#it will be good to get back to a kind of routine

[maskedbyghost]

cw: friends with benefits, angst, smut, mild possessiveness

It was supposed to be simple. That’s the part that pisses you off the most when you think about it. Because you weren’t trying to fall in love. You didn’t want a relationship, not after the last one. You were still a little bit fucked up from it, if you’re being honest. Still not sleeping great. Still carrying all that heavy stuff around that no one really talks about after a breakup. And then he showed up.

Simon.

You didn’t even like him that much at first. He was quiet, and kind of a dick honestly. Always had this hard look on his face like he didn’t care about anything. But then again, maybe that’s why you kept looking. He didn’t flirt with you like the other guys did. He didn’t compliment you or joke around. He just stared sometimes. Stared like he knew things about you that you hadn’t even said out loud yet.

And somehow, that made you feel safe. In a really stupid kind of way.

He didn’t ask you questions. You could sit next to him and say nothing, and he wouldn’t try to fix you. He’d just… be there. And that made it easier. Being around him felt like pressing pause on everything in your head.

You both agreed it would just be sex. That’s all. You said it first. Told him straight up you weren’t in the place for anything real, and he just shrugged like it didn’t make a difference either way. He wasn’t looking for more, either. No expectations, no feelings, no “what are we” conversations.

And in the beginning, that actually worked. You’d hook up after long days, or when you were lonely, or when you just needed to feel something. He’d come over late, sometimes not say more than a few words, and still end up with his mouth between your legs like he belonged there. He was rough, kind of mean about it, but it made your head go quiet, and that’s all you wanted. You didn’t need soft. You just needed to forget.

And Simon was really good at helping you forget.

It was simple, for a while at least. No cuddling, no texting unless one of you wanted something, no sleeping over unless it was late, and neither of you felt like getting up. You never kissed him unless it was during sex, he never called you baby, and you never touched his face.

But then, little things started to change. He’d linger longer after, or light your cigarette for you without saying anything. You started to recognize the sound of his boots on your stairs. And sometimes, he’d show up without texting first, but you wouldn’t mind.

You told yourself it was fine. You still weren’t asking for anything. You weren’t falling.... You weren’t hoping.

Until one day you were. And it was too late.

Because Simon? He never changed the deal. He still kept his walls up, still kept everything at arm’s length, and still fucked you like you were just a warm body and not someone who looked at him like he hung the moon.

And the worst part? You let him.

You didn’t talk much during sex. It was just a thing you both did, like it was part of the routine. Sometimes it was at his place, sometimes yours. Sometimes after a night out when you were drunk and touchy and didn’t want to sleep alone. You’d cling to his arm, pull him into a dark corner, whisper something like “Come back with me,” and he always would. He’d follow you home without hesitation.

He never smiled during it, never said sweet things, nor asked what you liked. It was like flipping a switch, one second he was just standing there, and the next his hand was in your hair and he was pushing you down on the bed without saying a word. No soft kisses. Just heavy hands and rough thrusts and that low sound he’d make when you moaned his name, like he hated how much he liked it.

He was rough in a way that made your whole body ache after. Hands on your throat, teeth on your skin. Sometimes he’d grab your face, push it into the pillow so hard it felt like he wanted to fuck you straight through it. His voice was always low, wrecked, barely there, like he was losing his mind but trying not to show it. And when he came, he’d bury himself so deep and still not stop moving, chasing something that never felt like enough.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t sweet. But god, it felt good.

Too good.

You weren’t supposed to want someone like that. You weren’t supposed to need it like that. But every time he fucked you like you were the only thing left keeping him grounded, it made your chest hurt in a way you didn’t want to admit.

And you liked it, you liked it even when it made you feel worse after.

You didn’t fall for him all at once. It happened slowly and stupidly. In the kind of way where you didn’t even notice it at first, because you were too busy pretending it was still casual.

It was little stuff. Like how he always stood behind you in a crowd, not touching you or anything, just close enough that you could feel him, like a wall at your back. Or how he’d rest his hand on your lower back when you crossed the street, not saying a word, not even looking at you. Just doing it like it was natural. Like he cared without meaning to.

Sometimes, he stayed the night. Not every time, or often enough for it to mean something, but still it happened. He never cuddled, never reached for you after. He would just lay there, breathing heavily like he was thinking too loud. He didn’t sleep much, and you didn’t either. You’d stare at the ceiling, both of you pretending the silence didn’t feel like it was screaming.

You wanted to believe that meant something. That even if he couldn’t say it, he felt something. That he kept coming back because he needed you, not just your body. You started reaching for him more, after, during, even before. Just little touches. A kiss on the cheek, a hand on his chest, or a soft press of your lips when he was still inside you.

But the more you gave, the more he pulled back. Like he could feel you slipping, and it scared him. Like he already knew where this was headed and was trying to stop it before it got worse.

He started fucking you harder when you tried to kiss him slow. Rougher, meaner, almost. Like he was trying to shove the feelings out of both of you. Like he thought if he could just fuck the softness out of it, it would go back to the way it was.

And he’d leave faster. No lingering, talking, or sitting on the edge of the bed while you pulled on your shirt. He’d zip up his hoodie, say something stupid like “I’ll see you around,” and disappear like it didn’t mean anything.

But it meant something to you. And you think, deep down, it meant something to him, too.

He just didn’t know what to do with it. So he did what he always did... he ran.

That night felt different before anything even started. You don’t know how to explain it exactly. It was quiet, but not the good kind. Not the comfortable kind. Just this weird silence sitting between you like something waiting to be said. You didn’t say it, of course. You never did. He was already pulling your shirt off, already undoing his belt, already pushing you back like it was routine.

And it was. That was the thing. It had become routine.

But you couldn’t keep doing it like this anymore. You were tired. Tired of feeling used even when he wasn’t trying to use you. Tired of pretending it didn’t matter that he never looked at you when he came. Tired of giving everything and getting nothing back.

So you tried something different.

You didn’t moan for him the way he liked. Didn’t arch your back or scratch at his shoulders or whisper how good he felt. You just… touched his face. Softly. Like it was something you’d been wanting to do for a long time but were scared he’d push you away.

Your fingers brushed his cheek. Your thumb barely touched the scar near his jaw, and you just said, “Slow down.”

That was it. Just two words. And he snapped.

His hand went around your throat so fast it made your breath catch. His other hand grabbed your wrists, shoved them into the pillow, and held them there like you’d done something wrong. And then he started fucking you harder, rougher. Like he was trying to erase what you’d just done.

You didn’t say anything, couldn’t. His hips were slamming into you like he was mad, but not at you. Like he was mad at himself. Or maybe the world. Or maybe just the way your voice sounded when you asked for more than he could give.

“Don’t,” he growled into your neck, and his voice didn’t even sound like him. It sounded like someone scared.

You didn’t cry. Not right then.

You just lay there and took it. Let him fuck you like he always did, let him pretend it didn’t mean anything, even though it did. You felt it, how desperate it was, how shaky his breath was when he finally finished, how his hands didn’t let go even when it was over.

But you knew. You finally knew.

He couldn’t love you. Not the way you wanted. Not the way you needed.

And something deep in your chest cracked open. Just enough to let the cold in.

You didn’t say a word after. Just rolled over when he got up. Pulled the blanket up to your chest and stared at the wall, blinking too fast, trying not to let the tears win.

And he left like nothing happened.

But everything had.

The next time you saw him, you already knew it would be the last. It felt different the second you let him in, like there was something in the air that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You didn’t smile, he didn’t kiss you. You just walked back into your room in silence, still wearing the oversized shirt you’d borrowed from him weeks ago, the one you never meant to keep, the one that smelled like him no matter how many times you washed it, and you stood there with your arms crossed like you were trying to hold yourself together, like saying what you were about to say would physically hurt.

And it did.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to. You didn’t look at him because you knew if you did, if you saw the way he blinked at you, or the way his jaw clenched, or the way he didn’t even flinch like he saw this coming, it would break you in half. So you stared at the floor, or the wall, or anywhere but him, and you just said it. Because if you didn’t say it now, you never would.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t ask why. He just sat down slowly on the edge of your bed, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, and the rise and fall of his chest was shaky, like he couldn’t catch his breath, like your words had knocked the wind out of him but he was too proud to show it.

“I knew this would happen,” he said finally, and his voice wasn’t cold, it wasn’t empty—it was just tired. Like he was mad at himself. “Eventually.”

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and you could feel your throat starting to close up, feel the sting building behind your eyes, and your whole body felt heavy. “I wanted to pretend it wouldn’t,” you whispered, your hands twisting in the hem of his shirt, your voice cracking even though you were trying to stay calm, “but I can’t. I love you. And you don’t—or you won’t. And I can’t keep asking for something you’re scared to give.”

That made him look up.

His face was blank at first; he was trying to process it, trying to understand how it had gotten to this point, even though you both knew exactly how. And then he stood, slowly, like he was afraid too sudden a move would scare you off, and he walked toward you with that careful look he only got when he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing but was still trying anyway.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, at first, because he wasn’t sure if you’d let him. Maybe he thought you’d push him away. But you didn’t. You kissed him back even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. You let him press you into the wall, let his hands slide up under the shirt that technically wasn’t his anymore, let his mouth find your neck, your collarbone, your lips again, and none of it felt like the usual heat, it just felt sad and desperate.

You let him fuck you because you knew this was the last time. You let him take you to bed and pull your underwear down and slide inside like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

His hands were rough like always, his teeth scraped your skin, his thrusts were deep, a little too fast, a little too rough—but there was a shakiness in the way he held you, like maybe he already hated himself for letting it get to this point. He didn’t know how to say any of the things you needed to hear, so he fucked you instead.

And then, just when you thought that was all it was going to be—just another night, just another goodbye—he slowed down.

He stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, and he didn’t move. Just held you there, skin to skin, and everything about him felt different all of a sudden... softer... scared.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him.

Your chest tightened, and your voice broke when you tried to answer. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because if I let myself love you, I’d lose you anyway,” he said, and his voice was raw now. “You’d wake up one day and realise I’m not enough. That I can’t be what you need. That you deserve better than someone like me. Someone who’s barely hanging on. Someone who doesn’t know how to hold you without wondering if he’s gonna fuck it all up.”

You touched his face slowly. Like you were afraid he’d flinch away. But he didn’t. He let you, for the first time, he really let you.

“I don’t want someone else,” you whispered, and your thumb brushed his cheek, and your eyes were wet even though you were trying not to fall apart. “I wanted you. I still do.”

And when he started to move again, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and deep. Like he was trying to give you everything he’d held back for so long. His hands ran over your body like he was learning it all over again. His lips pressed to your shoulder, your jaw, your mouth. He looked at you the whole time, like he didn’t want to forget your face.

“I love you,” he said, and his voice shook, and his thrusts stayed steady, “I love you, I love you....fuck, I love you.”

You cried into his kiss. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your body trembled as he whispered all the stupid, sweet things he never let himself say before. You’re mine. I’ll do better. I need you. Please don’t leave.

And then, somewhere in the middle of it, somewhere between your broken sobs and his desperate kisses, he grabbed you tight, pulled you against him, and whispered it like a promise, like a threat, like a man who was finally ready to fight for something.

“Fuck that,” he growled, his voice suddenly shaking with something angry and scared and real. “You’re not leaving me. You’re mine. I don’t care how bad I am at this. I’m not letting you go.”

You were still crying. He was still shaking. And everything was still so goddamn complicated.

But he stayed, and that was a start.

---------------------------------------------

idk what this is honestly ...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373

[curiousorigins]

I was in a car accident a few years ago. I'll have a funny shaped bone probably for the rest of my life because of it. There was a serious delay in treatment, for many reasons... Then a few months into physical therapy, things are a little better. Like it doesn't hurt so bad, like it's still constant. (I got tendon related issues... I'll probably never go into the details deeper than that...tbh.). Then I end up staying the night at a friend's house... I wake up, pain is gone. (It did end up coming back... and there's reasons for this... but that's not the important part of this story.) I was in constant pain for around 3-4 years... and it went away (briefly) after a single night on a better mattress.

So inevitably I end up getting a new mattress when money happens. It's not even a super nice mattress. I spent $130 (on a new) mattress. First one in my entire life. I get something more on the firm end because that's what my friend's was. (Genuinely look up Old People reviews for them. Old people have all the health issues that future you might end up having. And Older Person is going to say if the mattress made them worse. Young Person might not notice.) I would say around 40% of my daily chronic pain literally went away with a new mattress.

(Also as it turns out, been in chronic pain for like 30ish years and didn't know it. Because it was constant from an early age... and feeling like that was kind of my default until post-one physical therapy appointment. Go to a good physical therapist. Don't settle for what your work recommenda from workers' comp. My sister did that and hers was a crapshoot as they were more worried about getting you back to work for the cheapest amount possible. Go somewhere else and send your work the bill. I went for Sport's Medicine because they have more injury knowledge, and understand what it takes to be fully active. I had a very labor heavy job then.)

Got a new pillow and in a fit of bougey-ness upgraded my old one to be a leg pillow. (Side-sleeper.) I'd say that those changes, mattress, and 2 pillows. Got me out of 70% of my daily pain. After that, Physical Therapy busted more. (Probably 80-90% pain reduction [90% being good days.] on the daily. With Physical Therapy.) I still have regular dislocations but they only mild hurt. (And honestly my pain scale is so broken after running on pain 24/7 for 30 years... that I don't notice it was dislocated until it shifts back. It'd probably happen less or maybe not again on the regular... if I was better at doing my exercises. But alas, routines are hard for me.)

But yeah, something like 70% of my chronic daily pain for the last 30 years was fixed for $200ish. Well worth it, and I'm worth that. Sometimes, even when you're struggling to pay to eat... you should try to invest in you. You only get 1 body. Wishing you all some health... and smart investments.

I saved up for worst things that had less of a positive effect on me. I just wish I had prioritized the mattress thing much earlier. Hope you all end up with enough wiggle room in the budget for similar positive impacting stuff.

I'm turning 30 this month, and for some reason have become suddenly interested in material possessions. like what if,,,,,,,,my couch was nice. what if my sheets were nice. is this what happens to you??

[venusbyline]

Hard to please — Cregan Stark.

— summary: Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

— pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader

— type: smut, dark

— tags/warnings: wife!reader, dark!Cregan, dubcon, breeding kink, corruption kink, rough vaginal sex, doggy style position, forced female masturbation, oral sex (male receiving & female receiving), handjob, blowjob, cunnilingus, rimming/anilingus, fingering, creampie, degradation, size kink, implied breastfeeding kink, gaslighting, possessive behaviour, jealously, sexual inexperience, light subspace, light sadism, reader is Alicent and Viserys' second daughter, hopeful ending, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons). no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes: For a long time I've been wanting to write some dark!Cregan fic but I wasn't having any ideas, until I received that amazing ask 💕💕 tysmm sweetie, I loved writing this!!!

— tagging list: @targaryenprincess1 @sylasthegrim

❥ Cregan masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

"She must be hard to please."

Lord Cregan Stark was with some friends at the Great Hall. Wine goblets filled to the brim in the hands of all those men who were sharing random stories to amuse themselves and to stay away from political matters for a few hours.

He was sitting in the largest chair, his back supported in a slouched position due to the effects of the alcohol.

"Who?" Cregan asked the older man, more focused on continuing to drink. He had already lost count of how many goblets he already had, the servants around them seeming a little surprised by his unusual behavior.

Cregan's men shared a unison laugh, gesturing to the corridor where you had passed a few hours before, using your typical good manners to greet them. "Your Lady Wife."

Absorbing those words, Cregan choked slightly on his wine, straightening in his chair and placing the goblet back on the table. His fist slammed into the chest twice, not too hard, to get rid of the choking sensation in his throat.

Had he heard that right?

"What was that supposed to mean?" Cregan asked, his voice turning kind of tense. He did not like talking about you with his friends, nor did he like you interacting with men who were not servants or guards of Winterfell.

Not because he felt embarrassed about the marriage, but because he felt... irritated.

Irritated by the possibility of other men thinking about you, regardless of the types of thoughts.

"You know what I mean. They say that southerners women are incredible in bed, especially those of House Targaryen."

The Great Hall filled with laughters again, his men giving unnecessary opinions and asking a lot of indecent questions, curious about such details involving the sexual routine between the Warden of the North and his sweet wife.

To be honest, Cregan was not having as good a married life as he imagined when he first laid eyes on you. That long silver hair, violet eyes, green silk dress... You looked delightful. Although his visit to King's Landing had been only to discuss political matters with Queen Rhaenyra, he was immediately attracted to you.

The third daughter of the late King Viserys, half-sister of the Queen and only four years younger than him. You were still untouchable, according to what Rhaenyra told him after noticing the northerner's sudden interest. Your mother, the Dowager Queen, was looking for a promising betrothal for you. Her eldest children, Aegon and Helaena, had been married for years. Aemond, the second son, was betrothed to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters. Daeron was still single, as were you, though Alicent had considered betrothing her youngest child to some Lady Lannister.

Worst case scenario, if things did not work out so well, she would marry you with your younger brother.

Cregan spoke to Rhaenyra about the proposed betrothal to her half-sister. During the following morning, she had already informed Alicent. Obviously, the Dowager Queen did not take long to accept Cregan's idea, knowing very well how a marriage with the Lord of Winterfell was a unique and excellent opportunity. She did not even notice Cregan's urgency to take you to Winterfell as soon as possible, not wanting to postpone the inevitable for too long, claiming his need to have a first child.

However, a month had passed since the wedding ceremony and your womb remained empty, which frustrated him a little.

Cregan was not blaming you, of course. He was blaming your damn faith.

Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

As much as he had not decided to marry you because of that possibility — after all, he was too jealous to like the idea of you wanting another man before him —, Cregan was stressed out by witnessing you treat your nights together as a mere duty to produce heirs.

Fucking you should not be treated as just a way to try to have children. He wanted to fuck you into oblivion, he wanted to teach you every possible position, fuck you in every corner of the castle. Fuck… He could even build a small Sept inside Winterfell if he could fuck you while you prayed to the Seven.

He just wanted you to want to be fucked.

“Did you request my presence here, husband?”

Cregan was sitting in an armchair in the corner of his private chambers, the back of the hand under his chin and pondering something. You were not usually called to that room this late at night, because the duties as a couple were always done earlier so like that both of you had enough time to sleep and prepare yourselves for the next day.

When your maid told you about Lord Stark's request, you thought something serious might have happened — which seemed to be the case, considering his stoic expression upon seeing you.

"Come in and close the door, wife."

Shoulders tensed at Cregan's command. He was not usually rude, at least not to you. Despite his cold exterior, Cregan was an excellent husband, better than you could have imagined. When you were informed by your mother and your half-sister about the sudden betrothal with the Lord of Winterfell, your first reaction was shock and concern was the second one. The northmen did not usually like southerners, especially Targaryens. In that entire century, there had never been any love union between a Stark and a Targaryen, and the thought of being the first in an entire family to experience something like that made you tense.

However, Cregan proved he could be a very kind husband, who respected you and seemed to like you in his own way. He was not romantic like girls read in fictional books, no roses or loving declarations. He showed his affection with subtle acts, like letting you help him with some political matters, walking with you, listening to you tell stories about your childhood.

You did not know if he loved you yet, but you knew he appreciated your existence at least. And that was already much more than most women received from their arranged alliances.

In all the time together, you had never seen him so harsh with you until now.

"Come closer." Cregan gave a second order after you closed the door and then gestured to where he was sitting. As you approached with slow steps, Cregan looked you up and down, observing the clothes you were wearing. In addition to the long-sleeved white woolen nightgown, there was a dark gray fur coat. That was not exactly a cold night for the North's standards, your body was still accustomed to the warmer temperatures of King's Landing. "Were you already asleep, wife?"

You shook the head. "Not yet. I was concentrating myself on the reading of a book."

"A book?" Cregan raised an eyebrow, not quite believing that explanation. "Your maid told me you were busy praying before bed."

Shifting uncomfortably in front of him, you bit the lower lip and took a deep breath. "Well, I did it... I stopped reading so I could pray, as I always do most nights."

Despite not liking that the fact his own woman dared to lie to him, no matter how harmless the lie might be, Cregan chose to focus on the main issue, the reason that made him demand your presence there. "I assume you know why I called you here."

You nodded, not hesitating in the slightest, knowing those responsibilities to him. "To fulfill our marital duties."

A frustrated grimace appeared on Cregan's face, hating how you insisted on treating the situation like this. Why the hells did you act like being married to him felt like a sacrifice?

"To fuck." The correction caught you off guard, wide eyes and cheeks flushed like a virgin little girl. Cregan took that reaction as a good sign, a part of him feeling amused at being able to corrupt a bit of your typical innocence. "You have not given me an heir yet."

Your heart skipped a beat. The pressure to provide an heir was high for any lady... But for a wife of a lord like Cregan Stark? The pressure on you was ten times higher.

You felt quite useless, since Cregan never pressured you about that until then. The shock over his crude words eventually subsided, now focused on asking for forgiveness. "I-I am sorry, husband. I do not know why this is taking so long, I know how much we need an heir and I apologize for disappointing you."

Cregan's heart sank, hearing your sadness and self-deprecation. It was obvious how much you blamed yourself for all of this, and he was not really proud of himself about taking advantage of that, acting as if he was angry with you for not getting pregnant yet — the birth of a male heir was something that could not take long to happen. However, Cregan was more excited about the process of making the heir. The two of you should be trying often... And if he had to lie about being angry so he could have you in bed with the wished intensity, mayhaps this would be worth it.

"Is this how you want to make your husband proud, make the North proud? Is this how you show respect to my people?" He stood up, towering over you and acting as if he were facing a scared lamb. “You are bringing shame upon me and yourself. To your House."

You did not want to act like a whiny, pathetic little girl, you knew how weak it would make you look. Any brave reaction was impossible to fake now, though. Your hands shook and your lower lip too. Was he so frustrated and disappointed that he could look so aggressive?

"I just..."

"You spend all your time praying to the Gods, praying to the Mother. Do you really think they would grace you with fertility if you do not even sleep with your own husband?"

"I sleep with you."

He snorted at the predictable defense. Yes, you slept with him... As a duty, not as a Lady Wife should do. Not as someone who felt true lust for him should do.

He moved a little closer to you, rising higher and higher until he was looking down at you with a jaw clenched. "You are sleeping with me, wife. And you do not fuck with me, you do not act like a woman should with her wife."

That word again. Fuck. Why the hells did he want to fuck you? Why the hells was he acting like you were a mere whore from the Street of Silk, a mere woman whose only concerns were their sexual performances?

You were a wife... You were supposed to bear children for him, just as your mother Alicent had done for your father Viserys, just as Helaena had done for Aegon. That was what your mother had taught you about marriage. What happened in bed was supposed to benefit the men. To give them what they wished the most: many heirs.

"My duty is–"

"Yes, I know that your duty is to be a perfect wife and to bear me children. And yet, that duty should also be repeated more often than we are doing it. This should be... Intense, enjoyed by both of us. Pleasurable."

That was not something you heard so much in your upbringing. There was no connection between duty and pleasure, as far as you knew. Alicent never talked about enjoying what she had to do with your father, they had sex only when more children were needed — Daeron was an exception, since his birth had not been planned—. Helaena had slept with Aegon very few times throughout their marriage, and neither of them were very enthusiastic about it.

Rhaenyra, your half-sister and the Queen, was one of the few exceptions. Her sexual experiences were a controversial topic for the entire Kingdom.

In any case, sex was not seen as something pleasurable and carnal in the Faith of the Seven.

"I do not know if I like this, Cregan."

His name slipped out before you could control your tongue, and the man immediately narrowed his eyes, incredulous at that sudden lack of manners. "Cregan?"

If this were a normal day, he would not mind hearing you say his first name so intimately — especially if you were moaning it —. Hearing you call him by name during a scolding was a different thing. It was almost an affront, a way of showing that you did not agree with what he was saying.

"Cregan?" He repeated, continuing to tower over you, continuing to act as if he was about to hunt you down like a big wolf.

Your heart skipped a beat and the body froze, not knowing what to say, understanding that there were not many good explanations to excuse what you had just done. "I just... the Faith of the Seven says–"

"I do not care what your Faith says, wife." His large hand closed around your neck with such absurd speed, not giving you the slightest chance to react in advance. The gasp you let out brought him a dark satisfaction that was unusual, never felt until now. "Do you want to kneel before the Gods and beg them to grant you a decent fertility? Great... Then kneel before your husband and suck my cock first. Show the Seven how willing you are to receive my seed inside your cunt."

Cregan took his hand from your throat and brought it to the back of your neck, pulling you to the ground right in front of him. His eyes darkened, seeing you so scared, just like a small animal about to be captured and devoured, your face so pale it looked like you wanted to cry and run away.

And you really wanted to be able to do that... Cry in panic, get up and run far away from your own husband, far away from whatever impure thing he was about to do.

"H-Husband..."

"No, no... Do not give me that sad puppy look. You were so insulting saying you did not agree with what I said before, calling me Cregan..." He mocked, patting his wife's head. "Come on, princess. You are already on your knees, just undo the ties of my pants. You can do that, cannot you?"

This was not right, you thought. This was not what you were taught, this was not what your mother told you about what the life of a worthy wife should be. This was something that happened in the brothels, the dirty and depraved places where your older brother spent most of his time drinking and having fun.

It seemed so wrong.

And yet, what else could you do? One of a woman's duties was to obey her husband, no matter the circumstances. There was no alternative of this situation. The husband gave the orders and the wife was expected to obey without hesitation or complaint.

With trembling arms, you broke the eye contact with Cregan and began to fiddle the ties — the ones that were a little bit harder to undo when you were so nervous.

Cregan watched you with a slight smirk on his face, enjoying the sight of his sweet, innocent woman about to see his cock. You had seen it during the times you had sex, of course, but nothing this intimate. Most of the time, you immediately turned the face away as soon as he pulled down his pants, being too embarrassed to admire how big he was down there.

But now, you were finally going to see it up close to your face, feel it inside your throat...

"That's it, very good..." He whispered the mocking compliment as you pulled down his clothes, coming face to face with his thick member. It looked even more intimidating than the other times you had seen it. "Use your hands right now. Wrap them around it."

Taking a deep breath, your heart racing so fast it made you feel nauseous. Nodding hesitantly, you placed a hand there, staring at Cregan with wide eyes when he throbbed. He was not all hard, just enough to worry you and make you want to beg the Seven for mercy.

Your other palm also closed around Cregan's cock, listening to the instruction he gave right after about making slow movements.

It was not exactly the most arousing thing he had felt in the entire life, so he sighed a little frustrated; ever since he had heard those stupid words from his friends, questioning what you were like in bed... That had made his blood boil.

The lack of patience was clear in Cregan's expression and he cleared his throat, giving you a light push to keep you away from him — at least it should have been a light push, which did not work very well due to Cregan's natural strength.

He stared at you with guilt when he saw your eyes fill with tears as your ass hit the floor, the humiliation saddening you more than the sharp pain. "Get up. And take off those clothes to lie on my bed while I undress too." He struggled to keep the severity of his voice.

Nodding and pouting, you got up from the ground and did not turn around, already understanding that he did not want you to hide anymore. You took off the fur coat, exposing the white nightgown that highlighted your form, not too tight and not too loose — just the right amount of perfect.

Taking a quick glance at your husband, you immediately caught your breath. He was already naked, his broad, strong shoulders catching your attention... You were always too shy to admit even to yourself that you felt aroused when Cregan was on top of you, when his large body covered yours during his thrusts...

"Do you need help?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, not even hiding the sideways smirk, noticing how hypnotized you were.

"W-What? Oh, yes..." You stumbled over the words, flushed cheeks and heart racing. "I mean... I would love that, please"

Letting out a soft chuckle, Cregan shook his head and gestured to the bed. "The rule is clear, princess. Take off all your clothes on your own and lie down there then."

You had to control the urge to whimper, undoing the tie of your nightgown and feeling the woolen fabric fall to your feet. The windows were closed and the flames in the fireplace were still burning high... And somehow your nipples perked, a chill running down your spine and sending goosebumps up your arms.

Before you could lay your head back on the pillow, Cregan stopped you with one more order. "Stand closer to the edge of the bed and spread your legs."

"H-Husband..." Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest, the tear ducts of your eyes starting to get wet.

Cregan did not change his mind, staring at you with such an explicit severity until you forced yourself to nod reluctantly. Your spread legs revealed the most precious treasure to him, a pretty and cute cunt, all plump, waiting to be truly appreciated, to be worshipped...

There were not many signs of arousal other than a few glistening drops on the golden pubic hairs. Either way, it made Cregan's mouth water. Fuck, he wanted to kneel on the floor and start devouring you like a starving man.

That desire would have to wait a few days, though. First he would make you crave it... Beg for a good fuck.

"Take a hand to your little bud." He chose not to tell you to spit first, knowing he would enjoy watching you feel a little uncomfortable at first. "Hmm, that's it, wife..." The praise warmed your cheeks as you moved the palm closer to your own core, close to the spot right where you would find the expected pleasure. “Now rub two fingers on it, slowly for a while.”

With gentle movements, you brushed your index and middle fingers right on that spot, frowning at the familiar sensation. The memory of Cregan doing the same thing on you during the consummations remained fresh in your mind... He always rubbed that bud to make your entrance wetter and easier to thrust there.

Doing that to yourself was not so good, though. The sensation was dry, as if you were rubbing yourself on some thing that would cause you discomfort in a few minutes if you kept doing it.

But Cregan did not minimize your suffering. You had been so devoted to the Faith, and so devoted to the Gods that you did not even know how to fingering. No knowledge about your own body. That was an absurd to him, it was an absurd to realize that his sweet wife was so naive to that point. "Harder, wife. Rub your fingers harder and faster."

"It hurts..."

"Do not you want to please your husband? Do not you want to be blessed with our future baby?" His tone was so serious that your movements speeded up out of reflex to prevent his frustration from increasing. "This will help your womb prepare itself even more to be filled with my seed."

Whether that was true or not, you did not ask anymore, closing eyelids at the feeling of your dry fingers against the bundle of nerves. It was kind of uncomfortable and embarrassing. It made your lower abdomen twist in a strange, different way...

"O-Oh!" Your moan echoed through the chambers, the mix of new sensations and confused thoughts making you take the hand away from between your legs. That was different, it was not as good as when Cregan did it, but it was something else, something interesting. "H-Husband..."

"You can do better than that." Cregan sat back in the armchair, pleasuring himself. He massaged his balls before closing a hand around his shaft, which was getting harder and harder by the second as your cunt started to get all wet. The soft noises of your arousal could be heard by both of you, and you went back to the rubbing just like you should, harder and faster.

You tried to remember what it was like when he did that to you, trying to remember the pace he used. The focus of those thoughts lost all meaning a few seconds later, your mind focused on how Cregan always looked so gorgeous while he took you. Even though you tried hard not to revel in those memories, it was almost impossible. All you could remember was about his lips on yours, his tongue circling your nipples, his cock inside you...

All you could think about and desire was Cregan.

"S-Seven hells..." You arched your head back, barely noticing how your body writhed and the moisture dripped down your inner thighs.

Cregan had to hold back an amused scoff at the silly curse that escaped your lips — even at the haze of pleasure, those good manners remained intact. Which was not a bad thing for him, the idea of corrupting you little by little set him on fire.

He stopped following your pace as the pleasure consumed you and you began to lose yourself in that haze. Slowing his fist until he stopped jerking off, Cregan hummed hoarsely, "Enough."

No. No, no, no... This could not be true.

Your eyes widened in panic, lifting your head to look at him, searching for some justification for that unexpected command. The moment you started to feel good about what you were doing, he forced you to stop, without further ado. The discomfort in your stomach had diminished, so had the pleasure that was building there. All your efforts to adapt to that situation had been in vain...

With a stern face, Cregan gestured to the floor, right in front of the armchair where he was resting. The meaning behind that gesture was no longer difficult to understand. You stood up, legs trembling and sticky thighs touching each other.

There were several brown hairs on Cregan's chest that matched the color of the ones he had on his groin. He did not bother to trim them, and now he assumed you would be a little bothered by the next task.

"What now, husband?" Kneeling naked in front of him and with your cheeks so flushed, you were as beautiful as a goddess.

"You are going to suck on my cock. Open wide your pretty mouth and let me fuck it until I am satisfied."

Watching you swallow hard and prepare yourself, Cregan grabbed the base of his fat cock and waited for you to part your lips wide so he could insert it inside, after whispering to you to be careful with the teeth.

Your mouth was warm, tight and velvety just the way he liked it, but so much better than the whores or naughty ladies who entertained him with a good fuck when he was still a single man. Oh, he had experienced many women over the years, and none of them made him feel so horny, so hungry to devour you whole, to breed you...

Pushing his free arm away from the chair, Lord Stark led it to your long hair. At first, he dedicated himself to just stroking the silver strands, a silent encouragement about how good you were being. When you choked the first time and your throat tightened around him, his self-control dissipated. The sound of gagging, the tears wetting your cheeks, the vibration it caused in his shaft...

Without thinking twice, he grabbed your scalp, keeping your head in that position and began to fuck your mouth, as if he were fucking the most luscious cunt. Low groans and the jaw clenching with each deep thrust.

You felt like a low-value whore, as dirty as those Aegon frequently visited on the streets. In addition to the thick cock inside your mouth, your senses were confused by the mix of other stimuli together: the grip on your hair, the sounds of contained pleasure your husband made, the tears blurring your vision, drool dripping down to the floor...

"F-Fuck... This is much better than praying to your Gods, is not it? Using your brain and your pretty mouth for something actually useful, making your husband feel so fucking good..." He said between loud sighs, hips tilting forward until he reached the bottom of your throat, withdrawing just enough to give you a chance to breathe. "This is what you were made for, princess. This is why you became my wife. To feel pleasure with me. Also to be my little whore, not just to be the mother of my children."

Increasing the roughness of his grip, Cregan held your head still, making you swallow every inch of that shaft, its veins vibrating on your tongue before he pulled it out, not willing to waste a single drop until he was deep inside your cunt.

"So fucking good..." He did not care about giving you a second of rest or let you catch the breath. Cregan got up from the chair and grabbed you under both of his arms, catching you off guard and lifting you up, holding your back from behind while you wrapped the legs around his waist, your body acting on pure instinct.

Grabbing your waist with one hand and the other still on your back, Cregan walked to the bed, placing you on the mattress and climbing on top of you. His mouth soon found its way to your neck, licking and nibbling the soft skin, leaving marks that would need to be hidden by fur coats the next day, to avoid the curious and amused gazes of the servants.

Your whines were soft, but trembling. Each time Cregan sank his teeth into random parts of your neck, he also ran his tongue over the sore spot, hands running over the bare curves of your figure, going up to your breasts and then going down to your folds. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how wet that pretty little cunt is? Dripping for me..."

"I do... I do." You gripped his shoulders, burying your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his fingertips tease the outer lips of your core.

Stopping biting your skin, Cregan grabbed your chin, focusing on caressing you with his other palm. "Do you want this? Tell me, wife. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need."

