#and i could barely call that fanfic

[evievigilant]

sorta wanna try my hand at fanfiction sorta don’t hmm

[quadrantadvisor]

Alright new Jason Todd headcanons in a dpxdc setting:

Danny is a "liminal" ghost, rather than a "half" ghost. He's alive and dead at the same time. (He's like Jesus Christ (in the church denomination I grew up in), fully ghost and fully human.) Danny, in human form, can go through a ghost shield, because he IS a living human.

Jason, however, is a reanimated corpse. He isn't a ghost, wouldn't have a ghost core, etc, he has a normal human system that runs ON ectoplasm. Jason CANNOT go through a ghost shield, because he is always an ectoplasmic entity. Danny can go through the Fenton Ghost Catcher and be split into a ghost and a human; if Jason went through the ghost catcher, he would straight up die.

(For my purposes I'm gonna say that Jason became an ectoplasmic entity upon his resurrection, but wasn't very stable. Dunking in the Lazarus pit stabilized his system but also poisoned his ectoplasm.)

I do think that Jason could learn certain ghost abilities if he learned to harness his ectoplasm, especially if they detoxed him off the Lazarus waters. He's probably already enhancing his stealth and strength in ways he hasn't really noticed. I think he's held back by the amount of physical matter he's lugging around, so maybe he couldn't fly, but I'm imagining temporary invisibility, or intagibility of like, a limb at a time. Maybe he can't walk through walls, but in a fight he can dodge by instinctively making the targeted part of his body intangible.

[daddyplasmius]

hand on my stupid heart flashbacks

this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks. will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it. posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom. 800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)

-

When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.

He almost went back.

Almost.

He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.

He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.

-

Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.

Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー

The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.

While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.

Dad scrambled to shoot at him.

Danny fled.

His parents didn’t recognize him.

-

The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.

He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.

The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”

Everyone pointed at Sam.

Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.

This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.

The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.

Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.

Surely they would know him on sight.

“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.

Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”

-

Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.

He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?

They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.

It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.

Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.

VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.

Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.

[netherzon]

I wonder if you could do anything with a drag racing AU 🤔 it’s been awhile since I’ve watched a professional race (I don’t know anything about street drag), but I used to watch it with my dad and we went to a race once in Jersey together which was fun, so now I want to extract a solid story idea from it

[veenriu]

❝DON'T CALL MY PHONE, BITCH !!❞

i want you to stop! feat. t. fushiguro, g. satoru, g. suguru, k. nanami ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✰ pov : your boyfriend/husband gets a call while you're sucking him off . . . ✰ tags : fem!reader, smut, blow jobs, swearing, hair pulling, face fucking, praise, nicknames (baby, princess, sweetheart, darling, cutie), mdni ✰ an : this was gonna be a toji fanfic but i got to thinking and i was like ... well, yes!

TOJI FUSHIGURO ☆

his grip was firm on the crown of your head, fingers entangling in your hair as he guided your mouth up and down him—finally putting that filthy mouth of yours to good use. the way his dick effortlessly slid down your throat was soo good, and the sight of your eyes fluttering and rolling back in your head every time he hit your uvula was the icing on the cake for him. "just like that, princess. that's it—milk my fuckin' dick, yeahhh," he whispers, your throat relaxing around him as you anticipated the moment he filled your mouth. you could feel it coming, with the way he was twitching and the guttural sounds he lets out as threw his head back against the couch. so close, so close, so— buzz buzz, there it was again. that incessant buzzing that had drawn him out of the moment for the last time. who the fuck could even be calling him at this hour, anyway? "who the fuck—hold on, princess," you let out a whine as he eases his still hard dick out of your mouth, letting it fall against your face as he picked up the still ringing phone. "it's shiu, behave." he warns, smirking wickedly at you as you nearly threw a tantrum below him. your ears tuned out the unimportant drone of small talk between the two men as you sat between his legs, your head resting idly on his thigh as you stared up at him. as you neared the border of sleep, your eyes shot open as you got an idea. your eyes were still locked on him as you inched closer to him on your knees, your fingertips pressed against the floor as you sunk your mouth back onto him and eased him back down your throat. "shit, shiu lemme call you back," toji gritted, quickly ending the call and haphazardly tossing it next to him as he grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, yanking you off of his dick as he moved his grip back to your head. "think y'er so funny, don't you?" he glared, squeezing your cheeks together in his hands and pressing your lips together. "such a mean lil' thing, ain't ya? don't worry, we'll fix that. open up."

GOJO SATORU ☆

his eyes were shut tight as you swirled your tongue around him, moans of pleasure bordering on whimpers as you expertly sucked him off. he didn’t even know you could use your tongue like that, just happened to find out one night after a dare. and boy did he have plans for you after that night.

“christ, y-you’re so good,” he gritted, his bony fingers knotted deep in your hair as he forced his cock deep in your throat—gag reflex be damned. he was so loud, so lust drunk he barely noticed the buzz of his phone until it nearly clattered to the floor.

“shit—y-yeah, suguru?” of course it was suguru, it was always suguru. it was like he had a third eye that opened as soon as you two got it on, it kinda freaked you out a bit.. but nevertheless, you weren’t about to let him ruin this moment. not this time.

you pulled your mouth off of gojo’s dick as he rambled and moved down slightly lower, to his heavy cum-filled balls. he was always so sensitive down there and combined with the way he was feeling extra needy tonight, he was in for it. with a little kiss and squeeze, he was practically melting, quite literally whimpering into his mic as suguru fought back giggles on the other end.

“toruu,” you purred, placing another chaste kiss on his sacks before tracing one of the more prominent veins on his dick right up to the tip, swallowing him back in your mouth as you fondled him simultaneously. the look on his face was priceless, his eyes rolling back and the hand holding his phone going slightly limp.

“satoru? you still there?” geto questioned, hardly making it through his sentence as gojo jumped at the sound of his voice, “yyyeah! yeahyeahyeahyeah, i’m here.. lemme uhh—fuck, call you b-back, ‘kay?” he didn’t even wait for a response before hanging up the phone and letting it clatter to the floor next to you.

“god, baby you’re gonna kill me one of these days.. keep going, please.”

GETO SUGURU ☆

you watched from between your boyfriends legs as he spoke to his best friend; phone resting on the couch, joint rolled neatly between his lips as his head dipped back and his arms spread out on the back of the couch. he looked so pretty, his long dark locks tied up in a bun as the smoke clouded around you two.

“i’m serious, suguru! it was like—this big!” gojo exclaimed, spreading his hands out to imitate the size of whatever he was on about. you could see his bright blue eyes bouncing around on geto’s phone, clearly ecstatic to relay his day back to him. it would’ve been a cute moment if not for you currently slobbering on his best friends dick.

“mhm?” geto purred, fighting back constant heavy breaths and groans that were sure to come out of him sooner or later. it was a wonder gojo didn’t know just what you two were doing, and with the way you were sloppily sucking him off, it was a wonder he could hear geto at all. your train of thought was cut short at the feeling of geto’s dick twitching and throbbing before you felt your mouth fill with his thick cum.

yanking you off of him by the crown of your head, geto held your jaw in his hands and brought you closer to him, entirely tuning out gojo’s incessant babbling. “swallow for me, cutie,” he cooed, watching your throat as you swallowed his seed, his eyes lighting up as soon as the motion happened.

“good girl,” he praised, placing a kiss on your glazed lips. you could swear he was about to push you back down until he turned his attention to the whining that wasn’t coming from you, “suguruu! you’re not listening to me! what the fuck are you doing anyway?” you heard gojo ask, pushing his eye all up in the camera.

geto sat in silence for a moment before he looked down at you wickedly, his lips slowly turning up at the edges as he brought his phone up off the couch and held it over you, turning the camera around to show gojo exactly what he was doing, “say hi, baby.”

“hiii, satoruu,” you giggled, tapping geto’s tip against your tongue, listening to the quiet “woah” gojo pushed out. “yeah so, i’ll call you back, hm?”

KENTO NANAMI ☆

you were sat between your husbands knees as you listened to him speak to his colleagues, something about business. you knew how serious he got when he was on his business calls, but you couldn’t help but be needy.

his hand was on your head as you rested it on his meaty thigh, constricted by his slacks. you couldn’t help but notice that the little bit of swelling in his crotch every time you shifted just a little bit. you’d never seen anything more tempting.

you shifted once more and took his hand off your head, snuggling up further between his legs and inching yourself closer to his bulge as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. “sweetheart—“

oh, how he just wanted to throw you over his desk and absolutely wreck you. you were gonna be the death of him, that was for sure. he attempted to swat your hands away from his belt while simultaneously trying to be inconspicuous enough to not get caught fooling around with his wife while doing important business, but ultimately failing as his belt ends up unbuckled before he could even realize it.

“darling, i don’t think this is very wise—“ “kento? are you listening?” you watched as his head snapped back up to his screen as an awkward smile graced his lips, his hand finding its way back to your head and threading itself deep in your locks, “yes—sorry, my pet just wants some attention. please, continue.”

he pulled on your hair slightly and you took that as the go ahead. you pulled his fly down and eagerly freed him from his boxers, his thick cock springing out from his pants causing his jaw to clench as soon as he was free.

you wasted no time in sinking down onto him, wrapping your lips around him and taking him in as deep as you possibly could without gagging, not wanting to make any noise that’d blow your cover. your eyes stayed on his face as you bobbed your head up and down, watching his fist clench and unclench as he fought back those grunts and groans that were desperately trying to escape him.

soon enough, he was getting close. you could feel him getting restless as he attempted not to squirm in his seat, taking more effort than usual to make his words sound like he wasn’t doing anything. he couldn’t take it anymore. with a quick excuse and an even quicker click of his mouse to hang up the call, his attention was all on you.

“you’re going to get me in trouble one of these days, princess. ah ah, now i didn’t tell you to stop, did i?”

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , mentions of sex , profanity , crying , angst

୨୧˚ an; does anyone even care about this anymore LMDOAOO but for real, i’m sorry for how late this part got out. i am battling severe writers block it is dangling me by the BAWLLSSS,, im thinking that this series is coming to a close soon and i never meant for it to get this deep but here we are 🦝 thank you all for being so patient with me i lob you

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

There was something about thunderstorms that Toji always felt drawn to. They were great; overbearing in a way, rolling through and burying a perfectly fine day under gallons of rainwater and gray skies. Authoritative, condemning humans to take shelter lest they wish to drown in its fruits. Suffering the consequences; soaked-through clothes and sopping hair. He watches the pane of glass at the roof, a skylight barred into the flat of your high rise ceilings. The rain storm had reduced it into nothing but a drab, dusty square, baring the pelts of precipitation like punishment. Toji holds you in your bed. Your weight drapes across his chest like a blanket, your head tucked beneath the cut of his chin.

“Do you like the rain, Toji?”

He felt naked, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. The silken sheets that wrap your mattress were unfamiliar against this flesh, cold and slippery. Regretting the forfeit of pajamas. You two had shared a shower after dinner, of which you held him with all the sentiment in the world. Toji fucking hates when people stand at his back. He doesn’t like it, feeling a presence before seeing them. But he let you stay centimeters behind, working peach and ginger scented shampoo into the roots of his scalp. When he was a boy and his mother had yet to find a place in the Zenin's private graveyard, he vaguely remembers receiving analogous strokes of care from the only family member in his life who didn’t see him as a filthy disgrace. Mom bathed him like this, scrubbing blood and tarnish from his cheeks with a threadbare handkerchief in that tin can he called a tub. All that fucking family money, but a new washcloth or a proper bathtub was never in the cards for him. He remembers mom apologizing often when she washed him.

Toji fucked you in the shower. A difficult means of having sex, sure, but slippery surfaces and soap in the eyes weren’t enough to quell that undying twist of hunger. So he took you against the sleek porcelain wall with his hands shelving beneath the curve of your ass and your legs constricting at his waist. You guided him to a quick orgasm with spouts of hushed praises spoken to his ear; he was certain you didn’t cum, didn’t feel that cute clench you did the first night you two slept together, but you lied and told him you did with a reassuring grin. Why did you lie?

“It’s fine, I guess.” A hand caressed your thigh, the one that was slung over and hiked up onto his stomach. Toji grazed his nails over your flesh, mindless and dejected.

Thunder clapped, then lightning struck, and all Toji could think in the moment was about you and him. Together. Stark nude in bed with limbs entwined. He, the thunder; loud and fierce. Scary, enough to make little children and small animals shake and cower in the corner with fear. You’re more like lightning, he supposes. Elegant and powerful, something so naturally beautiful. 

You will hear thunder and remember me.

More thunder boomed. Toji squeezes your body tighter. “I like that.”

“Like what?” He asks.

You trace wobbly circles against his collar bone, avoiding the slices of silvery skin that raised off the plain of skin. Scars, Toji was doused in gauges. Scraped up head to toe, and he could feel your eyes dart lazily between each and every one of them. “I like the thunder,” comes your reply, followed by a small, bashful shrug. “Ever since I was a kid.”

Toji scoffs. Fuckin’ mind reader. “Liar. Nobody likes thunder.”

“Don’t call me a liar,” you slap his cheek playfully. “I mean it. The quiet can be disturbing sometimes. But to me, thunder is so… human-like? Makes me forget I’m alone.”

This has the man tossing his head back against your feathered pillow. “You’re so full of shit.”

Another stroke of brooding thunder rapped against the window like knock, and if Toji was a believer in the Gods above, he’d curse every last one of them for their shitty comedic timing. You’re giggling into his neck; Toji can feel warm puffs of breath fan over his pulse point. “See?” You ask through a grin. “He came back to yell at you.” He, referring to the crack of thunder. Toji rolls his eyes. Leaves a pinch at your thigh.

“Hey, what did you say before?” Toji walked his fingertips down the curve of your spine, stopping just above your ass. “The fuckin’—the french thing?”

How did it go again? Tu mas something?

It took a moment for you to decipher what he was talking about.

“Tu m'as manqué, Toji?”

Toji bit down on the tip of his tongue, stifling a smile at the grandeur in which you held when speaking the delicate French language. He nods, “what’s it mean?” 

“Means ‘I miss you’.” Is he melting? Liquifying into a disgusting puddle beneath your prying palms, soaking into the bed sheets. You lament over his absence, spitting such pure genuine inflections that Toji is inclined to believe you when you tell him just how much you missed his unlawful presence. Like a stray dog that you offhandedly feed every now and again, praying for its safe and soon return back on your doorstep, digging into the leftover scraps of meat you’ve so kindly plated on the stoop. He’s that washed-up, flea ridden, unabashedly feral mutt that can’t help but crawl back to the idea of home. “I missed you. A lot.”

