#which is precisely why it would be the way it happens. that's his curse. that's hellblazer

[talentforlying]

WHY DID THE AUTHOR KILL YOU OFF?

DEATH AS REDEMPTION. some things cannot be forgiven. what a shame, then, that so many consider forgiveness to be the be-all, end-all of character redemptions. or that forgiveness in itself is the redemption. whatever sins you committed, whatever actions weigh your soul down, the author has decided that you cannot make up for it . . . and so they will not let you try. no, you will not even be allowed to try and put as much positivity into the world as possible. ( you cannot restore the balance, but surely you could do something? ) instead, there is only one thing to do: sacrifice yourself. you'll take a bullet meant for the hero, or tackle the villain off a cliff ( dooming you both ), or you'll use the last of your magic to get everyone else out safely.

when the heroes speak of your death, they will act as if you have undone all your wrongs, as if dying was the holiest gift you were capable of giving. i cannot help but wonder . . . how much more could you have done, if you had only been given the chance?

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO SATORU x FEM READER

The Zenins want Megumi. Gojo isn’t having it.

wc — 1.7k

tags — one suggestive line after “those girls are better off without you” if you want to avoid it, set after 棠, part of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together

Gojo’s been in the doghouse since last night. Not literally, obviously - though he might have preferred it if you were there with him, at least. He’d take anything over being kicked out of your shared bedroom and being forced to sleep on the couch. 

If you had it your way, you’d prolong his punishment, but you can’t. Not when, as he told you last night, the Zenins are coming today to wrest Megumi from your custody. 

Fat chance. 

You’d die before you let that happen. 

Gojo’s not too keen on either of those outcomes. For the first time in his life, he’s taking the pacifist’s route and talking it out, though you’re sure his version of talking involves more insults than most people’s. 

He thought about simply having it out with the elders, but it’s not worth it. Not when he has a plan for the future of Jujutsu Society. Not when he has you, Megumi, and Tsumiki. He’s playing the long game. He can’t afford to screw it up now. 

Being a family man really has ruined him. 

Zenin Keiko is a tall woman with a severe black bob and the characteristic Zenin look of perpetual contempt. She’s Naoya’s cousin, alright. 

“Twice-removed,” Gojo whispers to you. “Or illegitimate. Something like that, I can’t remember.” 

“Shut up,” you whisper back out of the corner of your mouth. “She’s going to hear you.” 

Welcoming a Zenin into your home feels like blasphemy, though you suppose Gojo is the closest thing Jujutsu society has to a god. 

Gojo’s unimpressed by her, mostly because he feels like the Zenins are mocking him. It’s not like anyone can take him on, but to send someone who has no battle capabilities feels like an insult.  

Keiko is an auxiliary manager with no cursed technique to speak of besides a weak barrier. It’s a wonder she has the nerve to speak to Gojo. The Zenins truly did not care about her if they sent her as the proxy to undermine your roles as the Fushiguro children’s guardians. In fact, you suspect that’s the precise reason she was chosen - because she’s expendable. 

Keiko, to her credit, shows no sign of fear. 

“I’d like to meet the children, Mr. Gojo. It’ll give me a good grasp of what the situation is.” 

“Hell no,” Gojo outright laughs in her face. “I’m not letting a Zenin near my brats. Your-“

“Gojo.” You squeeze his knee. Cooperate. 

“I’ll go get them,” he says begrudgingly.

The two of you sandwich the children between you on the couch. Tsumiki sits on Gojo’s left. Megumi sits on your right. That way, the two that are most likely to fight are separated. It’s a strategized united front. 

“Megumi, do you like your guardians? Do you like staying here?” 

Megumi looks at you. You smile at him encouragingly - and there Keiko goes, scribbling away in her notebook. She’s probably saying something about how Megumi is so scared of you he won’t answer the question unless you give him permission. 

“Are you sure? Forgive me, but Gojo seems a little…immature for a parent.” 

A direct attack right out of the gates. Gojo objects to this very accurate assessment of his character. 

“He’s fine, I guess,” Megumi says. There’s more scribbling. You’re starting to hate the sound of pen on paper. “I like-“ 

He looks at you. There’s a tiny blush on his cheeks, just the faintest hint of red. More quietly, he says, “It’s fine, cause she takes care of us.” 

Gojo stares at him, slack-jawed. “Are you kidding me? You are one ungrateful brat. Who found you? Who took you in?” 

Tsumiki chimes in, “We like Gojo a lot too! He’s fun.” 

Keiko ignores her completely, focusing on Megumi instead. Your distaste for her grows. 

“Would you say that Gojo has an active role in taking care of you?” 

“Why aren’t you asking Tsumiki anything?” Megumi interrupts. “Her opinion’s important too.” 

Keiko gives him a strained smile. Gojo reaches behind Tsumiki on the couch to ruffle Megumi’s hair. He only tolerates this for five seconds before he shakes his head to get him off. 

“He loves me,” Gojo says. 

“I have Stockholm syndrome,” Megumi says. ‘Help,’ he mouthes. 

“He’s joking,” Tsumiki says nervously.

You’ve given up on making them behave. It’s just not happening. 

Keiko seems to have given up too. Rather than continue prodding Megumi, she turns to Gojo. 

“How often are you home?”

“Basically every day,” Gojo lies. He does try his best, but it’s more like every other day. Such is the fate of the strongest sorcerer. 

“Don’t want my baby all alone, poor little thing.” 

He catches your look and cackles. “No, the other one. My other baby,” and the kiss he presses to your knuckles is so tender it melts your heart. 

Keiko makes an uncomfortable expression. “Please try to stay focused, Mr. Gojo.” 

Megumi gags loudly. Tsumiki pinches his arm to get him to shut up and he yelps. Keiko narrows her eyes and makes another note. 

“I understand how Gojo might take responsibility for the children,” Keiko says, directing her attention to you, “but how did you come into the picture. Are you a girlfriend-“

“Wife,” Gojo interjects. 

Keiko’s entire body does an approximation of what it would look if a human had a screenshot function. 

“Aren’t you children?”

You don’t like Keiko at all, but you respect the balls it takes to talk to Gojo like that. All the Zenins seem to have that death wish of wanting to mouth off to the strongest. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. 

Gojo shrugs. “If I’m old enough for the missions you send me on, I’m old enough to take care of kids, right? How hard can it be?”

You pinch his thigh. “Gojo.” 

“What? It is easy. You just give them a bunch of lollipops and call it a day.” 

Keiko’s writing is now background noise to you. “Are you still doing that? I told you-“

“It’s fine! All kids need sugar to grow. I had a sweet tooth when I was their age.”

“And that’s probably the reason why you still have one now! Except it’s rotting your teeth-“

“It’s not-“

“It is!”

“Don’t be so uptight!”

“How does it look if I’m always saying no to him and you’re always saying yes? It isn’t fair, Satoru. Parenting has to be a team effort.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about you playing good cop, bad cop with him!” 

“Have you gone insane? We went over this! He likes you more than me! There is no good cop, bad cop when he just takes your side every single time.” 

“Excuse me,” Keiko says. She’s somehow managed to look a complex combination of perplexed, annoyed, and satisfied. “Please take care of your lovers’ tiffs outside of this interview. I will say that this doesn’t seem like an environment particularly conducive to raising children, however.” 

“What do you know?” Gojo says rudely. “The only reason you’re even doing this interview is because I’m letting you.” 

Normally, you would tell him off, but in front of the Zenins? You’re a united front. You place a hand on his forearm and look down your nose at the woman in front of you as best as you can when she’s taller than most people you meet. 

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” you say. 

“You agreed to an interview,” she says. 

“An interview, not an inquisition.”

“You can’t refuse a request from the elders without consequences,” she says, as patiently as she would speak to a child. It’s condescending. 

“Are you threatening my wife?” 

When you look to your side, Gojo’s face is shadowed. His eyes are storm dark and frightening. Keiko can’t hide her visceral reaction. 

She forgets her coat on her way out, she’s in such a hurry to leave. Gojo takes it and disappears. 

While he’s away, you let Megumi and Tsumiki return to their rooms. They’re muttering amongst themselves, but you don’t pry. Children need their space, too. You’ll talk to them about it later. 

He’s back within a minute. 

“What did you do with it?” You’re bracing yourself for the answer. 

“I just sent a message,” he says, as cheerily as if nothing had happened. “Think we passed that?” 

“Gojo, I think that’s the first test you’ve ever failed. Did you see the way she was writing during the last twenty minutes? And Megumi and Tsumiki! Every time they said something, she made a face!” 

Gojo shrugs, still so certain of his place in the hierarchy. One day, the elders will get tired of him throwing his weight around like Jujutsu’s one and only tyrant, but not someday soon if they want to keep their heads. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not going to make Megumi and Tsumiki act like repressed little puppet children just so that they can find some way to snipe them out from under us anyways. Who knows, maybe we’ll teach the Zenins a thing or two about healthy child raising. I hear they have two girls now. One of them has no cursed energy. Should we kidnap some more children?” 

“Like you know anything about healthy parenting,” you snark. “Those girls are better off without you.” 

“Does being mean to me get you off or something?” 

“Do you want to find out?” 

“I would love to,” he purrs, sliding a hand under your shirt just so slightly so his nails prick at your lower stomach. You grab his wrist. 

“Sorry,” you say, your stomach churning at the joke gone wrong. “I can’t.”

He stops immediately. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just- They want Megumi badly enough to go to the higher ups. I know what they do to their children. I can’t let him go there, Satoru. I can’t.” 