You wanted to be obedient, you wanted to do your duty, to be a good wife. Wanted to make your family proud, to honor your mother's religious teachings, to be a good Lady of Winterfell...

No. That was not what you wanted anymore — at least not only those things.

You needed more. You needed to feel. You longed to feel all that and more.

That was exactly what you had needed all that long time, that was what Cregan had waited for... You wanting. You desiring.

No longer out of duty, it was not out of blind obedience... It was out of desire. Out of lust. You wanted to feel Cregan's cock stretching you. You wanted him to teach you everything. You wanted to see stars when he finally spilled the cum that would breed you very soon.

You desired Cregan fucking you so good, like Viserys never fucked Alicent and like Aegon never fucked Helaena.

"I need your cock, Cregan..." You whispered with wide eyes, begging like a puppy, pupils dilated and eyelashes fluttering. "I want you to fuck me. I need this."

A small, dark smile appeared on Cregan's face, his cock throbbing at hearing those words spoken with such submission and intensity at the same time. He did not wait a second longer, pulling your chin closer to his, crashing his lips against yours.

The taste of your spit was still strong during the kiss, tongues wet and tangling with each other without any exact coordination, as sloppy as your blowjob had been — not that Cregan really minded that...

"Mmm, Gods..." You pulled away from his mouth so you could whimper in pain mixed with pleasure when Cregan shoved two fingers inside you at once. Luckily, your folds were wet enough to make the stretching less painful than it might have been if you had not been well prepared.

“Did you like that?” Cregan whispered softly, arching his fingers upward to hit the right spot inside your walls, those thick fingers pressing and prodding it with their tips. “So soft inside… And all mine."

You just bit your lower lip and nodded, the typical innocent face now looking so naughty. It was quite a sight, the way you were melting for him made him feel even more hot.

The sound of your startled little cry when he suddenly turned you around was like music to his ears. You had been caught off guard, heart skipping a beat as he placed a hand under your stomach to try to put you in a position that could be similar to that of some four-legged animal. "Get on all fours."

In terms of real practices, that was new to you. During all the nights of sex the two of you had together, Cregan was the one who got on top while you faced him, legs open to accommodate him there without either of you having to put any more effort than necessary.

In theoretical terms, though, that was not unknown. The countless tapestries of the Red Keep sometimes contained inappropriate embroidery, showing intense acts between men and women. In some of those tapestries, you had already seen some different sexual positions, which at the time did not cause you interesting reactions other than a simple frown.

However, at this point, you were more than willing to experience whatever was coming your way, lust already speaking louder than your shame and prudishness.

Straightening up into the position, you held a breath as Cregan positioned himself behind your back, both large palms cupping your ass cheeks to spread them and expose both of your holes.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, all wet and dripping onto the bedsheets. He focused on licking it first, sticking his tongue out and running it from your clit to your entrance. The sweet juices wet his entire face while he grabbed the ass cheeks wide open, caressing and bouncing them, delighting listening to your loud moans.

The feeling of his tongue was perfect, licks so sloppy and delicious, teasing your swollen clit and then bringing his face closer to your puckered hole, spitting on it and licking it with great delicacy and concentration.

As you were already becoming a whiny mess and your arousal began to drip down your thighs, Cregan lifted his upper body, getting on his knees on the mattress and rubbing his own cock. You did not need more stimulations, already finding yourself wet enough, although Cregan did not mind spitting on your ass, the saliva running from there until it reached your clit and getting your skin sticky.

Sighing in anticipation and gripping the bedsheets tightly while Cregan lined himself up at your entrance. His fat cock brushed there a few times, teasing it before pushing inside and hitting you hard.

"C-Cregan!" The violent intrusion hurt more than expected, your knuckles now white from gripping the fabric of the sheets.

Meanwhile, Cregan rolled his eyes back in his head, growling lowly and gripping your hips. Your tight cunt tightening around him felt so overwhelming, turning his brain almost into a mess. It was so warm, so tight, so wonderful...

His grip on your waist tightened as he began the thrusts. They were deep and rough, hitting the bottom non stop. "Fuck... That little cunt feels so good. You take me so well, princess."

The guilty conscience you carried every time you even caught yourself thinking about your husband was completely gone. Gone for good in the moment Cregan's movements intensified, hard and slow just the way he liked it. Just the way he knew you would like it too and that would make you feel like you were in the Heavens.

If you wanted so badly to beg for the mercy of the Seven, to beg them to grant you the gift of pregnancy... Then he would prove to you that there was nothing better than spending most of the free time fucking with him, letting him fill your womb with his seed until you got pregnant — and even when you were already carrying his heir.

"Gods, Cregan..." You pressed your face into the pillow and moaned loudly, your cries matching Cregan's groans and the sounds of his balls slapping against your thighs. "It is s-so g-good..."

Cregan's grip loosened for a moment so he could give you a hard slap to your ass followed by more two, a small smirk on his lips as you cried out louder, your ass bouncing with the impacts. Your cunt tighten and clenching, practically sucking on his cock and driving him crazy, consumed by lust and possessive thoughts.

Those damn friends of his would soon know that you were pregnant with his child, they would see your hips get wider and your tits get heavier. Damn, imagining them bigger and full of breast milk was such a temptation... He could not wait to see you riding on his lap, your breasts right next to his mouth. He could suck their milk and squeeze them, drops splashing on his face...

And your belly swelling, living proof that you had received a great amount of his cum very well.

"You will be fucked by me every night. I will cum inside that pretty cunt until my cum is dripping down your legs and dirtying the castle corridors." Cregan leaned his own body down until your back was against his chest, the intense pace of his thrusts not wavering for a second. "Is that what you want, princess? To be fucked by me all the time? To be your husband's little whore?"

Although the question was rhetorical and he did not expect a concrete answer, you moaned desperately, your core starting to spasm when Cregan pulled your hair and slapped your ass again. "Yeah! Please, Cregan!"

Reaching down to the swollen bud and rubbing his rough fingers against it, Cregan pushed you over the edge, your loud, shaky moan echoing through the room and startling the servants who were passing by in that hallway.

Tears streamed down your face and your mind turned empty of any real thoughts, already in disarray and focused only on cumming on him.

It did not take so long for Cregan to reach his climax as well, keeping stroking your clit and moaning, his hips stuttering until he finally filled you with thick loads of the white liquid. "Fuck..." He sighed, giving three final thrusts and only stopping after the overstimulation.

Pulling out of your hole, Cregan lifted himself up enough to see your ass sticking up in the air. He spread both of its cheeks, just like he had done earlier, licking his lips at your cunt, all swollen and sticky with his cum. Using two fingers and thrusting them inside you, he pushed his own seed deeper, wanting to make sure none of it went to waste.

Your whimper caught him off guard, a pang of guilt aching in his heart at seeing you all trembling and weak. You looked a beautiful little thing, but he also knew that you were not used to such intensity.

"Hey... it's alright, princess." Cregan assured, laying down next to you and carefully turning you over. As soon as he snuggled you against his large chest, he left a kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the natural scent mixed with the smell of sweat and the one of the after sex. "You were so good, sweet wife. So good for me..."

You nodded, not knowing what else to say. Your body was too trembling to even try to ask your husband any questions. Despite the fact that you saw yourself very dirty and unworthy in the eyes of the Seven right now, all you wanted to do was get some rest, cuddling in Cregan's strong arms and wondering how your mother would feel if she knew about the depravities that had happened during that night.

Anyway, anything about that was a concern for the next morning. At that moment, you just wanted to sleep and pray in silence for the Gods to postpone the future pregnancy a little bit longer, a part of you wishing to fuck like that with Cregan over and over again before you were bred.

[entitled-fangirl]

Spitfire.

Harry Castillo x reader

Summary: Harry decides he needs someone with more personality. When the band for his next gala quits unexpectedly, Lucy has a connection to a singer for him. A good one. One that's a little spitfire.

Warnings: cursing, sexual tension and remarks, SPOILERS to Materialists

Masterlist

.................................................................

“How’d the date go with Brenda?” 

Harry stared at Lucy, mouth opening and closing a few times. “Honestly, Lucy? I think this whole matchmaking thing isn’t working like I thought.”

Lucy frowned. “Why? Every thing about her was perfect for you. What did I miss?”

“She just… had no personality.”

“You didn’t specify that in your non-negotiables.”

“I know. It’s not anything you did. It’s just,” he sighs, rubbing at his forehead, “I have too much going on at work. How about we pause the dates until I get everything settled?”

Lucy nods. “Of course.” She writes something down before pausing. “Even with our past and all, I hope you know you can tell me stuff. Confide in me. As a friend. Or an employee. Whatever is easiest.”

He considers it, then almost denies it. But there’s some pull that is forcing the words out. He leans back in his chair. “Alright.” He takes a long drink. "I love my brother. I do. But with him being a newlywed, I'm picking up the slack at the business. Tonight is this big gala we're hosting. The band quit at the last minute, I don't have a date-"

"-Oh. I can help with that."

"Lucy," he warns. "I don't need a date."

"No, no. I meant the other thing. The one before that. The band." At his confused expression, she tore the corner of a paper and began writing. "A friend of mine sings on the weekends at the lounge down the street."

He leans forward curiously. "Which one?"

"Mountainside lounge."

"Oh. She any good?"

"Well, Harry. I wouldn't suggest her if she made my ears bleed, now would I? I will warn you. She's got… a lot of personality.

He takes the torn paper like it's gold. "Thank you. I fear I owe you one."

"Maybe just one more date? I got this really beautiful woman-"

"-Alright. Bye, Lucy." He stands, exiting the restaurant with more pep in his step.

The paper between his fingers weighs on him. An email address. Interesting.

…

You reread the email with a puzzled brow. Lucy really suggested you to this guy? To the Castillos? 

It's professional, but you can sense the desperation in his secretary's tone. Usually, you'd decline. But something about it has you replying back.

Within minutes, they gets back to you.

And you're set to sing on Saturday. You frantically call your accompanist. When they say they can't make it, you managed to get your roommate to do it. She's far too good at the piano anyway to not use that skill anywhere.

…

You set up without seeing a single Castillo. Only the wait staff and the planning committee. They help you as much as you need. It was kind, but you were hoping to at least see the guy that hired you before the party.

You had put way too much thought into your outfit, just like you always do. Singing at the lounge on the weekends paid for a few fancy dresses. Ones way out of your price range. You use that to your advantage a lot.

Like tonight.

You present yourself like you're one of the most esteemed singers in NYC. In reality, you and your roommate barely make ends meet.

But for tonight, you can live it up a little.

It was like every other joint you've sang at. Men ogle you a bit too much. The women give forced claps after a few songs. You're used to the steady routine. 

Half way through the night, you take a small break. You giggle to the side with your roommate turned accompanist until a voice breaks the conversation. "Excuse me, I was hoping to get your ladies a drink."

You pause, lip tight at you stare at your roommate. Another one of those pervy guys hoping to take you home.

But when you turn to look at him, you don't get that vibe at all.

His eyes are far too kind.

"Oh. I can't drink," you nod, "bad for the voice."

"Oh, I'd definitely take a drink," your roommate interrupts. 

The man grins and nods. "I can do that." His eyes set back on you. "Water then for you?"

"Yeah. Warm."

His eyes stay on you a little too long before he turns back to the crowd, disappearing to get those said drinks.

"He's fine as hell," your roommate teases. "If you don't fuck him, I will."

"Oh my god," you whisper-yell. "Keep it in your pants. We're working."

"You're working. I'm pitching in a favor from last Monday."

Last Monday. A sleazy bar fight started by someone getting a little too close to your roommate and you were the only one that did something about it. You're still sporting a wide bruise on your leg from getting knocked down.

"You don't owe me anything for that. C'mon."

"Well, no one else did anything until you fucking absorbed the first hit-"

"Okay. Stop. We'll talk about this later. Just… be professional for a few more hours?"

She sighs. "Fine."

In perfect timing, a tall glass on warm water is sat on the piano in front of you. You can feel him behind you, tie barely brushing your back before he's away from you once again. 

"- and I got you a bit of champagne. Hope that wasn't a bad choice."

Your roommate takes it with greedy hands. "It's perfect. Thank you, Mr…"

"Harry. Harry Castillo."

You freeze, shoulders tightening. "Oh," you push out. "You're Lucy's… friend."

He seems to stiffen up too. "Yeah. Something like that."

"I only meant… you're the one that hired me?"

He relaxes at that, turning on the facade again. "Exactly so. She had good things to say about you."

"I think you were just desperate for a singer."

He laughs. "Maybe so. But you weren't a bad choice in any sense."

You lean against the piano. "I've been told I'm often a bad choice."

His brows raise. "Well, certainly not about your voice." He takes a moment to look at his shoes, recalling a thought. "Lucy did tell me you were a spitfire, though."

"She said that?"

He laughs and nods, content to get a little reaction out of you. "You disagree?"

You consider his words, fighting back and forth with yourself. Professionally, you were calm, cool and collected. Outside of work? A bull in a china closet. "'M not sure."

He keeps a subtle grin on his lips, puppy dog eyes trained on you. "You seem pretty tame."

You can feel the arousal work it's way down your spine to between your legs. 

And with that, he taps the piano lightly like a send-off. "I'll enjoy hearing you the rest of the night, little songbird." And he steps away, businessman facade turned on high as he grins and shakes a man's hand like he hadn't turned your world on its side.

Your head slowly turns to your roommate, whose eyes are trained on the sheet music in front of her. 'Holy fuck,' she mouths, not having the courage to look at you after that.

You exhale, unsure of what to think. He's far too charming, alarmingly so. And yet here without a date. It's odd.

You take a little longer than you should've to collect yourself before beginning the second half of the night.

You know Harry's eyes are on you.

…

As the event comes to a close, you decide to pack up early. You have a busy day tomorrow and your voice needs to rest. 

You help your roommate pack the sheet music carefully, preparing yourself to say forced goodbyes and shake a few hands. 

You can feel Harry's presence before he even says a word. 

"The songbird has a bedtime," you start first, not bothering to look up at him.

God, you know he's grinning. "Good. A songbird needs beauty rest. I can't see how looking so… radiant wouldn't require hours of sleep."

You hum, finishing up. But he catches your arm and places a piece of paper in your hand. 

You pause, finally turning your head to see him watching you like you're an addiction he has a craving for.

And your eyes dart to the paper, seeing it as a folded check. "Mr. Castillo, you already paid-"

"I know. Think of it as a tip. Tonight was wonderful and you made it so."

Your head tilts, eyes flashing with something. "You trying to tame me, Mr. Castillo?"

"No," he whispers, inching a bit closer, "No, I wouldn't dare." He takes a moment, decided where his bravery lies. Then, he closes the distance, kissing your cheekbone and then kissing your hand. "Goodnight."

…

The poor taxi driver. Your roommate could not contain her excitement. "He was like ALL over you! GOD the gorgeous babies that man would make with you! Please tell me you got his number!"

"No," you scoff. "I was working. This was all work related."

"Nothing about that man's eyes screamed work related."

…

The next day, there's a bit of a headache you're nursing. You're not sure why. Maybe a lack of sleep. Maybe the stress of the day before. But you stumble into the kitchen and start making the same shitty breakfast you always have. 

"Oh yeah, I said I'd split that job with you from last night," you remind your roommate. 

She laid across the couch, seemingly in the same mental position as you. Hand over her forehead. "Don't worry about it. Just buy me a couple drinks next time we're out."

You hum. "Well, I even got a tip. How about I at least split that with you?"

She sits up a bit. "How much?"

You shrug. "Haven't looked."

She's already darting for your coat pocket where you left it last night. She scrambles, pulling it out and unfolding it. You see her eyes open wide. "Holy shit."

"What?"

Her eyes just stay on the page. "Like Holy shit."

"Oh my god, just-" you round the counter, peering over her shoulder at it. Then it's your turn to gawk. "Fuck."

You're dialing the number at the top left of the check quickly, spatula in one hand as you nurse your scrambled eggs, phone in the other. 

"You've reached Castillo Enterprises. How may I help you today?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi. I need to talk to Harry Castillo."

"Oh. Well, is this a matter of canceling an appointment or meeting?"

"No. I need to speak to him about a matter-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Castillo is a busy man. Shall I take a message?"

"No. No. I'll just… forget it. Thank you."

You drop your phone on the counter, eyes trained on the pan on the stove. 

The odds of a busy man like him calling you back is far too slim. There was no point in leaving a message. 

No. You learned years ago that most things can just be taken care of in person.

So you finish your breakfast, rushing to look decently professional before getting in your car. 

…

Castillo Enterprises is a huge fucking building. One you can't see the top of when you're standing in front of it. 

It's all glass, and you see your reflection staring back. You're far from what you looked like last night, but you'd at least managed to slap a little makeup on before you left. 

Clutching your purse, you take a deep breath and step inside. 

You go to the first desk you see, the one placed in the middle of the room for lost souls like yourself. "Hi, I'm here to see Harry Castillo?"

The secretary is a young girl, one who clearly hates confrontation. "34th story. Elevators are that way."

So off you are again, check weighing heavily in your purse. 

You stumble your way around to another desk. A secretary you recognize the voice of. You know you're getting closer since she's the one you spoke on the phone to. "Hi-"

"-You're the woman on the phone," she acknowledges. "As I said before, Mr. Castillo is very busy. He can't see you today."

"I know that but I just need to return a check that was written to me."

Her eyes suddenly widen with realization. "You're the singer from the gala. Sorry, but we can't accept that check back."

"Why not? There's nothing wrong with it."

"Mr. Castillo told me not to accept a returning check from you if you were to come in today."

You gawk for a moment before you get angry. "You know what? Where the fuck is he?"

