sansa went to her seat. "She found wild blue roses the other day and thought of braiding them into my hair today!" "It looks wonderful, Sansa," Catelyn Stark nodded. Despite her distaste for her husband's decision to take in Roose Bolton's bastard, she couldn't deny that the girl was good at her work. "Birdy said she could go to the market at Winter Town tomorrow. But she said that she'd wait until after my lessons with Septa Mordane if I wanted to come with her," Sansa looked at her parents with pleading eyes. "May I please go?" Catelyn nodded, "Robb, would you mind escorting your sister and Lady Snow to the marketplace later after your lessons with Rodrick?" Sansa spoke for her brother. "There's no need for Robb to join us. Birdy already asked Jon to do it." "I'll go," Robb interjected, ecstatic with glee at the idea of walking around town with you. He looked back to see your reaction. As usual, you weren't paying attention to anyone and lost in your little world. You seemed to be talking to a new bird today, the little creature cheerily twittering into your ear. Robb spent the rest of the meal lost in his daytime dreams of you, utterly oblivious to the growing irritation of his younger sister.

Sansa pouted and crossed her arms, "You already have Jon, and Theon follows you everywhere! Why do you need to talk to Birdy for anything anyway? She doesn't like to talk about swords or hunting..." She turned to their father. "He even went so far as to pull her into a corner after we broke fast!"

"WHA-!" Robb balked, and the tips of his ears went red. "I did NOT--!"

"Robb," their father, Ned Stark, turned to his son with stern eyes. While Ned was confident that Robb knew better than to act so dishonorably, he wasn't blind to how quickly his eldest son and heir had taken to Sansa's new handmaiden. "Is what your sister speaks true?"

Robb rubbed his eyes and loudly sighed out his frustration. He loved his sister as much as anyone else in his family, but gods above, she could be so much. Really, how can you ever manage to keep your patience with such a tiresome girl he'll never understand?

"No," he firmly replied. "I was merely informing her that I would be joining Jon in escorting her and Sansa to the market."

"I already told you that you don't have to come!" Sansa growled. "Every time Birdy and I talk, you have to come in and interrupt!"

"You spend so much time together. Have you ever considered that perhaps I'm rescuing her from you?" Robb muttered, just low enough for his sister to hear but not his father.

"I heard that, Robb," their father grumbled. Ned looked like he had aged ten years since his children came in and interrupted his peace. "Sansa, you know better than to falsely accuse your brother like that. Robb, please refrain from any impulsive actions. As the next Lord of Winterfell, you need to remember your differing stations."

"Yes, Father," the siblings grumbled in unison. But anyone could tell that this issue was far from over.

"Honestly...! Robb can be so annoying!" Sansa and you have just returned from the market stand with your favorite spinner. What should have been a relaxing walk turned out to be a tiresome activity with the addition of not one but both of her older brothers. "He always has to put his nose into everything!" She waited for you to agree, but you were silent. Turning to look at you, her frustration grew when she realized you weren't paying attention. "Are you even listening to me?"

You finally looked up from your knitting and impassively blinked. "Not really...why? Was it important?"

Sansa sighed before sitting beside you. You and her were sitting underneath the Weirwood Tree, your favorite spot in the Godswood. "As your lady, everything I say to you is important. You're my handmaid; you should know this..."

You dispassionately shrugged. "I'm still not very familiar with the ways of highborn nobles."

Sansa indignantly huffed before pouting. You gave a small smile before going back to your knitting.

“Who do you like better, me or Robb?”

You look at her lady in surprise and confusion. “Your brother? Lord Stark’s firstborn?”

Sansa nods. “Yes, now tell me, do you like me or him better?”

You cocks your head to the side. “Why would that matter, my lady?”

“Because it does!” Sansa rolls her eyes. "He's always interrupting us and trying to flirt with you!"

You carefully think about it. You hadn’t really spent much time with Lord Robb. You're more likely to play with the little ones or Jon, which is common ground for both of you being bastards. In the beginning, Robb tended to avoid you whenever he could. But now he tends to single you out whenever he sees you and his sister talking. “Your brother has been very kind to me. He is certainly very nice. But I haven’t spent much time with him to know. When he does try to talk to me, I find it sometimes difficult to talk with him.”

Sansa’s eyes widen. “He hasn’t been rude to you like Theon, has he?” She shook her head.