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I can’t stop thinking about those girls.”

“Come here,” he says. 

You lean closer to him. He lifts his arm so easily, without thinking. When you slide under it, you fit into him perfectly. 

Now that you’re safely tucked under his arm, you feel sheltered from anything that could happen.  “I don’t want to give the kids to the Zenins. They’re monsters. And they would make monsters out of them.” 

“That’s only if they take them away,” Gojo says, his smile fanged and vicious. 

“And if they do?”

“I hope they try.”

You trust him. 

You know he’ll keep his word. If Gojo says Megumi and Tsumiki won’t be going to the Zenins as long as he’s alive, then they won’t be going at all. 

[fangisms]

lady may

A/N: something ab writing for an angry hufflepuff really saved my soul. she is SO valid. maybe i’m her. (also this song eats away at my brain, so i had to write ab it… naturally) gif creds: @frodo-sam

Pairings: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Grumpy!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summary: Well, he’s not the toughest hickory that your axe has ever felled // But he’s a hickory just as well 1.5k words

Warnings: fluff, cursing, two idiots very much in love, pining, angry hufflepuff, dumb/embarassed reader (lovingly), golden retriever cedric, quidditch injury mention

How could you look so beautiful drenched by the pouring rain, hovering ten meters in the air, goggles suctioned to your face, barking orders at the rest of the team like a drill sergeant? It’d always make him wonder. And midgame, that’s a silly thing to do. Which is exactly why he’s doing it.

You’re the angriest girl Cedric’s ever met. World class beater and a great captain, but you’ve got serious anger issues. The guys have started calling you boxer because you’re always on the verge of a scrap. Cedric has seen you chew out almost every position on the team. Except him. You’ve never yelled at him, you barely even look in his direction on a good day. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he wants you to yell at him.

Well, not entirely inexplicable. Now would be the best time to mention he’s got a huge crush on you. In fact, he’s had a crush on you since you became team captain. You’ve always been pretty, but something about the title and the power really commanded his attention.

Which is precisely why he needs you to yell at him. He craves it. He’s been waiting all year for you to tell him he’s an idiot and that he’s doing everything wrong. But you won’t. And desperate times call for very desperate measures.

He’s barely dodging bludgers, not even trying for the snitch, doing party tricks in front of the stands, anything for you to glance his way. And then he goes and gets knocked off his broom. Luckily, he wasn’t too high in the air and he wasn’t flying too fast. The worst that happened was he got the wind knocked out of him. The best? You marching toward him like a sicced dog.

You kneel at his side, goggles loose around your neck as you coo, “are you okay?”

What? No, this is all wrong, you’re supposed to call him stupid, say that next time he’s off the team. Not ask if he’s okay.

Cedric nods and you help him sit up, signalling to the stadium that he’s alright. A cheer rips through the crowd.

“Can you play?” you huff, patting his back softly. He’s got butterflies.

“Yeah,” he says. When you get him on his feet, he almost wishes you won’t let go. And he suddenly remembers you’re much prettier up close, and his heart nearly gives out.

“Good sport, Diggory,” you tease, hopping back on your broom, “Back to work!”

It’d take a brain injury to get your attention.

The game goes off without a hitch: Cedric goes back to actually trying for the snitch and wins Hufflepuff the game. He’s a little disappointed he hsan’t given you anything else to be upset about. So once the celebration is over, he catches you outside of the locker rooms.

“Why didn’t you get mad at me?” Cedric asks, jogging to catch you as you head back towards the dorms. You don’t respond, but he’s sure you heard him. So he nudges your shoulder. “Come on, boxer, I’ve seen you angry, I’m prepared.”

You stop dead in your tracks, and he slows to a stop just behind you. Then you turn to face him, and he’s never seen your glare so intense.

“Listen, Diggory, you’re smart, you’ve got talent, and I trust you to perform well on this team. So I can’t for the life of me understand why you go out on that field just to dick around.”

You’re serious. Not angry, just serious. You’ve got this calm and collected tone that drives him absolutely up-the-wall insane. But he wants you to yell.

“You have plenty of adoring fans tracking your every move, you don’t have to pull dumb shit to get people to like you. You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or killed, understand? So I advise you put your team and your safety before your reputation,” you say, storming off with your bag slung over your shoulder.

And it gets him kind of worked up because obviously, he wouldn’t have done any of it if it weren’t for you. You and your stupidly selective anger issues. And your stupid smile.

“Hold on,” he hollers, still half drunk on the idea of being subject to your rage, “you think I don’t put this team at the top of all of my lists? Clearly, I love this stupid sport or I wouldn’t put so much damn time and effort into it!”

“If you love this sport, act like it.” Your jaw ticks before you march through the doorway, leaving him flustered in the mist of the courtyard.

…

He’s giving it one last go. If you won’t get angry with him, maybe he ought to just confess his feelings outright. This feels like the most rational he’s ever been. He even combed his hair extra carefully in hopes of you noticing.

Your friends quiet down when he approaches you in the mess hall, small flower pinched between his fingers, grin plastered across his face. You look a little annoyed but he’s pretty sure it’s just shock. And suddenly it feels like grade school when they all burst into giggles.

“This is for you—”

“Diggory.”

He cocks a brow. “Yeah?”

You grab the sleeve of his robes and drag him out into the hall, near slamming him into the stone wall. So much for his combed hair.

“What was that back there?” you hiss, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well. I brought you a flower. It’s from the field—”

“I can see that!”—you’re frenzied searhcing for any possible explanation other than he has a head injury from falling—“Explain to me why.”

He looks confused and presents the flower again.“Isn’t it obvious?”

You look down at the flower. It’s small and white and looks so delicate in his hand. And you look at him. You suppose his pupils are a little extra dilated. “Are you poisoned? Or drunk?”

“No!”

You finally let go of him to gesture wildly. “Then what, Cedric—Merlin’s beard—What???”

“I brought you a flower,” he coos, tilting his head. You press two fingers to the bridge of your nose.

“Yeah, I got that part—”

“Hold on—hasn’t anyone ever given you something nice because… they like you?” Cedric hums, shuffling closer to you. Your eyes are glued to the tiny flower, but you won’t take it. Then you glare up at him.

“Is this a joke? Did the twins put you up to it?”

“No, just take the flower! I like you!” He sounds dastardly jovial, taking your wrist in one hand and presisng the flower to your palm with the other.

“What?” you scoff. Still staring down at the flower, making him wish his face was made of them so you’d look at him like that.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

And then you look at him. In the eyes. Perplexed, brows knitted, but you’re looking right at him and he could faint. Maybe it is a head injury.

“But I’m not… I’m not like…”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Well, it’s just—I’m confused because… you like pretty girls, and I’m not… that’s not what I do—am. What I am.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” he huffs.

“Cho is pretty,” you state.

“You’re pretty.”

“No, Cedric, I play quidditch. If I was pretty, I’d have a boyfriend,” you reason, shrugging your shoulders and giving him a real run for his money.

“And those things are connected… how?”

You scoff and relax a little when he puts his hands on his hips. So what if he’s incredibly handsome. So what if your friends want to see you together. So what if he’s the one person you don’t want to rip to shreds. It’s not like any of that matters. Right?

“It makes sense!” you say.

“No, it doesn’t. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Diggory, don’t—”

“Is that a no?”

“Well, no! But you’re being rash! You’ll change your mind, and you’ll want your flower back!”

He shakes his head. “No. I gave you a flower because I think you’re very wonderful and very beautiful and I want to be your boyfriend.”

“But…”—he’s very amused by the fact that he’s made you flustered—“I sweat a lot!”

“So do I,” he chuckles, “we do play quidditch together, I hope you know.”

“Okay, okay, fine. We… argue!” you chirp.

“And you’re almost always right! Problem solved,” he says, “Now, would you be my girlfriend or do I have to get down on my knees?”

“No! I mean, yes! No, no, no knees, just… yes. I will be your girlfriend.”

Cedric smirks, taking the flower from your still open palm and tucking it behind your ear. Yesterday, he could barely say hello to you, and now he’s pulling you closer and tilting your chin up. His heart flutters when you palm his waist, and you smile when he leans a little closer.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you hum. He chuckles.

“Only if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Naturally.”

masterlist

[ellswritings]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Derek Hale x Reader

TW: Mentions of blood and death, werewolfy things, Stiles being an absolute spaz, age gap, Jennifer Blake (cause she’s a warning on her own), major feels, and a tiny bit of angst, some bad words. I think that it y’all. Once again, let me know if I missed something!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

There have always been two constants in Y/N L/N life when it came to living in Beacon Hills, life threatening creatures and the possibility of her imminent death. When she became friends with Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall in Kindergarten, she wasn’t completely aware of what she signed up for. Most people would think the constant Star Wars marathons with Stiles and lacrosse training with Scott would’ve drove her away early on, but she stayed. Not that they’d let her leave even if she tried. Having them as her best friends has always been a blessing and a curse. She would do anything for them, but she didn’t know anything included becoming a supernatural creature.

A werewolf to be precise.

The night of the dance their sophomore year, Y/N had seen Lydia walk out of the dance in which she assumed was in search of Jackson. But when she saw the blonde boy lingering in the hallways, she had a feeling something was off. When she went in search of the girl and found her at the lacrosse field, there was no escaping their inevitable fate. That was one of the many times Y/N thought she’d meet her end. Watching Peter Hale run towards them at fully speed before taking a nice bite out of their skin was not on her bucket list for the evening.