Toji doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so vulnerable. Not even in the throes of passion when he’d had you spread and wet for him did you sound like this. Small and volatile, yet self-assured all the same. How the fuck do you manage to balance such contrasting notions? A witch, you must be something of the sort. 

There’s a gap of longing silence that fills the room; Toji concludes that you wait for him to return the gesture. So he does, “I did, too.” It’s the cold, hard truth, and he gives it to you on a silver platter. “Thought about you.”

And he’d leave that there. It was a much sweeter sentiment than to admit that he thought about you particularly often in those bloody showers with his hand wrenched around his hard on. Leaves much room for you to wonder. 

You hum. 

More quiet. He is fond of the quiet moments with you. 

“This looks fresh.” Ruined peace. He feels your thumb pad prod ever so gently at the teared flesh of his pec, the same one you used as your own personal pillow. It was inflamed, red and angry unlike the plethora of other battle scars which have now faded into a cooler pinkish tone with time. You were right; it was new. Nothing but a little switchblade slash—one of the men Toji had decimated this past week was armed. It was a careless mistake, one that had no real impact or effect, Hell, he barely felt the paper cut. But it impacted you, he noticed. “Does it hurt?” A fingertip whispers over the wound, and he flinches. 

Not because it’s painful, but because your gingerness made him sick to his stomach. Never more than in this moment did Toji feel so guilty for accepting your tender touches, wishing to holy Hell his conscience would allow him to bite his tongue. To let you keep thinking of him as some down-on-his-luck middle aged man with a shit job and no money to his name. 

“Don’t touch,” it’s quick, the way he snatching your wrist. Sturdy bone crushed under the bruising grip of his shaky fist. He didn’t mean to grab you so roughly. You’re taken aback by the outburst. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a meager apology that doesn’t sound right spilling from your lips. It’s trembly and skittish, and your eyes widen coquettishly to flit between his face and the iron-clad grip that joins you together. “I’m—I should’ve asked you first.”

His breathing pattern was off its axis. Shit, shit what is he doing? Toji let’s go, flinching his hand far from your arm like you burned him. He shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to grab you, I didn’t mean to.” Toji pushes up from the warmth of your bed—from the warmth of you—and scans the floor for his boxers. 

You reluctantly part from him, gathering the blanket up over your chest as a makeshift barrier between bare flesh and the chilled air-conditioned bedroom. “What are you doing, Toji?” You sound sad. He finds his boxers. They’re balled up, discarded on the far end of your too-fucking-gigantic bedroom. “Toji!”

He keeps his back toward you, mechanically stepping into his underwear and dragging them up over his hips. It’s fucking gross, feeling the crunch of dried semen as the fabric contorts, but it’s ultimately ignored. “Thanks for dinner, you’re a fuckin’ A chef.” Toji spots his sweatpants nearby. 

“You got that new cut at work.” You’ve made a power move to ditch the comforter, stepping down into the carpet wearing nothing but your birthday suit. The tone of yours shifts, a steep incline from sweet and patient to demanding and accusatory, and Toji doesn’t like that one fucking bit. His sweatpants on, he tosses you a glance over his shoulder. 

“It was an accident.”

“Is that right?” Your brows furrow, gesturing to his torso. His marred, battered, abused torso. “Just covered in accidents then?”

Now he faces you, looks you in the eyes despite your naked form. “Pretty much.” Each lie tastes acidic, like that soupy bile he spits out before vomiting. “Thanks for dinner.” He makes an attempt to stalk past to the door, foregoing the shirt because he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. Probably lost in a forgotten corner of your room, and with the way his heart raced against his rib cage, Toji wasn’t sure he’d survive long enough in this stuffy room to find it. So he thanks you again with an air of finality, only to be stopped. Your hand is flat against the center of his chest, pressed over the beat of his heart. No doubt about it, he’s sure you can feel that manic tempo. 

Beat, beat, beat. 

“I really thought we were getting somewhere.” You start quietly, voice hovering just above a whisper. His eyes stay fixed on the tiny hand that has glued itself to his sternum. “I thought we… I thought… I don’t fucking know, okay?

I like you. I like you so much, Toji.”

I like you too. “I…” like you I like you I like you. 

“Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate anything. These are complicated feelings, I know that. It’s a lot to spring on a person, but it’s the truth. I’m giving you my truth, and I need you to do the same because I don’t know if I can take another week of you disappearing for however long only to return like… like this!” You gesture to the red gash. “I care about you, and I want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, but you make it so fucking difficult.”

It felt as though every saliva particle had been vacuumed out of his mouth, leaving a dry desert plain for a tongue. He's never been so at a loss for words before, you actually rendered him speechless. Finally, finally, after a minute of gaping like a stupid fish out of water, Toji finds his bearings. 

“You’re a good person, Y/n.” He peels your hand off him. “And I’m not.” Toji moves to disconnect hands, but yours follows him, clamping them back together. He can’t find the strength to let go, knowing good and well that his palm was clammy as shit. 

Your brows pinch, knitting with confusion at the seemingly random proclamation. “I mean, sure you can be kind of a dick sometimes, but I don’t think—”

You don’t understand. So unscathed by the bleakness of this world, your definition of a bad person is someone who’s ’kind of a dick sometimes.’ Toji’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head, bangs bouncing with the movement. Your fancy conditioner made his hair feel soft against his forehead. “That’s surface level shit. You don’t understand what I’ve done.” 

“So tell me—”

“I can’t.” The word cracks in his throat, and he coughs around it. Choking on it like he did your pretty fingers in the kitchen. “Don’t you get that? If it was that easy…”

“Tell me.” Your voice grows calm, yet stern. Aggressive in the gentlest of ways, coaxing the truth to light. Arms crossed over your bosom, you jut a chin in Toji’s direction. “Because I’m really sick and fucking tired of you treating me like I’m incapable of comprehension. I’ll understand.”

You won’t. He knows you won’t. 

Time grows slow and thick like molasses; Toji feels caught in the midst of an unwinnable battle. Either direction he takes—to come clean, to dance around the truth some more, to lie—will only serve to worsen things to an unfortunate degree. He stalls. Scratches at his jagged jaw dusted with faint stubble. Then, he paws over the masculine plates of his abdomen, feeling his own flesh. There isn’t any warmth to him anymore. Every ounce of humanity had leaked from Toji’s soul, leaving him to become this cold, withering husk of a man. 

When his mouth finally peels open, it takes effort. Like his teeth had been welded together by one of those chewy caramel-coated candies Shiu keeps in his glove compartment. 

“I’m a killer.”

A strange sensation splashed over Toji. Maybe it was relieving to finally share that tidbit of himself, to get his shame out in the open and off his chest. His shoulders felt a little lighter, his joints felt a little looser. This high didn’t last forever, though, and soon he was plummeting back down to Earth when your horror-stricken voice shook in his ears. 

“That’s not a funny joke.”

“Wouldn’t joke. Not about that.” He swirls the built-up saliva in his mouth.

Your eyes were wide, never leaving him. “You… you kill people? For money?”

Begrudgingly, “yes.”

You sputter. “How do you expect me to believe something so—so unimaginable?” Your brows sewed themselves, drawn close in absolute bewilderment. Hinging on the cusp between puking and laughing in his stupid face. “This is insane, Toji.”

He scoffs quietly. “Ain’t fuckin’ lying woman.” No saccharine ma’am. “Wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had to fight to live.” A low blow, but you didn’t seem to take it to heart, far too distracted by your own disturb. 

Toji wasn’t prepared for how much this was going to hurt. The disgusted way you looked at him, something you’d never ever done before, made him barely able to contain his quiver. He deserves every morsel of your animosity, but knowing he deserved it didn’t make it any less painful. Toji felt you scanning, analyzing every scar wedged into his torso. His arms. His neck. His face. He sees you making connections, noticing healed-over bullet wounds and knife attacks for what they were: hideous. He watches you make connections, visualizing a new scenario for each scar; for each life he’s taken and how they desperately fought back against him for mercy. Toji’s body bears the story of hundreds of deaths, and you look sick to your stomach at the realization of what he truly is. 

An ugly monster. 

“Oh my God.” You’re hushed, speaking to yourself. “How many people, Toji?”

He grimaced. “I lost count.”

“Oh my God…” Your hand is pressed to your hairline, and you look exasperated to all Hell. Crazed, maybe. As though he’d just rocked your entire world.

Toji interjects with unnecessary commentary. “I told you. I said you would never understand.”

“No, n-no I understand plenty.” Then, you smile, but it’s not one you’d ever bore to Toji before. It lacks any kindness. It’s empty and unloving. “You’re a murderer.”

He winces. Killer and murderer were synonymous, but for some odd reason being called a murderer was a different type of wrench to the gut. “Yeah.” Toji nods. For the right price, he has slaughtered, fucked, and even sold a few peripheral organs. Because money is everything. Money is food. Money is shelter. Money is life itself. But money isn’t you. 

“Get the fuck out of my home.”

You look terrified of him. Toji is frozen stiff.

“I said go! Fucking leave!” Suddenly, you're rushing to collect your crumpled outfit from the floor, feeding your limbs through the small pair of panties and that oversize bed shirt. Amongst the frenzy to get dressed, you snatch your phone from the bedside table and frantically scrawl over the screen with clumsy fingers. Toji sees tears track down your cheeks, they glint from the light emanating off the cellphone. “Or I’ll call the police.”

And turn in what evidence? He’s too good at what he does, Toji doesn’t leave paper trails behind. But he lets you think you have the power to get him in cuffs. You’re already so frightened, clinging to your phone with trembling hands.

“Go ahead. Call them.” His words are lifeless. Lifeless with a touch of irritation. Spat with malice because you would never understand the life he lives, despite how much you’ve preached to him that you would. You teased him, dangling this idea of a normal life in front of his face. One without lies and secrecy, just you and him and this almighty penthouse. This would more than likely be the last exchange between the both of you, the last time Toji would ever look you in the eyes again, and it angered him. All good things have expiration dates. “You know where I live.”

“Just… Fucking leave.” Christ, you were shaking like a leaf. Was it out of fear? Or anger, maybe? Probably a combination of both. Toji gets a few more seconds of stillness in, spent entirely on gulping down eyefuls of you. Even now, face twisted up and cheeks wet from tears, you look so fucking gorgeous. His savior, the one who showed him how to feel again. 

“Okay.” 

He collects himself, puts on a presence of nonchalant coolness. Like walking out of your bedroom wasn’t the most difficult thing he’s had to do in years. Never-minding the shirt, he walks to the door without sparing a glance back over his shoulder. 

Toji leaves. It’s raining, and he is shirtless and sopping wet. Thunder rumbles. 

You will hear thunder and remember me. 

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[unhingedgirlythings]

FUCK IT

SUMMERY : Reader gets her date interrupted when Hotch calls up asking for her to get to the BAU. Reader rushes over still dressed up and a certain dr can’t keep her eyes off her teehee.

Tags:fem reader , a huge amount of awkwardness, reader is over her love life

A/N: I WANTED AWKWARD SPENCER REID, bare with me tho cuz I haven’t written a fanfic since I was 13 and it was horrible so please be kind and let me know your thoughts :))) enjoyyy.

——————///—————///--——————///——————

You were used to your phone ringing at the WORST possible times, I mean with your job that was something you just had to prepare yourself for. Serial killers don’t take a break just so you can have a girls night out or take a nice relaxing bath after a long day. Although never in your life did you imagine the wave of relief that would wash over you as the all too familiar ringtone blared from your phone. Normally you would groan and feel your body grow more exhausted whilst hesitantly picking up the phone, but not tonight. Nope. Fortunately for hotch, you couldn’t have answered the phone faster. “what’s up” low and behold hotch was on the other end requesting your presence ASAP!

You tried to hide your glee as you glanced over at the douche-ist blind date that the great quote on quote “matchmaker” of the century Garcia, had raved on about the week before. To be fair the date didn’t start off bad, it was actually the most decent one you’ve had yet. Honestly you were ready to finally praise Penelope for actually finding you a decent man to take your mind off the unrequited school girl crush that you had on a certain “kid” genius. somehow you escaped the dude who clearly was stuck in some frat boy mindset, well not without some snarky comment made towards you which you shut down a little harsher then needed but seriously you couldn’t hold back anymore, you had no idea what possessed Penelope into thinking you would EVER consider going home with the king of fucking douchebags (most likely the biceps and tight clothing that the man sported). Nevertheless here you were speeding down the freeway, thinking way too hard about your love life completely blanking and forgetting to drop by your apartment to quickly change into something more work appropriate.

Before you knew it you’ve parked your car, walking into the cold air. A shiver runs down your body and the shock hits you when you realize. Here you are in a little skimpy black dress that clings to your curves in “just the right way” according to Penelope before shoving you out into your car heading to that horrible excuse of a date, “ahh shit. Fucken seriously! Of course this is just my luck … I mean at least I look good” groaning and mumbling to yourself, you make your way into the building. You knew Hotch would be understanding, I mean you never know when you’re gonna be called in and it sounded urgent so yeah, sometimes you and your coworkers walk in with inappropriate work wear. You will never forget the time he called everyone in at god knows what time, Spencer had walked into the room with his pjs sporting a fluffy dress robe, you seriously thought someone was going to have to perform cpr on you that night.

Walking into the building in heels was definitely a pain in your ass, but you managed as you pushed the briefing room door open. A low wolf whistle from Derek Morgan was the last thing you needed right now “damn sweetheart, who knew you could clean up so nicely“ As you make your way into the room, you playfully roll your eyes at him.“haha very funny” you cringed as everyone’s attention was now drawn to you. while taking a seat next to JJ, wishing to be wearing literally anything else “Sorry Hotch, i came straight from..” you hesitate for a second, glancing around before continuing “A date, but this sounded important so I didn’t have time to change”The stoned faced man simply nods at you “It’s fine. You're here, right now we have a lot to cover” He starts debriefing the team, leaving no detail out of the case, no matter how brutal, you tried your hardest to give him your unwavering attention, but you could feel someone’s eyes on you. And out of the corner of your eye see him. Spencer.

His stare was hot and intense, and fuck was it making you become a flustered mess. You glanced at him from your peripheral trying your best to be subtle about it, it was getting harder and harder to focus on Hotch and the case, not Reid. But when his puppy dog eyes drifted up, down and all over your body, your body involuntarily reacted, slightly squirming in your seat. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes turn and lock onto his gorgeous brown ones, a smirk graces your lips as he finally notices your eyes now on him. Looking like a kid being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he turns pink from the embarrassment and shame of being caught, and god did that make your head spin. Now it was his turn to awkwardly squirm in his seat while staring at Hotch with all his attention. You giggle under your breath at his fumbling awkwardness. Before you know it everyone around you starts to pack up their things and stand up, leaving you confused. Of course you spent the whole debriefing paying so little attention to the case and more on Spencer.