“No, just…hard to talk. Not much to say from me to him I suppose.”

“Is that how it is with me?”

You turn to Sansa. “No, I find it very easy to talk to you, my lady. You are very different from me, but I like our discussions very much.”

Each word you spoke was true. Many would consider your Lady Sansa, a silly little girl who believed in too many stories about pretty princes and great heroes. But you knew true evil - you were born from it and was raised with it looming over your shoulder for your entire life. Snasa may have been naive, but she was a kind girl who still saw the beauty in her world. A beauty you couldn't see, but could appreciate.

You and her were very different, but you enjoyed spending time with her. It was apparent she was very proud of her noble birth, but you never felt uncomfortable. In fact, you felt as relaxed with her as you do with Maester Luwin, going so far as to speak informally with her without any other company.

Sansa smiles and hugs you. “I think so, too. So you do like me more than Robb.”

You think and nod. “Yes, I am very confident to say that is the case.”

Jon loved Robb - really, he did. But gods above, his brother could be a brat. "Future lords aren't supposed to sulk."

Robb growled, "I am not sulking."

"Pouting, then..." Jon muttered, going back to aim his arrow at the target. But the arrow flew over the wall when a stray snowball hit his head. Jon turned to his brother, annoyed. "If you want to get to know her so bad, why don't you talk to her without Sansa? You might stand a better chance than just pining after her all day."

"I am not - oh, fuck off," Robb went back to hacking the straw dummy before him. He didn't want to admit it, but Jon was right. It didn't take a genius to guess that his terrible mood had little to do with training and more to do with the fact he failed in his chance to get you alone...again. "Why does she have to be around Birdy all the time, anyway?"

"...Because she's her lady...?"

Robb wanted to scream, "Yeah, but - y'know...doesn't ever annoy you?"

Jon shook his head. Truthfully, it wasn't long ago that his relationship with his half-sister was very different. Before you arrived at Winterfell, the way Sansa treated him was barely better than Lady Stark. She neither acknowledged his presence nor ever referred to him as her brother. But ever since your arrival, the icy wall that separated began to slowly thaw. After befriending you, Sansa gained a whole different perspective on bastardy and was more thoughtful and considerate of how she treated Jon. She even gave him a handkerchief with an embroidered direwolf for his name-day gift.

Jon doubted he and Sansa would ever be as close as he and Ayra, but they were making progress.

Robb wiped the sweat pooling on his forehead. "What would I even talk about with her?"

Jon had the nerve to act oblivious. "Why're you asking me?"

Robb's curse nearly spewed out, "You know why. You're the only one she likes talking to... what the hell do the two of you even talk about for so long?"

"I dunno," Jon shrugged. He knew he wasn't being particularly helpful, but he really didn't have an answer. "Look, just talk to her about anything. Better than what you do now..."

"What are you two talking about?"

Robb and Jon turned around in a panic. There you were, standing in the courtyard with your infamous impassive stare. It was painful to see how effortlessly beautiful you were. You stood like a true beacon of Northern beauty, so much so that all the animals inside the keep craved your company. Robb couldn't recall the number of times he found you cheerily conversing with rats from the kitchen or the crows in the rook.

What he would give to have you speak with him with such eagerness...

"Nothing of importance, my lady," he tried to act as normal as possible. "Why? Do you need assistance with anything?"

You shook your head. "I just wanted to drop something off, " you said, digging into your pouch. You pulled out a package wrapped in a burlap sack and twine. "I mended your gloves. They were looking a bit frayed, so I stitched them. They should last a bit longer now."

Robb didn't respond. He just stood and stared like an idiot who had forgotten his own name. It wasn't until Jon jabbed into his side with his elbow that he thanked you for your help.

"Thank you, my lady," He cleared his throat before taking the package from your hands. He opened the package and wasn't surprised in the least at how his old gloves looked better than when he first got them. You always had that magic touch. "They smell different."

You nodded, "Yes, Ayra mentioned that you were upset last week because I didn't give you my favor since I promised to give it to Jon. She also said you stink after training, so I should ensure the gloves mask the odor." When he didn't react, you decided to provide further clarification. "She said it would help you."

"I'm going to kill Arya," Robb thought to himself. He could see Jon's shoulder shake with laughter from the corner of his eye.

You bowed to take your leave. "Now, excuse me, my lords. I must attend to Edwina."