Since then there have been plenty adventures for the “McCall Pack” as she’d like to call it. Allison’s grandfather Gerard coming to town, the Kanima, Derek and his pack trying to kill Lydia, then finding out it was Jackson, only to have him turn into a werewolf and run off to London. There might have been a couple kidnappings and restraining order somewhere in there, but those are minor details.

And, of course, with a new year comes new threats. There has been a recent string of kidnappings that turned into murders that none of them have been able to solve yet. They’ve tried as a group to brainstorm, meeting at Derek’s new loft every so often to get the entire groups opinion, but nothing has come out of it. Well, besides spending extra time with the Alpha. That’s an aspect Y/N didn’t mind in the slightest.

She had no issues making herself at home in his loft, despite his halfhearted protests. No one could understand how Y/N had the ability to just throw her feet up on his coffee table and not get her throat ripped out. It’s either she has no regard for her life, or Derek has a soft spot for her which is something no one saw coming.

The two have always had an interesting relationship. Y/N enjoys arguing, similar to Stiles hence why they get along so well. She loves getting under Derek’s skin and pushing every button she knows he has. It’s almost as if she goes out of her way to try and get a reaction out of him. No one blames her really, it gets entertaining hearing them go at it. Especially for Stiles.

Whenever anyone needs to ask Derek for a favor, the first person they send his way is Y/N. For one, they’ve only ever heard the word “yes” come out of his mouth when talking to her, and she’s the most likely one not to flinch if she has to kill him. She has a conscious, it’s just not always active.

Y/N rides up to Beacon Hills High on her motorcycle before parking in the thin spot near the bike rack. She carefully takes off her helmet, smoothing down any stray pieces of hair that might’ve fallen out of place. She had been told to go to Derek’s the night before to ask him if he’s found anything out about their new lethal friend, the only issue is when she got there, she could hear her new teacher Jennifer Blake in the apartment with him. She felt the urge to completely kick the door down and interrupt whatever conversation was happening, but she practiced a high level of self-restraint. She knew Derek was aware of her being there. He could smell her the same way she could him. But the hot white rage that filled Y/N’s chest forced her to walk away and ride angrily back to Stiles’s place.

Scott and Stiles watch their friend from the steps at the entrance to the school. Her ever present frown is a little troubling as it is much more prominent than usual. They didn’t get the full details about what angered her so much the night before, but it’s clearly still bothering her. She takes the keys out of her bike before stomping up to them. When she notices them staring at her, she lifts an eyebrow, “Something you wanna say?” She challenges. Both boys look at each other and simultaneously shoot her a fake smile.

“You– you look nice today,” Stiles comments awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “Did you uh– did you do something new with your hair?”

Y/N stared at him blankly while Scott mentally facepalms at his friends attempt at covering up their concern. She simply shakes her head, looping her arms through both of theirs. “I’m fine if that’s what you guys are wondering. Derek was busy last night so I just came back to the house. That’s it,” she explains shortly, leaving no room for questions.

Scott scrunches his nose and a look of realization dawns on his face. It quickly morphs into disgust the more he thinks about it and Stiles furrows his eyebrows curiously. He looks over Y/N’s head and waits for his other best friend to clue him in on what’s got him all bothered. Scott makes sure Y/N’s more focused on weaving through the crowd before mouthing “She’s jealous” over to Stiles.

“I’m gonna grab my notebook real quick,” she tells them. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she reaches her locker, Stiles leans over to attempt a discreet conversation with Scott. “What do you mean she’s jealous?” He asks in a whisper. “Jealous of what?”

“I don’t know,” Scott answers, watching Y/N carefully. “But I’m assuming it had something to do with what happened at Derek’s last night.”

“Why would she be jealous over something with Derek?” Stiles scoffs, his eyebrows furrowed.

Scott shoots him a pointed look. Stiles is an absolute genius when it comes to certain topics, but girls and social cues are not one of them. His jaw drops slightly when he realizes what Scott’s implying. He rapidly shakes his head, flailing his arms in the air. “No– no, uh-uh. There’s no way. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not like you can stop it,” Scott chuckles. “If she likes him, she likes him.”

“Oh God,” Stiles groans disgustedly. “Out of all people? Sourwolf? Really?”

Scott shrugs with an amused smile as Y/N turns to start walking back, “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Okay, but does it have to want him?” Stiles continues to complain. “And if she’s jealous that means there was someone else there last night. Who? Because last I checked, Derek is a very acquired taste.”

“How would I know?” Scott replies. “Now shut up before she realizes we’re talking about her.”

The three of them made a pact awhile back that they wouldn’t eavesdrop on each other’s private conversations unless they were in danger. So they knew it would be safe to have said discussion despite Y/N’s enhanced hearing.

“You guys ready?” She asks.

Both nod vigorously, trying to hide their gossip, but their desperation to seem normal gives them away. Y/N simply rolls her eyes and says nothing. She once again links their arms together as they head towards their English class. No one needs werewolf senses to see how tense and angry Y/N got at the sight of Ms. Blake. The fury behind her eyes is one everyone in the pack has had to face at one point or another. Scott vividly remembers those eyes when Issac stole the last piece of her banana bread from when they went to the bakery they all love, and she threw him clear across his house.

Y/N separates herself from the boys, taking her spot next to Alison and Lydia while the boys sit down behind them. It’s a miracle how they all ended up in the same class. Y/N opens up her notebook, choosing to doodle rather than pay attention to whatever Ms. Blake is writing on the whit board in front of them. Alison looks at Y/N’s drawing with curiosity and smiles, “That’s really good,” she compliments.

It’s her beginning sketch to one of her favorite book characters, Sirius Black from Harry Potter. Y/N tries to muster a genuine grin, “Thanks,” she replies.

Alison isn’t clueless though. She can feel the difference in Y/N’s attitude from how she acts on a regular basis. She squints her eyes trying to silently figure it out before turning back to Scott who already knows what she’s wondering. What all of them were wondering. Who got Y/N so riled up? They know she’s jealous of something that happened with Derek, but who could she be jealous of?

“Alright, good morning everyone!” Jennifer greets with a smile that makes Y/N’s blood boil. She brings a hand up to play with her helix piercing to prevent her claws which will no doubt make an appearance by the end of this class. “Today, we're going to delve deeper into Shakespeare's Othello. I want you to focus on the themes of jealousy and manipulation that are littered throughout the text.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow on her teacher. The word “jealousy” feeling like a direct hit on their current situation. She cracks her neck before flipping to the page in their text book. She slouches in her chair, leg bouncing up and down. She quickly begins to run out of patience hearing the teachers heels click every time she takes a step.

“Y/N,” Jennifer calls out. “Why don’t you go ahead and start us off by reading the first paragraph?”

The grip Y/N has on her pencil tightens. There it is. Scott can not only smell it, but he can see it with his own eyes. The tension is more than palpable. Jennifer was the one at Derek’s last night. Y/N tilts her head, “Why can’t someone else do it?” She deflects coldly. “Lydia for example is quite the fan of our troubled poet.”

The challenge in her voice makes Jennifer hold back her own glare. She should’ve known Y/N would be the student to give her trouble from the beginning. The class shifts uncomfortably from the sudden chill in the air. “Y/N, it’s important for everyone to participate. Please, read the passage,” she requests with forced patience.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” the (h/c) haired girl answers, folding her hands together as she leans on the desk. “I have crippling anxiety when it comes to reading in front of people. You wouldn’t want to do something to cause a breakdown would you?” She asks in the most taunting voice possible.

Lydia and Alison both stare at their friend with confusion. Stiles has to sink low in his chair to hide the inevitable laughter that’s about to come out of his mouth. While Scott just covers his face with his hands, waiting for World War Y/N to take place in his English class.

Jennifer quirks an eyebrow, “Did you not just do the school play of Beauty and the Beast last month? Where you played Belle? The lead role?”

Silence.

“That’s different, Ms. Blake,” Y/N corrects. “Not that I’d expect you to understand, but playing a character and who I am in real life is completely separate.”

“Well, that’s perfect then,” she nods. “Why don’t you go ahead and read it in character for us?”

A strong scent of copper fills Scott’s nose. He glances down and sees Y/N’s claws dug deep into her thigh. Stiles notices Scott’s wide eyes and glances where he’s looking. When he sees the wide open wound his face turns pale white before he shuffles in his chair.

“What a fantastic idea,” Y/N quips sarcastically before glancing down at the page below her. As she begins to read, the passive aggressiveness in her tone is evident. “O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on."

Her eyes lock with Jennifer's, and she can't help but add, under her breath but loud enough for her friends to pick up on, "How fitting"

Jennifer's expression hardens, but she maintains her composure. She leans on her desk while looking Y/N in the eye, “I would like a word with you after class Miss L/N,” she says coolly before continuing on with her lesson.

The glare on Y/N’s face never fades. She burns holes into the back of Jennifer’s head. Scott grew increasingly more worried that her eyes would flash, giving away her secret for all to see. All four of her friends exchange worried glances. Y/N’s never really been one to get in trouble on her own accord. She’s gotten detention, but ninety percent of the times it’s because Scott and Stiles roped her into it. The boys take it upon themselves to text Lydia and Alison, informing them of their theory of what is causing Y/N’s sudden aggression.