Sighing, you pull the hem of your dress down as you stand trying to save yourself from even more embarrassment. “soooo how did it go? Was he as yummy as you’d hoped?” Garcia wraps her arms around yours as you try not to stumble down the stairs towards your desk “you, my love are officially banned from meddling in my love life” you could already hear the trail of complaints bouncing around in her head as you plopped down onto your desk chair, reaching for the new case folder hoping to catch yourself up before take off in the morning “aww come on I for sure thought you’d be jumping his bones, all those rippling muscles, who In Their right mind could resist” the thought of the man you had seen a few hours prior put a foul taste in your mouth, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust “he was a complete dick, he legit referred to himself as an “alpha male” AN ALPHA ,Only thing I wanted to jump , was off a building at that point” a defeated look from her was all the conformation you needed, no longer were you going on blind dates, and your love life was back to being non existent and sad “sorry Pen I tried, I really really tried, you just have horrific taste in men like my god do we need to get you some help. These guys are basically human garbage” whilst looking up your eyes naturally drift and settle on Spencers desk frowning as you watch him, his heads buried in the case file whilst obsessively jotting down notes like some multitasking god, your heart couldn’t help but pine after his more, the looks you shared moments before didn’t help your case either. Resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you drag your eyes away trying to spare yourself from going into one of your Spencer Reid spirals. You look up at Penelope already disliking the pitiful look she was giving you “are you sure your ready to give up?, I mean I know this cute guy who would be super into you, he's just your type “the new voice startled you, turning in your seat you’re met with Emily smirking down at you whilst leaning against your desk inserting herself into the conversation with JJ beside her “wow ok fun, are we all just gonna just dive head first into my personal life?, don’t we have a case to work on?” trying to deter the subject of the conversation off of you was a bust, as the women you call friends gleam down at you with a shared look “yeah no this is too entertaining to sit out on.” you couldn’t believe you were having this conversation right now, letting out a groan you leaned back in your chair covering your face in hopes of hiding the redness in your cheeks “sweetheart, what you need is a good ol one night stand, get a certain pretty boy out of your system” if you weren’t already melting into a puddle of embarrassment, you definitely were now “Morgan shut up please for the love of everything holy”

you could only pray Spencer wasn’t paying attention to the little group that was forming at your desk, maybe he was being good and reading the case file like the rest of them should be doing but of course luck wasn’t in your favor tonight “what are we talking about?” Before you could shut the whole conversation down Morgan happily answered Spencer “oh, we were just discussing Y/L/N’s love life. I think she needs a good root, what do you think?” that stupid smirk Morgan was happily wearing was enough to make your blood boil, now you truly wished to disappear “ok ok that’s enough” you shoot up from your seat avoiding any eye contact with Spencer not wanting to see his reaction to your humiliating red face “conversation over, my love life is going back to being non existent, thank you for your concern but it’s over, officially dead so no more talking about it.” you snatch the file off your desk ready to get the hell out of whatever situation you found yourself in “i'm going home to at least get some sleep before we leave tomorrow or I’ll be a zombie all day” with that you hastily made your way out of the building and into the cool night air once again.

wrapping your arms around yourself in hopes to provide some warmth, you slowly make your way to the car park. Before you could make it to your car you could hear foot steps getting closer and closer until they were right behind you, stopping along with yours once you had reached front of your car. Quickly spinning around you slam them onto the car's hood, arm in your hand, face down and pinned.

“Ow ow ow ow Ow!” Shit. It was Spencer. The man you’ve been daydreaming about and here you were pinning him to the hood of your car. “oh shit sorry, my god, don’t walk up on me like that holy shit Spence you scared me” you pull away off him whilst letting go of his arm and backing away a little. Spencer lets out a hiss of pain as he pushes himself off the hood, rubbing his arm to try and relieve the pain “sorry I was just trying to make sure you got to your car safely. It’s late a-and” he looks at your dress whilst clearing his throat looking away awkwardly “are you ok? you seemed upset in there” he looks back at you whilst giving you a smile that made you wanna pass away on the spot “yeah I’m ok, just having your dating life put on full blast in front of the team like that can be a tad embarrassing” silence was the only response you were met with, you glance up at Spencer trying to think of something, anything to say in this moment “you look really nice by the way, it’s unfortunate your date turned out that way.” His eyes meet yours, your breath gets caught in your throat as heat creeps up your neck to your face “t-thanks” tugging on the hem of your dress you smile sheepishly “not the most comfortable outfit, honestly wish Pen let me wear my sweater but you know”

“Penelope” you both say, you giggle as Spencer chuckles. “Oh by the way, I thought you may want these, may help a little tomorrow” he hands you the notes he took from the briefing, Your fingertips brush against his, the feeling of warmth from his hands sends a shiver down your spine. “Thanks Spence. I appreciate it” you stand there longer than needed before you start to turn away from him. “You know, that even though there aren't any hard statistics, it’s roughly estimated that every 1 in 3 or 4 blind dates actually end up as a success” he rambles on, looking back at him you try to pay attention but you can’t stop your eyes from sifting down towards his lips “so there is a chance” his voice fades away as his words become background noise and your thoughts become louder and louder, all you could think about was him, the feeling of wanting only grew stronger with each passing minute. It didn’t help that his lips were tempting you, calling you in. you couldn’t hold yourself back much longer, will power growing weaker and weaker “fuck it” your body moves before commen sense had its time to put a stop to whatever ridiculous thoughts you had muster up, suddenly your lips press onto his without thinking it through. It was short and one sided yet sweet, the faint taste of coffee and sugar overwhelmed your senses

The sudden realization hits you hard as you push yourself off Reid, the feelings of regret and fear settles itself in your stomach making you feel sick “Sorry I wasn’t thinking, shit sorry, forget that happened ok” you back away keeping your eyes glued to the ground in fear that you’ll look up and only see rejection written on his face. What in the hell possessed you to do that?, why the fuck did you do that, the only reason you kept your feelings shoved down was to protect your friendship with Spencer, nothing meant more to you then the bond you both shared and now you’ve ruined it and for what? A stupid kiss? “wait, uh No no it was just unexpected I didn’t hate it actually quite the opposite” your head snaps back up at a red faced flustered Spencer Reid “don't apologize“ his warm hands warp around your cold ones as he steps closer to you once again “did you um maybe want to try that again? Only if you want to though I don’t want you to regret anything” you giggle as he starts to nervously stumble over his words, this time more confident in your actions your lips find his for the second time tonight.

The taste of coffee meets your lips again as your body relaxes into the kiss, which is very reciprocated this time. The warmth radiating from Spencer chases the cold night air away. As your bodies shuffle closer together. you both hesitantly pull away from each, you wanted to stay here in this moment for as long as possible but of course your bed was calling your name along with the early flight departure. “I should go” you really didn’t want to “I know“ his hands stayed on your waist for a moment before slipping away “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow” the sweet look on his face drove you crazy, the urge to say fuck it and stay with him for the remainder of the night was overpowered by the sleepless night before, you settle for placing a goodnight kiss on his cheek instead “night Spence” winking you open your car door and make your way in, you turn the car on and roll the window down to call out to him as he backs away with a smug smirk on his face “sweet dreams pretty boy” with that you drive away replaying the events of tonight in your mind, god you couldn’t wait to get the case over with so you could finally have a date that wasn’t going to end in ruins, especially with the man you’ve been crushing on since your first day, yeah no you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight now.

[shenachigans]

LITTLE ONES | Ningguang

PAIRING: Amab!Ningguang x Fem!Reader

CW: smut, angst, fluff, unintentional baby-making (or breeding) at first, unprotected sex, readers is ill but illness is unspecified only that pregnancy is a risk, a lot of pet names ig, bottom female afab reader

SUMMARY: Ningguang has been wanting children of her own, but she must hold her desires back during a night of pleasure, or does she?

A/N: I cringed and almost got sappy writing the fluff part but whatever, I barely do fluff for a reason. Also, this is my first post of the year :> I wrote and posted this past my bedtime, excuse my mistakes…

WORDS: 1,928

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

There are rumors that Lady Ningguang had a soft spot for children. You can confirm that. The children of Liyue Harbor adore her just as she adores them. She had a motherly side, giving the kids irresistible sweets to see them smile. Of course, Ningguang gains something in return, but being around the little ones relieves her from her duties and the harsh business world. 

Ningguang isn’t the Tianquan of Liyue nor a ruthless businesswoman. She was merely a friendly elder sister who mingled with the common folk, and the children were the only ones who could give her that satisfaction without calculating moves — unless creating schemes to get the most sweets from her counted.

You can see joy in your lover’s eyes when she sees the children light up whenever they see her and receive delicacies. You remember the kids almost fighting each other for Ningguang’s head pats and praises for doing well in their missions (informing her about the latest news in the Harbor). 

There was a time when one of the children accidentally called her ‘mom’ instead of ‘big sister.’ Ningguang wasn’t fazed and instead responded as if she were their mother. It was such a wholesome sight that it brought you to your countless dreams of having her own flesh and blood where you lived as a happy family. 

The conversation of having children has yet to be brought up, but Ningguang’s eyes say more than her lips can. Even if she mastered the art of putting on a perfect facade, you can see through her. There is a visible glimmer of longing whenever she’s with the kids; it makes your chest ache.

Ningguang wants to have children with you. She does. She wants little versions of yourselves running around the floating palace and experiencing what it’s like to become a mother. But she holds back. She stops herself from painting your womb white, risking getting you pregnant. She doesn’t want you to carry her child, even if a baby bump on your tummy would make her heart swell from joy. 

You always blame yourself for preventing your lover from getting what she desires, for your weak disposition makes it a risk of surviving childbirth. You were already struggling with your illness. It was a gamble she didn’t want to take. But she doesn’t know you would gladly give your life to your little one because you have been wanting children with her as well.

It was a night of pleasure. Ningguang’s hips thrust into yours, her girthy cock stimulating your slick walls. Manicured nails created light crescents on your thighs as she gripped them for leverage, slowly losing herself in the song of your moans and whimpers harmonizing with the squelching created where you two are connected. 

You were ravishing in her hooded eyes, clawing onto the sheets below you, and tears rolling down your cheeks as pleasure coursed through your veins. Only Ningguang can see you like this. But her eyes subconsciously dart to your belly, imagining something she mustn’t. She longs to touch your empty womb — feel your skin on the pads of her fingers — but it will only indicate her want, and she doesn’t wish to make you solemn in the midst of pleasure. Unfortunately for her, you knew everything a long, long time ago.

“I want to embrace you,” you say, albeit interrupted by grunts from the ecstasy between your legs and your lover’s pleasured disposition. Ningguang slowed her ruts, complying with your request and letting go of your plush thighs, opting to grip the soiled bed sheets as you wrapped your arms around her neck, her free hand holding your waist. 

Your lover was a sight to see. Tinted cheeks and hooded eyes — a woman lost in pleasure — which juxtaposed her usual professional disposition. Ragged breaths and relentless pounding made her seem desperate to bring you to your peak as if she were a servant pleasuring her master — and she was because everything she did was for you, all for you, even if it meant denying herself something she wanted all her life.

Ningguang could feel herself at the edge of the newfound angle as she resumed her previous pace, ensuring you were comfortable. Her body tensed and shivered at how you moaned in her ear, bringing her senses into overdrive. But she must contain herself. There have been many times when her reasonings almost slipped between her fingers, but she always triumphed in gaining control.

Your bodies hugged every part of each other’s skin, her chest against yours, erect nipples rubbing against each other. She held you close, kissing your forehead, down along your jaw, until they settled on leaving bruises on the crook of your neck as a form of gratitude for taking her so well. 

Nails clawed against Ningguang’s back as you bucked your hips to meet her thrusts, back arching, and your throat now sore from your sinful noises. You were beginning to writhe under her, subconsciously wrapping your legs around her waist, your walls fluttering against her cock.

“I’m close,” you moan, your body trembling as if preparing for your upcoming orgasm. Fingers clutched into Ningguang’s hair, pulling her into a passionate kiss where your tongues languidly danced against each other. Her lips swallowed your sinful noises until a string of saliva stretched between you two as your lips reluctantly parted to heave for fresh air.

“Me too, my love,” she huffs, hips stuttering, her tip on the verge of spilling her load. Her open-mouthed kisses littered your neck and shoulders once more. A sultry, airy chuckle left her lips as she maintained her pace, guiding you to your climax. She dared not change her pace and edge you, not tonight. 

The deep, moderate thrusts of her girth drove you insane as the veins of her cock pulsated against your walls. You felt so full. Ningguang's praises and constant rutting brought you to your peak with a high-pitched moan of her name. Her back would be displayed like a canvas the next morning from her dress, showing your love hold with scratches and brushed crescents.

Her free hand slithered from the soiled sheets to your sore clit, rubbing it with her thumb to elongate your orgasm. A flash of white clouded your vision as a white ring coated the base of her cock as you came, further lubricating your walls. You became a huffing mess as you recovered from your high, but Ningguang has yet to cum, and you’re overstimulated. 

Ningguang became rather impatient now, she could feel her release edge on the tip of her cock. But she has to cum on your stomach. She tapped your thigh once — an indication for you to let go so she could pull out — but you refused. Another gentle tap soon turned into a slightly painful grip as she tried to unwrap your legs forcefully.

“Release your legs, now, dear…” she whines, grunting and fingers twitching from being denied of her high as she slows her thrusts. “I can’t cum like this,” she says, but her heart says otherwise. The tone of her voice shows how much she’s holding back. 

“Yes, you can.” You counter with a smile, arms unwrapping around her neck to cup her face, and soothingly rub her cheeks with your thumbs, feeling her porcelain skin under the pads of your fingers. A hearty, tired chuckle left your lips when she leaned into your touch. “Why don’t you indulge yourself just once, hm? Doing it once doesn’t guarantee anything, Ningguang. Please?”

Ningguang’s thrusts slowly halted as she felt a change in the lustful atmosphere. She presses your foreheads together and closes her eyes. “I can’t take that risk, we both know that…” she sighed and suddenly you see a pair of scarlet eyes pleading at you. 

“But you want to — to take that risk — and there’s nothing wrong with that, my love.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes as Ningguang avoided your gaze, eyes now looking elsewhere. “Hey, look at me,” you urge and gently tilt her face toward you. “It pains me to see you like this, dearest. I…I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially right now. I’m sorry.” 

Guilt washed her features as you spoke. Was her longing so obvious? It didn’t mean you needed to give her a child. But your face expressed genuine want, no fear or hesitation in your eyes. However, you were frail, and she didn’t want to risk losing you and the baby. Ningguang can live without children of her own but she can’t live without you. 