"A fellow maid?"

"No, the duck in the stable. She's pregnant, and I knitted a scarf for her."

Happy 1K, my love!

#robb stark x reader #game of thrones #robb stark imagine #robb stark #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones x reader #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf imagine #dippy #dippy fresh #dippy my long lost twin

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youronlydarlin · 8 months

Text

warning: wow. This one's lengthy, kinda dark! Johnny "Soap" Mactavish, implied older Soap, also implied age difference, he's in his forties while you're in your twenties, Soap being a pervert, Soap being the pettiest person on the whole planet, noncon/dubcon

Hmrmrmrmrm. Jus' thninkin bout' Pervert Johnny who you turn down at the bar. Rejecting the drink he's offered you, saying that you're not really looking for anything like that since your focusing on your studies at the moment.

Pervert Johnny who's just as stubborn as you are. He shouldn't have been shooting his shot in the first place, he's already got weird stares from the other patrons all cause his drunk ass was obviously hitting on someone that's probably young enough to be his kid.

Pervert Johnny who angrily beats his dick to the the thought of you after. He got rejected, that much was obvious. But s' not going to stop him. His pace is fast, and cruel all cause he thought he could get a cutie to spill into by the end of the night. Cums his brains out, and almost passes out. Wakes up the next mornin', and almost immediately does he have a plan on how to get back at you for bruising his ego.

Pervert Jonny who you thought you'll never hear from again, till all of a sudden theirs a cute guy your mom's been talking your ear off about. Saying about how, he's such a ladies man, the charming soldier that's aged like fine wine. You've always just laughed at it, happy that your ma's finally starting to get over your asshole of a dad who broke her heart. But you did find it oddly suspicious that they've already had plans about marriage, so soon, you thought. Too soon if you ask me.

Speaking of their wedding. You missed it. Total bummer. But it wasn't your fault when the date of it inconveniently clashed with your exam week. Everyone, not just you, were nose deep in books, spending the day away in the library. You apologized to your mom, and her boyfriend via letter. The guy must be extra shy or something because he refused to video call like you suggested to your mom. Anyways, the exam passes by like a breeze, and so does the wedding. You didn't really see both of them after. Your mom calling you and saying that they're already in their honeymoon. You don't worry too much, considering just how much the week's already taken out of you, so let's just say that this was a much needed rest.

Besides. You'll finally get to meet your mom's boyfriend, well, husband now, you guess. And what's the worst thing that could happen, right?

...

Never in your life did you expect to see him, again. Pervert Johnny, who turns into Pervert Step Dad Johnny. You just got back from your classes and there he is, rough hands on your mom's ass, and they have the audacity to act surprised. She excuses herself from him, giggling wildly like a school girl while she takes your face in her palms kissing it, and talking about how much she's missed you. While you can't help but look away from the man that's standing in your kitchen. But unlike you, he stares. And you don't miss the way he licks his lips at the helpless expression you have on.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny that likes to walk around shirtless. Always just in his gray sweatpants. You think he's doing it on purpose too, never wearing boxers so you could see the imprint of his cock. Doesn't even bother hiding the erections he get from you, always teasing, and saying "Eyes up here, lad/lass.." when you weren't even staring.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who you hate with a passion. This has got to be the prettiest attempt at revenge you've ever seen, but you don't have it in your heart to tell your mom about her new husbands real intentions.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who near pounces on you the moment your mom leaves for a business trip. Your bending over when all of a sudden he's behind you. Frothing his dick on your ass, and you don't even have the chance to scream or run away cause he's got one of his rough palms over your mouth. He pulls you close to his chest, and he pants like he's in heat, whispering the filthiest words to your ear.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who magically convinced you to try his dick at least once. And that's how it starts :(.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who gets you addicted to his dick. Knowing you'll come around in no time. He's always knew you'd be the prettiest whore. And he takes advantage of the fact that your mom, well, his wife, is out of the house. You learn so quickly too. Morning head from you's got to be his favorite part of starting the day.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who dresses you up in the prettiest lingerie money can buy. Corsets, and laces. Stockings, and bows. You have a collection of all of them right now. Be careful though, tease him enough and your getting your cute little panties pulled to the side. His throbbing dick rearranging your guts, and you see it poke through your tummy. The perv definitely rubs at the bulge, talking about how happy he is, because his baby's giving him a baby too.

a/n: I don't know what possessed me to write this. I just wanted some older soap content, kinda, this is just my second post for the day so m' sorry if it's not enough to feed you guys 😞 but there's a project that's been needing some finalizing and because of that this might not be my finest work. But I'm hoping that your having a better day than I am, my loves! Remember to always take care of yourself!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader smut #cod imagine #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #x gn reader #x female reader #x male reader

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bethanydelleman · 3 months

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Bingley was at fault too.....