Lydia purses her lips together as she reads the texts. She leans back to whisper to Stiles, “This should be interesting…”

The rest of the class drags on, time ticking fairly slow. Y/N doesn’t say much, but the nasty looks she shoots cut more deeply than any words ever could. Halfway through the period, Stiles places his hand on her back to help keep her calm, which she wouldn’t admit, helped a lot. When the bell finally rings, the students begin to file out. Y/N stays behind, her anger barely contained. Scott, Stiles, Alison, and Lydia linger outside the door, trying to listen in on the upcoming confrontation.

Y/N rolls her eyes as she slings her bag over her shoulder. She approaches Jennifer’s desk with a sickly sweet smile. The teacher doesn’t buy it though. “Y/N, what is going on with you today?” She questions firmly, feigning concern for the younger girl.

Y/N shakes her head, producing the most innocent face she could. “Going on with me? Nothing at all, Miss Blake. I am doing just dandy. Why do you ask?"

Jennifer bites the inside of her cheek, narrowing her eyes, but she manages to keep her tone measured. "Your behavior today has been disruptive and disrespectful. You are a talented and well-read young woman. I expected more from you."

Y/N chuckles, leaning more of her weight on her left side, popping her hip to show just how much she truly cares about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do, given your high standards and all. It must be exhausting to keep up appearances,” she comments with a deceptive charm.

The older woman’s nostrils flare, knowing exactly what she’s trying to get at. Of course this is what her behavior is all about. Jennifer takes a deep breath, “Y/N, your comments today were out of line. This isn’t about keeping up appearances, it’s about maintaining respect in the classroom."

Y/N walks closer to her desk with a sly smile. She traces her finger up the wood, rubbing the dust in between her fingers. “Respect? Funny you should mention that. It seems respect is a bit... selective around here."

Jennifer's patience finally snaps, though she tries to mask it with a strained smile. “Y/N, your insinuations are inappropriate. Whatever issues you think exist, this isn't the place to air them."

Y/N barely even makes eye contact with the woman, flicking off the small dust bunny she formed with her fingers. “Of course,” she agrees mildly. “From now on, I’ll make sure to be more… discreet.”

Her teacher’s eyes flash with irritation, “You know what? Your behavior today has been unacceptable. Detention. After school. I expect to see you here as soon as the bell rings.”

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look in Jennifer's eyes stops her. She storms out of the classroom, her friends quickly falling into step beside her. Stiles trips over his own footing as he tries to grab Y/N’s wrist, “Would you just– Jesus– Y/N. Slow down!” He exclaims, finally catching her. He grabs onto her, holding the girl in place.

Y/N raises her eyebrows, “What?” She bites out. “I have to get to Calc.”

“Care to explain what the hell is going on with you?” Lydia tries to coax the information out of her. She knows it’s never good for Y/N out of all people to keep things bottled.

“Nothing’s going on with me,” she denies. “I’m fine. Are we done here?” She scoffs, spinning on her heel to walk away.

Scott runs in front of her, “Y/N, we just want to help,” he insists softly.

“I don’t need your help!” She snaps. The wounded expression on his puppy dog face makes Y/N groan at her actions. She runs a hand over her face, “Look Scotty, I appreciate it. I appreciate all of you, really, I do. It means a lot that you care so much, but this isn’t something that I feel like talking about right now. I need space and time to plot out her murder and then maybe we can have a discussion later, okay?” She says nonchalantly, kissing Scott’s cheek before walking off to her calculus class.

They all stand there stunned for a moment. Stiles watches after her, pointing at the girl and turning back to his friends, “Did she– did she just say plot her murder?”

“Yup,” Alison nods, popping the “p.”

As the school day goes on, Scott and Stiles continuously try to monitor Y/N and her behavior. Something about her unhinged jealousy is putting everyone on edge. Luckily, the advanced classes they don’t have with her, Lydia does. So whenever they can’t be together, they assign someone else to watch over her.

When Lydia reports back, they’re all slightly shocked to hear that she was absolutely fine in all of her other classes. Which only affirms their theory that Ms. Blake was in Derek’s apartment last night, and that’s why Y/N acted the way that she did.

When the final bell of the day rings, Y/N growls under her breath, knowing she has to spend the next hour or so with Jennifer Blake in an enclosed space. She marches down the hallway, mumbling profanities under her breath before pushing the door to her classroom open. Stiles and Scott watch from afar, the latter trying to listen in for any painful screams. But knowing Y/N, if she truly were to murder someone, it wouldn’t be loud or obvious.

Y/N furrows her eyebrows when she sees Jennifer packing up her desk. When the woman hears her door open, she glances over in her students direction. “Miss L/N, I hope you had a good and reflective rest of your day,” she comments, clearly not interested in Y/N’s day whatsoever.

Y/N doesn’t bother responding. She simply stares at her straight faced with her arms crossed. Her patience is dwindling the longer they stand there. Jennifer picks up her handbag before sending Y/N the nastiest smile she could.

“Well, Mr. Harris should be here in a couple of minutes to oversee your detention, so you can wait in your seat until he arrives.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow, “And why exactly am I waiting for Mr. Harris? Weren’t you the one to give me a detention?”

Her teacher smirks, “Yes, yes I was,” she answers with a shrug.

“Then wouldn’t it be your responsibility to oversee it? You can’t just hand out detentions and not stick around for it,” Y/N scoffs.

“Normally, I wouldn’t be leaving like this. I would happily spend the next hour of my life lecturing you on proper classroom etiquette, but I have certain plans tonight that I’ve been looking forward to. So Mr. Harris has agreed to take you off my hands,” she explains.

Y/N can smell her smugness. Only if she demonstrated this side of herself in front of the class. Y/N clenches her hand tightly, feeling her claws emerging from her actual nails. Anger rushes through her, but she pushes it back with a curt nod. “How interesting. Do you mind me asking who these plans happen to be with?”

Jennifer cockily leans forward, whispering in Y/N’s ear, “You know exactly who they’re with.” Then she pulls away from the young girl, walking out of the classroom without a second glance.

The werewolf’s eyes flash a bright yellow as she watches Jennifer stalk off. She squeezes them shut, trying to avoid any kind of outburst. Her frustration grows by the second, her heart beating abnormally fast as she hears Jennifer getting in her car to no doubt drive to Derek’s loft. A red hot fire fills her soul as she makes a decision that will no doubt have consequences later. But she would rather serve a two hour detention with Harris than watch Derek be with that woman.

Y/N storms out of the classroom, running down the hallway. She ditches her detention, figuring she could come up with an emotional enough lie to relieve the punishment afterwards. Her backpack bounces up and down, smacking into her tailbone as she runs. Her feet pump as fast as they possibly can as she runs through the greenery of the woods. She doesn’t have to pay attention to where she is because her body already knows where it’s going. Almost as if she’s called to be there, her inner wolf begging to move faster.

When she finally slows down, she’s directly in front of the door to Derek’s loft. Her chest rises and falls with her shallow breaths as she simply stares at the door. She didn’t see or hear Jennifer’s car, so that means their’s still time. She licks her lips out of nervousness before hesitantly bringing her hand up to the door, knocking on it softly.

She waits anxiously, wiping her now sweaty hands on her jeans. Y/N’s not used to feeling like this ever. She doesn’t get nervous. Most of the time, she’s the most confident person anyone could meet. Hence why she was friends with Lydia before she even knew Stiles existed. When she goes over to Derek’s, she never usually feels like this. Like her heart might just beat out of her chest if she doesn’t see him. She fights off the small whimper threatening to escape her throat. She doesn’t need to be nervous and embarrassed when he answers the door.

Y/N rocks back and forth on her feet, growing more weary as time passes. Silence fills the air around her and she suddenly feels the urge to throw up when she hears footsteps growing closer. She silently prays he can’t smell how absolutely out of sorts she is. Her inner monologue to give herself a confidence boost doesn’t do much when she sees his shadow at the bottom crack of the door. When the door swings open, it reveals a very dressed up Derek Hale. His face turns into one of confusion when he sees her standing in front of him.

“Y/N,” he greets, completely shocked by her presence. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh– I– um,” she stumbles over her words which causes Derek to look at her with curiosity. She’s not the type to be at a loss for something to say. That’s one of the things he admires about her. She sucks in a deep breath, “I just needed to see you,” she answers.

Derek steps aside slightly, allowing her into his apartment. When she walks in she can’t help but feel safe. This loft has almost turned into her home away from home. She’s here more often than anyone else out of the pack, and Issac lives here. It isn’t until now that Derek can smell the mix of emotions radiating off of her. It’s a concoction of things and he can’t tell which is the primary source of her unannounced appearance.

“What’s this about?” He asks her with a lifted brow.

Y/N sighs, trying to blink back the intermittent flashing of her eyes. “I know someone was here last night,” she reveals. “I came by and heard her. Then I find out today that you two apparently have plans,” she continues getting progressively more irritated. “Which didn’t make sense to me because I thought you were smarter than that.”

Derek crosses his arms, his own anger rising at her tone. He’s used to her empty sarcasm and insults, but this time it’s fueled by actual emotion which sets him equally on edge. “It’s none of your business who I have plans with, Y/N,” he says shortly.

Y/N laughs humorlessly, “None of my business? It is absolutely my business if the person you have these plans with is a complete stranger!” She exclaims loudly. “We don’t know her Derek. She could be the person behind all these killings and kidnappings and we wouldn’t be any the wiser!”

“Your teacher?” He challenges. “Responsible for everything that’s going on?” He chuckles at the obscurity. “Right. I’m sure that’s it,” he shakes his head at the accusation. “Isn’t the whole point of making plans to get to know someone? So wouldn’t it be nice if I did go out with her?”