If only she had an option to have both.

“No, don’t I apologize, my love. If anything, I should apologize for making you feel like you needed to give me children to make me happy,” Ningguang starts, giving you a sad smile, eyes downcast as she still ignores yours. “You make me the happiest person in the world, and having a family is only a bonus. I can’t force you to make any sacrifices. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You weren’t forcing me to do anything, love, and I appreciate that. I want to start a family with you, dearest. I’ve always had. You would make the best mother in the world,” you hum, pecking her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “Whatever happens, happens in the future and we will tackle them together, alright?” 

“How did I deserve you?” Ningguang says with a smile, her heart leaping from your words, still, her stomach churned from the unknown future. It was a bittersweet feeling. Scarlet eyes observed your tired face. You see hesitance in them, but they expressed want. 

“You deserve everything in the world, my love.”

Her smile widens and gently kisses you before holding your hips for leverage as she starts to pump her hips in and out slowly. “Push me away if you change your mind,” Ningguang starts, pushing the damp, stray hair from your face. “I don't wish to force you.”

“I won’t. I want all of you.” 

“Mama! Mommy is being mean to me!” a child whined, pouting as tears of frustration were apparent in their scarlet eyes as they ran toward the bedroom. “She doesn’t wanna share Mama with me!”

Ningguang follows them, hiding an amused smirk with her hand. It was fun to tease them, even more now that they’re in the ‘possessive of mommy’ stage.

“Now, now, little one, your Mama might be asleep,” Ningguang said, but it was too late. The door slid open with so much force that you woke up. She grimaced, giving you an apologetic glance.

“Teasing them again?” You say groggily but flash a small smile as you lie on the bed’s headrest. The little one immediately clinging to your side with a smirk. “This teasing is all too frequent…” You pretend to ponder before your eyes light up. “Are you perhaps envious, dear?”

“I am not envious,” Ningguang said almost too quickly, but she narrowed her eyes at the cheeky child before her, clearly showing off by scrunching their nose and sticking their tongue out. 

The audacity for them to mock her.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you chuckle before patting the spot beside you on the bed and cradling your belly. “Why don’t you two come here? I could use some cuddles.”

The child beams at your words. Nothing can be greater than cuddles. “Mommy, can I be in the middle?” They say, looking at Ningguang for permission.

Ningguang’s heart swells and she smiles. 

“Of course, my little dove.”

© shenachigans — do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy.

[lilithandherharlots]

Too shy to tell you

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

Miguel hides your heals in hopes of making you forget you ever owned a pair...he confesses about his theft during a hot and heavy night of sex.

Warnings: This might be interpreted as possessive or an unhealthy bond. Though its supposed to be just a very shy and respectful Miguel who let's loose during sex.:]

Authors note: I am not a writer!! This is my first time righting fanfic.. like.. ever!!! So don't attack me. Though honest, constructive criticism is something that I would love to hear. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes. Also, I don't know how to put proper description..... enjoy!!!!

:::

"Miggy?" I call out to my boyfriend who's currently towering over the coffee machine, waiting for it to brew.

"Yes, my love?" He responds with a look over his shoulder.

"Have you seen my black pointed heals? I can't seem to find them."

"No. Have you checked by the door?" He was lying.

He was lying. He was lying, and he didn't feel bad about it. The truth was he had stuffed them in the highest cupboard of the laundry room. He knew you couldn't reach it. He liked it that way. He couldn't let you open it since he had stuffed at least 4 pairs of heals in there.

"No miggy, they aren't here." You say after checking everywhere by the front door.

"Idk what to say, baby... we have to leave soon. Just throw on a different pair and I'll buy you some new ones later."

He was a liar... and he was damn good at it... until he wasn't.

:::

It was 2am. This insanity started hours ago, but Miguel's stamina wouldn't let down. Your soft moans could fuel him till sun rise, and he would love to do this forever. But unlike him, you have limits. Limits to your ability to stay strong, or at least keep yourself up right. But he doesn't really care. Your begs for a break won't succeed with a constantly starving man like him.

"One more round, please baby... please. I need you." His desperate begs caress your tear stained cheeks as he whispers them softly, leaning over you and filling you with sloppy thrust.

"Miguel- please.. It's too much.." You whine as you try to pull away, gripping desperately onto the sheets.

"Last one.... I promise..." he lies.

He said the same thing the last 4 rounds. If he could have it his way he'd continue. But he knew you couldn't keep going for much longer, so he used this opportunity to tell you what he couldn't bring himself to say otherwise.

"I lied..." he confesses. Watching your tits bounce with every rough trust, keeping himself busy while you tried to form a reply. It took you a while, but you managed to let out a soft hum, waiting for him to explain himself further.

"I took them. Your heels.. I fucking hate those things.." he thrust get faster as he says it. Hoping to make your brain foggy enough to not remember his confessions in the morning.

"I like your height, so why do you wear those weird things?" His heart felt lighter as he told you.

"I like that your height forces you to get on your tippy toes every time you want a kiss from me.. and even then, I have to bend over to reach you.... I like that you rely on me to reach those high shelves. Every time you ask me, you grow as red as a rose...."

You can feel his movements speed up. You can barely hear him... your mind fuzzy from pleasure. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin felt like white noise at this point. The dim shadow of his frame covering you completely.

"You're so small under me.. your body falls any way I bend it..." At his point, he was just speaking the first thing to cross his mind.

You didn't hear him, and he knew it. Seconds later, you feel his weight shift, the mattress by your head sinking under his heavy hand as he leaned in and whispered.

"Please don't take that away from me."

His words were demanding. He felt exactly what he said. Even though your eyes were shut tight, you knew his eyes were locked on you. His breath heavy, as if he just confessed a dirty secret. He kinda did...

"Promise me.... Promise me you won't wear them and I'll help you cum."

As tired as you were. You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. So you give in.

"F-fine... I promise."

"You promise what?" He smirked hearing your whiney voice.

"I promise I won't wear the heels!!"

The pleasure he got from you saying that was immense. He shifted his weight once more as he changed your position like a marionette doll. Spreading your legs apart. His hands wrapped around your thighs, and his claws dug into your skin. The stinging pain of it was a wake-up call, causing you to gasp for air.

This position caused him to go deeper. The sticky mess from your previous rounds was being pushed out of your aching hole. The sound of his hips hitting your ass grew louder with every precise thrust. They got louder and louder until they stopped. Your thighs had clenched closed as you hit that high you were chasing. And you took him with you. Tightening around his pulsing cock in a way that made him fill you to the brim once more.

He watched your body shake. Your hips jerking forward. He would usually take that as his sign to keep going, but your fucked out face was telling him you couldn't take another thrust.

"You did great my love..... my little angel~" He cooed gentle praises as he rubbed your claw marked thighs.

"I'll buy you the cutest flats."

:::

A thing he didn't know.. is that you lied, too. His secret cupboard was emptied, and your heal collection was restored... and yes.. he pouted in silence.

The end

[christhopersturniolo]

୨ PODCAST ୧

summary: matt leaves the podcast because of his brother's jokes, and y/n comforts him.

warnings: cussing, sad, fluff

notes: this fanfic was a request! also english is not my first language so im sorry about any mistake

୨୧

The day with the Triplets has been a little stressful, specially for Matt. Each time he spoke, his brothers would joke saying that he was being way too ‘depressed’ and ‘miserable’. Or Nick would always answer with ‘Yeah, yeah nobody wants to hear about that shit’.

Now, after they invited me to their podcast, here I am, sitting next to my boyfriend, holding his hand gently.

As Chris and Nick keep talking over their brother, calling him ‘Miserable Matt’ I could see him getting more annoyed, his eyes watering, and it feels like I'm the only one seeing his discomfort.

I don’t really know what to do, cause obviously his brothers are just joking, and I'm not sure how to intervene without making things awkward.

They keep teasing him over and over.

“I'm not going to sit here for like another 55 minutes or some shit.” Matt’s voice getting slowly lower.

“What? What was that? That mumble? I can’t understand you.” The older triplet mocks him, but he tries to ignore it. “Ok go ahead-“

“Now you are ‘mumble Matt’ too” Chris laughs after Nick’s comment. “It's like I can't even understand what you are saying, sounds like rocks rolling down a hill, your voice”

I try to end the conversation "Can we just-" Before I can finish, Chris and Nick burst into laughter "Can we start the podcast?" I try again, but Matt lets out a heavy sigh.

Nick continues “it literally sounds like an avalanch coming out of your mouth” Matt gets up aggressively, starting to leave the room “I’m not doing this shit anymore.”

“Oh come on Matt!” Chris says chucking. They laugh some more as I just think of what to do. I get up from my seat, hurrying after him “Hey.. Matt..” I begin, attempting to catch his attention. However, before I could reach him, he gets in his room, and slams the door in my face, leaving me standing outside. I'm sure this is not just about the stupid jokes they were making.

I hesitate for a moment before making any move, thinking if I should open the door, i’m sorry, but I can't just ignore the urge to check on him.

With a deep breath, I reach out and calmly push the door open. Inside, I find Matt lying on his bed, his face buried in his pillow, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Can we talk love?” I say quietly closing the door behind me.

He lifts his head, his eyes red and puffy, his expression a mixture of sadness and anger. "What do you want?" His voice defensive.

Ignoring his tone, I move closer and sit on the bed.

With a gentle touch, I reach out and place my hand on his back, offering a silent gesture of comfort. For a moment, we sit in silence, until I interrupt it.

“Can you tell me what has been going on lately?” I ask softly, my voice filled with concern.

“Nothings going on” He sniffs, still with his face in the pillow “I’m fine” His voice barely above a whisper.

I shake my head, not trusting his words. "You don't seem fine to me" He stays silent, I take a deep breath.

I adjust my position, leaning against the headboard of the bed. I decide to take a different approach instead of talking “Come here..” I pat the spot next to me, in sign for him to come closer “Let's just cuddle for a bit."

He completely stops acting rude in the moment I suggest it, Matt scoots closer, laying his head on my chest, his arms around my waist. I stroke his smooth brown hair. I kiss the top of his head. We stay like this for some good ten minutes.

He presses his face into the crook of my neck and whispers with a shaky voice “I’m just so fucked up..”

Gently, I cupped his cheeks, lifting his head from my neck, making him look into my eyes “Matt.. Why do you say that?”

"I just.. I don't know" He admits. "I'm just so fucking exhausted of feeling like this all the time..”

I sigh, I hate seeing him in this state. “Since when do you feel like that?” I wait patiently for Matt's response, he looks away.

“I don’t know.. For some long time now.. I guess I've been trying to push it away, but it just keeps coming back, over and over.” As he spoke, I could see the pain in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I couldn't see it sooner babe.." I whisper, reaching out to gently brush away his tears. "I should have known something was wrong." I kiss his forehead.

He shakes his head "It's not your fault" He murmurs "I don’t want you to worry"

I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. "But I do worry, Matt" I confess softly. "I care about you more than anything."

He buries his face deeper into my chest. "I love you so much.." He whispers, his voice muffled by the fabric of my shirt.

"I love you too.." I whisper back in his ear, squeezing him tightly.

୨୧

sorry this is so short 😭😭

tags: @muwapsturniolo

[ceoofglytchell]

Safe Haven

Summary: While Aemond searches for comfort with Madame Sylvi, the older brother has long chosen you, one of the Madame’s more expensive girls, to be the shoulder he cries on.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Brothel worker!Reader

Word count: 3127 words

Warnings: hurt/comfort, making out, brief nudity, brief smut, allusions to past smut, mention of sex work, mention of the death of a child, he’s kinda dependent on you, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I just wanted to thank you all for the positive reactions to my first fanfic! I could never have imagined people would actually read and like the stuff I write and I am very grateful for that. Also I would like to thank @danytar for supporting me ever since I started this blog, love ya! Anyways, here’s another one for you! 💛

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“Look, it's the king!”

You looked up from the cup of wine that you had been holding for some time, staring into the dark red liquid, hoping that tonight you would just have to sit there and look pretty for the men coming by to get rid of their loneliness for an hour or so. While you were grateful for your job, as it meant you wouldn’t have to live a miserable life on the dirty streets of King’s Landing, there were times when you wished you were someone else.

A lady from a rich house, a princess, a queen...

However, those were nothing more but daydreams and besides, you didn't really want to carry the burdens of royal life on your shoulders. Not when you had heard for many years how much they plagued a certain silver haired prince who came to you ever since he saw you dancing for some men once in Sylvi's fine establishment. It had been several years ago and at first he had actually only come to you to have someone to drink with. A little later, he had begun to open up to you and then you often dried his tears and held him in your arms whenever his grandfather and mother once again frightened him with the thought that he would have to wear the crown one day.

It had been two weeks since he had last been with you. The poor boy had stumbled into the brothel in the middle of the night, completely drunk, bumped into people and started a fight because he had thought you were taking care of another client, the thought of which he could not stand, which had not been true, as you had simply taken a small break. You had barely run into the room after you had been told he had come when he had already thrown himself directly into your arms and buried his face in your hair while sobbing bitterly.

The very next day, you and many other people had been dragged into the dragon pit to watch Aegon being crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in front of everyone, and that moment your heart had broken for him, knowing how much he had never wanted that title.

Now, some time later, he was standing in the doorway again, his two friends Martyn and Leon were standing not far behind him and a young man with raven-black hair was also there, but you didn't recognize him and he seemed to be a little unwell. Aegon also seemed drunk, very drunk actually, as he was slurring his words and could hardly walk in a straight line, but when he spotted you on the opposite side of the room, a broad grin formed on his handsome face.

"My love!" he called loudly and stumbled past a couple, who seemed lost in a passionate dance, and ran up a small staircase to where you and some other girls were sitting on the sofas and talking to pass the time. His friends followed him cautiously, knowing how infatuated he was with you.

You quickly placed your golden cup of wine on the side table, stood up and approached him just to make sure he wouldn't trip and embarrass himself in front of all these people. He was the king after all and you knew some who already saw him as weak and incapable of ruling, which you wanted to shield him from. You knew what he had been through recently and it had only been a matter of time before he came back to you.

There was just one small problem... his brother had also come through the doors not too long ago and he had not left yet.

So you had two things to worry about that night: Aegon and not accidentally stumbling over Aemond.

As soon as you got close enough, Aegon wrapped his arms around your smaller frame and held you tightly against him, as if to make sure you wouldn't vanish into thin air. You have been his safe haven for quite some time now, and your mere presence did wonders for his troubled soul, your smile a balm for his heavy heart. Your long, wavy hair smelled of roses, and your body, wrapped in green satin robes, clung to his so perfectly that for a moment he thought you had melted into one. Aegon wanted nothing more than you and your closeness, which was why he had come here that evening. He had wanted to see you.