Bingley's "modesty" is mostly just the result of Darcy's bad influence on him . Darcy said it himself; Bingley kept relying on him so much because it made life for him easier, he knows that he's impulsive and instead of dealing with his flaws, he just relies on Darcy to check him. He knew Jane loved him and the only effect that Jane acting like a lady should act is simply him not knowing how much she liked him, he knew love was there. And because Darcy thought she did not , he decided that she does not love him after all.

Both Darcy and Bingley are irresponsible; Darcy knew Bingley falls out of love all the time and yet he did not think that Jane might form a serious attachment because of his advances. He only cares about Bingley because it's HIS friend not out of a desire to help others.

Bingley hits on Jane immediately and courts her in front of everyone ; then left her after knowing everyone was expecting marriage ; if he wanted to leave, at least he shouldn't make it seem like he was running away from her, this might affect her reputation . I know he had planned to return but Darcy convinced not to; but he should at least claim an excuse that had nothing to do with Jane so he would not embarass her.

I disagree with most of what you are saying here. I don't think Bingley could have possibly been that confident or known that Jane loved him.

Elizabeth admits that Jane is hard to read and no one would have been entirely sure of her love:

He declared himself to have been totally unsuspicious of her sister’s attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte’s opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.

And also, Jane & Bingley don't spend a ton of time together in the two months that Bingley is at Netherfield. This is not modern dating:

“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”

I think you are greatly overestimating how well Bingley would understand Jane's heart. He can't ask if she likes him either, it's all about subtle encouragement. We don't know what Darcy and his sisters said to him, but I can see how someone would be persuaded that Jane didn't actually love him. I think modesty is one of Bingley's strengths, not a fault. And, he's also not as persuadable as people sometimes say, we see him stand up to both his sisters and Darcy.

Mrs. Bennet said that Jane was ill-used, but she doesn't suffer any reputation damage. Mrs. Gardiner basically says, "These things happen" and moves on. We have no evidence at all that it hurt Jane in any way except emotionally. Also, Bingley & Jane don't act like Marianne & Willoughby or Wentworth & Louisa, we do not hear that everyone who saw them expected an engagement. It did not go that far. It was a fervent hope, not an honour-bound expectation. It was also a lot of Mrs. Bennet telling everyone that it would happen.

Darcy was wrong, but after the Bennets' display of vulgarity at the ball, he thought he was doing the right thing for his friend. Was he biased? Yes, the narrator tells us so, but that doesn't mean he was irresponsible. If Bingley hadn't been truly in love, he would have been doing the right thing.

That said, both Bingley and Darcy do have flaws, but Bingley is young and being impulsive when you're 23 and filthy rich isn't that bad. Darcy protecting his friend isn't a flaw, though his reasoning wasn't without bias. And I'm sure he does often have a good influence on Bingley.

#question response #pride & prejudice #charles bingley

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radfemverity · 1 year

Text

All day on Twitter, pro Palestine westerners of both sexes have been attempting to justify the scenes in the viral video of the deceased, bloodied, half naked woman, being paraded through the streets in a pick up truck by men with machine guns chanting Allah Akbar.

It's come in 3 forms:

1. saying "where were you when the IDF did [X crime] to [Y woman]?" to people they've literally never met and do not know the politics of. They're just assuming that anyone distressed at the footage is a Jewish/Israeli supremacist who doesn't care for innocent slaughtered Palestinian people.

These whataboutery addicts are disingenuous as all fuck, and completely desensitised to acts of violence, so much so that they project their own inability to extend compassion for murder victims on "the other side", onto those whose tweets they're replying to. Victims are just gotchas to them.

But they're cupcakes compared to the next 2 categories.

2. saying that these men's murders of women, abduction of elderly ladies (separate viral incident) and other crimes against civilians is a justified reaction against apartheid and/or settler colonialism, and that Israeli people have had it coming.