"As I said before-"

"No. Where is he right now?"

There's a silent standoff that's broken as quickly as it starts. "Cathy, get the Westons a meeting with me t-" Harry pauses, eyes set on you. "Hi," he breathes. 

You scoff. "Ten thousand dollars? Are you fucking serious?"

His face falls, confusing written clearly over it. "What do you m-"

"Don't!" You growl. You dig the check out of her purse, holding it out between two fingers. "Take it back."

He recoils from it like it's poisonous, hands up. "I already gave it to you."

"Really? The fuck are you trying to do, be my sugar daddy? You don't even know my fucking name."

There's a moment where he looks around, a bit embarrassed to be making such a scene at his work. But another part of him doesn't care. His main focus is the woman in front of him. His voice is careful and calculated. "I was only trying to appreciate a songbird. Forgive me if I was too forward. But please, accept it this once."

"For what?"

"Hm?"

Your eyes take in his dark blue suit, tailored just perfectly for him. "What… what do you want me to do? What are you paying me for?"

He frowns. "What? No. It's just… spending money. For you. I… I was doing something nice."

"No one is that nice."

He pauses. "God, you really are friends with Lucy, aren't you?"

"The fuck does that mean, Castillo?"

"Means you're untrusting! Just take the check."

"No," you push, holding it out again. "I don't want it."

When he recoils again, you take it back, holding it with both hands now. "I'll fucking tear it up all over this office floor."

He shrugs. "Fine. I'll mail you another by the end of the day."

"Fuck you."

He laughs. Actually laughs at that. "Consider me charity and I'm asking a favor of you."

You pause. 

"Just listen to my proposal. Accept the money-"

You scoff.

His head tilts. "- or go on a date with me."

The paper in your hands suddenly feel much heavier than it was before. 

At your pause, he shrugs. "Or do both."

"No," you scoff. "No. That is ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about that?"

"I'm making a scene in the middle of the richest enterprise in New York in front of the richest man in New York, and you're asking me on a date?"

He nods. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You ask genuinely.

He shrugs. "I'm all business. I need a little more liveliness in my life."

"And you think I'd do that for you?"

"You already have."

You consider all of it. Your voice calms, "You can't tame me, you know."

He nods, "I would never try to."

And with that, you begin to tear the check into little pieces. The rug catches them, the dark gray contrasting with the little white papers. And he watches. Not the peices fall. But you.

You pull the strap of your purse higher on your shoulder and storm your way past him, content with your victory. 

But you pause, huffing as you turn and kiss him on the cheek. "Pick me up at 8."

He listens to your shoes against the expensive tile until you're gone.

"Yes ma'am," he whispers to himself.

................................................................

[super-ion]

I didn't react well this morning.

I mean... no... I'm not going to finish that thought. I don't have an excuse.

And today of all days. The one day where I have meetings and deadlines and presentations all fucking day. I spent the entire commute this morning coming up with a wholly inadequate text of "Let's get coffee after work".

And then when I checked my phone at lunch was just a single letter reply of "k" that had me on edge all day long.

I already knew Amelia was a shapeshifter. It's kind of hard not to notice all those little moments when her attention slips, maybe her eyes are mismatched, maybe her chin isn't quite right. It happens when she's tired.

I guess I just didn't know exactly what kind of shapeshifter until this morning.

I never said anything about it. It seemed like it would be rude to bring up and maybe make her feel unwelcome.

She's a really good roommate.

Maybe...

Okay, so I'm in our favorite bakery right now and the cashier didn't even have to take my order before he started picking out one of those weird ube doughnuts that Amelia likes. He hands me the bag with a knowing smile.

Maybe there's more to this than me not wanting to go through the ordeal of finding a new roommate.

Maybe I don't want to lose a friend.

Maybe I've been wanting more than that?

I step back out into the early autumn sun and start making my way down to the park.

I smooth down the fabric of my skirt. Amelia helped me pick it out when I realized I didn't have any business formal clothes. She... well, she helped out with shopping. Back when it was horrible and terrifying.

I think she was one of the first people I came out to. Three months into our current living arrangement and the whole house of cards of my gender identity came crashing down around me...

No. Today's not about me.

Today. Right now. Is about me telling Amelia that it's okay. Whatever she is, that mass of eyes and tentacles, it's fine. I accept her for who she is because she did exactly the same for me.

I arrive at the park and there she is. Six foot three, golden skin practically glowing in the afternoon light. She's like a goddess.

She's dressed for the gym, tank top and leggings and slightly mussed hair. She only works out when she's nervous.

Seeing me, she plucks headphones from off of her head and stands to greet me with a strained smile.

"Hey," she says, handing me a cup, wet with condensation.

"Hi," I reply back. I take a sip of the coldbrew, half milk with the tiniest bit of vanilla.

I heft the bag of pastries.

See? This is fine. Perfectly normal routine. Two roommates out for a walk in the park. Two roommates that have eachother's orders memorized...

We start down the path. Tense silence stretches out. I should say something. One of us needs to say something.

"So..." she begins, finally.

"I love you!"

We both freeze. She blinks at me, mouth slightly parted in startlement as my face rapidly heats.

Probably not the best way to start this conversation, but I guess I'm committed now.

"Bottom line up front," I say. "I love you."

(Wow... that feels really good to say out loud...)

"You've been an amazing friend and I couldn't ask for a better roommate and I think I've fallen in love with you and I guess I want you to know that regardless of how else this conversation goes."

"Okay," she replies. "Wow... I'm... I wasn't expecting that, but okay..."

She relaxes. I didn't realize how much tension she was holding until her shoulders droop in relief.

Then she grins at me. Sweet and goofy and bashful.

"Okay," she repeats. "I guess I owe you an explanation. Let's start from the beginning..."

You scream, seeing a monster in place of your roommate. "Yeah," it says, staring back, "not my best morning."

[bloodyjuls-blog]

NOT SO BAD

P1 OF NOTHING MUCH

(Russo's sister X Leah Williamson)

Winter in London was beginning to subside, but the cold remained deeply ingrained within Kay. Life with Leah was more loving than ever: attention, tenderness, unexpected smiles. But for Kay, guilt followed her, or rather, the lack of it. The doctors had said she would never walk again. But the constant rehabilitation, the strength with which Kay faced the pain day after day, was beginning to bear small fruits. A slight tingling in her thighs, then an involuntary twitching… until one morning, as Leah helped her change, Kay felt something new. “Wait,” Kay murmured, looking down at her legs. “What’s wrong?” Leah asked, worried. “Wiggle my toes. … touch them.” Leah, puzzled, knelt and gently touched Kay’s right foot. To her surprise, the little toe moved. Kay burst into tears. “Did you see it? It moved!” Leah immediately hugged her, unable to hold back her tears. “I saw it, my love. I saw it.”

Although it was a moment of hope, it also brought with it a new kind of pressure. Kay became obsessed with recovery, multiplying her exercises, seeking out new clinics, and new techniques. She wanted to walk, needed to. To show everyone—her family, Alessia, the world—that she wasn't a burden. Leah, however, was starting to feel displaced. Although she understood, it also hurt. One evening, while preparing dinner, Leah broke the silence. “Kay… can we talk?” Kay, sweating and with her hands shaking from the last routine, barely looked at her. “Now?” “Yes. It's important.” Kay nodded and settled into the dining room chair. Leah sat across from her. “I love you, Kay. And I'm so proud of you, for everything you're doing… but I feel like you're drifting away.” “I'm not drifting away,” Kay responded defensively. “I'm trying to get my body back. I don't want to depend on you forever.” “And who told you you're alone in this?” Leah raised her voice for the first time. “I'm here because I want to, not because I have to!” “What if I never walk? Will you still be here?” Leah looked at her pained. “Of course, I am. But you don't seem to believe that. And that hurts, Kay.��� Kay lowered her gaze. The silence weighed heavily. She said nothing. Leah got up, went to the bedroom, and closed the door.

A few days later, Leah received an unexpected call: Alessia wanted to stop by the apartment. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Kay asked, already tired of the back and forth with her sister. “She's not coming alone,” Leah explained. “She's here with her partner, Nora. They want to talk to you.” “Now they see me as a person. Because I have something to show?” “It's not that.” “It's not that?” Kay repeated sarcastically. “Let's see how long the pity lasts this time.” Leah didn't insist further. Kay reluctantly agreed.

Alessia entered with her gaze lowered, a gesture unusual for her. Beside her, Nora—tall, with a calm smile and warm gaze—gently ushered her inside. “Hi, Kay,” Alessia said softly. “What are you doing here?” “I came to talk. To listen, too.” Kay crossed her arms, still wary. Nora took a step forward. “I asked him to come. I told him how Leah saw you… and how I saw you since I learned everything you'd been through.” “So?” “And I asked her if she'd ever really looked at you.” Nora turned to Alessia. “And she didn't know what to say.” Alessia swallowed. Her voice trembled. “I never knew how… to love you as a sister. I was always selfish. And cruel. Because I couldn't stand feeling like I wasn't enough. I thought if you shone, I'd lose my light.” Kay was frozen. The words hurt… but they also felt real. “And now… are you coming because she told you to?” she asked, pointing at Nora. “No,” Alessia said. “I'm coming because I don't want to continue being the sister who destroyed the only person who ever loved me without asking for anything.” Kay didn't respond immediately. Leah, behind it all, watched silently. Kay looked at her sister and, for the first time, didn't feel anger. She felt sadness. “I don't know if I can forgive you. Not yet.” “I'm not asking that. Just… that you let me start over.”

The news that Kay was starting to move her legs brought her parents to London. It wasn't her idea. It was Alessia who convinced them. Kay didn't know if she was ready… but she agreed. The meeting was tense. Her mother carried a bouquet. Her father avoided direct gaze. "Kay," her mother said, sitting down slowly. "You look… strong." Kay looked at her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "I didn't come to fight," her father chimed in. "I came to listen to you." Kay watched them as if they were ghosts from a past life. "Listen to me? Now?" "Yes," her mother said, her voice breaking. "We didn't know how much pain we had caused you… until we heard from Alessia. And… we want to apologize."

Kay felt a lump in her throat. “Forgive me for what? For the years of comparisons? For laughing at me? For not coming to see me when I came back from the hospital unable to walk?” Her father was crying. He didn't hide it. Her mother, too. “For all of that. And more. Because we weren't parents. We were judges. And we never saw the incredible woman you became.” Kay began to cry, unable to stop herself. “I just wanted someone to tell me… that I'm worth something.” Her mother knelt in front of her, holding her hands. “You're worth more than we ever knew how to tell you.”

As the months passed, Kay went from small movements to standing with the help of parallel bars. Then took her first steps with a walker. The process was slow, painful… but every step was a victory. Leah was there for it all. The setbacks, the cries, the breakthroughs, the small celebrations. Their love never wavered. One night, as they watched the sunset from a park, Kay clung to her arm and managed to walk three steps unaided. Then he looked up at her, breathing heavily. "I'm walking, Leah." Leah didn't respond. She held her tightly, crying, kissing her as if life had begun from that moment on. "And I… am with you. For every step you take."

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ just to sit outside your door

( oliver aiku x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — I REVIVED THE LOST OLIVER FIC!!

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — oliver aiku x fem! reader, nicknames 'angel' and 'princess' , roommate! oliver, playboy! oliver, mutual pining, mention of drinking & clubs ( not explicit ), i really dont know what else, not proofread!!

♡ synopsis — mints and closed doors. that's what separated you and oliver aiku from being a couple. well, that and the fact you two swear there's nothing going on.

── .✦ i slithered here from eden, just to sit outside your door

The hallway always smelled like cologne and someone else's perfume. You could tell if she wore floral or fruity before you even turned the key. 

Tonight, it was jasmine and vanilla, and the second you stepped inside, you spotted stilettos tossed carelessly by the door.

"You're an angel, you know that?" Oliver's voice rang out from the couch.

He was lounging like a king, shirt half-unbuttoned, lips slightly swollen, hair messed in a way that said he didn't care enough to fix it—but still looked unfairly good. 

There was a glint in his eye, casual and amused, like he already knew you’d brought the mints again.

You held up the fresh pack and dropped them on the console. "You're a menace."

He gave a half-smile, tossing a lazy glance over his shoulder. "You love me."

You didn't answer. You just walked past him, caught a glimpse of a red bra hanging off the back of the couch, and sighed.

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you a second later.

It wasn’t always like this. 

When you first moved in, you thought the roommate thing might be a disaster. Oliver was… well, Oliver. 

Star athlete. Incorrigible flirt. The kind of guy who flirted with bartenders, professors...

and probably someone’s grandmother if he was bored enough.

But you two clicked.

Fast.

You had the same favorite ramen spot. You both hated doing dishes. 

You shared late-night ramen on the floor when the fridge broke, binge-watched entire series in one weekend, and somehow, somewhere along the way, your routines became entwined. 

You didn’t mean to get this close.

But now?

Now you were his best friend.

And he was yours.

Even if your parents didn’t believe you. 

Even if his teammates kept raising eyebrows every time they caught you two curled up on the couch together.

Even if you had to answer the same questions over and over:

“No, we’re not dating.”

“He’s like my brother. Except less annoying.”

“Yeah, we cuddle. It’s not weird.”

It was domestic. It was comfortable. It was safe.

But it was also dangerous, in a way you didn’t let yourself think about too often.

The first time someone caught you dancing together, it was slow.

You were at a team party, someone’s birthday. Music was low, drinks were flowing, and the lights were warm and golden. 

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping something sugary, when Oliver appeared in front of you, hand extended.

“Dance with me,” he said simply.

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stalling.”

He didn’t wait for your answer. He just tugged you into the center of the room where the couples had started swaying. 

You let him. Of course you did. 

How could you say no when he looked at you like that?

His hand settled on your waist. Yours looped around his neck. 

Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, as they always did. 

The music was slow, but your heart was racing.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You scoffed, tried to look away, but he leaned closer. You felt his breath on your cheek.

“I like this,” he said softly.

You pretended not to hear him.

Later, the music picked up. Someone cranked the volume. 

The beat dropped, and suddenly the living room turned into a makeshift dance floor. Your drink was cold in your hand, and your body was warm from the wine and the way Oliver’s hand slid around your waist like it belonged there.

He pulled you into him, moving in sync with the music. You danced like you’d done it a thousand times. Like you knew each other’s rhythms.

 Every touch was casual—except it wasn’t. Every brush of his fingers felt electric.

At some point, someone shouted over the music:

“Just kiss already!”

You and Oliver burst out laughing.

You didn’t kiss.

You went home together.

And, like always, you said goodnight.

And, like always, your doors shut behind you.

The date was your friend’s idea.

“You need to get out,” she said. “With someone who doesn’t leave bras on your couch.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed. The guy was nice. He wore cologne that wasn’t too strong. He had a nice smile.

But he wasn’t funny like Oliver. He didn’t know how to tease you without making you feel small. His laugh didn’t echo in your chest. His eyes didn’t make you forget what you were saying.

You picked at your food. Smiled when you were supposed to. But all you could think was:

He’s not him.

Oliver was at a club.

Loud. Crowded. Familiar. But something was off.

He leaned against the bar, drink untouched in his hand, staring out at the dance floor.

Someone touched his shoulder. “You look lonely, Aiku.”

He forced a smirk. “Just tired.”

A girl leaned in. Her perfume was heavy. Sweet. She touched his arm.

“Dance with me?”

He hesitated. Looked down at his phone.

No new messages.

Just a blank screen.

“I should go,” he said, more to himself than to her.

And he did.

He got home just before midnight. The apartment was too quiet without you. He paced for a bit. Changed into sweats. Brushed his teeth.

And then he heard the key.

He stood there as you opened the door, still in your dress, shoes in your hand. You looked surprised to see him standing so close. Neither of you spoke.

Then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rough. It was honest.

You dropped your heels with a soft thud and gripped the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer. The world narrowed to the feel of his lips, the way his hands cradled your face like you were something precious.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together.

Breathing heavy. Eyes locked.

“…Hi.”

He chuckled, lips brushing against yours. “Hey.”

You didn’t laugh this time. Neither of you did.

Because something had changed.

Something had always been there.

And now it was real.

You stood there with his forehead against yours, breathing in the same air, heart racing in your chest. His hands were still on your face, his thumb brushing your cheek like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Then—like someone flipped a switch—he took a step back. Scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna, uh… brush my teeth again. You still smell like that overpriced wine you love.”

You blinked. “And you still smell like desperation and club sweat.”

He grinned. There it was—his usual defense: banter.

“Nice to know I’ve still got it.”

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Night, princess.”

And just like that, the hallway was empty again. 

Two doors closed. 

One kiss hanging in the space between.

You didn’t sleep.

You tried. 

You lay there with the blanket kicked off, staring at the ceiling, arms folded across your chest like if you stayed still enough, your brain would follow.

It didn’t.

Because—holy sh*t. He kissed you. And you let him. You kissed him back. It wasn’t a maybe. It wasn’t a "what if."

It happened.

You sat up in bed, eyes wide in the dark.

“Did I actually…?”

You buried your face in your hands.

Oh my god. He kissed me. I kissed him. Oliver kissed me.

You got up.

His door opened before you knocked.

He looked like he’d been pacing. No shirt, just sweats slung low on his hips. His hair was all over the place. And he definitely hadn’t brushed his teeth again.

You stared at him.

“Were you waiting for me?”

He scoffed. “What? No. I just—heard your meltdown through the wall.”

Your stomach dropped. “You heard that?”

He smirked, leaning on the doorframe. “Word for word.”

You shoved past him into his room. “Okay. No. We’re talking about this.”

He closed the door behind you. “Didn’t know we needed to. You kissed me back.”