"I missed you," Aegon murmured into your hair, his fingers digging into the fabric of your robes over your hips to feel your warmth. But he would prefer it if you weren't wearing any clothes at all so he could feel your soft skin under his fingers instead. You didn't even have to do anything together, he just wanted to be close to you.

"I missed you too, Your Grace."

"Don't call me that," he grumbled into your shoulder and instinctively hugged you tighter. He came to you to feel free and forget some of the burdens that weighed on his shoulders, not for you to remind him who he was and that he wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in the council chambers, talking to his council about the next steps of the war or just doing something, but instead he sought comfort from you - a whore.

"My Darling? Sweetling? Precious?" you joked playfully instead, while stroking his back with your gentle hands. You had used all of these names with him before, but he had never admitted which one was his favorite or whether he found them all to be terrible. However, you always thought he liked them better than some respectful noble title that he didn't want to wear anyway.

One of his friends, Martyn, cleared his throat and patted the young black-haired man on the shoulders, as if to tell his king that there was still something to do before he could devote himself to his own satisfaction.

His head shot up again immediately, which messed up his silver hair a little, which was not a very unusual sight for him, and he put an arm protectively around your waist, while he looked right back at his drinking companions. "Right, right. Dove, we are looking for the madam. This young lad here needs bedding in, gently. I thought she was the perfect choice, don’t you agree?”

Your lover wanted to go with you in the direction of the private rooms, but you managed to hold him back by the arm, whereupon he clumsily bumped back into you in his drunken state, but you were already used to that.

"Madame Sylvi is busy right now."

Aegon opened his mouth to reply, but thank the gods he was a little slower in his movements and reactions at the moment due to the influence of wine.

"However, I know someone else who would treat the boy well." You only had to snap your fingers once and one of the girls you had been sitting with on the sofas earlier came running over and quickly grabbed the boy's hand. She was a little younger than you, pretty, and talented. In your eyes, that was certainly better than interrupting the madam right now, especially considering who she was with in this very moment.

"You heard the woman. Go on, get going. And have fun!" Aegon called after the squire as he was being dragged into one of the back rooms by the whore you had called to help, whereupon he burst into loud, drunken laughter. You just rolled your eyes and shook your head, but a small glint within your gaze revealed how much you truly cared for the king no how much he meant to you.

It wasn't just the sack of gold he gave you after every night, or the sex that was important to you, but rather everything about him. You loved his loud laugh, the way he constantly sought your closeness, his urge to always touch you, you loved his jests just as much as the moments when he showed you how vulnerable and broken he truly was, when he just leaned on your shoulder and cried and you stroked his back and told him how good he was being and that he would always be enough for you. That was what you loved. You loved him.

"And what are we two going to do now?" you asked him, amused, to which he simply grabbed your hand in response and started to pull you along, while he didn't even look back at his friends, since you were everything that mattered to him. You were the only one who could ease his hidden pain.

Since he came here again and again especially for you, he knew his way around here like few other and knew exactly where the little alcoves were where two people could make themselves comfortable, be alone and spend time together. Luckily for the both of you, one at the beginning of the corridor had just become free, so you wouldn't run into a certain other Targaryen. You did not want an argument, not now.

As soon as Aegon had shut the curtain behind you both, he sighed and fell onto the soft mattress while you moved to lit the candles to make the atmosphere a little more pleasant. It smelled of candle wax and fire, but also of various perfumes and other fragrant oils that the previous guests had probably used before they had left again. You already knew that the hour he would spend with you would be either very nice or very heartbreaking. After all, you hadn't seen each other for two weeks and he certainly had much to talk about. You, on the other hand, could mostly only tell him the same stories about overzealous customers and strange preferences that the other women had told you about. Those talks didn't bore him, because he was sure that he would always be happy as long as you were with him.

For a moment you considered taking off your clothes and pulling him into your lap, but you decided against it when you saw that he was just staring into one direction, his good mood evaporating like a pile of ashes in the wind. You knew that look and it was usually never a good sign. He needed you. Now perhaps more than ever.

"Aegon?" you asked carefully and sat down next to him on the white sheets, which were a bit out of order and had stains in some places that you didn't want to think about too long.

"Come here, I need you," the king murmured and tugged at the ends of your robe, whereupon you chuckled and dropped down next to him on the round bed and immediately wrapped your arms around him and buried your head in the crook of his neck.

"I wish I could have been there for you. That night."

You knew the night he lost his son was a difficult subject and probably not what he wanted to talk about, or what he had come to you for, but you couldn't hold that thought back any longer. The other girls had told you how he had all the rat catchers hanged the next day and how hard it had been to watch the little prince's funeral march. You hadn't been there because you had things to do, but you weren't sure you would have watched it voluntarily either, because the regret would probably have eaten you alive.

All the time he spent with you, he could have spent with his children, but he was probably aware of that as well. But the regret didn't change his feelings for you, and you both knew that he would come back again and again and again. Sometimes you really believed he was as dependent on you as he was on dornish wine.

"They wanted Aemond, did you know that? It was supposed to be revenge for Rhaenyra's dead son, but because he wasn't there... because he wasn't there, they murdered my little son in his bed."

His grip on your waist tightened and you knew from his voice alone that he was close to tears, if they weren't already shining in his eyes. You would weep too if your child had been murdered, but you did not have one. A bastard would only hinder you from your work and you didn't want to lose your only source of livelihood, even if the thought of being a mother was one that often crossed your mind.

Especially if he would be the father...

"It's my brother's fault. It's all, all his fault. If it had not been for him, I would be far away from all this in the free cities or gods know where! I would not be king and my boy would still be alive!"

Aegon was sobbing now and you couldn't do anything but wrap your arms around him even more and listen to him speak, because if he didn't tell you, who else would listen to his thoughts? Certainly not his mother, not his brother anymore either, he rarely spoke to his sister-wife anyway and thus he only had you. You were the only one who always listened to him and who was always honest.

He wished he could have married you... You two could have lived a simple, beautiful life far away from King’s Landing, outside of Westeros. But neither of you were granted such a life. He was the king and you were just the whore he loved.

"Don't you have anything to say, love?"

You looked up from his shoulder and leaned over him so you could see his sad amethyst colored eyes and the tear that slowly made its way down his cheek, leaving a trail of wetness behind on his pale skin. You felt a brief urge to brush it away, but instead you let it fall and watched as the tear fell onto the velvet pillow that lay beneath his head, leaving a tiny black stain that would disappear in a matter of minutes. No one would ever know what you and the king did behind the curtain, but you knew that if you happened to be mentioned later on, history would describe you as nothing more than his mere mistress. Perhaps in this case you wanted to be forgotten entirely, for no writing would ever do justice to what you two had together.

The bond that bound you to each other was strong, but no one would ever know about it.

"What can I say, darling? There is nothing I can say except that I am deeply sorry, and I already did."

"Then don't say anything. Show me." As much as he tried to make it sound like a suggestion, it was a command. But you loved him too much to tell him that this was not the right way and that you were not exactly good for him. He wouldn't listen to you anyway. Two days later and he would be at your doorstep again. That's how it had always been and that's how it always would be. You would get gold for your efforts and he would kiss you goodbye and leave.

As always, you obeyed him and connected your lips with his. Two weeks without you had been too much for him. Aegon moaned into the kiss and pulled you closer to him, as close as humanly possible so that he could feel every feminine curve of your body pressed against his even though you were both still wearing your clothes.

Normally this would be the moment when he would turn you onto your back and rip those sheer robes from your body, but this time he did nothing of the sort and gave you full control.

Your tongue found its way into his mouth and you could still taste the heavy wine that was clouding his senses on his own tongue and it was clear that he had probably drunk a lot of before he had set foot in this establishment again, which you couldn't blame him for. If you had been in his place, you would probably have thrown yourself off one of the balconies of the Red Keep long ago, but he was stronger than that.

You kissed him desperately, pouring every emotion you had ever felt for him into that one kiss and he let it happen and he lost himself in it, he lost himself in you.

You managed to numb his senses better than anyone in the known world and perhaps that was another reason why he always found his way back to you in the end. But you let him in every time, which told him that you must feel for him too.

There were moments when he couldn't help but wonder if you were real. Not whether you existed, because he knew very well that you did, no, whether your affection for him was really genuine. Your smile, your laughter, the way you always sought his closeness whenever he was with you, and how gently you treated him all gave him the hope that you actually felt the same as he did, but he would probably never be sure. After all, you never refused his gold. Probably only then would he be sure that it was real.

Your gentle hands slowly brushed his coat from his shoulders and worked on the clasps of his tunic, believing that this was exactly what he wanted, because after all, he hadn't told you anything except that you should show him what you couldn't with words.

A short time later, you were both completely undressed and you moved your hips against his in a way that made his eyes flutter shut and left him gasping for air and groaning your name in pure bliss.

Fucking, alcohol and you were the only things that could distract him from being king or from wondering when the next time would be the stranger's shadow would fall upon his family and who it would be. It just couldn’t be you. If he lost you... he wouldn't know what to do.

Aegon was aware that none of this was good for him and that he should have stopped coming back to you years ago, but when you lay in his arms again a little later, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat on your body and a happy, radiant smile on your face, he knew that no matter what happened, he would never let you go. You would always be with him, although unfortunately not as his wife, but he couldn't help his feelings and he wouldn't hide them from you.

"I love you," he whispered to you, his hand stroking your side soothingly and his head resting against yours.

"I love you too, Aegon."

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[tyunniez]

2... bttm male reader

a/n,, this fic was inspired by this fanfic that u shuld totes check out!! i wrote this a long time ago so,,,, pls give some feedback cs idk how to feel abt this one

You hated the number two. 

To other people, it was just your everyday number but to you, it reminded you of your failures. Of how you always ended up number two no matter what.

Always second to him.

Aone Kashimoto. Someone you considered your ultimate rival.

 Back in middle school you were the number one in your class. Number one in the whole school. Yet when the new kid came, everything just started falling apart.

 Now instead of you, he was always at the top. 

 No matter how hard you tried. The countless nights of you studying your ass off, pulling all nighters after all nighters. Only to end up as second.

 Even when you tried to run for the student council president in your final year of highschool you still somehow ended up second. As the vice-president for Aone.

 And what was more frustrating was that he knew. He knew how pathetic you felt when you first saw your name dropped down one spot. He knew how hard you have been trying to beat him. Yet, he knows you will never ever surpass him.

 Why? Because he's better than you. In every aspect. Be it academics, sports, or even popularity. Where you lacked he made up for it times a hundred.

 And oh, he loves seeing that look of despair wash over you. The feeling of superiority he has over you. God, he always checks your reaction first before even looking at his own score on the scoreboard just to see the disappointment on your face.

⊹₊⋆

 Students gather around the scoreboard, excitement and dread filling the corridor. 

 "Hey, who do you think is first this semester?" a distant voice whispered. "Are you dumb? Of course it's Aone! And then y/n will come second like he usually does." The two voices snickered as they searched for their own name on the board.

 The murmurs of the crowd got louder as the two most popular names finally arrived. One seemed relaxed whilst the other not so much.

 Your jaw was tight. You could feel your fingers digging into your own palm. Beside you was Aone with his arm behind his back. He was the complete opposite of you. 

 Deep down you knew that Aone was number one like usual but you can't deny that little sliver of hope, the slim chance that you might have beat him, even by one point. 

 You've poured your all into studying like you usually did. Surely this time you can finally beat him, right..?

 The crowd parted for the two of you as you took a shaky breath to see who secured the top stop. And to no one's surprise, the name Y/N L/N was written with the number two next to it. 

You stared at the name above you, rightfully towering over everyone else's names.

 A soft chuckle broke you out of your despair. "Oh y/n, looks like i won again. Better luck next time, hm?" with a simple pat on your head, you were left alone to stare at the board, gritting your teeth while holding your tears.

 You held back the urge to punch him square in the face.

 Evenings rolled by as you finally returned to your dorm. All extra classes and after-school activities were halted to give the students a break and you couldn't be more grateful for that.

 You silently prayed that he wasn't home as you slowly opened the door to your shared dorm. Yes, out of all the other students inside this school you shared a dorm with your rival Aone. Lady Luck truly hates you.

 You were glad to see that he was not at home so you finally have some alone time.

 You immediately jumped onto your bed, leaving your door a crack open. You grabbed whatever pillow was near you and cuddled it, finally letting the hot tears stream down your face.

 Soon enough, dreamland called upon you as your vision slowly darkened.

 "Hmm, y/n.. How come you're such a mess when I barely touched you?" Aone's fingertips ghosted over your cheeks.

 You whined as tried to grind your ass  over to his dick, trying to get any type of friction going. "Puh-pleasee.. just put it in!" your voice came out squakier than you remembered.

 Aone's low chuckled only made your dick mor erect, your tip blushing madly as you tried ti look back at him. "Say my name then. Come on, yell it out if you want it so bad." His teasing teal eyes stared at you.

 You, cock drunk, of course, obeyed, "Aone! Please just stick it in! I-I need your cock in me!"

 A whistle suddenly woke you up. Your vision still blurry as you tried to focus on who was in front of you.

 "Real good dream you had there." Aone's familiar voice suddenly spoke up. You, still drowsy only tilted your head to the side, failing to notice the hard-on you were sporting.

 You propped yourself up on your elbows, glaring at Aone. "What are you talking about? Why are you even in my room, creep!"

 He only chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets while looking down at you. "How cute.. but don't act so innocent. You were moaning my name like a bitch in heat earlier."

 A flush of red washed over you. Yeah, you did have that weird dream over him but no way you were actually moaning his name out loud, right?

 "W-what! I don't know what you're talking about, shit head." 

 Aone rolled his eyes as he finally approached you, you frozen in place. He placed his feet on top of your clothes dick, rutting it in place. You choked out a moan, flabbergasted as to what he was doing.

 "Don't play dumb, y/n. You know I hate dumb people." 

 You shook your head trying your best to deny whatever he was accusing, yet low moans kept escaping your mouth from how he was rubbing you using his feet. 

 Just when you were about to reach your climax, he suddenly retreated his foot. You whined out loud over the loss of sensation. "Ugh.."

 He crouched down to your level, his head tilted to the side with that signature smirk on his face.

"Beg for it."

"Go on, I know you can." 

 You were left dumbfounded as to what to do. But a decision was quickly made. You were pent up from just studying that you never took the time for yourself. Who knows when will something like this ever happen again.

 "Aone, please give me your cock.. I-I want it so bad so please fuck me real good..."

 Something snapped inside Aone as he suddenly crawled between you. He immediately held onto both of your wrists with one hand and pinned it on top of you. "Attaboy, never thought there'd come a day where you would beg for me but here we are."