I cannot believe I have to say this, but regardless of your opinion on the conflict, whether you’re a Zionist or believe Israel is an apartheid state, if you believe random women, young and old, and their children, being abducted, bombed, raped, murdered and paraded through the streets by men, is a justified response to oppression, then you are dead inside. That’s not brave rebellion. It’s plain old male savagery.

There is, sadly, an academic case which could be made that such brutalities assist the war effort of a nation to gain independence – this being a reference to the fact that the most savage empires, the ones willing to commit the most gruelling acts, tend to be the ones to come out on top during wars. History shows us - think of Rome, Japan, etc.

But this type of speculation almost always crosses the line into justifying such crimes, because it was never about speculation for speculation’s sake. It was about wanting the other side - including women and children - slaughtered. Pro-Palestine Twitter have demonstrated this perfectly today.

Please let me make this excruciatingly clear, this political behaviour is exhibited by practically every male-dominated movement and ideology there is, which is… everything other than radical feminism. Zionists do this too. As do conservatives, liberals, marxists, fascists, progressives, pacifists, nationalists of all stripes – supremacist and anti-colonial, theocrats, Islamists, etc. It’s just that the issue of today is the Israel Palestine conflict, so this is the obvious example to reference.

And the 3rd form of response, much like the 2nd, is to justify these crimes against civilians as an act of rebellion, but go one step further and laugh about it. Saying things like "play stupid games, win stupid prizes 🤣🤣", "Imfao at Israelis suddenly pretending to be victims", making wojak memes and spamming them to the people expressing distress over seeing that video of the dead woman, etc. See this example from a trans-identified man:

Notice how at no point have I said my opinion on the Israel Palestine conflict? Because I have one. And it's probably not what either side would expect. And that’s exactly the problem. My disgust at Palestinian men parading a dead Israeli woman through the streets and spitting on her is automatically interpreted to be me supporting the Israeli state.

But your political view on the conflict should have a 0% impact on this fundamental principle: as a feminist, you do not EVER, FUCKING EVER, think that a woman on "the other side" of a mens war deserves to die.

To accuse someone of not caring about dead Palestinian women, as pro-Palestine Twitter have been doing all day, to random stranger who simply said "this is horrific" re: the dead woman in the truck, is:

a) to project your own heartlessness toward women on "the other side" onto them.

b) to further normalise the glorification of violent men, under this false veneer of their crimes being a necessary and justified revolt against whatever type of oppression they have in their society. As if stripping a woman bare and parading her through the streets has ever been a practically useful or ethical war tactic.

And c) to imply that those on "the other side" deserve whatever cruel fate meets them, simply because the male class of their society committed unjustifiable crimes.

I cannot think of anything less pro-woman, anything less feminist, than that.

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haggishlyhagging · 1 year

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Waiting is part of the stereotyped role for women—a large part. Waiting to grow, for breasts and hips to fill out, to wear lipstick, perfume, brassieres: waiting to star in the big role—man enticer. Waiting to be asked for a date. Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting, waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting to be asked to dance. Waiting to be asked to go steady. Waiting to be asked to marry. Always waiting for someone else to act. Passively, miserably waiting.

And if the phone doesn't ring? If no one asks? If you wait, and wait, and wait, and Prince Charming doesn't come riding up? What can you do?

In the fifties, when I was a young woman, there was nothing you could do and still be considered decent. Being able to choose and act on that choice was a privilege reserved for men. That should have told me something. I think it did, but I didn't want—or didn't know how—to deal with it at the time. So I put it away in that deep unconscious filing cabinet reserved for matters which must have frightened me with their too-clear implications of female servitude and subordination. It took me forty-two years of gathering such data unbeknownst to myself before I finally accumulated more than my file could hold and it burst open, forcing me to look.

Waiting is one of the earmarks of subservience. As Milton truly says, "They also serve who only stand and wait." Waiting is a service. The words waitress, lady-in-waiting, waiter are all service titles. Waiting delineates rank. Sergeants don't keep colonels waiting, but generals do. Teachers don't keep principals waiting, but superintendents do. Those in power can make their subordinates wait, can expect them to wait. To keep someone waiting is manipulation, a method of maintaining control; it is a way of announcing and wielding power.