Your head whipped around. “You kissed me first!”

“Yeah, and you didn’t seem mad about it.”

He sat on the edge of his bed, arms braced behind him. “You wanna talk, let’s talk. Just don’t act like I ambushed you.”

You folded your arms. “So that’s what it was? Just... a heat of the moment thing?”

His eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t deflect. Didn’t crack a joke. He just shrugged, almost tired.

“No. It was a ‘you walked in, and I realized I didn’t wanna keep pretending I don’t want you’ thing.”

You went still.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this is. I just know I missed you tonight. And not in the roommate way. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when you got home, I didn’t think. I just… yeah.”

Silence settled between you. Not heavy. Just real.

“…Okay,” you finally said.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You took a breath. “So what now?”

He gave a half-laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. You tell me. I’ve never done this before. 

You know—wanting to be with someone and not immediately screwing it up.”

You walked over, standing between his knees. His hands naturally found your hips, and your fingers rested at the nape of his neck.

“Then let’s figure it out,” you said.

He looked up at you, smirked softly.

“So… are you gonna sleep in your room or mine tonight?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, Aiku.”

“I’ll leave the door open.”

this came to me in a dream (jk i was just thinking abt him)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[bigmacari]

Could you do a Mateo x fem reader? Just a fluff cuddle session!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

Mateo Manta x Fem Reader

☆ You two cuddle up after a long day of taking care of the inaminals.

☆Warning(s) None

☆Author Note(s) Sorry if this is out of character. I have played through Mateo's story, I just kind of...forgot it? 😭 I hope you enjoy <3

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

☆ You sighed, falling onto the living room couch, running a tired hand through your hair.

Today had been particularly harsh, leaving both you and Mateo to be incredibly exhausted and honestly? Kinda sore. It had been the inanimals grooming day, and like the lovely girlfriend you were, you decided to help Mateo. Little did you know, bathing, brushing, feeding, and nail clipping over twenty plus inanimals was a lot of fucking work.

Every single inanimal had their own routine, personality, and preferences. The amount of information you had to take in made your head spin a little. Of course, your boyfriend made sure to give directions clearly, which you're very grateful for, but that didn’t stop the dull ache that was forming in your back.

Honestly, you can’t even imagine how Mateo must feel having to do this every single day.

You know Mateo absolutely loves the inanimals, and wouldn’t trade the world for them, (that was one of the reasons you loved him so much after all), but you can’t help to wonder how stressed he must feel. This was not an easy job, after all, and you’ve learned that your boyfriend is stubborn when it comes to taking help from others. It's not like he takes many breaks either.

Now that you think about it, you don't think you've ever seen Mateo take a proper break. Sure, he's taken time to love on you and stuff, but you'd hardly count that as a break.

You were gonna have to change that.

With a determined huff, you get up to go find your boyfriend.

A few moments later, you see the back of the white-haired boy you were looking for. Mateo was currently playing with one of the dog inanimals, telling it to do different tricks and then giving treats after. You smile as he gives the dog some scratches on its head with a faint "Good boy."

You watch for a minute with a dumb lovestruck smile before deciding to interrupt the sweet moment.

"Hey, Teo!"

Mateo looks over his shoulder, halting his praise for the inanimal. Once he sees you, a big grin spreads across his face.

"Well, look who it is, my favorite human." He turns to you completely after giving the inanimal two more pets, then starts walking over to where you're at.

You immediately take the opportunity to wrap your arms around Mateo's neck, pulling him closer to you. He then slides his arms around your waist, enveloping you completely.

You two stay there for a while fitted like two puzzle pieces. Mateo gives a hum of satisfaction, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

"I wanted to say thank you again for helping today, I know it can be a lot, but it helped more than you could possibly imagine." Mateo lifts his head from your neck and gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You suddenly feel your face get warm.

"You don't have to thank me. You work so hard all the time. The least I can do is help, especially if it means you can catch a break." It was now your turn to give him a small kiss. "Which reminds me, are you free right now?"

Mateo, now sharing the same blush as you, lets you go (much to your despointment) and crosses his arms.

"Yea, I just got done feeding all the inanimals, actually. Though, now that I think about it, I probably should- ah!" Mateo feels a sudden pull on his sleeve.

"Great! Now, come-come!" You pull him to the couch, falling down on it dramatically while Mateo chuckles at your at your actions.

You hold out your arms for him, inviting him to come sit with you. He, of course, accepts and leans against you, wrapping a padded arm around your waist pulling you closer towards him.

Mateo lets out a soft sigh, and relaxing into your touch. It seems like he needed this more than you thought.

"I really should make sure the inanimals are alright..." Mateo says after a while, his voice soft and light.

You run a hand through his hair, making sure not to pull any knotts he may have.

"Mateo, I promise I'll keep an eye out, just take a rest okay?" You plead tenderly.

You give him kiss on the forehead, then another on the nose, and one more on the lips. Mateo returns the kiss, putting a gentle hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth. When you pull back, Mateo is looking softly at you, a blush very prominent on his tan skin.

"Alright, just for you, mi vida."

...

You're so good at this.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

[giuseppe-yuki]

i'm a feminist, obviously (but i really wouldn't mind him saving me)

sailor!kimi antonelli x pirate‘s daughter!reader

w.c.: 4.8k

warnings: attempted assault, curse words, blood (?)

summary: it‘s not so safe being the daughter of an infamous pirate lord- good thing you know how to fight. however, for some godforsaken reason, your father still assigns you one of his novice sailors as a “protector” of some sorts. obviously, you‘re no damsel in distress, but it’s kind of cute how hard he tries to protect you. so, you let him.

a/n: holy cow this idea has been marinating for like 6 months but i was too lazy to write it until today - anyways its loosely inspired by olivia rodrigo's unreleased song, prison for life :)

picture credits from pinterest :)

“kimi’s still being quite obvious, isn’t he?” doriane notes, nodding at the scene playing out in front of you both. 

you turn your head towards the general direction where doriane was pointing before your mouth splits into a grin. you watch in amusement as the new recruit wobbles his way across the damp mess hall, clearly still not used to life aboard a pirate ship, and plops down on a barrel next to one of your father’s cabin boys, luke. after a few glances around, he attempts to discreetly maneuver himself to face you from his spot on the barrel, even if that meant completely ignoring a confused looking luke who was in the middle of explaining something animatedly.  “mmm,” you hum in agreement, taking a swig of your ale, before sending a wink at kimi.

his amber eyes get real wide when he catches you looking back at him, and he almost falls off the barrel in his haste to turn around. 

your father’s pathetic attempts were not slick at all. it was actually quite obvious what he was doing - assigning you an “extra layer of protection.” ever since the alarming news of a rival pirate band, the "red bulls," had defeated the infamous “scuderia ferrari” clan and kidnapped the captain’s son, charles, your father had become increasingly wary of your safety, even on his own well-protected ships. 

as if you needed protection though - at the age of ten, you were giddily working the cannons and participating in hand-to-hand combat with the sailors. when you were twelve, you mastered knife throwing (which honestly came to you naturally) by throwing your hand-carved knives onto targets pinned on your father’s other two pretty vessels, "williams" and "aston martin”. by the time you turned sixteen, under the prideful gaze of your father, you routinely joined the crew in happily looting the cargo ships that were stupid enough to sail by your father's pirate armada.

it honestly seemed like a joke at first, considering you were always surrounded by people like your friend lia, from williams, who could easily take out a man twice her size, or doriane, who was under your father's mercedes crew, that knew twelve ways to kill someone with a spoon. when you mentioned it to doriane during your weekly sparring session, she almost keeled over from laughing. who was that little novice sailor supposed to protect you from when the boys at red bull were probably the ones that needed protection from you?

however, it was now clear that it wasn’t a joke. it seemed that he actually did have some skinny little sailor- who looked like he would lose a fight to the rats that lived in the galley- trailing around you, looking like a lost puppy. even worse- it seemed like he was obsessed with you. 

feeling put-off by the thought, you remove yourself from your seat between lia and doriane to head back to your cabin. maybe you can pen a letter to your father to change his mind.

they don’t even notice your leave as they continue bickering on the better weapon to use if you were ambushed. (dagger or pistol?)

you run through scenarios in your head to complain to your father about in order to dismiss kimi of this insipid job. the more you thought about it, he was more of a liability instead of a help. ambush? he’d probably be the first one to hightail it away. attempted kidnapping? yeah, his throat would probably be slit by the time he even noticed anything gone wrong. storm? no doubt he would likely be the one to fall overboard first. fire onboard? kimi would burn to a crisp. you were sure he couldn’t tell the sharp point or the butt of a sword even if he tried. 

as you float up the stairs back towards your cabin (perks of being captain’s daughter, you suppose), you giggle at the image of kimi scratching his head in front of a sword, trying to figure out which side was which.

distracted, you don’t notice until it’s too late.

a bulky gunner, outfitted with the signature green bandana marking him from your father’s aston martin ship, slips out of the shadows behind you and grabs your shoulders. it startles you, preventing you from making too much of a fuss before he slams you against the wall of the secluded staircase.

you add a new box to your mental list on how kimi was to give you a disadvantage - by distracting you via fake scenarios.

your skin stings from the rough wood digging into your back as he leans closer, horrid breath wafting into your nose. 

it’s obvious that he expects you to be the shivering damsel that you look like.

“hello there,” he spits into your ear. “you’re looking real ravishing darling.” 

you bite back your scoff, instead focusing your attention on slowly sliding your hands under your coat. 

this is why you always keep a dagger in your leather sheath nearby - men like these were always roaming your father’s ships. 

the gunner leans forward, fully intent on - quite rudely too - putting his lips on yours. 

you’re about to pull your dagger out from its hiding place to slit the man’s neck when a loud “HEY!” catches both of your attentions. 

you peer over the gunner’s shoulders to find none other than kimi, standing wide-eyed at the sight of the rather large man pushing you against the wall against your will. 

“unhand her.” he hisses with as much venom as he can muster (which wasn’t much, considering he was shaking like a leaf). 

when neither of you move, he scrabbles at his scabber for his novice sword - a pretty little thing that was silver and wood with engravings around the handle. 

he gives it a few experimental slashes at the gunner, warning him to back away. 

“get away from her,” kimi snips, borderline poking the gunner’s chest with the tip of the sword. 

the gunner’s brow wrinkles, and it seemed, at first, that he was going to fight back at kimi, who was holding a weapon he obviously didn’t know how to use. 

instead, he laughs, roughly pushing himself away from you and adjusting his green bandana.

“alright, alright, got yourself a little protector here, huh?” the gunner snorts, stepping back as kimi maneuvers himself around hulking man to stand guard in front of your figure against the wall. “didn’t realize you came with a puppy.”

he gives kimi one last mocking glare before he clomps away, boots thudding against the deck. 

you give the back of his a glare as he walks away, shoulders still rolling with that smug, heavy-limbed swagger. there’s no shame in any fibre of his being, and he doesn’t even look back. 

kimi doesn’t relax - not even when the gunner disappears around the corner, not when the tension lingers in the air like smoke. 

his sword is still raised, trembling just slightly, and you can see the wood of his handle is slick where his fingers are gripped, knuckles white. 

you feel a sudden warmth in your chest when you look at him with his terrible sword grip, along with a pang of guilt for underestimating how far he would go to protect you.

sighing, after you tuck your own dagger back into the hidden sheath, you reach up and pat his raised arm, coaxing him to relax a little bit. 

“thanks for doing that,” you say, watching him visibly deflate as the adrenaline in him runs out. 

he nods, avoiding eye contact. 

“yeah, i’m just trying keeping you- safe, that’s all.”

“mm,” you hum back, feeling charmed by his choice of words. “i think you really scared him off.”

kimi laughs a little, breathless and disbelieving as he tries to shove his sword back its scabbard. it takes him a few tries.

“you really think so?” 

you give him a bright nod, but your eyes start drifting back in the direction of the gunner. 

he probably thought that you were going to let him off easy.

“stay here,” you instruct kimi as you push off the wall, hands sliding into your coat for your dagger. 

he begins to stutter out justifications on why he should follow to protect you, but you give him a stern turn of your head.

“no, no, i insist, you should sit down,” you suggest, pointing to the wall. 

kimi looks a bit dazed, but he hesitantly slides down and takes a seat on a step of the stairs as you slip away.

the gunner’s green bandana is visible against the orangey-red backdrop of the setting sun sitting on line of crashing waves as far as the eye can see, which only makes it easier for you spot him out of the groups of sailors milling above the top deck.

when you reach him, you quickly swing your leg in a smooth arc against his ankles, send him crashing to ground roughly, mid conversation. his mate, another gunner that was usually aboard the aston martin, jerks back roughly at the sight of the captain’s daughter standing above his friend, who was now cursing on the floor.

“what the fuck-” the gunner grunts, rolling back, only to see you hovering over him with your dagger under his chin, shadow covering him like a looming figure. 

you allow the tip of your dagger prick his chin, drawing a few drops of ruby blood.

“hey bitch,” you say when sucks in his breath in fear, kicking him in the stomach with the sharp tip of your boot for good measure. “try that shit with me again and i’m throwing you overboard.”

“right - sorry, i’m sorry,” he stutters out, grasping at his stomach, desperately trying to catch his breath. 

you look over at his mate with your knife still out and trained at the gunner’s pulse point, and are pleased to see both men holding their hands out in peace and trying to scoot away.

nodding tersely in satisfaction, you slowly turn back around, but not before giving them an extra warning as an afterthought. 

“stay away from kimi, too.”

you decide to invite kimi over to your quarters afterwards, for a drink. 

it’s a “reward” for saving you from the crazy aston martin gunner, you say to him (and a little bit to yourself - you were supposed to not like him, for god’s sake!) 

kimi looks a little bit too ecstatic to be invited over into your little room.

he looks around your finely decorated quarters, brown eyes shining, as soon as he steps into the doorway. you know it must look like a massive upgrade from the usual dim and dark atmosphere where the sailor’s cots were hung down in the berth deck. 

you slide open a hidden compartment in your big mahogany shelf that your father plundered from a merchant ship before, smoothly sliding out a big glass bottle.

it’s sleek and expensive-looking, something that kimi didn’t expect from a pirate. 

you pour the rum into two red and white porcelain cups that proudly bore the pirate signet of the haas’ fleet - plunder from a successful attack from a few years back.

kimi is still standing, admiring pieces of artwork (that you proudly stole from half-destroyed ferrari ships when you were 14) when you set the cups down on your wooden desk, so you lead him gently away from the paintings before pushing him into velvet chair by splaying your hand on his chest and shoving him backwards lightly. 

he gulps when he sees the shaded liquid glowing in the light of the lanterns around the room. 

“you’ve had rum before, right?” you ask casually, sitting atop your desk in front of him. there was no way he hadn’t - most every pirate did by the time they were kimi’s age.

“yeah… i mean- no.” he stutters out, blinking at the liquid shaking in its glass as the ship navigates the rocky waves. “but how hard can it be, right?”

you know he must be a lightweight the second he knocks back the drink as if it was water.

“kimi!” you yelp, alarmed, quickly setting your cup down on the table. 

forget death by falling overboard. he would probably be the first one in the history of piracy to die by choking on rum. 

he sputters, teary eyed, but gives you thumbs up with a hardly reassuring grin. 

“s’good - it’s…smooth and has a little, um, bite.”

your look of concern dissolves into laughter.

after only one drink, the tips of his ears goes red, he starts grinning a little too wide, and his face, while slightly blushing when looking at you too long before, is now a slightly concerning shade of pink. 

he giggles as he recalls a story about stealing someone’s pocket money with his old best friend when he was younger, and buying a ransom’s worth of sweets to eat.

you’re starting to find him…a little cute, dare you say, even if he’s just supposed to be that little “protector” your father had hired in a laughable attempt to keep you safe. 

as he finishes his second drink, kimi’s little story suddenly turns into observations of your room, and he starts rambling about how soft your bed looks and how shiny the knobs of your desk are, which only make him even more endearing to you.

you are only snapped out of your daydreaming daze when he tries to adjust his sitting position on your chair, only to fall and almost crack his head on the bedpost of your bed. the half of the liquid in his cup splashes onto his scruffy linen top. 

“alright kimi,” you mutter, ripping his half-finished third cup of rum away from him, all the while forcing him to sit safely back on the chair.

“i think that’s enough rum for you.” 

his head lolls slightly, but he manages to keep his eyes trained on you as you fuss around him, peeling his dirtied shirt off to soak in water first, and second, clean up any spilled remnants of rum on the floorboards. the last thing you wanted was your father asking telling you off about your hidden supply of alcohol. 

“you’re warm,” he slurs, mumbling into your arms when you attempt to pull him up. 

on your third attempt of yanking him upwards towards the door, you finally let out a sigh and flop kimi down into your own bed instead, knowing that there was no way he would make it down to the sailor’s quarters himself. plus, it would keep him from accidentally ramming his entire head through the walls if he accidentally stumbles.

he giggles more, words getting more accented as he blabs incoherently. you think you hear your name in his random mutterings, and it easily turns your own cheeks pink. 

you chalk it up to the rum. you must be drunk or something. there’s no way you were blushing over his words.

before you can think about your actions - and its consequences - you sit on the bed, gently reaching out and run a hand through his hair.

he looks at you in a dopey grin, blinking slowly, before relaxing into the palm of your hand with a sigh. when it smooths over the nape of kimi’s neck, the coiled ringlets of his soft chocolate brown curls wind like vines around your fingers.

you stay like that, running your hands through his hair for a few beats of comfortable silence.

“hey, y’know, i got there just in time.” he murmurs, proud yet sluggish from the rum, referring to the inchident from earlier. “you were in trouble- i saw it!”

you smile back and choose not to correct him.