 His lips clashed themselves with your own, his tongue slithering inside your wet mouth to explore. You moaned against him, grinding on him.

He pulled away, leaving a string of saliva connecting the both of you. "Dirty boy, bet you were waiting to get dicked down like this, hm?" 

 "N-no! I-" You tried to defend yourself, only for him to shush you. "Mmh I know you so well y/n. Inside and out. So there's no use lying."

taglist,, @cheriecosmos, @lukaijah, @gay4letti, @kamote-kuneho, @mooncarvers-world

[novaursa]

The Broken Crown (1/2)

- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 200+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

- A/N: Unexpected post. Let's see how it goes.

The wind howls outside your chambers, filling the air with the distant sounds of restless dragons, their cries melding with the deep, rolling growl of the sea beyond Dragonstone. The fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickers of light dancing across the walls. You sit alone, staring at the flickering flames, lost in thought. The glow reflects off the dark red and gold silk of your gown, the rich colors echoing the deep hues of Tesaerix's scales.

It has been weeks since your marriage to Aegon—your brother, your king—and yet your chambers remain cold. You know why he comes to you. You know what he desires. Yet every time, you turn him away, the bitterness of your broken future thick on your tongue.

You were supposed to be wed to Torrhen Stark, the former King in the North. A marriage of fire and ice, binding the Targaryens to the cold and ancient lineage of the Starks. You had imagined a life in the North, the fierce honor of the Starks, the warmth of a hearth shared between husband and wife, and the promise of a family. Torrhen would have been yours and yours alone. His loyalty and affection were clear in every letter, in every word whispered between couriers.

But Aegon... Aegon grew jealous. He called off the betrothal without a word to you, with a simple, royal command. And now, you sit here, a queen in name, yet more of a pawn than ever before.

The door to your chambers opens softly, the sound of boots upon stone barely audible over the crackling of the fire. You do not turn. You know who it is.

"Y/N," Aegon's voice rumbles low, rich with the quiet authority of a conqueror. He does not have to ask permission to enter; this is his castle, and you are his wife.

"You shouldn’t be here," you say quietly, your eyes still on the flames. "Not tonight."

"And yet, here I am." His voice is closer now, and you feel the heat of his presence behind you. "You’ve denied me time and time again."

You stand, your hands tightening into fists at your sides, still refusing to face him. "Because this was not meant to be. You took my future from me, Aegon. Torrhen was—" Your voice cracks, though you try to hold your composure. "I was meant to marry him. I was meant to be his only wife, to have his children. You stole that from me."

Aegon steps around to face you, his violet eyes, so like your own, burning with a mixture of frustration and something deeper. His silver hair, shining in the firelight, falls loosely about his shoulders, making him seem more a dragon than a man.

"You speak of duty as if you do not know it, sister," he says, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Do you truly believe you could have lived in the North? Away from your blood? Away from me?"

His words send a chill through you, a reminder of the bond that ties you both. You were born into the same fire, raised together, shared in the same dreams of conquest. But his love, twisted as it has become, feels like chains wrapping around your heart.

"I would have learned," you whisper, your throat tight. "For Torrhen, I would have made a home there."

"And you would have grown cold," Aegon replies, stepping closer, his hands reaching out to grasp your arms. "The North would have frozen the fire in your blood. You belong with me, Y/N. We were meant to rule together."

You yank your arms away from his grip, taking a step back, your eyes blazing. "No, Aegon. You and Visenya, you and Rhaenys, were meant to rule. I was an afterthought. You married me out of jealousy, not love. You couldn’t bear the thought of me in the arms of another man."

Aegon’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you see the flicker of anger in his eyes. He steps forward again, but you hold your ground.

"You speak as though I do not care for you," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I made a banner in your honor. You fly your own colors, the colors of Tesaerix, because you are more than just my wife. You are my queen, my equal."

"I never asked for that," you snap, your voice rising, the pain and anger finally spilling over. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon. I wanted a life. You took that from me when you sent Torrhen away."

He is silent for a long moment, his eyes searching your face as if looking for some hint of the sister who once stood by his side, unwavering in her support. But that girl is gone now, replaced by a woman hardened by the reality of her fate.

"Perhaps," he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "But we cannot change the past. You are mine, Y/N. Whether you accept it or not."

You turn your back to him again, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You hear him move toward the door, his boots heavy on the stone floor. For a moment, you think he will leave. But then, his voice breaks the silence once more.

"One day, you will come to understand why I did what I did. And when that day comes, I will be here. Waiting."

The door closes behind him, the sound echoing in the stillness of your chambers. You are left alone once more, the fire burning low, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold that has settled deep in your bones.

You sink to the floor before the hearth, staring into the dying flames, and wonder if there will ever come a day when you can forgive him—if you even want to.

The grand hall of Dragonstone feels heavy with silence as you sit at the long, stone-carved table. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of Old Valyria, the ancestors watching with cold, lifeless eyes. You sit between Rhaenys and Visenya, with Aegon at the head, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. The air is thick with the unspoken weight of your marriage, lingering over the table like a shadow.

The food before you remains untouched. Plates of roasted meats, rich gravies, and spiced wine fill the room with tempting aromas, but you have no appetite. Your mind is elsewhere, churning with thoughts of the future that was stolen from you. Torrhen’s face, sharp and distant like the North itself, lingers in your memory.

Visenya breaks the silence, her voice sharp and direct, as is her way. "Y/N," she says, her violet eyes piercing as they settle on you, "when will you finally do your duty to our brother?"

Her words hang in the air, and you feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon you. Rhaenys shifts beside you, her warm, gentle nature a silent contrast to Visenya's cold command. You take a slow breath, gripping the edge of your goblet, the cool metal pressing into your palm.

"If this is about duty, sister," you reply, your voice calm but edged with steel, "then Aegon should come to you. Isn’t that what you care for most, Visenya? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes narrow, her lips a thin line. "It is our duty to secure the future of our house. You were born for this. You were married for this."

"I was married," you cut in, the words sharper than you intend, "because our brother couldn’t stomach the thought of another man having me." Your gaze flickers to Aegon, who has remained silent, watching the exchange with his usual unreadable expression. "Or is that something none of us are supposed to speak of?"

Rhaenys’ soft, musical voice tries to ease the tension. "We are family, Y/N. Aegon is trying to—"

"To what?" you interrupt, turning your gaze on her. "To make me love him as you do? If our brother seeks love and soft caresses, he should come to you, Rhaenys. You always give him what he desires, don’t you?"

Rhaenys flinches at the harshness of your tone, her eyes lowering to her untouched plate. You almost feel a pang of guilt for your words, but the storm of emotion inside you doesn’t let you stop.

Aegon’s gaze finally lifts from his plate, meeting yours. His violet eyes, usually so hard to read, flicker with something—anger? Hurt? Perhaps both. But he says nothing, allowing the silence to deepen, allowing you to stew in the consequences of your words.

Visenya’s voice cuts through again, colder than before. "You may think you are different from us, Y/N, but you are not. We all carry the same blood. We all have the same purpose. Do not forget that."

You push your chair back abruptly, the scraping of wood against stone breaking the silence. The sound echoes through the hall, reverberating off the high ceilings. You rise, standing tall, your hands clenched at your sides.

"I haven’t forgotten," you say, your voice bitter. "But perhaps I was never meant to be part of this."

Without another word, you turn and leave the table, your untouched meal forgotten behind you. You walk swiftly through the hall, your footsteps muffled by the heavy carpets, and once you pass the threshold, the cold air of Dragonstone greets you like a slap. It chills your skin, but you welcome it. It’s a reminder that despite everything, you are still free to make some choices. Even if only in small rebellions.

As you make your way down the corridor, the sounds of your siblings fade behind you. You are alone once more, with nothing but the distant cries of dragons and the pounding of your heart to accompany you.

The hall feels emptier once you’re gone, the echo of your departing footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the space. For a long moment, no one speaks. The air is filled with your absence, and the untouched food on your plate remains a quiet accusation of all that was left unsaid.

Aegon sits motionless, his hands resting on the table, fingers curled around the goblet he hasn’t touched. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of something far heavier than a crown pressing down on him. His face, usually impassive and stern, is now unguarded, a mixture of frustration, pain, and an unfamiliar vulnerability etched into his features. The Conqueror, the dragon lord, looks fragile—broken, even.

Rhaenys watches him, her eyes full of concern, though she remains silent for once. Her gentle attempts to soothe the tension earlier had been met with resistance, and now she seems at a loss, her gaze flicking between Aegon and Visenya. Her hands rest lightly on her lap, fingers trembling just slightly as she resists the urge to reach for Aegon.

Visenya, on the other hand, is still as stone. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes remain cold, unreadable. The eldest of you, always the embodiment of purpose, of resolve, watches Aegon closely but makes no move to comfort him. Her hands, wrapped around her knife and fork, remain steady, continuing her meal as though nothing had happened, though she chews slowly, her eyes calculating.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, though it is barely more than a whisper. "She hates me."

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aegon’s grip tightens around the goblet, and one can see the whiteness of his knuckles as though the tension might shatter the cup. His head is bowed, and for the first time, he looks… lost.

"She does not hate you," Rhaenys says softly, her voice thick with sympathy. "She’s angry. Hurt. But hate?" She shakes her head, her dark curls catching the firelight. "That is not what this is."

Aegon’s lips twitch, a bitter smile flickering at the corners. "She does not love me, Rhaenys. And she never will."

Visenya’s voice is sharp, cutting through the fragile moment like the edge of a blade. "Love is not why she was wed to you, brother. Love was never the purpose." She sets her knife and fork down deliberately, the clink of metal against the plate unnervingly calm in the face of Aegon’s turmoil. "You knew that."

Aegon’s head lifts, his eyes wet and shining with unspoken emotions. He looks at Visenya, his usually hard gaze pleading now, searching her face for some kind of answer. "But I wanted it," he says, the words rough, torn from somewhere deep inside him. "I wanted her to love me, as she would have loved Stark. Is that so wrong?"

Visenya’s expression doesn’t change. Her voice remains cold, unwavering. "You are her brother, her king. You were never meant to be her lover in the way you want."

Rhaenys, sensing the deepening wound, reaches across the table, her hand hovering just above Aegon’s arm. "She’s young still, Aegon," she says softly, her voice filled with her usual warmth. "She has not yet come to terms with her place. In time, perhaps…"

Aegon pulls away from her touch, his hand falling from the goblet to rest heavily on the table. "No," he mutters, shaking his head. "She will never come to terms with this. She will always look at me as if I am the one who destroyed her life." His voice breaks slightly, and he presses his palms into his eyes, as though trying to hold himself together, to keep the pain from spilling out.

"Then stop chasing her love," Visenya says, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Do your duty. Take her to your bed, sire her children, and end this farce of a romance you have created in your mind."

Aegon’s hands drop from his face, and he looks at her, stunned. "Is that all you see in this? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes meet his, cold and unwavering. "That is all there ever was for us."

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Aegon turns his gaze to the fire, his shoulders sagging even further under the weight of Visenya’s words. The great conqueror, the king who united the Seven Kingdoms, is reduced to this—a man who sought love from someone who could not give it.

Rhaenys, her heart breaking at the sight of her brother in such despair, shifts in her seat, but she knows that no words of hers will soothe him now. Aegon has always carried the burden of their dynasty alone, but tonight, it has grown too heavy, even for him.

"You have us," Rhaenys says quietly, though her voice trembles with emotion. "You will always have us, Aegon."

But Aegon does not respond. His eyes remain fixed on the flames, and for the first time in your life, you see him not as the Conqueror, not as the dragon lord who tamed the world, but as a man—lost and alone in a castle full of people who love him, yet none who can give him what he truly desires.

And so the meal continues in silence, the clatter of cutlery and the crackling fire the only sounds in the hall. The untouched plates before you all bear witness to the shattered remnants of your family’s fragile bonds, while outside, the wind and the sea howl against the ancient walls of Dragonstone.

The sea winds howl outside your chambers, the sound haunting and relentless, like the cry of some distant, wounded beast. You sit by the open window, gazing out into the dark night, the vast ocean stretching far beyond the horizon, endless and full of promise. Your mind wanders to Tesaerix, resting in her lair below. You imagine her golden and cream scales shimmering in the moonlight, the crimson undertones beneath them gleaming like freshly spilled blood. She is your escape, your one chance at freedom.

You toy with the thought, turning it over and over in your mind—leaving this place. Far from Dragonstone, from Westeros, from the suffocating weight of duty and broken promises. Essos calls to you like a whisper on the wind, a distant land where dragons are still revered and feared, where you could carve out a life for yourself far from Aegon’s reach. You could mount Tesaerix tonight, ride her across the Narrow Sea and never look back.

The idea pulls at you, tempting you more with every passing moment. To be free of this cursed marriage, free of the bitter silence and the constant reminders of what you’ve lost. But it’s not just the present that haunts you—it’s the past, the memories of a love that was torn from you before it had the chance to bloom.

Your mind drifts back to Torrhen Stark, the man you were meant to marry. The King in the North, a man of honor and quiet strength, so different from the fire and chaos of your family. You think of the first time you met him, after he had bent the knee to Aegon. He had refused to take you as a war prize, refused to make you his by conquest, despite the whispers of your brothers. He had chosen to see you as something more, as someone worth knowing, worth loving.

You remember the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his gruff voice had gentled whenever he spoke your name. It had been a brief time, but intense—your feelings for him had grown quickly, like a wildfire racing through a dry forest. You’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast, and he with you. It was supposed to be an alliance not only of fire and ice, but of hearts.

You can still hear his deep, steady voice, promising you a future in the North. A future where you would be his only wife, where you would bear his children, where you could have the kind of life you dreamed of—one filled with love, respect, and loyalty. It had seemed perfect, a rare gift for someone of your blood, born into a family where duty always outweighed desire.

But then Aegon had taken that from you. He had changed his mind as suddenly as a storm sweeping over the sea, without explanation, without reason. One moment, your future with Torrhen had been certain, and the next, it was gone. Aegon had called off the betrothal, declaring that you were to remain in Dragonstone and marry him instead.

Your world had shattered in that instant. The life you had planned with Torrhen, the love you had begun to build, all of it ripped away before it had the chance to take root. You had cried out, fought against it, pleaded with Aegon to reconsider, but his decision was final. The bond between fire and ice, the life you had dreamed of in the North, vanished like smoke in the wind.

The memory of Torrhen’s face, when you told him of Aegon’s decision, still haunts you. His features had hardened, the quiet grief in his eyes breaking your heart all over again. He had not blamed you; how could he, when you had been as much a victim of your brother’s jealousy as he had? But the pain in his silence had cut deeper than any words could have.