“She’s manipulating you,” Y/N insists. “And you’re obviously too blind to even see it.”

“Why do you care so much?” Derek asks, his voice elevating as well.

“Because–” She waves her hands around exasperatedly, trying to find the words. “You’re not exactly known for your taste in women!” She all but scolds. “Remember Kate? The lady that up and killed your entire family. Well, I remember her so forgive me for trying to keep your stupid werewolf ass alive!”

Derek goes to retaliate but that’s when he hears it. Her heart rate speeds up. She’s lying to him. That’s not why she really cares. He can clearly see her anger and smell the annoyance radiating off of her, along with a couple of other things. But there’s a sweet smell accompanying it. One that Derek finds rather endearing. Jealousy. Y/N L/N is jealous. He wouldn’t have picked up on it if she hadn’t just blatantly lied. Suddenly her bursting in and berating him makes sense. He smirks when he notices her clenched fists. It’s about time she’s felt the green-eyed monster that constantly visits him when he sees her with other guys. When she’s laughing boisterously about something Scott said, whenever she comes over to see him but ends up talking to Isaac for hours on end. Especially when he found out she kissed Stiles last year after he was kidnapped by Gerard. It truly has been a miracle that no one ever sensed his jealousy when it came to her.

Derek takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Why did you really come here, Y/N?” He asks lowly, trying to get her to admit her feelings. “Tell me what you’re really trying to say…”

Y/N feels her face flush as he gets closer. She doesn’t want him to know the real reason why she raced across town to be here. The walls begin to close in around her, so she lashes out in a last ditch effort to protect herself.

“I’m trying to look out for you! You’re stubborn, Derek,” she chastises. “You don’t listen to anything anyone tells you. You like to pretend you’re always ready and prepared for anything, but you’re not! You are just as emotional and vulnerable as everyone else despite being hurt as many times as you have! You’re reckless when it comes to women, so I’m simply trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or the pack by making a stupid mistake.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. In fact, he gets closer to her in attempts to pressure it out of her. “You’re avoiding my question, Y/N,” he says darkly. “What’s really going on?”

Feeling cornered, Y/N tries to take in a couple of deep breaths but it fails miserably. She can’t tell him. Not now. Not when he’s interested in another women who’s already on her way here. He even got dressed up for her. She’s never seen Derek in a white button up polo and slacks. It makes her frown thinking that it’s not for her. She scoffs softly before shaking her head, “Forget it,” she mumbles. The h/c haired girl pushes past him, shoulder checking him on her way to the door. “I shouldn’t have come here. Have fun on your date or whatever you wanna call it.”

She slams the door behind her before stomping down the flight of stairs that leads up to his building. When she walks outside, the sky opens up, almost mimicking her inner turmoil with its own storm. Rain pours down on her, soaking her clothing completely as she gets ready to run home, or in all truth, to Stiles house. All she knows is that she can’t be here anymore.

“Y/N, wait!” Derek calls out.

She doesn’t bother turning around, heading the exact way she came. She should’ve figured that he would’ve caught up to her with ease. He’s never had a problem showing her who’s in charge. He grabs her wrist gently but firmly, not allowing her to leave.

“Stop running away,” he commands. “Just tell me the truth.”

Y/N’s eyes once again begin flashing yellow, differing completely from her regular piercing e/c gaze. “Let go of me, Derek,” she demands with a bit of a growl in her voice.

“Not until you stop being so damn hardheaded!” He yells, trying to make his voice heard over the pounding rain. “Tell me!”

“Why do you even care?!” Y/N screams back. “Why does it matter when you’re already here waiting for another woman?”

Derek’s eyes soften slightly, and he pulls Y/N closer to him by her wrist. Her breath hitches in her throat as her hand practically rests on his muscular chest. His lips are so impossibly close that any coherent thought she had before this moment have been completely erased from her long and short term memory.

“Because I need to hear you say it,” his voice got impossibly low, sending a chill through her body that has nothing to do with the cold water hitting her back.

Y/N’s lips part slightly as his thumb comes up to brush the side of her cheek. Her body is drawn to him. The wolf inside of her is trying to claw its way out and into his arms, but she manages to steady herself. “Fine,” she breathes out, not being able to force herself to look away. “I’m jealous, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That it made me want to commit first-degree murder last night when I heard her voice in your apartment, knowing that it would’ve been me in there if I had shown up just a tad bit earlier? So yes, Derek, I am jealous. You win.”

Derek’s eyes darken at the breathiness of her voice. He places the hand that was holding her wrist on her waist to keep her pressed securely against his front. Both of their hearts beat in unison, “Why didn’t you just say that when I asked the first time?”

Y/N’s defense starts to crumble beneath her, “Because I didn’t want you to think I was weak for succumbing to something stupid like that,” she admits.

Derek laughs, showing off his pearly white teeth, “I would’ve never thought you were weak.” He reassures when he notices the small frown etched on her face. “You’ve never been weak. A bit obstinate? Sure. But not weak.”

Y/N can feel the sincerity in his voice. She doesn’t protest his strong hold on her hip, but instead keeps her own hands occupied on his now soaked through white shirt. It’s not a bad view from where she’s standing. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispers.

Derek’s eyebrows furrow, a pang of concern filling his heart. “Do what?”

“Keep pretending that I don’t care about you,” she says softly, her chest heaving up and down from how intense the moment they are sharing is.

Derek’s eyes flash their bright alpha red as a primal instinct clouds his brain. He leans close to her face, his stubble rubbing her cheek in just the right way. “Then don’t,” he says huskily.

Before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her, the rain pouring down around them. The kiss is intense, filled with all the emotions they’ve both been keeping at bay. It’s a collision of desire and frustration, their lips moving against each other with a desperate want. A primal need inside both of them. Y/N wraps her hands around his neck, tugging at the short strands of his black hair. Derek wastes no time placing both of his hands on her waist, squeezing the soft flesh. She giggles slightly from the sensation, making him smile. When they finally pull apart, they’re both breathless.

Y/N steps back, her heart racing, but Derek keeps his arm around her, protectively. “How come you ran away?” He asks quietly.

Y/N huffs, running a hand through her wet hair. She sighs loudly before admitting the truth, “I was scared.”

“Of what?” He questions, not believing the woman in front of him would be scared of anything.

“Of this,” she states obviously, gesturing in between them. “Of how much I feel for you. I’m not really big on emotions like this. I don’t know how to handle it. So I was scared of having to open up my heart when I wasn’t sure if you’d actually take care of it.”

The vulnerability in her answer snaps something in Derek’s mind. She has the same issues as he does. He hasn’t been able to truly give himself to anyone since Paige. He felt so strongly for her and then she was gone in an instant. And when he tried again with someone he didn’t even fully trust, he got burned again. Emotions besides anger have never been his forte. So when he hears Y/N admitting the same thing, it makes him realize that this is something they both can improve on.

He grins, kissing her forehead softly, “You don’t have to be scared. We can figure it all out together, okay? Both of us.”

At that moment, a car pulls up, and Derek pulls Y/N even tighter into his chest. The bright headlights blind them and they both try to shield their eyes in order to identify the owner of the vehicle. Y/N’s body tenses as Jennifer steps out, the woman’s expression shifting from surprise to anger as she sees them.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” she comments coldly. Her eyes zero in on Y/N who has a rather tight grip on Derek’s shirt, “Miss L/N, shouldn’t you be at school serving the detention you earned today for your behavior in my class?”

“I had better things to do,” Y/N bites back. “As you can see,” she says, pointing at Derek’s chiseled form.

A shit-eating grin forms on Derek’s lips at her words. They both swear they see Jennifer’s eye twitch from the insinuation Y/N just made. He doesn’t bother trying to cover up what just happened and keeps his hands firmly on Y/N’s hips.

“Yes, I can see that,” Jennifer narrows her eyes at their proximity.

Derek can feel the situation getting ready to escalate so he keeps Y/N safeguarded within his hold. He nods over to Jennifer’s car, “I think it would be best if you left,” he states unforgivingly making Y/N smile.

Jennifer sends them both a pointed look, “I think so too,” she agrees before spinning on her heel and walking back towards her car. “We’ll see just how well this works out for the two of you. Let’s hope you don’t regret it.”

She closes the drivers side door before speeding off out of the parking lot. Both Derek and Y/N are left standing in the rain, now knowing that things have just become a lot more complicated than they were before. But even in the midst of her subtle threat and imminent danger, the two of them don’t seem worried in the slightest.

Because they’ll handle that together too.

[endless-ineffabilities]

this world was never meant for a fire like yours (part 2/3)

Daemon Targaryen x nurse!reader / f!reader

word count: 7k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: smut (18+!), angst, slow burn, jealous!daemon, cursing

January 2023

You try to listen to Tom’s excited voice, as he relays a story about one of his friends. Honestly, you can’t help it, but you’re tuning it out. He’s nice and sweet and all, sure, but he can’t truly hold your attention. In the back of your mind, one notable reason stands out. One white-blonde, foul-mouthed, enigmatic man who barged into your life seemingly out of nowhere. One Prince Daemon, to be precise.

As the two of you climb up stairs to your hallway, you look forward to simply being home. Which only means, this is probably the last date you’ll go on with him. Granted, it’s only been the second one.