My unconscious servitude to Rick began early in our courtship. I remember sitting on a bench by the service station for several hours while he fixed his car. It was an unspoken assumption in my youth that girls loved to keep boys company during such times, liked to hold things for them, enjoyed watching them clean the points, or change the brake shoes. Having their girl hovering around must have been like having their own private cheerleader. Girls did it because we wanted to be with them more than they wanted to be with us. We were more emotionally dependent upon them, as we had been trained to be. We needed to be around them, and though they liked having us around, they had other interests in their lives. We had been trained to have only one major interest, despite all the other things we might do, and that was them. Not because it is any more natural for us females to be dependent and to base our entire lives upon some male's approval and presence, but because patriarchy socialized us thus. It is great for male egos. It is catastrophic for ours.

But I didn't get a real taste of the despotism of waiting until Rick discovered the computer at the University of Minnesota. The next ten years were one long struggle against the humiliation of being constantly rejected for the computer—Rick's "iron mistress," his "three sexty." Ten years of being completely forgotten for whole days and suddenly remembered apologetically, of my putting the uneaten supper away and going to bed at midnight or one or two A.M., not having heard from Rick since morning when he promised to be home by six.

That he should have thought it natural to keep a human being waiting for six, seven, twelve hours without word made it clear to me again and again how he thought of me, how not completely human I was to him, how much just a part of himself—not a separate or real person to be taken seriously, or about whose esteem he needed to worry. He would never have kept any male friend whose friendship he valued waiting so consistently for years. No peer would have put up with it.

At the time, I thought it was all my fault. If I were more interesting, more sexy, more something, he would want to come home to me. I blamed myself, when the fault lay in Rick's patriarchal world view.

Part of the unwritten definition of wife is: the one who waits.

I tried to tell Rick over those long years how often I felt rejected and figuratively slapped in the face. I couldn't help but believe he secretly enjoyed the idea of my waiting for him, the constant service of wondering and worrying about him in his absence. Surely there was something more behind his making me wait than mere forgetfulness. He was an extremely intelligent man, but I couldn't get him to understand how deeply he wounded me by showing disdain for the hours of my life I wasted in waiting for him and for the hurt and rage and erosion of love for him this brought about in my heart.

And through it all, I must never make him wait for me. I must never reverse the sadomasochistic game. Yet by calling it that, I admit my own collusion in it. Years ago I should have ceased to care unduly when he came or went, should have planned my life as I wanted without consulting his. Should simply not have allowed him to tyrannize and manipulate me. But I knew that the moment I refused to supply this apparently necessary ego support, I would lose him.

And I did. When I became interested in the ERA, he often had to wait for me—to get off the phone, to come home from meetings, to come to bed. I ceased to pay much attention to when he came and went. I no longer cared a great deal when he was hours late or rejoiced overmuch when he was early. My life no longer centered around him, as his had never centered around me. I began to live an independent life, such as only men are entitled to. That's when I overstepped my bounds and it was all over.

And I've thought since, with considerable wryness, how for nineteen years I waited for him, and how he couldn't wait for me for one.

-Sonia Johnson, From Housewife to Heretic

#sonia johnson #marriage #patriarchy #waiting

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frogchiro · 1 year

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okay wait why am i now just hearing about butcher/slasher ghost, and why am i foaming at the mouth!!!???! like ripping apart pillows, tearing down walls, doing flips—RAHHH i am officially OBSESSED!!

i read it and thought of texas chainsaw massacre, but it’s the 2006 one so like simon is an absolute menace but he sees a pretty lady who’s new to town and his cold killer heart just can’t help but swoon :((( and she’s so polite, nervous, and timid because it’s so different in this town and simon with his cursed blessed keen sense of smell

OH MY GOD BUT SLASHER GRAVES IN A SMALL TOWN DOWN IN TEXAS!!!?

so sorry if this is a lot!! 😣 i’m just a little obsessed 🤭🤭 either way, have an amazing day!! stay hydrated and make sure to eat 🩷🩷

HOW THE FUCK DID I NEVER THINK OF SLASHER GRAVES

My dear, I know that you probably expected Butcher!Ghost but I'm highjacking this ask now and writing slasher Graves because oh my god-

The setting I imagine to be in a small southern town in Texas, and I imagine it to be like one of those creepy, small southern gothic towns with the old abandoned churches, houses and old beaten up signs that say "His return is near" or "God is watching you", you get the idea.