“yeah,” you reply softly, “lucky me.”

his fingers curl around yours before you are able to pull away - clumsy yet determined.

his eyes, glassy with its pupils blown wide, lock on yours like you’re a pearl in the depths of the ocean.

“if anybody hurts you, you know,” he whispers,  “i’ll- i’ll go to prison for life.” 

you almost laugh, given the fact that his words were no doubt tainted by the alcohol, but he looks serious.

before you can respond, he pushes himself upwards with a burst of energy and attaches his lips to yours. 

you kiss back, unsure, before you decide in the split second you feel his soft lips on yours - fuck it, maybe i do like him.

by the time you both pull back from the lack of air, lips shiny with spit, you change your decision. fuck it, you are sure you like him. 

when you wake up the next morning, sun streaming through the gaps of your wooden door, kimi is still curled up in a ball, sleeping, next to you. 

you can’t help but feel jealous of the fact that he still looks gorgeous, with long eyelashes that brush his cheeks and artfully tousled hair, even when his jaw was slack with a line of drool and his limbs are in an awkward jumble. 

you also can’t help but notice that the stuffy air in your cabin around you smells different - like fresh bread and plants instead of the constant salty spray of the ocean - which only meant one thing: you were in port. 

coming into port was one of your most favorite things in the world. it gave you a chance to retire you sea-legs and for once, walk on solid ground. when you had solid plunders, you father also allowed you to traverse through the markets by yourself to buy items that you usually didn’t have access to on board - fresh fruits, new jewelry pieces, novel toys, and your guilty pleasure - shiny weapons, undulled from the flesh of enemies. 

excited, you leap out of bed, ignoring kimi’s angry little grumbles from the waft of cold air that hits his bare back. 

you open the door to your cabin and begin to rush out, no matter that you were still dressed improperly in your nightgown. 

-only to run straight into a hulking figure.

at first, the figure is outlined by the bright sun, coat slightly flapping from the inland breeze, face hidden from the shadows. however, it’s the figure’s voice that gives it away. 

“nice morning, aye darling? we’re docked and the crew’s gone ashore,” your father says brightly, in the smiley voice he only reserves for you. “lia and doriane have been asking me all morning to come fetch you to go to the market with them.”

a surge of panic flows through your veins, semi-blocking half of the words that your father had relayed. if your father caught you with a boy in your cabin, much less the novice sailor that he had “secretly” assigned to you as a protector, the said boy would probably be dead before sunset.

“yeah, of course,” you respond, a little too quickly. “i think i’ll get dressed quickly and get in touch with them.”

leaning backwards slightly, you edge the door closed with your foot, hopefully blocking kimi on your bed from view. 

however, when you look back to your father’s face, you see that his smile has dropped slightly.

“what was that?” he asks, brow wrinkling. “did you sneak something in there? if it’s extra rum for the kitchen, i won’t be mad, it’s oka-”

your father’s words die in his throat when he pushes open the door behind you.

oh fuck.

probably woken up from your father’s booming words, kimi now sits, shirtless, in your bed. not aware that your father - his captain - was in the room, he adjusts the blankets, bleary-eyed, before calling out your name in a groggy voice.

this looked bad - really bad. 

you could already piece together the pieces of the puzzle that were probably in your father’s mind right now. waking up late…daughter in her nightgown…kimi- shirtless- on the bed… 

although you mentally prepare yourself, you can’t help but flinch when your father pushes past you into the room with a bang. 

“what the FUCK is going-” 

“okay father, i can explain,” you grit out, weaving around him to stand in front of a shell shocked kimi.

kimi hurriedly bolts out of bed, standing to attention at the sight of your angry father. 

“captain! sir-uh-i didn’t-! i mean, i don’t think..i-” 

“i gave him a little rum, but he spilled some on his shirt before passeing out,” you clarify over kimi’s efforts to explain himself. “nothing happened. he’s still here- to “secretly” protect me, or whatever you assigned him here to do,” you add on with a huff. 

if your father was surprised from your explanation or from the fact that you knew about his, quite frankly, pathetic attempt to protect you from harm, he didn’t show it. 

“sure,” he says, trailing off in a not-to-sure tone. 

he steps back towards the door slowly. 

“i’ll pretend i didn’t see anything. however, if i step inside this room again and find-” 

“alright, father,” you sigh, rolling your eyes, before you push him out the door, slamming it behind him. “i get it.”

when you turn back, kimi shakes like a flag flying in a storm. 

by the time you step off the boarding ramp and onto solid ground, kimi has stopped shaking. he trails behind you, even though he still vehemently denies being hired by your father to “protect” you. 

tina from your father’s aston martin ship had already tipped you off that lia and doriane had wandered into the market already, so you decide to make your own way through the portside town. 

it’s a pretty nice area, chock full of sellers haggling prices for different goods, marketboys waving their little newspapers, and women marching around with children and baskets full of groceries. 

you wave to a little girl as you walk past an apple stand, but her mother snatches her back before she has a chance to wave back. 

it doesn’t bother you though; townspeople were always wary of pirates - even the friendly-looking ones like alex and logan from your father’s williams ship. 

when you pass by town’s central tavern, a few drunken sailors that you recognize as your father’s sailing master, george, and along with an all-too-familiar man with locs, a bright red bandana, and a horse pin on his breast, stands outside. it’s a shock, considering you’ve always associated him with your father’s familiar three-pointed star and silver bandana. they howl in laughter, minds hazy with a joke that you didn’t hear and a stomach full of the town’s finest beer.

kimi mistakes the falter in your step as fear. 

within seconds, he has wrapped his arm around you, one hand on his scabbard. 

“don’t worry- i’ll keep you safe,” he promises. 

you want to laugh again at kimi’s actions, but you hold it in. 

from the side of the road, the man with the red bandana notices you, eyes widened, before stumbling towards you. 

“hey little girl,” he yells at you, teasing.

it’s what he’s always called you when you were just a toddler, and it was nice to know that he still remembered that nickname, even when he was a crew member on a different pirate ship now. 

however, kimi bristles when he hears the words leave the other man’s mouth, probably thinking that he was a robber or bad guy, and immediately bradishes his sword between the pair of you. 

“don’t get closer,” he spits, with an unprecedented fury. “i’ll- i’ll cut your hand off!”

even though you know the man in front of you could easily disarm kimi in a few quick moves, you pull kimi back, just in case. 

“it’s okay,” you explain to him. “he’s an old friend.” 

the man in front of you chuckles, legs still a little wobbly from the alcohol. 

he gives you a hug, one of those tight and comforting ones he always gave you when you skinned your knee on the deck or banged your head on the beams. after smiling warmly at you, he reaches a tattooed hand out to kimi. 

“lewis- lewis hamilton.” 

kimi shakes it tentatively, yet with a hint of awe. he must have clicked it together - the man was none other than the once-feared pirate of all seas, dominating the islands for more than 7 years aboard mercedes. 

“kimi,” he responds quietly. “sorry for that…”

“well, kimi,” lewis says, with a sparkle in his eye. “i think you’re a good kid- protecting the captain’s daughter. that was my job too, you know? even though she’s no damsel in distress, i’m sure she’s glad to have you here to save the day, yeah?”

after the meeting with lewis, it seemed like kimi had loosened his protectiveness over you. he lets you wander off out of his sight, now longer following you like a puppy. it must be because he knows there is another pirate in town who was willing to sacrifice it all to protect you too. 

you make your way back into the thrumming market, eyes trained on your new target: a little stall filled to the brim with shiny new pistols and daggers, fresh from the blacksmith.

in your pocket, pink and blue engraved alpine ring that you had pickpocketed with a shiny emerald necklace that you fished out of one of stake’s sunken boats. 

honestly, you weren’t sure if it was enough for a new dagger or pistol that you had your eye on, but it didn’t matter anyways. you could always get what you want with a little bit of threatening and the dagger strapped to your leather holster.

thankfully, the gruff man at the stall sets a reasonable price, so you didn’t have to make a big scene. you ponder through the choices. should you get a prettily engraved silver and wood dagger to match kimi’s, or a sleek blue knife with shimmery crystals set into the handle?

as you ponder, kimi suddenly pops up behind you.

if it was anyone else, you’re sure you would've been startled, but he makes so much noise pushing through the chattering of the market that you know it’s him before he taps you on the shoulder.

when you turn around, you are pleasantly surprised to see kimi with a huge bouquet of flowers.

“here,” kimi says, blinking at you shyly. “i stole them for you.” 

caught off guard by the gesture, your cheeks warm. quickly, you lean forward to bury your face into the flowers to take a big whiff of the florals in an effort to hide the smile tugging at your lips. 

kimi glows with pride before he starts babbling about how hard it was to swipe the flowers, but he waited until the woman was helping another customer-

however, your grin suddenly drops as you sense a shift in air. 

something wasn’t right.

a flicker in movement in the crowd behind kimi confirms your instincts. 

a red and navy blue sash - signature of the red bull clan. 

this time, kimi notices that there was something wrong too, voice trailing off. 

the red bull sailor is getting dangerously close at an alarming rate. he’s close enough that you can make out the murderous rage on his face, blonde tips of his hair, and small axe in his right hand. 

before you can have a chance to grab a weapon - any weapon - to charge the sailor, kimi whips around with the bouquet in his hands, trying to locate the threat. 

to your surprise, he somehow hefts it straight into the sailor’s face with the sheer velocity that he is turning at, monetarily blinding the red bull enemy. 

then, kimi proceeds to throw a wicked right hook straight at the blonde-haired sailor’s face, launching the sailor backwards onto the loose gravel.

you hardly notice the villagers around you flock away, wanting to avoid getting hurt in the inevitable fight. 

as a red stream of blood spurts out of the blonde man’s nose, kimi uses one hand to grab the ruined bouquet and unsheathes his blade with his other. 

he points the blade right at the man on the ground before his enemy can have a chance to grab ahold of his dagger again.

“don’t you dare,” he snarls, waving his sword dangerously close to the other man’s jugular. 

defeated, the man rasps a fuck you, before pulling himself to his feet and sprinting away. 

you knew that you could protect yourself, but when he did it for you- god, it was honestly hot as hell. 

gaining awareness that your jaw was hanging open, you hurriedly shut it as kimi turns back around.

“sorry,” he says sheepishly, handing you your now-bloody bouquet with bruised knuckles. “i kinda ruined your flowers.”

an incredulous laugh bubbles out of your throat. 

he just defeated a red bull sailor by himself and single handedly saved you, but all he cared about was accidentally crushing your flowers?

gently, you slide the flowers out of his grip and take his bruised hand instead. several of the knuckles were definitely bruised and one had a tiny stream of blood, which you dab away with a handkerchief in your pocket.

kimi blushes from the way you nurse his wounds gently.

when you look back up at his bashful expression, you can’t help but think to yourself - you were a feminist obviously, but honestly, you really wouldn’t mind him saving you at all.

[4barbatos]

✦ seatmate!venti drabbles

— modern high school au

fluff + mild crack .ᐟ ( fem reader )

a/n: this one’s requested by anon !! tysm for the idea <3 i enjoyed writing this sm hehe :3 hope you like it too !! pls keep sending silly venti fic ideas i am thriving off of him being annoying and in love.

✦ seatmate!venti rests his head on your shoulder and pretends to be asleep so you won’t make him move.

“venti, get off.”

he fake snores. loudly.

“you’re literally awake.”

“shhh,” he whispers. “you’re my pillow now.”

you sigh. he smiles. ten minutes later, he mumbles,

“you’re really warm…”

you don’t move.

✦ seatmate!venti asks if you two can be lab partners “in life.”

“venti, it’s just chemistry class.”

“exactly,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “chemistry.”

“no.”

“denial is the first step to love.”

✦ seatmate!venti writes your name in his notebook with his last name.

“what are you doing.”

“manifesting.”

you look. there’s a little “mrs. venti” in cursive surrounded by sparkles. he’s coloring it in with glitter pen.

✦ seatmate!venti makes you a playlist titled “songs that remind me of us (even tho we’re not dating YET)”

“this is literally just twenty versions of ‘can’t take my eyes off you’.”

“and???”

“…and it’s kind of good.”

“so you admit it.”

“i didn’t say that.”

✦ seatmate!venti calls you his “favorite distraction.”

“you’re staring at me again.”

“yeah. i have a type.”

“what, people who ignore you?”

“people who look cute when they’re trying not to smile.”

✦ seatmate!venti keeps sending you notes during class even though you’re sitting right next to him.

you unfold the fourth one in five minutes. it says:

“do you like me?

☐ yes

☐ yes but in denial

☐ venti please shut up”

you circle the third box and throw it back at his face.

✦ seatmate!venti insists on carrying your bag even though it’s literally heavier than him.

“venti you’re going to snap in half.”

“then i’ll die doing what i love.”

“being annoying?”

“carrying your heart. and also your alarmingly heavy physics binder.”

✦ seatmate!venti gets jealous when someone else borrows your eraser.

“who’s that?”

“albedo. he asked for my eraser.”

“do you give everyone your erasers or am i just not special anymore.”

“…venti.”

“this is worse than betrayal. this is heartbreak.”

✦ seatmate!venti brings you snacks and calls it “wooing.”

“i bought you chips.”

“you got these from the vending machine.”

“with my own two hands. for you. because i’m courting you.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you’re welcome.”

✦ seatmate!venti keeps calling you “my muse” while doodling on the corner of his notes.

you glance over. it’s a badly drawn stick figure with little sparkles around it.

“is that me?”

“yes. look how radiant you are.”

“…you gave me three strands of hair.”

“it’s called art style.”

✦ seatmate!venti makes a dramatic scene every time you’re absent.

“the sun didn’t rise yesterday,”

he says when you come back.

“i was gone for one day.”

“i wrote you a poem.”

“venti.”

“would you like me to perform it.”

✦ seatmate!venti keeps quoting love poems dramatically when you pass him a stapler or something.

“i would staple the stars to the sky for you.”

“venti i just asked if you’re done with the assignment.”

“and i am. done. with pretending i don’t love you.”

“i am begging you to be normal.”

✦ seatmate!venti sends you good morning texts even though you literally see him in class an hour later.

“good morning sunshine 💚 did you sleep well? i had a dream we got married. anyway see u in biology hehe”

“please go back to sleep”

“can’t. thinking about u. also i haven’t done the homework pls help”

✦ seatmate!venti says “i love you” every time you lend him a pencil, but today he says it a little too soft. a little too real.

you hand him a mechanical pencil without looking. he takes it and says, like always,

“i love you.”

it’s routine by now. he says it every time. you never respond.

but this time, it’s quieter. gentler.

you glance at him.

he’s not even looking at you. just focused on his notes, twirling the pencil between his fingers like nothing happened.

“venti,” you murmur.

he hums.

you open your mouth to say something — then the teacher calls on you and you lose your nerve.

you don’t bring it up again. but you don’t take your eyes off him for the rest of the period, either.

[blueberry-ovaries]

I’ll Crawl Home to Her (Work Song)

In which Eugene Roe would crawl to her if he had to.

Boy’s working on empty,

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

Eugene Roe had been working to the bone. His fingers smeared with a mixture of blood and dirt. He wasn’t sure where his own blood had mingled with the other men’s.

He hadn’t slept in 16 hours. Or perhaps it was closer to 20. He wasn’t sure. The sun had started to peak over the treetops. The snow a gray sludge littered with shrapnel and splintered wood. He couldn’t stop, darting between foxholes, checking on the men. He couldn’t rest, not yet.

I just think about my baby

When the bombs started dropping at around 3am, and Gene scrambled to his foxhole all he could do was pray. He pleaded with God and Saint Francis. Lord, grant that I shall never seek as much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, or to be loved as to love with all my heart. With all my heart.

Her picture lay in his breast pocket, Tucked between a carton of cigarettes and his scissors. The edges torn and frail. As the bombs splinter the trees and chunks of mud splatter over his body, her eyes burn into his mind like precious jewels. As he curled into the foxhole, he could so vividly see her hair glistening in the Louisiana sun. He’d take her there, after the war. She would meet his maman, and he’d take her out on the bayou.

I’m so full of love I could barley eat

It was her birthday today, Eugene thought as he sat with his cooling cup of beans. He wasn’t hungry. Just thinking about her, was enough to keep him going. The thought of her soft hands, unstained, her clothes not covered in blood. That was enough for him.

His heart quickened when he thought of her. When the world is free from war, i’ll follow you wherever you go, cherie he had promised her the last time he saw her. He meant it. Every word. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth, the thought alone was enough to keep him moving.

I’d never want once from the Cherry tree

When they moved from the Bois Jacques and into Germany all Gene could think about was how he wanted to whisk her away to a chateau in the mountains. He couldn’t imagine how a man like Hitler could live in such a place when his cherie wasn’t.

He didn’t indulge himself like the rest of the men. The wine was too sweet. Something she would have loved. no. He didn’t need any of it, the war would soon be over and that was enough for him.

‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be,

She gives me toothaches just from kissing me

Before he left, Gene would routinely walk to the house she was staying in. Knocking on the front door and greeting the kind elderly couple she stayed with, and every time her sweet summer dresses would knock the wind out of his chest. The smile she gave him was kind, it was good. She was always the sweetest, a hand holding his as they walked through the streets, tucked under his arm as she softly rattled on about her garden.

When my time comes around, Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

The bombing of the Bois Jacques forest kept Eugene busy. He was always running between breaks of shellfire, making sure the men weren’t hit, and fixing them up when they were. He couldn’t stop, not when they needed him. His fingers were numb, pink and stiff from where they held the back of his head. He had no time to think about anything but surviving and making sure the men survived.