As you stop in front of your door, you scramble in your mind for the best thing to say. How to let him down gently. His warm, golden-retriever-like nature only makes things worse. You really don’t want to hurt him, but hell, you might have to.

“Listen,” you turn to him, apologetic expression ready, but at the same time he speaks.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, drowning out your voice.

“Oh, okay, go ahead,” you become hopeful that he will tell you that he only wishes to be friends, and nothing more. That while the dates have been fun, the two of you are not compatible in a romantic way.

Instead, he takes your hand, leans closer, and whispers, “I really, really like you.”

Oh, shit. You stare at him, anticipation taking root in your bones, and not in a good way.

“And, I guess I just want to let you know that. I’ve really been enjoying your company,” he goes on.

Well, why do I have to be so enticing? You mentally roll your eyes, wishing that the floor would just swallow you whole.

“That’s really sweet of you to say,” you start, carefully weighing your words.

“Yes, well, one more thing,” he smiles slyly.

“One more?” You croak. What more could he possibly have under his sleeve? After whatever this is, I will finally collect myself and not be a sissy and let him down and…

Your thoughts are surely halted by what he does next.

He leans forward, inch by excruciating inch, and everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. Oh no.

Just when you are about to decide whether to flee, or to say something in protest, your front door opens. Revealing your knight in tainted armour.

“There you are. I was beginning to worry that you would be missing our supper.” Daemon’s voice is clear and commanding, and you suspect that he knows just what he interrupted.

“Oh, uhm, we just got back and I -” you start to say, but Tom interrupts.

“Yeah, could you give us just a second, man?” Tom says, putting a hand up to Daemon. Knowing Daemon, albeit only for a period of a few months, he does not like to be told off. Bad idea, Tom.

“Whatever for?” Daemon smirks, “Judging by the lady’s expression, I’d say this date has reached quite a timely end. She should come inside her home now, and you should leave.”

“Shit, I don’t think you can just say that, man. Who are you even, to her?” Tom’s face scrunches in frustration. This is clearly not the perfect end to your date that he was hoping for. But, you just might prefer this to the contrary. Tom was hoping for his confession to be well-received and matched, then he would kiss you, and you may be compelled to pull him into your apartment for a much desired escalation. Granted, he hoped that ‘the blonde weirdo’ would not be there.

But, as it turns out, he is.

Daemon seems unfazed, clearly not threatened by the man before him. He raises an arm to lean against the doorway, dominating the space. “I can say whatever I want. And if you mean that I am more than just her friend, then you are correct.”

“Really? She didn’t mention anything.” Tom’s resolve seems to weaken.

You think of intervening, before it gets too far. Although, you admit to yourself that you find some amusement in what’s in front of you – Daemon is blunt with his words and actions, most of the time, his particular brand of cunning underlying everything he does. But why here, why now? Why for you?

You’ve learned to look out for his shameless one-liners, and you welcomed them, even. But Tom certainly is not familiar with Daemon in that way, and he could not have anticipated what he says next, “She was probably just too nice to step on your feelings, boy. Being the soft, pathetic sod that you are.”

“What the hell.” Tom squares up his stance, his fist bunching up at his sides. But, compared to Daemon, he doesn’t seem menacing at all.

You step in between them, hands raised, prepared to push them apart. “Alright, stop it, you two.”

“Is he telling the truth?” Tom says, looking directly at you.

The truth about Daemon?  You think that you should reject the notion of Daemon being more than your friend. He is just a friend, after all, just a visitor. Isn’t he?  

“No!... well, it’s complicated.”

“Oh, please. Feel free to step on my feelings, y/n.” Tom counters.

“Look, Tom. Please excuse Daemon. He’s being unreasonably rude right now.” You shoot daggers with your eyes at Daemon, but he continues to stare Tom down.

Tom starts to back away. He tried to meet Daemon’s eyes, to assert some form of dominance, some claim over you, but that did not last long. Daemon understandably is too much for this laid-back, 20-something, nice guy. “Whatever this is. Whatever the two of you have got going here, I don’t want any part of it.”

“Just wait…”

“Why? Tell me, do you even like me? Or do you like him?” He finally says. The last straw.

“I...” You know you do. You’ve grown to like Daemon, deeply, but you don’t think that now is the time to reveal that. In a dim hallway after a failed date with another man.

Daemon thankfully intervenes again, with mirth in his tone. “Time to get inside, my love.”

“That’s what I thought.” Tom backs off a final time, and hurriedly enters his apartment, not before sarcastically saying, “Have a nice night, y/n”

You stare at his door, your mind racing at the events that just happened. Daemon and Tom squaring up over you? You felt as if you were in a tv show, the hapless lead actress who strings along two admirers.

You whirl around to face the culprit. The smirking, smug man blocking your doorway. “What the fuck, Daemon?” You manage to pull off a disappointed face for a few seconds, but you can’t help but crack a smile back at him.

The whole situation seems silly all of a sudden, and all the tension gets released from you. Daemon’s effect on you, as much as you’d be shy to admit it.

“Well?” he asks, “Aren’t you going to come inside, darling?”

“Oh, fuck off, prince.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“What was that all about?” You ask Daemon, after just taking a bite of your pizza, the words muffled through your lips.

The two of you sit side by side on your old couch, a large box of pizza nestled in between. Daemon has his feet propped up on the low coffee table, next to your laptop which plays a 50s western movie. The movie had been chosen by Daemon himself, who has developed an affinity for classics rather than the modern, generic blockbuster fare.

After the whole Tom debacle, you had slumped down on your bed, exhausted from the day. You inadvertently fell into a nap, and were awoken by Daemon some time later, proudly presenting the pizza that he had delivered.

“It seems that neither of us can muster up the effort to make supper ourselves, so I had this made, from your favourite place, of course.” He smiled above you, your still sleep-heavy gaze making the light surround him like a halo. Oh, the irony.

The day was forgotten. The needless drama, the hallway spectacle, gone. But well, now, you can’t help but ask.

“What was what all about?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know what you speak of. Of course he does. His gaze is lazily trained on your laptop screen. The movie had his full attention in the beginning. But then his mind wandered off to you. How your fingers brushed across his when picking up your food. Your bare legs tucked beneath you, covered in nothing but pajama shorts. The little bits of information you would share with him about classic filmmaking. Your initial moan, followed by a gleeful snort, upon tasting the pizza.

She acts so very unbecoming of a lady, and would not belong if she had been raised in Westerosi nobility. You are different. Nevertheless, Daemon liked everything that you did. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed it much more, even.

And he showed this to you. He’s never been one to be shy about his admiration. He made sure you noticed his lingering stares, his gentle hands guiding you when needed, his constant compliments and playful words. But, he knew all that isn’t enough. He’s aware of your reluctance about the whole thing. About him.

The dragon in him would have staked his claim by now. He would have taken you, as he so badly wants to. But Daemon was lost. He tried not to show it, as he wanted to maintain a sense of calm. To prove that he was still in control. To hide the fact that he was an intruder in this world, who yearned for home more than anything. He didn’t want to worry you. He didn’t want you to find him weak.

This was not his world, and the only thing anchoring him here is you.

“Why were you so rude to Tom? What did the guy ever do to you? Also, what do you mean by you being more than just my friend?” You ask one question after another, but Daemon can give a single answer for all of them.

“Because, you little minx,” he pauses, taking a swig of his beer, another one of his favourite modern things, “we are more than simply friends, aren’t we?”

You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting the sharp curve of his jaw. You shamelessly watch as his lips wrap around the opening of his beer bottle. Damn Daemon for having the ability to make anything look sensual. For the past few weeks, it felt as if the both of you have not tried to hide the fact that you wanted each other. It’s always been there, in the electricity in the air between you, in every skipped heartbeat. Still, it felt good to actually hear the words of affection coming from him.

You had gone on another date with Tom purely for the sake of distraction. The ‘will they, won’t they’ dynamic with Daemon was getting a bit too much.

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, “What are we then? Platonically compatible roommates?” You push him on, wishing he would just make his side clear, once and for all.

“How can we be roommates if I’m yet to be allowed the privilege of sleeping in your room?”

He got you there. Daemon still kept his place on your couch. You weren’t sure how to bring up the matter at this point, without it seeming like you were trying to get with him.

One thing is certain. It is only a matter of time before the frustration boils over, and one you will quite literally pounce on the other. But that’s all to come. For now…

“Would you like to?”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, darling. There are plenty of things that I would like to do with you.”

You felt the blood rush from your cheeks, so you attempted to stifle your glee with an eye roll, unsuccessfully. “Would you like to sleep in my bedroom? I should’ve asked sooner, I suppose, since I don’t think this couch is all too comfy to sleep on.”

“Comfy?” Daemon raises an eyebrow, before realizing, “Oh. Comfortable. Well, it’s not so bad. Quite lonely, though.”

“Well?”

He smirks, something clearly on his mind, “Yes, I would like to sleep with you.”

“What?” Your head snapped to the side, seeing him amused by what he just said.

“I said, yes, I would like to sleep in your bedroom with you. Thanks for offering.”

Your heart races, having heard him the first time. “Good.” Why not beat him at his own game? “You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to your first suggestion, either.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Daemon stares at the ceiling, lying comfortably on your bed. You’re already asleep on your side, facing him. He watched you gradually fall asleep, as you discussed many things, including his new job at the auto shop, 50s cinema, weird news headlines. He had asked about social media, and after giving him a lengthy exposition on what it offers, he had sneered in disdain and determined that he was never to go near the thing.