And there we have Philip Graves who owns a big ranch passed down for generations in his family, and by big I mean HUGE. Enormous pastures, corn fields, cows, horses, pigs and all that which means he and his name is quite well know in the area which admittedly makes his...hobby a lot easier than you'd think. Graves has friends in high places and he's buddy buddy with the town's sheriff, basically the golden child of the town which means that both the police and the sheriff will turn a blind eye to the "sudden disappearances" of people, be it locals or newcomers to town.

But the thing is that Philip Graves is bored. Bored out of his mind and nothing seems to excite him anymore, not even the desperate hysterical screams of his victims do the thing anymore. Sure he definitely has the money, the looks that refined well with age, he's respected and liked in the community but the truth is-he doesn't give a shit about it.

I imagine that Slasher!Graves is an incredibly arrogant man, and while he may put on a pleasant facade, his accent a thick and purring drawl and his southern charm do the trick he's a whimsical and capricious prick who gets easily bored and when he does...Well let's just say that it doesn't end pretty.

So imagine how surprised he was when he was in town once in his pickup truck, cowboy hat low on his brow as he watched the cars go by when suddenly his eyes were caught by a bus, one of those that travel for very long distances and the only person who got out was you. To say that Philip's interest was piqued would be an understatement; what's a pretty soft little thing like you doing in this bumfuck nowhere in Texas?

A pretty young lady, seemingly around 20, who looked like a lost little lamb, but just what were you doing here? Everything about you screamed that you're obviously not from here and while he could see even from a distance that you tried to act confident, his sharp blue eyes saw right through that act-you were scared shitless and more than lost. Were you here to visit someone? Or maybe...you are running from something? Whatever the case was, you definitely caught his attention in more than one way.

You just looked...so soft, so pretty, lovely he'd even say and I'm sorry but this Graves that we're talking about would definitely be a little misogynistic :(( He's old fashioned, maybe it comes with his age or maybe due to how his pa raised him but the further he observed you the more he he couldn't help but think about how such a pretty young lady like yourself should be married off already to a nice gentleman, getting provided for like you deserve and in return takin' care of your husband too; bringing him beer, cookin' and popping out a kid or two :((

His train of thoughts got interrupted only by a loud booming voice calling out his name cheerfully and when he turned around annoyed to see who was interrupting him, it turned out to be old Michael, an old friend of his pa. He greeted him politely but when he turned around to watch you a little more it turned out that you already wandered off, sneaky girl.

Philip cursed under his breath but on the other hand he decided to just ask the sheriff about you since he knows that the man has access to all the information about any newcomers to town. It looks like his bored streak came to an end <3

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #this is literally godsend #slasher!Graves #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #philip graves

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archiveikemen · 23 days

Text

"Don't Look At Anyone But Me" Collection Event

Nica Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

On my way back after submitting a report, I heard someone call out to me.

Nica: The young lady over there.

Standing there was one of the twins from Vogel.

Kate: Can I help you?

Nica: Actually, I got lost.

Nica: Would you be kind enough to guide me?

I was puzzled by the sudden request, but I nodded and he narrowed his almond-shaped eyes.

Nica: Thanks.

Kate: Don’t mention it, where are you headed?

Nica: The room we’re staying in. Do you know where it is?

Kate: Yes, this way!

I pointed down the corridor and started walking with him following behind me chuckling.

Nica: Fancy running into you like this, I really am as lucky as ever.

(Harrison’s warning made me a little wary of Vogel’s members, but Nica is easy to talk to and doesn't seem like a bad person.)

Even though I knew he was lying about something, it wasn't clear whether it was out of malice.

(It’s not a good habit to judge someone you just met, right?)

I was deep in thought while walking, and we soon arrived at Vogel’s room.

Nica: Thanks for the help, “Spatzi ¹”.

Kate: “Spatzi”?

Nica: It’s German for “Robin”.

Nica: Crown calls you “Robin”, right?

Nica: So “Spatzi” it is.

¹ In the original text, Nica says ロビン which is basically hiragana for literally "Robin" and later explains that he actually said it in German. I previously made a post asking how I should translate this into a German word and the general consensus was "Spatzi" because I was told that's a term of endearment in German, so I decided to use this word. Do feel free to let me know in the notes if there's a better word, as I don't know the German language at all.

He sat down on the sofa and shifted his gaze to the seat across from him.

Nica: Won’t you have a seat?