You wonder, sometimes, what might have been. What your life would be like now, had Aegon not interfered. You can imagine yourself standing beside Torrhen in Winterfell’s great hall, the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth, the cold winds of the North howling outside but unable to touch you. You would have had a home there. A real home, with Torrhen by your side, with the love you had begun to build blossoming into something strong and unbreakable.

But here, in this cold, dark castle, you are alone. You are Aegon’s wife, yes, but in name only. There is no love here, only duty, only the weight of expectations and a future you never wanted.

Your gaze shifts to the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below. The pull to leave is stronger now. You imagine the wind whipping through your hair as Tesaerix soars above the clouds, the world falling away beneath you as you fly far, far from here. Essos, the Free Cities, perhaps even beyond the Shadow Lands. Anywhere that is not here, anywhere that is far from the suffocating grip of your brother and the life he has forced upon you.

You stand, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you move toward the window. Tesaerix waits, her powerful wings and fiery breath ready to carry you to freedom. All it would take is a single command, a whispered word, and you could be gone. You could leave this place behind, leave Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys and the weight of their expectations, and start a new life far from the shadow of the Iron Throne.

But then Torrhen’s face flashes in your mind again, and you falter. The North is lost to you, but would running away truly be any better? Would it bring you the peace you crave, or would it only leave you even more adrift, without even the faint hope of reclaiming what was taken from you?

Your hand rests on the stone window ledge, cold and hard beneath your palm. The choice stands before you, vast and open like the sea. Stay and endure, or fly away and risk everything for the chance at a new beginning.

For now, you remain. The wind howls, but the decision is not yet made.

For two weeks, Aegon comes to your chambers each night, his steps soft but purposeful as he approaches the door. You always hear him before he arrives, the distant echo of boots on stone corridors signaling yet another attempt. Every time, he brings something—a token of affection, as if material offerings could mend the chasm between you.

At first, it is fine silk from distant lands, robes embroidered with dragons and flames, the kind of luxury that would make others swoon. Then, he brings rare books, scrolls of knowledge written in the ancient Valyrian tongue, words meant to remind you of your shared heritage. One night, he brings a necklace of rubies, its deep red glistening like dragonfire in the low light. The next, a golden ring with the Targaryen sigil engraved on it, a symbol of the dynasty you are bound to by blood and duty.

Each gift you receive with a polite, distant nod, setting them aside, your heart unmoved. The weight of his gaze is always upon you, a mixture of hope and frustration lingering in his violet eyes. His words are softer now than they were in the beginning, his anger quelled, replaced by a quiet desperation. He is trying to win you, but the harder he tries, the more distant you feel.

The final gift he brings is a crown—delicate, finely crafted, with jewels of crimson and gold embedded in the pale metal. It is beautiful, a queen's crown, meant to match his. When he places it on your lap, he watches you with an intensity that makes the air thick between you, waiting for something—for approval, for gratitude, for love.

But you only stare at it, unmoving.

"This is yours," he says, his voice almost pleading now. "You are a queen in your own right, Y/N. Not just my sister, but my equal. You deserve this."

Your fingers brush the cold metal of the crown, but it feels like chains, not a symbol of power. You lift your gaze to meet his, your voice steady but firm. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon."

The hurt flickers in his eyes, but you have nothing left to give him. He leaves, the crown sitting abandoned on the edge of your bed, gleaming in the dim light as if mocking you.

One day, his words change.

Aegon enters your chambers, but there is a new tension in the way he moves, a sense of finality in the air. He doesn't bring a gift this time, only the weight of a decision made. You watch him, already knowing something is different.

“We leave for King’s Landing soon," he says, his voice more formal than it has been in weeks. "Aegonfort is ready for us. It will be our new home, where we will build the future of our house."

You feel the words like a cold wind sweeping over you. Aegonfort, the seat of his conquest, the beginning of the new kingdom he is carving out. The idea of leaving Dragonstone—leaving the sea, the cliffs, the only place you’ve ever truly known—sends a chill down your spine. Aegon might see King’s Landing as his victory, but for you, it feels like another cage.

"I don’t want to go," you say, your voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Aegon pauses, as if he didn’t hear you properly, as if he can’t comprehend that you would refuse. “You have to go,” he says slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You are my wife, my queen. You belong at my side."

You rise from where you’ve been sitting, facing him fully, your heart racing with the surge of rebellion that has been growing inside you for weeks. "I belong here," you say, gesturing to the stone walls, to the island that has been your sanctuary, even in the darkest times. "I do not want to go to King’s Landing, to sit in that castle you built, watching you and Visenya and Rhaenys pretend that everything is perfect."

He steps toward you, his face tightening, a flash of anger returning to his features. "You think you can remain here, alone, while the rest of us build our kingdom? This is not a choice, Y/N. You are my wife."

"I never wanted to be," you snap, the words finally breaking free from your lips, bitter and sharp. "You made me your wife, but you never asked me what I wanted. You took me from the future I could have had, from Torrhen—"

"Stark, again? Torrhen is not your future," Aegon interrupts, his voice hardening now. "I am."

"You stole my future, Aegon," you retort, your voice trembling with the weight of your grief. "You took away the one thing I had, and now you expect me to be grateful for this life you’ve forced upon me? You expect me to follow you to your new castle and wear this crown and play the role of your queen?"

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, tense and suffocating. Then, slowly, he steps back, his eyes dark with something you can’t name—anger, yes, but there’s more. Regret? Hurt?

“You will come,” he says finally, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. “Whether you wish it or not, Y/N. You will come with us.”

You turn away from him, your back to the man who has taken everything from you. You hear him leave the room, his footsteps heavy and final, but the emptiness he leaves behind feels like the deepest cut of all.

You are alone once more, staring out the window at the distant sea. Tesaerix calls to you from the depths of your soul, her distant roars echoing in your mind. The thought of running away comes back to you, stronger now than ever. But for now, you remain, standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

The sun is high in the sky as you and your siblings take flight, the winds rushing past as your dragons soar over the shimmering sea. Below, the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone grow smaller with every wingbeat. Tesaerix flies gracefully beneath you, her golden and cream scales glinting in the sunlight, the deep crimson undertones flickering like blood in the wind. For a moment, you feel weightless—free. The burden of your marriage, of your crown, seems far away in the skies.

Ahead of you, Aegon leads the way on Balerion, the massive black dragon casting a long shadow over the sea. Rhaenys is beside him, her Meraxes keeping pace, and to your left flies Visenya, Vhagar’s powerful wings slicing through the air. The three of them are focused on King's Landing, their eyes set on the growing kingdom they are about to build. But your heart is elsewhere.

You glance down at the sea, endless and blue, stretching toward Essos. The temptation has been gnawing at you for weeks, the thought of breaking away, of flying far from here. Away from Aegon, from the fate that has been thrust upon you. The wind rushes through your hair as you tighten your grip on Tesaerix’s reins, your mind made up.

With a subtle shift in pressure, you command her to turn, pulling away from the formation. Tesaerix tilts her wings, veering off course, away from King’s Landing, away from your brother. Your heart races, a mix of fear and exhilaration filling your veins as you set your sights on the horizon, where the lands of Essos lie in the distance, beyond the reach of Aegon’s grasp.

Behind you, Aegon’s voice rises above the wind, calling your name, desperate and commanding. “Y/N! Turn back!”

But you don’t. You don’t even glance behind you. The sound of his voice fades as you fly farther, the space between you growing wider with every passing second. Tesaerix roars beneath you, as if sensing your resolve, her powerful wings beating faster as she surges toward freedom.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel alive. The weight of duty, of marriage, of everything that has kept you chained to this life begins to slip away, carried off by the wind. The open skies of Essos call to you like a promise, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believe you might make it.

Then you hear the deep, thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Visenya.

You glance over your shoulder, and there she is—Visenya, fierce and relentless, closing the distance between you with terrifying speed. Vhagar, far larger than Tesaerix, cuts through the air with powerful, determined strokes. Visenya’s face is set in cold determination, her eyes locked on you with the same intensity she wears in battle.

“Y/N, stop!” she commands, her voice cold as steel, cutting through the wind like a blade. Vhagar roars again, a sound so deep and menacing it sends a shiver down your spine. But you do not stop. You push Tesaerix harder, willing her to fly faster, to escape the inevitable.

But Visenya is not one to be outrun.

Vhagar catches up, pulling alongside you with terrifying ease, her massive bulk dwarfing Tesaerix. Visenya leans forward in her saddle, her voice filled with authority. “Turn back, Y/N! Now!”

Your jaw clenches, your heart pounding in your chest. You meet her gaze for a moment, the defiance in your eyes clear. But Visenya does not waver. Her eyes are cold, unforgiving, and in that moment, you know she will force you back if she has to. She will not let you leave.

The wind whips around you as you pull Tesaerix to slow her flight, the moment of freedom slipping away from you as Vhagar looms beside you, a reminder of the chains that bind you. Visenya’s gaze does not leave yours, and she waits—waits for you to surrender, to accept the inevitable.

With a heavy heart, you tug on the reins, guiding Tesaerix back toward King’s Landing. The dream of escape fades into the distance as you turn, the pull of duty dragging you back toward the life you never wanted. Visenya does not speak again, but her presence is a silent command that you dare not disobey.

As you fly back toward Aegon and Rhaenys, the open skies of Essos behind you, the taste of freedom lingers on your tongue like ashes.

The moment Tesaerix touches the ground, the reality of your failed escape crashes down upon you like a wave. Her powerful wings fold at her sides, but there is no pride in her stance now—only the stillness of submission, forced upon you both by Visenya and Vhagar’s dominance.

You barely have time to catch your breath when Balerion descends, the great shadow of the Black Dread falling over you. His monstrous bulk blocks Tesaerix’s path back to the skies, his massive wings spread wide like an impenetrable wall. Aegon sits atop him, his expression dark, stormy, and unreadable. Rhaenys and Meraxes circle high above, silent witnesses to your humiliation.

The ground trembles as Balerion lands, his roar a deep, earth-shaking sound that makes the ground beneath your feet vibrate. You can feel Tesaerix shifting beneath you, uneasy but still under your control—for now. But even she can sense the finality of what is about to happen.

Aegon swings down from Balerion’s saddle, his steps heavy as he approaches you. His face, usually so composed, is a mix of anger and something close to disbelief. When he speaks, his voice is low, cold. "You would abandon us. Abandon me."

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat like a hammer against stone. "Aegon, I—"

"You fled from your duty, Y/N," he interrupts, his voice growing harsher. His violet eyes bore into you, as if he’s searching for some understanding of why you would run. "What were you thinking? Were you going to Essos? Were you going to leave us all behind?"

His words cut deep, the sharpness of his accusation stinging more than you expected. But you lift your chin, defiance still burning in your chest. "You took everything from me, Aegon. You took my future, my choice, my life. I wanted to escape—to find something that was mine."

For a moment, his expression softens, as though he might understand. But then, his gaze hardens again. He turns to the soldiers who have gathered nearby, his voice carrying a command that makes your blood run cold. "Chain her dragon."

You feel the words like a physical blow. "No." Your voice is a whisper at first, and then louder, desperation filling it. "No! Aegon, you can’t—please, don’t do this!"

But he does not waver. The soldiers begin to move toward Tesaerix, and she growls low in her throat, sensing the threat. You scramble down from the saddle, running to stand between the men and your dragon, your heart pounding in your chest. "She’s done nothing wrong! You can’t punish her for what I did!"

Aegon’s face is hard, his jaw set. "She’s your dragon, Y/N. You tried to flee on her back. This is to ensure it doesn’t happen again."

"I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t chain her," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. You look into his eyes, hoping—praying—that somewhere inside him, the brother you once knew still exists. "Please, Aegon. Don’t take her freedom. She’s not like Balerion or Vhagar—she’s mine. Please."

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. His gaze flickers, but his resolve does not falter. "This is for your own good. You will not leave us again."

You watch in horror as the chains are brought forth, heavy iron links meant to bind Tesaerix’s limbs and wings. She lets out a deep, angry roar, thrashing against the soldiers who dare approach her, but they move swiftly, well-practiced in subduing dragons. The weight of the chains soon drags her wings down, grounding her in a way that feels like a betrayal to everything she is—a creature of the skies, bound to the earth like a prisoner.

You fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face as you reach out to touch her, your hand trembling as it presses against her warm scales. "I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry."

Tesaerix rumbles softly, her eyes meeting yours, but there is a sadness in her gaze, a reflection of the helplessness you both feel.

Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable now, but you can see the faint trace of guilt in his eyes. He turns his back to you, as if unable to bear the sight of your anguish.

Visenya remains mounted on Vhagar, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She offers no comfort, no sympathy. This is what must be done in her eyes, a necessary lesson in control. Rhaenys, still observing from above, does not intervene either. Her silence speaks volumes, but her presence feels distant, like she is struggling with the sight of your suffering.

The chains rattle as they secure the last link, the sound like a death knell in the still air. Tesaerix lowers her head, defeated, and your heart shatters along with her spirit.

You rise slowly to your feet, wiping the tears from your face with trembling hands, your eyes hollow as you look at Aegon one last time. "You’ve broken her," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Just as you’ve broken me."

Aegon does not respond. He does not even turn. And in that moment, you know that the brother you once loved, the brother who might have understood your heart, is gone—replaced by the conqueror who cannot allow defiance, not even from his own blood.

[diejager]

bro make a fanfic about the reader and the ghost/konig WHEN THE READER WAS SHOT IN THE BUN ON THE MISSION AHAHAHHHAH LMAO (in the military helicopter when they were supposed to return, the reader was holding her butt, moaning, writhing in pain and trying to hide the pain)

That is a funny thought…

Shots Cw: gun violence, bb shots, tell me if I missed any.

You yelped when you were hit is the ass, flinching forward and raising your arm just as you turned to glare at whoever landed the shot. Your right cheek exploded in soreness, tingling from the sharp pain of a BB shot.

“Hit!” You called it, letting your rifle hang from your shoulder as you rubbed your right cheek, grumbling about the bastard, “On my fucking ass of all places.”

You walk towards the respawn with your arm up, still cussing out whoever shot you in the ass. You had a hunch about the shooter: Soap, who else had enough courage to shoot you in the ass. You doubted Gaz did it, he might’ve been tempted, but he preferred other type of pranks, more mischievous ones like tampering with the washer or drinks, harmless but hilarious. Soap, however, rarely knew the limit, going as far as stealing and hiding your stuff, tapping you in the ass or messing up your head while he cackled away, speeding off to Ghost or Price to escape your wrath.