When the shelling would stop, and the men were accounted for, he looked through the splintered branches of the tress, dirt for a bed. Exhausted wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt. He ached in his bones, so tired he thought he may not even get out of the foxhole come first light. If he didn’t, the last thing he’d think about was her

No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her

When the war ended and Eugene dressed in his best formal greens. He was a shell of the man he was before the war. The English winter did little to aid the persistent ache in his bones. He stood out the front of her house, the door still painted blue. He made a promise, and dammit he was going to fulfil it.

When the door swung open and her arms hugged him tighter than he felt he deserved, all he could do was sigh at the smell of her shampoo, and cling to her tighter.

Battered and bruised both mentally and physically, nothing would have stopped him from coming back to her, to his home.

——

A/N: wanted to try something a little different, never written a single fic before!

TAGS:

@malarkgirlypop @mads-weasley @footprintsinthesxnd @bucky32557038ww2 @grumpy-liebgott @executethyself35 @fxxiva @sandaltoesocks

[applejusue]

butch!Logan howlett ─── retail therapy

During a much needed shopping trip, you pass by a nail bar taking walk-ins and get bombarded with a mischievous idea.

𓏲 ๋ idea requested by the lovely @zzelysian

◟`# cw: butch!logan, claws, fluff, cuddling, sleeping, healing, injury mention, scratching, teasing.

xmen masterlist

You'd been kicked out of the school for a few hours to get some 'retail therapy', as Charles had described it and frankly, you weren't complaining. There was an incident a few days ago where you had to revive one of the students who'd gotten himself fatally injured. He'd survived, but it had drained every last drop of your energy. For days you couldn't even lift your finger, let alone get up. It was nice, to be honest, getting to sleep in your bed undisturbed. Well, mostly.

Logan passed most of the time with you, sleeping in your bed with an arm slung around your waist while she snuffed against the side of your neck. It was a very familiar routine for her to come to your room to take a nap after training or to use your shower, because god forbid she do that in her own room. Deep down though, you didn't mind. Her company was nice, plus she always brought food. You were a little higher on your feet now, but the incident had taken more of a toll on you than just physically.

Mentally, you were still shaken. It was intense, cradling a lifeless kid and feeling your own life slip away as you pushed it into his chest instead. When you'd slumped forward into the grass, you knew you'd pushed yourself too far, but seeing that student wake was enough to bring relief, right before it all went dark. It was a few days before you'd woken up, and when you did, shocker, you weren't alone. Logan was against your side, a mess of scruffy hair on your shoulder while her hand rested on your stomach. The memory made you smile.

Still, you needed a breath of fresh air, and for once you'd actually get it. You were dropped off in a shady black car to the nearest mall, armed with a shiny credit card that didn't belong to you. It felt like being a giddy teenager again, getting to spend money that belonged to somebody else. At first you were tentative, simply browsing through the shops and peering into windows. Making the mature decision, you got new vitamins, socks, things for training.

Then, you really thought about it. How long would it be until you got a chance to get out again? Likely, a while. You wanted to make it count. So you bought clothes that actually felt nice, looked nice, that wouldn't be destroyed in combat. On those rare occasions that there would be a gathering, you finally had something other than one staple black dress. You even decided to get a haircut, a nice one that curled around the ends and made your head smell like vanilla. You'd definitely made eye contact with too many sales assistants while trying to get a glimpse of yourself in the shop windows.

With arms stuffed full of bags, you were practically skipping through the mall. You'd gotten perfume, some new makeup, and even some pretty underwear that you'd definitely have to lock away from Logan. She had habits. As you moved further through the small, you noticed a small nail parlor. You glanced down at your hands, definitely a sore sight. Charles hadn't exactly given you a spending limit, so he couldn't be too angry, right?

Five minutes later and you were plonked on a stool, your bags guarding your feet like little soldiers. With some swaying from the nail tech, you decided on some pointed acrylics. While building the base your eyes drifted, settling on a pot of silver chrome. A grin twitched at your lips before you could stop it, and you already knew what kind of design you wanted. When the time came you gestured, she nodded, proceeding to give you razor sharp silver claws. By the time you got collected you were exhausted, but for once it was the good kind.

When you got back to the school, you tried on some of your new outfits. Not even five minutes later you were barging into Logan's room, hands held behind your back. She raised her head, face mussed and suspicious at the shit eating grin on your lips. You gave her a small twirl, showing off the new look to which she blinked groggily. Then her gaze drifted to your hands, her brow furrowed.

"..Hell are they?"

You froze, lip twitching in the effort it took not to burst out giggling. Instead, you mocked one of her poses, baring your sharp claws with as much seriousness as you could muster before you couldn't hold in the laughs. Logan grumbled, looking away with red cheeks.

"Yeah yeah, you think you're real cute.."

You couldn't even try to swallow your amusement, moving towards the bed to clamber up onto her lap. Despite her 'annoyance', her arm came snugly around your waist as she sniffed at your hair. It smelled different, and you knew she could tell. Her rough hand came up to the side of your head, gently running down the soft strands.

"I got it cut, you like it?.." You murmured, arms resting around her shoulders. Logan nodded, face still nosed into your hair as she held you by the hip.

"Suits ya.." She mumbled, trailing her nose down to your shirt where she made her next revelation. She tugged at your collar, finding your new underwear and staring without an inch of shame as she pulled you in closer. You giggled at the sudden movement, hands still braced to her shoulders and nails digging playfully into her back.

"Careful, I can scratch you back now.." You warned teasingly, your nails dragging gently over her skin in a way that made her stutter, hips bucking instinctively as she continued to inhale the smell of your hair.

"M' not complaining.."

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 10

Joel

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 2.5k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

A/N: honestly, TW just for joel being so fucking emotionally constipated

The morning sun was already hot by the time Joel and Tommy pulled up to the site. An old bungalow out past the west side, paint peeling off in long, tired strips, porch rail hanging loose like it had given up. They had the crew with them today, but it was the kind of job that felt like it’d cling to your skin for days, dusty, crooked, unforgiving.

They’d been at it for hours. Joel’s shirt stuck to his back, sawdust clinging to his forearms. He liked the quiet work, the rhythm of it, measuring, sawing, hammering. It kept his mind busy. Or tried to.

But Monday had a way of creeping in under your skin. Especially after a weekend like that.

Tommy wandered over around lunchtime, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt, a water bottle tucked under one arm.

“So,” he said, not even bothering to ease into it, “I’ve been dyin’ to hear how that party went. You. Her. And Andy in the same yard? That had to be somethin’.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just kept hammering the nail he’d already sunk too far in.

Tommy grinned. “Come on, man. Don’t leave me hangin’. I bet it was tense as hell.”

Joel blew out a slow breath. “It wasn’t good.”

Tommy blinked. “Shit. What happened?”

Joel looked up finally, jaw clenched. “Some kid grabbed her. Got rough. I lost it. Grabbed him back. Whole damn party saw.”

Tommy’s face dropped. “You serious?”

Joel nodded. “Woulda decked him if I didn’t come to my senses. Whole yard went quiet. Her dad saw it. Everyone saw it.”

“Damn.” Tommy leaned back against a post, shaking his head. “That’s… Jesus, Joel.”

“Yeah.”

Silence lingered between them for a beat. Tommy took a swig of water, then glanced over. “Maria look good, though?”

Joel looked at him sideways.

Tommy held up a hand. “I’m just askin’. Bet she did. That dress she had on last time,”

“Tommy.”

“Alright, alright.” He smirked. “Sorry. Just, damn. That close, huh?”

Joel nodded. “Would’ve all come out right there if Maria hadn’t stepped in. She was quick. Talked her way through it, got Andy to ease up. But it was… close.”

Tommy blew out a whistle. “I mean, what’re you supposed to do, though? Just not react?”

“I don’t know.” Joel shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. “I keep tellin’ myself I gotta be more careful.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Careful for how long, man? The rest of your damn life?”

Joel didn’t answer.

“You really like this girl?”

Joel glanced at him. “Yeah. I do.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “So… what, you’re gonna tell Andy at some point?”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “She says no.”

Tommy stared at him. “Then what the fuck are you doin’, Joel? You just gonna hide this forever?”

Joel went back to what he was doing, wrenching a stubborn board free from the frame. The sound of wood splitting echoed sharply in the stillness.

Tommy didn’t say anything for a second. Just watched him.

“Listen,” he said finally. “I ain’t gettin’ at you. I’m just sayin’, you know how this ends if it stays like this. You can’t stay in the shadows forever.”

Joel didn’t look at him. Just muttered, “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Tommy said, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “I’m happy for you, man. I really am. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this… I don’t know. Pulled toward someone.”

Joel’s jaw shifted.

“But this girl… she’s what, half your age?”

Joel stiffened.

Tommy held up a hand again. “Not sayin’ that’s a bad thing. I’m just sayin’, she’s young, man. Startin’ out. And you? You’re settled. You’ve lived. You got a house, a life, routines.”

Joel finally met his eyes. “And?”

“You wouldn’t wanna hold her back,” Tommy said, soft now. “That’s all.”

Joel didn’t respond. He just went back to prying the next board loose. His movements were a little sharper than before. More deliberate.

They didn’t talk much after that.

The rest of the day passed in the usual rhythm, sawing, measuring, hammering, but Joel’s mind wasn’t in it. Every word Tommy had said echoed in the back of his head like nails rattling in an empty toolbox.

What are you doin’, Joel?

You gonna hide it forever?

You really like her?

Are you holdin’ her back?

By the time the sun started to dip low behind the trees, Joel’s hands were raw and his shirt was soaked through. But he hadn’t answered a single one of those questions.

Because he already knew.

And he just didn’t like the answer.

-

The house was quiet that night.

Too quiet.

Joel sat at the kitchen table long after dinner, elbows on the wood, palms pressed to his face like he could block out his own thoughts.

Tommy’s words had followed him home like dust on his boots.

She’s just starting out…

He hadn’t meant to replay the scene, but it kept looping in his head, the way you’d laughed that night at the party, sitting with those younger kids on the porch, legs crossed, drink in hand, radiant and easy in a way Joel hadn’t felt in decades. You looked like you belonged in that crowd, not beside him. Not tucked away in the shadows, hiding glances and keeping secrets.

And when that punk had grabbed you, God. Joel’s chest still burned when he thought about it. He’d reacted before his brain could catch up. White-hot fury, nothing else. Because no one touched you like that. Not on his watch.

But afterward… when it all went still and quiet and everyone stared…

You shouldn’t have had to handle that. You shouldn’t have needed Maria to cover for him.

What the fuck are you doing, Joel?

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that something had shifted.

Maybe Tommy was right.

Maybe you did need someone younger. Someone who could go to your friend’s parties and blend in, who wouldn’t raise eyebrows. Someone who didn’t carry grief like a second skin, who didn’t lie awake at night wondering if they were the mistake in your story.

But he also knew something else.

He was pretty sure he was falling in love with you.

No, he was in love with you.

It was quiet and aching and constant. In the small things. In the way you tilted your head when you listened. The way your fingers brushed his when you passed him a cup of coffee. The way you looked at him like he wasn’t broken. Like you’d never even noticed the cracks.

He couldn’t let that go.

So he didn’t.

But he could give you space. Could pretend nothing was wrong. So he did what he was good at, he withdrew.

Not completely. He still texted. Short replies. A picture of his dinner one night. A dry joke about the broken fence post. Nothing deep. Nothing that gave him away. Just enough to keep the connection alive. Just enough to feel your presence flicker through the phone.

But he didn’t ask to see you.

Didn’t hint at it.

And by Thursday, you noticed.

You: Are you okay?

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to. That one question, simple and soft, made something in his chest clench.

He couldn’t text back.

So he called.

Your voice picked up after the second ring, light and warm, like sunshine pouring through a dusty window.

“Hey.”

God, he’d missed that sound.

“Hey, baby,” he said, voice low, tight. “Sorry. Been… busy.”

There was a pause, then your gentle reply: “You sure that’s all it is?”

He closed his eyes, pressed a thumb to the bridge of his nose. “I just needed to hear your voice.”

You were quiet after that.

And in that silence, everything rushed in. The way your voice softened when you were sleepy. How you always remembered the little things he forgot. The way you kissed him like you weren’t scared of the dark parts of him.

He didn’t deserve that.

Didn’t deserve you.

You were so good. So bright. Still becoming something.

And he was just… already formed. Set in his ways. A man with years behind him and more baggage than any decent person should carry.

He ended the call not long after. Said he was tired. Said he’d call again tomorrow.

But when he hung up, he just sat there, phone resting on his knee, heart too loud in his chest.

He knew two things for sure.

He was in love with you.

And he had to let you go.

-

The bungalow job wrapped early.

Joel shook hands with the homeowner, some woman in her late forties with neat nails and a flirty kind of smile. She stood too close, kept tucking her hair behind her ear. He barely registered what she was saying, something about maybe needing help with her deck when spring rolled around. Her tone made the subtext obvious.

Joel cleared his throat and stepped back, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Sure. Just call the office.”

She bit her lip. “I might do that.”

He gave her a polite nod, climbed into his truck, and didn’t look back.

It should’ve felt like a win. Job done. Customer happy. Easy money. Instead, Joel sat with both hands gripping the wheel, his throat tight. Something about that woman’s interest, it rubbed him raw. Not because she wasn’t attractive. Not because he didn’t know the dance. He’d done it before. But now?

Now all he could think about was you.

Your laugh. The way you scrunched your nose when you were trying not to smile. The way your whole face lit up when you talked about that damn flower shop.

Joel stared through the windshield, heart kicking like a stubborn engine. This was stupid. The distance, the silence. Punishing you for loving him, for making him feel like maybe he had something left to give. He missed you so bad it felt like missing skin.

Fuck it.

He threw the truck into gear and started driving.

He didn’t even think about where he was headed. Just followed instinct until he was parked two blocks from the shop. He always parked away from the front window, habit now. But this time, he didn’t care if someone saw.

He could see the shop across the street. Could see you through the window.

His heart was going wild. He was going to walk in there, tell you everything. Apologise. Fuck the risk. It didn’t matter. None of it did if he couldn’t have you. He needed you to know he loved you. Needed to say it out loud, finally.

You moved across the shop floor, and his breath caught. Your hair was swinging loose behind you, catching the afternoon light like it was made for it. You turned your head and smiled at someone, some kid, couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, twenty-five.

Joel’s stomach knotted.

The kid said something. You laughed. And then you reached out, touched his arm as you answered him.

Joel stopped breathing.

It wasn’t anything. He knew it wasn’t anything. You were kind, warm, tactile. You touched people when you talked. You laughed with everyone. But standing there, frozen with one foot halfway off the sidewalk, Joel saw the whole picture.

You. That guy. The life you could have.

No secrets. No shame. No sneaking around or worried glances at your phone when your dad called.

Someone nearer your own age. Someone who could take you dancing and stay out past midnight without their knees aching the next day.

It should’ve been him. God, he wanted it to be him.

But it wasn’t. Not really. That was the whole fucking point…

-

He drove home with his jaw clenched and his hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel the entire way.

Your name lit up his phone before he even made it inside.

He stared at it, let it ring.

Then came the text.

“Please just tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand.”

Joel didn’t open it. Couldn’t.

He just stood in the hallway of his house with the phone in his hand, heart breaking like it was made of glass.

Because he had to do this.

He had to think. Had to find the words. Had to break your heart clean, and cold, and final.

Because anything less, and you’d still come back to him.

And if you did… he wouldn’t be strong enough to let you go.

-

The house was dead quiet except for the slow tick of the wall clock and the occasional creak of the old pipes settling in the cold.

Joel sat at his kitchen table, a half-drunk whiskey sweating on the wood beside him. His phone was flipped face-down next to it, an active choice. Every time it buzzed, it felt like someone tapping directly on his ribs.

It had been doing it less and less. You’d stopped calling an hour ago.

Now it was nearly midnight. He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t moved much since getting home. Just sat there, elbows on the table, palms over his mouth like he was trying to keep the words from slipping out before he figured out how to make them hurt less.

How do you break someone’s heart without breaking them?

You didn’t. That was the truth.

He rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbed at his beard. This was the right thing. It had to be. Even if it felt like he was peeling his own skin off just thinking about the look on your face. You deserved more. You deserved…

Knock knock knock.

Joel blinked.

Then again. Three knocks. Fast. Familiar. Sharp.

His eyes snapped toward the door.

No one came here this late. Not unless something was wrong. He was halfway to standing when he heard it.

Your voice.

“Joel, it’s me!”

His stomach dropped.

“Joel, please! Let me in, it’s raining!”

He stood still, hands at his sides, heart pounding. Mouth dry.

“Joel!”

“Fuck,” he muttered, staring at the door like it might disappear if he wished hard enough.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed more time. He needed to say it right, cold but not cruel. Enough to make you walk away but not enough to destroy you. He’d been rehearsing it in his head all damn night.

But now you were here. Soaking wet. Voice cracking. And all he could think about was how much he wanted to pull you inside, press you to his chest, and tell you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean any of it.

But that would make him a coward.

He reached for the door.

The second it opened, the sound of rain came rushing in, steady and cold, matching the thrum of panic in his chest.

You stood there, half-soaked already, arms folded over yourself, breath shallow, eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears.

Joel’s throat closed.

You looked at him like he was the only person in the world who could fix what was wrong.

And he was about to be the one who broke it.

He gripped the door frame so he wouldn’t do something stupid like reach for you.

“Come in,” he said, voice low. Rough.

This was it.

He’d made his choice.

And now he had to watch it ruin you.