Kate: Huh?

Nica: It's rare for us to meet like this, so let’s chat a little. I want to know more about your job and all sorts of other things.

While I was feeling tense because it was only the two of us in the room, he propped his chin on his hand.

Nica: Besides…

Nica: I’m interested in you.

Nica was smiling, but his eyes resembled those of a predator who had caught its prey.

He looked pleased when I hesitantly sat down, and he called a maid to prepare some tea.

Nica: Well then, shall we start by reintroducing ourselves?

Kate: Yes, please.

Nica: I’m Nica Schwartz, a strategist for Vogel, an organisation under direct command of the Emperor of Germany.

Kate: What does the job of a strategist entail?

Nica: I gather information, act as the brains of the group, and support Dari in various ways.

Nica: The details are confidential.

Nica: Ah, right. Just call me Nica. No need to be formal with me.

Kate: Understood, Nica.

Nica’s smile widened when I called him by his name and he pointed at me.

Nica: Now it’s your turn.

Kate: I’m Kate, a Fairytale Keeper. There were all sorts of reasons that landed me in this job position, but I used to work as a mailwoman.

Nica: Hmm, you must know your way around pretty well, then?

Kate: Yes! I’ve delivered mail all over London, so I know it well enough to show people around.

Nica: That’s great, I’ll have you show me around next time.

As I reached for my teacup, Nica’s words interrupted.

Nica: What does the Fairytale Keeper do?

Kate: I accompany Crown in their activities and record anything that happens.

(There are actually various other things, but…)

I figured it wasn't wise to go into the details, so I decided not to elaborate.

Nica: But you’re only an ordinary person, right? Isn’t it dangerous?

Kate: Everyone at Crown made a promise to protect me.

Nica: Uh-huh…

Although he looked like he was listening, there was something about his tone that sounded as if he was getting ideas that made me a little uneasy.

But that feeling quickly went away when his expression suddenly brightened.

Nica: So you’re Crown’s super, super, cute little Spatzi.

Nica: You must be really important to them.

Kate: I- I wouldn't say that…

(While it’s true that they treat me with courtesy…)

It all started because I witnessed them conquering evil with evil.

(Me being where I am today is a result of my desperation to stay alive.)

Had I not spoken up back then, I might've left this world by now.

Nica: Dari might not like it, but I think it’d be fun to have a Fairytale Keeper in Vogel.

Nica: Ah, but it’d also be no good for Ring.

Kate: No good?

Nica: Ring’s my twin brother, but unlike me, he’s not good with people.

(It’s true that Ring gave off a cold impression when we first met…)

As I thought back to our first meeting, Nica leaned in and peered into my face.

Nica: Goodness, are you interested in Ring?

Kate: No, it’s not like that…

Nica: You can’t do that, because— that is mine.

He placed a finger on my lips, narrowing his eyes and flashing me an awfully charming smile.

Afterwards, we chatted about some trivial everyday topics and the sky turned a crimson hue before we knew it.

(It’s already gotten this late…)

He widened his eyes in an exaggerated manner when he glanced at the clock.

Nica: Oops, it’s already this late. I suppose it’s about time we end our conversation.

Kate: You’re right. I enjoyed our conversation.

Nica: I could say the same. Let’s talk again another time.

I thanked him as he stood up to open the door for me, and I was about to leave the room when—

Kate: eh.

He held up a lock of my hair and placed a kiss on its ends.

Nica: For our next date.

His lips parted with a soft sound.

Nica: Oh, did you forget how to get home? Or do stay here and have me lock you up?

His provocative tone made it clear that he had been going easy on me.

(To Nica, that conversation was only a way for him to gauge his circumstances. If he were to get serious—)

— He could easily steal the whole of my heart.

Kate: Pardon me.

My cheeks turned hot and I hurried out of the room without caring about who might see me.

Nica: Bis dann / See you. Spatzi.

Before he stole my heart.

…

< Nica’s POV >

While I was laying on the sofa, my younger brother came back looking haggard.

Nica: What, did you get lost?

Ring: Yeah… the place’s so huge, I couldn't tell where I was.

Ring sat down on a chair with a sigh.

Ring: If only I could easily memorise the layout of buildings like you do, Nica…

I laughed at those words.

Nica: Sometimes I pretend to get lost on purpose.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikevil translations #otome #ikevil collection event #nica schwartz

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