Of course. You smiled at that, at his casual bravado, before adding, “That’s too bad. If you were on any social media, the ladies would have loved you. Men, too. Daemon Targaryen, that one mysterious, brooding, too-cool-for-anything guy on Instagram. I’d wager that you’ve got enough charisma to be an actor, you know.”

He had shared about his new post as a mechanic, and proposed that you visit him there the next day, after your day shift at the hospital.

“I’m glad it’s been going well, Daemon.” You smiled at him, through a stifled yawn.

“Yes, I’ve been learning the ropes, as they say in this world.” He smiled back at you, before adding his usual snarky comment, “The mechanical part of it is interesting enough. Some of the patrons of the establishment can be downright cunts, though.”

“Daemon!” You feigned surprise, smirking at his tone. He had blurted it out so shamelessly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What? I’m merely being truthful, my love. You should have seen this lady who came in the other day. She was complaining about this apparently defective car battery that I installed for her. It was in perfect condition until she must have fucked it up, being the bleating dolt that she is. I nearly chucked that damn battery at her head.”

You snorted at the picture he presented, “Sounds like a piece of work.”

“I think her name was Karen, as the owner of the auto shop called her.”

“Do you mean that he called her a Karen?”

“That’s what I said.”

You always found it funny how oblivious he can be about some references, “I think that has more to do with her disposition, than with her actual name, Daemon.”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, and so you launched into yet another exposition, this time on the Karen trend, something you never thought you would ever be doing, addressed to a man you have grown to desire.

With your lips gently parted, and a lock of your hair falling in front of your face, Daemon takes the time to admire you openly. His hand reaches out and moves your hair to the side, then he allows his fingertips to drift across your cheekbone, then down to your lips. You stir a little, your nose scrunching at whatever dream you may be having. Daemon fondly smiles. She’s beautiful, truly. So what am I waiting for? Why haven’t I made her mine?

He wonders if it will happen again, when he falls deep into slumber. For several instances now, he swears he’s been hearing voices calling out to him in his dreams. Familiar voices. Viserys. Rhaenyra. Mysaria, even. It could all just be a result of his yearning for home, but they sound so real. Like they’re actually behind some impenetrable wall, calling for him. Seemingly there, but gone when he opens his eyes in the morning. He hasn’t told this to you, because… well, how would it sound? He wants to believe his family has found a way to reach out to him in this world, and not that his mind is slowly driving him to madness.

I wish I could be a better man. I wish I could be the one that you deserve. But he knows he isn’t. He’s not ordinary. Not the sort of man that would be ideal to build a home and a family with, in your world and in his. Especially in your world.

Where he came from, he was able to build his entire image on his ferocity. His fearlessness. The name given to him, the Rogue Prince, means to command respect just as much as it commands awe and fear. Daemon was a Targaryen through and through. A dragon who knows exactly what he is and what he is capable of. The acts he has committed in his world, would be more than enough to guarantee a lifetime of imprisonment in your world. Or at the very least, permanent admission to a maximum security psychiatric hospital. He remembers the night when he and his gold cloaks cleansed King’s Landing of its criminals and its brutes. He remembers taking pleasure in disembowelling the Crab Feeder, limb from limb, and dragging his remains through the mud in victory. He remembers much and more. And he’s certain he would do it all again, as much as he would like to be… better… for you.

He knows who he is, and he knows that this world cannot contain him. Pretend as he might, this world cannot stifle his fire. He can try to blend in, to subdue himself for a while, but how long can that last? He fears the day when a switch flips inside him, and he might take it out on you. And he can’t lose you. You’re the only light that he has in his world, and without you, Daemon would inevitably fall into the darkness.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Daemon.” He hears a familiar voice. He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but he must be. The voice is coming from Viserys, urgency ringing true in his tone, “Daemon. Brother, we will find you, this I promise.”

“Daemon,” another voice rises out of the shadows, softer, sweeter.

“Rhaenyra,” he attempts to whisper back, “Rhaenyra.”

“Stay strong, uncle.” Daemon feels like an apparition, floating on air, seeing the hazy shapes of his family. “Kesā māzigon arlī naejot īlva,” You will return to us, Rhaenyra determinedly says. But how, my dear niece? How can I return to you?

“Daemon.” Another voice, stronger this time, echoing through the chambers of his dream. Clearer, as if it were right beside him. “Daemon, wake up.”

Your voice, “Daemon, you’re only dreaming. Wake up.”

For a brief moment, Daemon is torn between staying in the limbo of his unconscious, tethered to the connection with his family, and letting go, and waking up to you.

To you.

Daemon feels the pull toward a direction. He feels himself choosing what he truly desires, in that moment. He isn’t sure what’s happening, he doesn’t know what’s to come.

There’s only you.

You shake him again, with a bit more force this time. Daemon has been mumbling in his sleep, his head whipping from one side to the other, his fists bunching up at the sheets.

A nightmare, perhaps? Although, he keeps whispering a name. A feminine-sounding name, one that you’re not quite familiar with. One that doesn’t sound too common in your world. Rhaenyra.

“Daemon, wake up.” You try again.

His eyes flutter open. Any other name disappears from his lips, and he only says yours, “Y/n. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” you smile at the innocence in his tone, “You were dreaming, I think.”

“Hmm, I was.” He runs a hand over his face. “Good morning, love.”

“Morning. Bad dream?”

“Not entirely.” He sits up, and takes your hand absentmindedly, “I am happy to wake up to you, though.”

“I am, too.” You squeeze his hand in return. A question hangs on your lips, and you say it out loud, “Daemon, who’s Rhaenyra?”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

March 2023

You hear his grunts from underneath the vehicle, clearly frustrated with whichever part he’s been asked to repair. Only his dark-wash blue jeans are visible, his body lying flat on the under car roller.

It had taken Daemon a while to acknowledge the existence of jeans, as with many other modern things, and you thanked all of the angels that he had, because they look so damn good on him. You stand in the auto shop that he works at, on one of your usual visits, not having a shift at the hospital that day. Bobby, the owner, was a brawny, snow-haired man who seemed intimidating at first sight, but that image is immediately broken once he lets out one of his warm, hearty laughs. He had easily taken a liking to both you and Daemon, and he kindly told you that you were always welcome, when you apologized for loitering.

“Oh, feel free to come visit your boyfriend, anytime, darlin,” Bobby had said, “He’s actually one of my best workers here, which is amazing really, since he knew nearly nothing about cars when he first came ‘round.”

Your cheeks reddened, not exactly averse to what he assumed, “Well, thanks for taking him in, sir. And, no, we aren’t-“

“Hello there, love,” Daemon had come in from the other room, and that was the end of it. The occasion to correct the ‘boyfriend’ assumption was gone, not that you bothered to bring it up again, anyway.

You knew that the Daemon being your boyfriend - Daemon being anyone intimate, more than a flatmate, more than a friend – was a notion that made you feel all warm inside. Truth be told, it was a thought that you’ve been entertaining for a long time. Perhaps even mere days after you first found him outside your building.

Recently, your desire has intensified, to say the least. But in your defence, Daemon himself has acted in a way that encouraged your yearning. He’s been holding you for long moments, his gaze running down your body when you weren’t meant to notice, his words flirtatious at times. Passionate, even.

Like when he once whispered, “You possess a light that can put even dragonfire to shame,” causing shivers to run down your spine.

Oh, you were so gone. He could make you his, if he only said the word. But he hasn’t. Why?

You vaguely hear his voice, breaking your thoughts.

“Sorry?” you peer down.

“I said, please hand me the wrench, love.”

“Oh,” you look at the tray, several similar-looking tools before you.

“Which one?”

“The one with the blue bit at the end,” you hear laughter in his voice, and he rolls out partially, hand outstretched. Well, here’s something from this world about which he now has more expertise than you. Sheepishly smiling, you give him what he asked for, and watch him disappear underneath the car again.

A minute later, he exclaims, satisfied, “That should do the trick.”

He gets up from under the car, cracking his neck and rolling out his shoulders, loosening himself up hours of work. And in that moment, as with many other moments, you get to appreciate the view of him.

Deep V-necked, black shirt nearly moulded to his torso, his striking white-blond hair now cut short, and unsurprisingly, the faint smattering of grease marks on his face only serve to make him even more tempting. My little grease monkey, you try to compose yourself when he catches you looking.

“See something you like?” There he goes again, and you’re sure that he’s got more than a clue about your wanting of him, and he enjoys it.

“Maybe,” you hold his gaze, and moving to stand in front of him, you take a towel and carefully wipe the stains off his face.

His gaze on you is gentle, yet enthralling, persistent as you tend to him. Daemon naturally has cunning dancing behind his eyes, but for you, now, it only has tenderness. He looks at you with care, as if he’s not just relishing in the attention he’s given, but also revelling in the sight of you.

“All better,” you sigh, and force yourself to look away, sensing that his co-workers have started throwing curious glances in your direction.

He notices your unease, and although unaffected by the attention himself, he’s quick to offer some comfort.

“It’s been a long day,” he says, hand gently resting on your back, “Let’s go home.”

Home. Yours and Daemon’s. For how much longer, you did not know. And it worried you.

- - - - - - - - -

“What do you want to have for dinner?” You say, as you take off your coat, shaking off the cold from outside.

“How about we go on one of those things? You know, a… date?” He’s already sitting comfortably on the couch, one leg resting atop the other. “I know I should have asked you sooner, and I apologize. It’s just… you know the source of my hesitation. But I no longer will be a cockless coward, and have you, if you’d let me.”