[faeritaboo]

🐚 The kidnapping 🐚 HS 🐚 CW: kidnapping, mdni

rafe, lost in his own little world of cocaine haze, barely noticed his next door neighbour. until one night when he crossed paths with you at a bonfire. rafe found himself attracted to your warm smile, kind eyes, and kind energy. a bonus being your body that your clothes hugged beautifully. rafe felt a spark, a connection. he liked you, genuinely liked you, surprising even to him. he soon found his thoughts constantly drifting back to you, always watching you tend to your garden while he snorted coke on his balcony

barry had been watching you for weeks, his eyes lingering a little too long each time their paths crossed. he saw the way you laughed, the way your eyes sparkled, the way you made others happy, and he knew he had to have you. he always had dark fantasies, twisted thoughts that he always kept hidden. he wanted nothing more than to break you and mold you into his perfect plaything. so when rafe came to him with a story about his new crush, he immediately knew what to do and how to take advantage of the situation

barry was always the one in charge, even if rafe didnt think so. so, with cocaine induced stupidity and under barrys twisted influence, rafe agreed to his friend's plan; kidnap the pretty little thing rafe had eyes on. they would take you, bring you back to barrys trailer, make you theirs, and make you dependent on them. rafe told himself it was for the best, that you would be safer with them, that he could protect you and that you would be happier. but even he knew it was wrong

rafe knew he had to be careful, had to find a way to get you alone, to create an opening for their not-so-great plan. He spent days watching you, learning your routines, then telling barry about them. and he noticed that you always went for a stroll in a secluded spot on a trail, on saturday, always around seven in the morning, before other people were around, every week. thats what they decided would be the perfect time to strike

rafe had been up before dawn, his mind racing with the plan he and barry had concocted the night prior. he knew he had to act fast, to catch you off guard and make his move before you had a chance to realize the danger you were in. rafe following you quietly as you walked through the trail

rounding a bend in the trail, you found herself face to face with rafe. startled, you took a step back, heart skipping a beat and gasp escaping your mouth as you took in his disheveled appearance and the wild, almost feverish and uncertain look in his eyes

“rafe, you scared me,” you muttered, looking up at him. “what are you doing out here so early?”

rafe offered you a strained smile, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “i could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his voice low and slightly hoarse. “i’ve seen you out here a couple times, ‘ya never noticed me though..” his words sounded slightly hesitant

you shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even as a wave of worry washed over you. “i usually come here, as a reset. this is one of my favourite trails.”

rafe nodded, taking a hesitant step closer to you, glancing around uncomfortably as he spoke. “there’s a hidden gem around, i like going there. would you.. wanna see?”

a bit of silence went on, you thinking. then he spoke again, trying to convince you and come off less weird. “been meaning to talk to you for awhile.. figured now would be a good time.”

you hesitated, unsure of whether to accept his offer. there was something off about his behaviour, the way he was looking everywhere but at you, the why he seemed uncomfortable that made you feel unsettled. you always felt comfortable around rafe, but this is different. but youre too nice

“okay,” you found herself saying, despite the warnings flashing in the back of your mind. kind smile forming on your face. “lead the way.”

rafes face split into a forced wide grin, a flash of conflict passing his features before he masked it. he turned to begin walking up the trail, motioning for you to follow. you fell into step beside him, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest

before you knew it, you guys had reached a small clearing, trees giving way to a stunning view of the ocean below. the sun was casting a golden glow across the water and painting the sky in shades of pink and orange

what happened next was a blur

you were being forced into a truck, a hand clamped over your mouth, protests muffled. rafe watched, heart heavy and stomach churning as his mind raced. just standing with the door open as he stared

you thrashed and struggled, but barrys grip was like iron. he dragged you backwards, away from the breathtaking view and towards a waiting pickup truck parked haphazardly off the side of the trail

you were being half-carried, half-dragged to the truck. barry ignored your muffled cries and the desperate beating of your heart and kicking of your legs. with a grunt of effort, barry successfully lifted you and shoved you into the stuffy, tight backseat of the truck

you scrambled to right yourself, hands scrabbling at the door handle as you desperately tried in vain to escape. even calling out “rafe!”

rafe let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and then over his face. eyes wide as he tried to ignore your screams. simply hurrying to the other side of the truck and hopping into the passenger side

“rafe!” you cried hopelessly hopeful, panic and fear mixed in your cry

rafe closed his eyes, sucking in a breath as he pulled at his hair slightly. hating the guilt and already set in guilt that was creeping in. not knowing what to do. “shut up! shut. up.!” he snapped when you called his name again. his words accentuated with his subconscious hand movements

your emotions were a whirlwind of terrified thoughts and emotions, your mind racing as you tried to process the shocking turn of events. ‘is this really happening?’ playing on repeat in your mind

1🐚 2🐚

[instantpansies]

i think the oopsie daisies waited a WHILE to get married too. met as little kids, grew up together, probably knew they'd get married someday (small town, they were friends, it just made sense). i like to think jacques went off to study some kind of sciences at a university (i'm eyeing the University Lille - this would've been in the 50s, so the Science and Tech school wouldn't have been split off yet, but Lille was def still an important science university in france when jacques would've been attending). he scraped together his small funds, worked his way through school, maybe wrote to marianne for the few years of study, and came back prepared to bring life-changing technology to the people of Le Bulge.

it's important to note that by the time Jacques and Marianne appear in the beginning of the longform, recently returned from their honeymoon, they have already been very active in the town. their marriage is not the beginning of their impact on Le Bulge by any means. here are some accomplishments from almost certainly before they were married

marianne campaigned and was elected as mayor

jacques developed, tested, and implemented cybernetic/robotic body modifications for regular citizens, including bulletproof and tank-proof armor

they either captured and trained or inherited a previously-imprisoned kraken mime

marianne befriended and gained the trust and respect of said kraken to the point that it would sacrifice its life for her (i'm going to assume this was after she became the mayor, and that keeping the kraken is a part of her mayoral duties)

jacques has set up a working lab, gained the trust of the townsfolk, and has done enough experiments to have a standard routine and an ethics model

anyways. uhhh what was i talking about again

oh right. yeah so jacques gets back from university and sets up a lab and evidently some kind of manufacturing facility in town. i think that he would've heard a lot about weapons and armor development when learning about design and engineering at university in the post-WWII educational environment. and we know he's interested in chemistry and maybe biology too, so it makes sense that he'd have a bit of a hero complex around keeping his village SAFE. building things, using his degrees and expertise to combine the machine with the flesh and make the residents of Le Bulge immune to any attack. never granting himself those protections, though. maybe he was scared, maybe he didn't think he'd see combat, maybe the modifications would've hampered his ability to continue to experiment and develop tech.

meanwhile, marianne was volunteering with the mayor's office until she needed to earn money. maybe she gets a small-time job in local politics (maybe in the nearest bigger town), maybe she starts secretary or stenography work at a courthouse and moves into assisting and then running campaigns. regardless, over the next few years she finds out she's both very good at getting people's votes and very passionate about helping Le Bulge grow. she talks to jacques, her closest friend throughout this time, and he tells her to go for it, and he'll be by her side (well, behind her and a bit to the left). she runs, he helps, residents love the two young people who love their little town so much that they dedicate their lives to making it better, and marianne wins in a landslide. first political, then literal, but a win is a win.

she implements policy to get jacques' tech available to anyone. she musters a militia. she ensures the allyship of the kraken in the town hall's basement, and sits next to jacques at meetings. maybe six months or a year go by, and everyone knows they're together. they plan the wedding, invite the town, have a wonderful time, and put marianne's own secretary in charge of the village during their month-long honeymoon one town over (Le Bulge just out of sight but less than an hour's drive and always with a phone nearby just in case)

and we know the rest! anyways. tldr marianne and jacques LOVE their tiny french town so sososo much and love each other sososo much and i think they were at LEAST in their late 20s and probably early 30s before they were married. in this timeline jacques probably went to university around age 17 in approximately 1950 (young enough to not be drafted but old enough to be influenced by war ideology and fearmongering), which would put him at around 30 years old in 1963. (side note, wwii might partially explain the village's very small population......) since they grew up playing soccer together at a young age, i assume marianne is very close to the same age as jacques.

also after all that and finally thinking "let's finally get married! enjoy what we've built! let le bulge take care of us for a bit!". that's when everything comes crashing down. haha yeah 👍 andre beetroot voice

ok this has been my oopsie daisies ted talk. live long and prosper

[thatbennybee]

Rewinding Our Fate Ch2: Recap

Once the dance number was finished, the snack pack slowly descended from each other’s shoulders and chatted amongst each other about their performance. That was until Poppy spotted Branch lurking quietly in the nearby dense leaves. She gave him a funny look, usually he would’ve said something snarky by now.

“Good morning, Branch! What’cha think of our routine this morning? Was kind of wondering if we were projecting loud enough for you to hear us.” She practically skipped over with the natural “pep” she always had in her step.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, it was fine. Really great, actually.” He muttered.

He was looking at her but it was like he was staring into her soul rather than her eyes. Poppy shifted uncomfortably. Normally she didn’t feel so bad about Branch staring—or rather—glaring at her, but he didn’t even have his usual scowl on his face. He was looking at her like someone had just kicked his sick dog. On top of that, he just complimented her, which was even weirder because the only time he did that was when he didn’t mean it and he’d follow it up with something mean or getting-eaten-by-Bergen related.

She cocked her head to the side, visibly showing her confusion as the snarky comment never came and Branch let out the most pathetic, heart-wrenching sigh she’d ever heard.

“This is so useless. Why would you even come out here, Branch? To torture yourself more?” Branch whimpered to himself as Poppy watched him rake his paws through his disheveled hair in distress.

Poppy had no idea what he was talking about, but she could tell when a friend needed help. She looked behind her to see if her friends were watching—they weren’t—and then patted Branch’s back as she encroached past his metaphorical bubble.

“Branch? You feeling okay?” She said as gently as she possibly could, just above a whisper.

He froze, his back still to her and his muttering stopping. Instead of his usually shoving or nagging about her touching him, he seemed more responsive to her asking him something than he was to her touch. That was also very strange, Branch hated people touching him, and he always moved away like it burned if they did. After a moment or two, Branch let out another sigh. He only turned his head slightly to meet her eyes with a sideways glance full of misery.

“Don’t worry about me, Poppy. Just go back and play with your friends, don’t concern yourself with my feelings. Not worth the headache.” He was speaking so gently, not an ounce of venom in his voice.

It was so strange, he was speaking with so much… Compassion? This was so strange. So… Concerning to her. He’d never spoken to her so respectfully and it was wildly out of character to hear him attempt to put her first in some weird way. This only made her want to push it, more than she usually did. Something was making Branch super sad, and she couldn’t just leave someone like this. Especially not Branch, he had no one else to tell things to when he was sad, lonely, or even sick! Poppy moved in closer, shaking her head and moving around him to be right in front of his vision. She took hold of his paws in her own, which he didn’t even seem to mind, and twitched her tail with excitement that he was letting her do so.

Not the time Poppy-tail, this is serious.

“Branch, those were the saddest sighs I have ever heard in my life, and Biggie is the most emotional troll I know. What’s going on with you? You can tell me!” Poppy attempted to console him, waiting for the moment he’d yell and tell her to buzz off. He looked into her eyes for a moment, as if what he wanted to say was on the tip of his tongue before giving up and dropping his head, shaking it.

“No, no. It’ll sound crazy. So, so crazy and pathetic. Just leave me alone.” He sounded so defeated. Her heart just broke, she’d never seen him like this.

“Cooper’s crazy when he sees a party without a single pyrotechnic in sight. Feeling sad? Not as crazy. Try me.” She insisted with a slight chuckle, squeezing his paws a little tighter to make him return her gaze, which he did. He was about to speak when Poppy’s friends finally noticed that she was missing. His ears twitched, snatching his paws away and receding further into the forest as they approached.

Darn it, guys! I almost had him!

“Poppy? What are you doing over there in the bushes? Come ooo-oo-out!” Guy Diamond beckoned with an auto-tuned finish.

Poppy took back Branch’s paw and took him with her as she left the bushes, smiling big for her friends.

“Well, I saw Branch and as you knowww, he still needs to be invited to our party!" Poppy said, letting go of Branch to throw her arms up in the air in excitement.

“Oh yeah! It’s gonna be the biggest-” Satin and Chenille said in unison.

“-The loudest, craziest party ever. I know.” Branch interrupted with a sullen look. Before repeating his last words more pitifully as if he were reminiscing. “I know.”

Poppy looked at him with such pity. He looked so awful. Drained might be a better word to describe his appearance. The rest of the snack pack looked at him too, they could see just how pitiful he looked. It was weirdly out of character, they only ever saw him angry.

“Well… You look like you need some serious cheering up. And when I say this party could cheer up any troll, I mean it!” Poppy took out an invitation from her hair and handed it to Branch. “You should really consider coming!”

Branch just looked at the invitation in his paws, rubbing it with his thumbs in fondness and lost in such sad, melancholic thought. He opened it, looked at it as it sang, sprang up different scrapbooked rainbows, and then finally himself. The grey troll closed his eyes in acceptance as the glitter poured out onto his face and chest. When it ended, he rubbed some off his face with his fingers, rubbing the grainy glitter between them and staring at it as if he was remembering something painful.

“Poppy, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think this party is a good idea. A Bergen is gonna see it.” He said in a monotone voice, drained of any urgency.

“Oh, Branch. You—”

“—Always ruin everything by reminding you guys of the Bergens, I know! I know.” He said, his voice full of anguish and frustration this time, but upset with no one but himself as he clenched the fist full of glitter.

The Snack Pack was officially freaked out, he’d predicted their sentences twice now and it was getting kinda weird. Cooper craned his neck down to Poppy and whispered to her.

“Are you sure you wanna invite this party pooper to poop on your party?” Cooper asked suspiciously.

“Yes! I think everyone deserves to be happy,” Poppy started.

“Branch, I know you have happiness inside you, you just need our help to help you find it.” Branch mimicked, saying Poppy’s words at the same time she was saying them without so much as a flinch.

“Oooookay, this is starting to creep me out.” DJ Suki admitted, hugging herself.

“Okay, Branch. Seriously, what is up with you today? You’re acting… Stranger than usual.” Poppy nodded at Suki before returning her eyes to the deflated grey troll.

“Like I said, I know a Bergen is gonna find you guys if you throw that party. I’ve… I’ve seen this all play out. I just—” He stopped himself, biting his lip and wringing his paws nervously as he shook his head. “Nevermind, there’s no point in telling you this, do what you want. I can’t save you this time.”

The group of trolls just stood there, bewildered in silence before a small beetle’s wings fluttering could be heard as a certain purple troll descended. Being carried by his hair, he landed with his paws pressed together in a meditative position.

“Thank you for providing safe passage, brother. Namaste.” Creek thanked the bug, nuzzling it before it took off. This was the first time this morning that Branch had a scowl on his face as Creek approached him.

“Okay, first of all, Mate,” Creek said with a cheery voice as he approached the miserable troll. “Thank you for sharing your unique perspective on things. Again.” He said with a smirk as he looked back at his friends. Cooper and Biggie snickered at his jab as Creek continued.

“Just for now, why don’t you try on some—” He was stopped from his advice by a paw to his face.

“Positivity… Blah blah, it might go well with my vest. Yadda, yadda. Yes, I know. I sound insane and I’m the most miserable, pathetic loser you all know. Can we skip this and just get to the part when all of you ignore me and do what you want anyway?” He seemed genuinely irritated by Creek’s presence compared to everyone else for some reason.

“Branch, you’re not pathetic. You’re just… Not feeling great right now and I wanna help!” Poppy stepped forward to console him as he was clearly upset.

“Poppy, I appreciate it, but it’s pointless. All of this is.”

“What’s pointless, Branch? You’re seriously not making any sense.”

“THIS!” He motions around frantically, at himself and Poppy, the invitation, then pans his paw across her friends behind her and then everything around himself. “I know what’s gonna happen. I’ve lived it, seen it. Every word coming out of you guy’s mouths is something that I’ve already seen happen and I know how it all ends.”

“Wow, he is crazy,” Chenille muttered.

“See? It’s useless. You’re all gonna get eaten. I can’t help this time, I just can’t do it.” Branch whined in despair as he ran off with tears in his eyes.

“Branch, wait!” Poppy snapped her head back in frustration at Chenille’s comment. “Chenille! He was really upset! That wasn’t very kind.”

“Sorry Poppy, but he does sound… Maybe, sort of, incredibly nutty right now.” Biggie said in defense of Chenille.

Poppy’s jaw dropped. Were they always this dismissive of Branch? He was crying when he ran off right now and it seems like they don’t even wanna find out why!

“Does anyone care that Branch was totally crying just now?” Poppy asked in total disbelief. No one responded, just awkward looks around and scratching of necks in indifference. Creek cleared his throat.

“Princess Poppy? I understand you have a kind heart, but some people just don’t want help! You shouldn’t waste your breath on a troll like that, a miserable troll like that would suck the joy right out of any party. Don't let his words bother you. Let’s just go, okay?”

Poppy let out a noise of astonishment. She couldn’t believe this.

“Well if no one else is gonna check on a troll in need, I will. No troll gets left behind.” Poppy stomped her foot and charged off in the direction that Branch had gone.

She heard her friends call for her, but none followed. She was so disappointed, why wouldn’t they help? Sure, Branch could be prickly, but it didn’t mean he didn’t still have feelings! It was clear he did, he was crying after all! She’d just have to do this herself.

~~~

Original End Note: I think the Snack Pack would be way more cautious of Branch with Creek around. DJ Suki, Satin, and Chenille have their Trolls:TBGO personalities so Chenille is not always very nice and DJ is a little easy to freak out. Poppy is very trusting by nature.

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