You reasoned that this was a staged scenario, a small group activity Laswell came up with that landed your Task Force somewhere in France for game of airsoft, a Free for all in the reserved location. No one had complained, thinking it a good activity mixing fun, training and awareness —everyone agreed to it enthusiastically once Ghost had voiced his grumpy acceptance, seeing this as a moment to be able to training without the prying eyes of others or the presence of strangers. Once you reached the spawn point, your jump back in to land a few shots at Soap to see whether or not he liked getting his ass bruised by a BB. You walked off determined, mind narrowed down to a single goal, your retaliation—

Until you yipped a second time, a pellet bouncing off your second cheek. You whipped around, yelling as your eyes scoured the tree line and the openings in the buildings behind you, the windows, the roof and behind pillars. You couldn’t find Soap anywhere, he wasn’t hiding behind the trees or in the buildings, but you did catch the glint of a scope —a familiar sniper scope.

“Ghost, you son of a bitch!” You screamed in outrage, feeling how both cheeks throbbed with pain. You bared your teeth, hissing at your Lieutenant who seemed smug and comfortable in his high perch on the roof of the building, “Why’d you do that?! I was already out!”

”Big target, luv,” his amused voice cracked in your comm, the low rumble of sadistic pleasure ringing out in your headgear. He cocked his scope, his white mask standing starkly in his dark gear and broad figure, “Impossible to miss. Quit moaning.”

“Big target? Are you-!” Huffing at his continued laughter, you glared his way before you turned to hurry back to the respawn, “Let’s see who’s laughing later, you ass.”

“Fuck- Hit!”

Your shoulders shook with restrained laughter, admiring the way Ghost jumped from your perch, hidden in the darkness given by the cement wall. You listened to him hiss and swear, massaging the place you aimed for: the pronounced curve of his ass, his jeans rarely doing him the pleasure of hiding what he had.

“Quit moaning, Ghost,” you cackled as you parroted his words, telling him the same thing as he told you, but you had more to add, more to taunt and tease him as revenge, “Couldn’t miss it, Lt, it was a big fucking target.”

You watched him stomp off, retreating to the tree line for his spawn point. It filled with a sense of elation and ugly smugness, and all that was left now, was to find Soap.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” Johnny’s yelp felt more exciting than Ghost, something you could devour over and ove without regret.

“Not so fun, is it, Johnny?” You smirked, replying with a gleeful tone.

He looked red-faced, the tip of his ears turning a bright shade of red from the way you spoke to him, utilising his known weakness and playing him to watch him stutter and flush brightly.

“Awa’ a bile yer heid! That hurt, lass!” His voice had taken a whinier tone, face screwed in embarrassment and something that you couldn’t put your finger on at this distance.

“I know, shouldn’t have shot me in the ass then.”

Gaz tapped you on the shoulder, a smile threatening to break into chuckles. He’d known what happened to you and knew what you did in retaliation, finding amusement after siding with you, sitting beside you and peering at two frowning and mumbling men.

“Heard you had a lot of fun.”

“Not enough.”

You thought you heard Price sigh tiredly.

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx

[yoredoesmore]

can we recieve a fanfic where reader is petty and could take his vice captain job (soshiro hoshina)

if she really tried? So kind of like enemies to lovers trope, and how he realized she actually didn't despise him was he overheard a conversation with okonogi, while Y/N was like simping and head over heels for him

a/n: i took my time writing this because i never wrote enemies to lovers before :’) i hope you enjoy it!

pairing: Petty!Hoshina x Petty!Reader

genre: enemies to lovers trope

[wc: 2,4k ]

Too Sweet | Hoshina Soshiro

“Did I tell you guys about the story of how I almost became Vice Captain?” You yelled into the round, beer glass lifted high up in the air.

“You? Vice Captain? No way!” Kafka laughed, wasted as much as everybody else around you.

The stench of alcohol and meat lingered in the air and the tension was packed and steamy. Two hours ago, the Third Division managed to neutralize a Daikaiju with a Fortitude Level of 8.3. Of course you could not have done it without the Kaiju on your side, Kafka, but it was indeed a group accomplishment. Thus, everybody felt lifted in both spirit and mind– and the alcohol only added to the cheerful atmosphere.

“Oh yes! Captain Ashiro was gonna pick me instead of mushroom head over there but he flashed his little katanas and bat his pretty little lashes to secure the spot for himself. Talk about tactical maneuvers!”

The entire table immediately fell into a fit of laughter, unable to hold themselves back anymore from the jokes that came at their Vice Captain's expenses. Even after another ten minutes, the mockery took no end. You continued to tease and joke about Hoshina, despite him only being a couple tables away from you, as the joy was too sweet. But as the time passed you eventually forgot about his existence, until he spoke up to remind you.

“You talk quite big for someone who can barely hold a gun. Don't think I didn't notice your little accident during the fight against that group of Yoju two hours ago.” Hoshina made sure to pronounce the word Yoju, not just to tease you but simply out of spite. Deep down he knew that the alcohol was speaking out of you, yet that did not stop him from feeling slightly irritated by your remarks.

“Maybe if you hadn't been standing right in front of the Yoju, I would have managed to get a better shot at the thing. Being a close distance fighter while everybody around you needs a clear field of vision to work must be quite tiring, hm? Maybe I would have been better off as the Vice Captain after all.”

Hoshina’s face twisted into a serious grimace upon hearing your words– a nerve had been struck. Even the others knew not to speak up anymore, the drastic change in atmosphere indicated that a fight was about to go down.

“Then how come everybody else managed to do their job just perfectly, huh? Maybe something distracted ya, Vice Captain?” Hoshina's words stung sharp in your chest. Especially him calling you that made the aftertaste of alcohol in your mouth even worse.

The both of you were now standing right across from one another, only a couple inches keeping you apart.

“Are they..about to fight??” Kafka asked Reno, worry lingering in his voice.

“Putting all my money on L/n.” Was all Reno had to say, leaving Kafka shocked.

“That ugly ass bowl cut of yours must have distracted me.”

Silence.

It was a silence that swept over the room that had everybody on high alert. One little slip of their mouth– or even the slightest bit of laughter falling out of their lips, would meant certain death. Your comment about Hoshina's hair came out way too fast, as if you have been waiting to mention it. The annoyance was evident on the Vice Captain's face. Never in his life has he been provoked to punish someone as much as he was now.

The man stepped closer, leaving little to no space between the both of you as he spoke up again.

“Is this funny to you, L/n?” Hoshina slightly tilted his head to the side as he spoke. The tone he had chosen to ask that question forced shivers down everyone's back. Hoshina was a patient man who did not let his emotions get the best of him most of the time but right now it was clear as ice that he was pissed.

“Maybe we should stop the-”

“Fucking hilariousss.” You dragged the s’ to really make it sting.

And from then on all went downhill…

×

“I did What?!” Your screech was so loud, it almost cut Okonogi’s ear off clean.

“Yep. The two of you almost got kicked out of the bar, if it hadn't been for Izumo and Kaguragi going between you– the only rationally thinking adults at yesterday's get together might I add.” The woman fixed her glasses as she made the remark.

Your eyes sat no longer in their sockets but rather on the floor, rolling around like giant marbles.

“Fuck..fuck!” Embarrassment rushed through your body, the images of yesterday's fight slowly returning to your mind. To think that you would act out in such way, simply because of a couple glasses of beer– it made you feel ashamed.

“That fucker knows how to push my buttons, dammit!”

“Oh please.” Okononig finally looked up from her laptop, all attention now on you.

“Even without the alcohol, Hoshina is able to draw out the most aggressive reactions out of you. You two always nag on each others throats, how come?”

Your eyes refused to meet hers as she waited for an answer, your gaze drifting towards anything in the room but her frame. How did you end up like this? It was a good question, unfortunately, you yourself did not know the answer. The tension between you and the Vice Captain has become so palpable that the wall it has created kept the both of you far away from one another. Every interaction, every conversation and even the smallest comment– your encounters would always end up in some kind of fight.

“That idiot..if he wasn't so damn cute I would have fucked him over a long time ago."

“Understa– what now??” Okonogi thought that she misheard you, that she has been listening to so much of your complaining that her ears were playing tricks on her. But one look at the dreamy face you were making was enough for her to know that you were indeed dead serious.

“He always has that stupid smirk on his face, it's driving me crazy!” You allowed your body to slump down onto the couch as you started to reveal your true feelings.

“Ugh, Konomi! He is so annoying. He thinks that just because he has a cute face he can act all cocky with me! I could take his spot as Vice Captain anytime I want, snap, just like that! He should be more careful around me!”

Either the alcohol was still speaking out of you or your mental state was much more fragile than Okonogi had thought. She did know that you had a little crush on the Vice Captain all the way back then when you first started out but to think that your feelings have not changed, despite the lack of chemistry between the both of you. It was truly impressive yet also worrying.

“Then why not just take his spot?” The woman asked a rhetorical question, sarcasm hanging in her voice.

“I like it when he gives me orders.”

“Y/n..”

“I'm just kidding, gosh!” You sighed and allowed your hand to fall over your face.

“But…I do like the way he acts when he's in control of a situation, he's too sweet.” A giggle slipped from between your lips. “Hoshina is the best when he goes all serious, be it in a fight against Kaiju or when arguing with me. The look on his face is somethin’ else I'm telling ya! And when he grabs me by the arm to push me away, gosh! I just want to melt!”

Okonogi found herself unable to come up with an answer to your slightly concerning confession. It was such a cliche, constantly arguing with the person you liked simply to see a specific side of them but at the same time she found it cute. To think that the Platoon Leader knew no other way to interact with her crush than to annoy him, it was childish but sweet. Like a highschool romance maybe?

“Don't ever tell him how much you admire him, it will definitely go to his head.” The woman returned to her workload yet she continued to pay you some of her attention

“Ha! Never, not even in my dreams. Okay, maybe in my dreams.” You giggled “If he held my real tight maybe and..oh Okonogi! This man has me in a chokehold, ugh.”

You went into an endless ramble about what specifically you liked about the man. His voice, his way of thinking in battle oh and not to mention his body– one could have thought you were talking to your diary. But your friend did not mind, as she found listening to a second voice instead just the one in her head while working rather refreshing.

“Oh and one time I caught him mid workout late at night and you wont believe how good he looked in that fucking compression shirt. I was ogling so hard, he caught me and I had to pretend to be mad at him for making so much noise late at night.”

“You gotta tell him how you feel someday, Y/n.” The woman replied but her words fell onto deaf ears. You had built up too much tension to now come out with your true feelings. Especially after yesterday's fight, you now had to avoid the man for an unseeable period of time before interacting with him in any type of way. The only way you could ever end up together was if he, for some reason, made the first move but that thought was a fantasy and nothing more.

“Thank you so much for listening to my bullshit rant, Konomi.” You gave the woman a long hug from behind while she remained seated.

“Always here to listen to you.” She smiled. And with that you left her shared office.

On your way back to your room, you encountered many cadets who greeted you with a smile. You returned their kindness, making sure to smile and wave at any soul you encountered. But once the space you walked through became less lively, less and less cadets now passed you by until you were all alone, so did the change in atmosphere become more suffocating. You felt a presence behind you, poking and scratching at your back.

At first you tried to ignore it, not paying your alarming thoughts any attention, until you were fully convinced to have heard something move behind you.

“Who's there-” Your entire body immediately froze upon locking eyes with Hoshina.

“Oh great, it's the Vice-” Hoshina grabbed you by the wrist, stopping you mid sentence, and pulled you into the closest room. His ambush came so fast and sudden, you barely had time to fight back. The man made sure to close the door behind himself as he had you where he wanted you to be, a dangerous smirk sat on his face.

“What the hell do you think you are doing!” You spat, the entire situation seeming so random to be real.

“I'm going to enjoy this immensely.” There was something playful in the Vice Captain's voice, something that even you feared. Before you could even progress what was about to happen, Hoshina placed himself right in front of you, head slightly tilted to the side and arms crossed over his chest.

“So, ya like it when I give ya orders, huh?”

Everything in your brain came to a temporary halt as you heard those words come from his mouth. Embarrassment wasn't even enough to explain the sheer humiliation you felt in that very second. Every inch of your body was telling you to run and hide into the nearest corner available. Did he..overhear your conversation with Okonogi?!

“Came by to tell Okonogi that I needed some info on somethin’. Didn't get the info I wanted but def left with sum I needed.”

“I have no idea what you're talking abo-” Once again you found yourself being cut off by the man. Hoshina pushed you back against a table, causing you to stumble and plop down onto it. He then positioned himself between your legs and moved his body closer to yours. His actions seemed like something out of a movie, a scenario one would strictly encounter in the world of fiction, yet he was right in front of you, playing with your heart and sanity.

“Here I was wondering why ya always rushed to get on my nerves. Guess our little Platoon Leader has a crush on her Vice Captain, hm?”

Your brain stopped functioning the second you felt Hoshina's hot breath against your lips. Now that you were seated on the desk and he stood right in front of you, you were about the same height. Forced to stare into his eyes, you found yourself choking on your own words.

“Oh p-please. You probably confused my voice for someone else's.” You tried to save yourself but your efforts were in vain. As your gaze started to drift away from his, Hoshina opened his eyes and placed his fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at him again. He was surely enjoying this, especially after the humiliation you put him through yesterday.

“Look at me.” He ordered, a smug grin on his face.

“All this time I was wondering where all this hate for me was comin from. Ya had me feelin real bad after every damn fight, felt like an asshole and everything.” He chuckled.

“Oh you are an asshole.” You rolled your eyes, the fight in you still alive.

“Yeah but you like this asshole, a lot even.”

As the tension grew thicker you realized that there was no going back from this. Your feelings were laid out all over the room with nowhere to hide. But although you felt humiliated and exposed, a part of you felt relieved that you could finally drop the act. You reached out for Hoshina's wrist and held onto it tightly.

“So what if I like you.. If you let your guard down for even a second, I will still take your position as Vice Captain and kick your fucking ass.”

Hoshina's eyes widened for a second, surprised that you were still going at it, but he liked that about you. That is why he tolerated all the mockery and jokes, because he too was desperate to see a certain side of you.

“How cute. Unfortunately, you are in no position to open your mouth that much.” His fingers grazed over your lips ever so lightly, applying the smallest amount of pressure onto them. His touch had you weak, yet you could not allow yourself to let your guard down. If you showed Hoshina even one second of weakness, he would use that to tease you for all eternity.

He of course knew that and therefore tried to get as much out of this situation as possible.

It was an opportunity too sweet to ignore.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed. 

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

*

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?” 

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here? 

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases. 

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation. 

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight. 

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears. 

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later. 

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat. 

You swallow, once, an unsure thing. 

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation. 

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end. 

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own. 

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence. 

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room. 

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right. 

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone. 

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading. 

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all &lt;3