“Daemon,” you bite your lip at  his statement, blood rushing to your cheeks, “it’s okay. We don’t have to go on an official date. As long as we know where we stand, and, I guess I like us. I like what we have. It can progress naturally as we’d like it to, and that’s just fine with me.”

“My love,” he stands, and pulls you in close by the waist. His closeness intoxicates you. Even though you’ve been experiencing it for months, it never fails to steal the breath from your lungs. You look up at him, as he continues, “you deserve to be courted properly, like a lady, like a princess, more like. From what I’ve seen of the courtship rituals in your world, a romantic date seems to be the way to do it right. Tell me what you want, and you shall have it.”

Oh, fucking finally. You can’t help the smile that springs on your face, and Daemon revels at the sight. “You know what I want, Daemon?”

“Tell me.”

“Come closer, and I’ll whisper it to you,” you say cheekily, a plan brewing in your mind.

Daemon catches on quite easily, and he leans forward, ready to claim what you’re offering. So you meet him in the middle, and press your lips to his.

It feels even better than you imagined, and you’ve let it run through your mind a lot. How he would feel against you, like a searing flame that consumes your space, enveloping you in his warmth. Dangerous, but you like it this way. Only him, this way.

His tongue snakes past your lips, and you fail to stifle a moan. He pushes you back against the wall, and you pull him even closer, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Mmm, Daemon,” you manage, “fuck.”

He smirks against your lips, “Why, I would love to, darling. Would our date be spent in the bedroom?”

“Uh huh, well, you said something about a romantic date? Why don’t we do that first?”

“Gods, you’re a temptation waiting to be fucking plucked, you know that, darling?”

“I think the word on the street for that sort of thing is a tease, my prince, but you say it so much better.”

“Well, you’re a… tease, then.” He kisses you again, biting your bottom lip towards the end.

“How about we go out, pick up some food and a decent bottle of wine, then come back with the goods and watch movies to our hearts’ delight?”

“Don’t we always do that regardless, my love?” he smirks, head adorably tilting to one side. He takes your hand and presses his lips to the back of it. My chivalrous prince.

“Yeah, but now it’s a ‘date’ date. You can plan the next one, complete with your noble steed and gleaming sword…Dark Sister, wasn’t it?” He nods, eyes softening at your remembrance, “and I can put on a frilly princess frock or something…” He laughs at that. “Then we can right off into the sunset, and be on our way to find your dragon Caraxes, and fly off into the stars.”

“Quite a vision, but you know you don’t need a fucking frock, my love. You’re perfect just the way you are.” His hand flies to your ass, squeezing firmly, and you nearly jump up in surprise, “Besides, these jeans flaunt your backside in ways that a skirt never can.”

“Daemon!” An empty plea. You melt into his arms anyway.

You feel his lips pressing to the crown of your head, causing you to fondly whisper his name once more. The strong planes of his chest are firm against your hands. You dig your fingers in, “Mmm, you know what? The date can wait.”

“Say that again?”

You don’t repeat it. You just pull him down to your lips again, kissing him passionately. He opens his mouth fully to you, and your back arches in response, tasting all of him, before finally adding, “Shall we begin?”

- - - - - - - - -

He practically throws you on the bed, looming over you, his presence all at once so disarming. His face, practically carved out of marble, lowers down to press itself onto yours. Forehead against forehead, nose bumping yours, your lips melding into one.

You moan in unison, his hands groping your hips and then your thighs.

“Fucking… jeans off. As flattering as they may be.” He growls lowly.

“You as well.” You scramble to unbutton your jeans, then inch them slowly down your legs, kicking them off ceremoniously. They fly across the room, followed by Daemon’s. You giggle, and Daemon mewls, “Oh, that sound. You can bring me back to life all over again, with just your voice.”

You take his face in your hands, practically purring softly, “Fate might be a fickle thing, but at least it gave me you.”

He is kneeling between your legs on the bed, and you lean back, watching as he takes off his sweater. Eyes glued onto yours, he proceeds to rid you of your cardigan, before rolling your tank top above your head. He finally takes off his boxers, one that you picked together at the shop down the street, one interesting afternoon. His erection springs free, his cock firm and partially streaked blue-violet with veins, fucking thick as you expected. You bite your lips at the sight, and he notices, raising his light eyebrow proudly.

For the first time, you are completely bared to him. From your shoulders, to your toes. He admires the smooth expanse of your skin, allowing his fingers to drift lightly on you, silently wandering.

“Gevie,” he whispers.

“High Valyrian?” you ask, recognizing the intonation.

He affirms with a hum, “Beautiful. You are beautiful.”

“Mmm, Gevie?” you trace the lines of his stomach, “You are… gevie, too.”

He moves closer, enunciating clearly, “Iksā gevie.”

“Iksā… gevie,” you repeat slowly.

“Perfect,” he smiles affectionately, “We shall get you speaking High Valyrian in no time, my darling.”

“Face?” you ask, your hand directed by the words, tracing his cheekbone.

“Laehurlion.” He smirks openly, watching you absorb the words.

“Laehurlion,” you repeat, tone snagging at the end, but you carry on, “Eyes?”

“Laesi.”

“Laesi. Mmm… heart?”

His eyes soften, “Prūmia. Prūmia, ñuha jorrāelagon.”

“Prumia. And… well?” you hand lowers and lowers, until it reaches his erect shaft, the question hanging in the air.

“Cock? A leap from heart, I might say, though they might go hand in hand,” he leers, and leans down, causing the head of his cock to press against your opening, “Orvorta.”

“Orvorta.” You struggle to repeat the word this time, head leaning back at the feeling.

“Iksis bona sȳz?” He presses on, “We shall go slow, ñuha jorrāelagon. Cherish every second.”

You find yourself nodding in response, even though you don’t catch on to some words in High Valyrian. You watch as Daemon strokes himself, his eyes darkening in lust and pleasure. At the same time, he stares you down, and slowly pushes one long finger into your wet cunt. This thumb pads at your clit in gentle, circular motions. You take action, wrapping your hand around his cock, taking the place of his.

He pushes another finger inside you, increasing the pace. In and out of your warmth, juices making their way out, gleaming droplets of pale white. Your wrist  begins to ache, as it rapidly pleasures him, fingers sliding up and down, over and over, but you continue. Daemon unravels in front of you, at the feeling of your palm on his cock, and your wetness slick on his two digits.

You moan loudly, as the pressure builds up below, threatening to push you over the edge. The feeling of him suddenly disappears from inside you, and he pushes your back roughly down on the mattress, causing your hand to release his cock.

“Daemon,” you breathe out. He says nothing in return, merely priming himself at entry, digging his fingernails into your thighs. My dragon has awakened.

“Daemon,” you say again, not expecting a response. Simply preparing yourself for his hunger. Stating your lover’s name as if in prayer.

 “Hmm,” he hums, sinister and dark, “Hmm.” The air is taut around you, the hairs on your body rising in excitement. Then, he enters you. Stretching you wide, his cock twitching as he drives his hips forward.

“Fuck,” he lets out, once he is fully sheathed, “Oh, gods.”

You moan, feeling all of him. All of him. All…

“Shit.” You press your hands onto his chest, weakly, but he gets the message.

“What is it?” he asks faintly.

“Condom. You need to put on a condom. Bottom drawer.” The words awkwardly stumble out of you, but you know it’s necessary.

“A what, my love?”

“Just…” you sit up halfway, pulling your hips back, until he is released from your cunt.

It only takes about a minute to explain to him what a condom is, and to pry one onto his thick cock, but it feels too damn long all the same.

“Satisfied?” he questions, smirk still resting on his face, “Though if it were up to me, you’d be filled to the brim with my seed. I wouldn’t relent until your pussy would be raw and dripping from it.”

Fuck. The cheeky bastard. “Get on with it, then.” You feign impatience, waving a hand dramatically, biting your lip up at him.

He rams back into you, wasting no time. He falls forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath is warm on your face, causing a sheen of sweat to emerge.

His hips begin rutting quicker, harder. He hand squeezes your breast, the other cradling your head, keeping it from hitting the headboard. My Daemon. Relentless, chaotic, yet caring all the same.

“Fuck me,” you pant, “yeah, fuck me, Daemon.”

“Yes, my love.” He pounds into you hard, “I claim you. You’re mine. All mine.”

You’re certain you haven’t been fucked this good. You’re even more certain that you haven’t been made love to in this way. His fire consuming all of you, each thrust leaving a lasting impression. Your soreness will be an interesting thing to even attempt to manage after. The faint red lines you’re scratching onto his back may need tending to as well. You mark each other. Physically, and with all else.

Your cunt throbs from being stretched, and fucked hard. He shows no signs of stopping, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you enough to drive you insane. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass so lewd, so goddamn scandalous. Daemon’s. Having him not only so close, but within you. Daemon.

“Let go, my sweet one,” he breathes into your ear, “Release it all for me. Only me.”

“Faster, I’m getting there,” you moan.

He complies. His hips jackrabbiting wildly, a blur of motion, leaving you mewling and pleasantly aching on the sheets.

He comes first, rutting into you, groaning in ecstasy. It doesn’t take long for you to follow, that damn sensation unravelling all at once from your pelvis, your juices leaking onto Daemon’s cock.

“Seven hells, my love. That just might be the best fuck I’ve ever had.” He runs a hand through his hair, slowly pulling out of you. He takes a long, exhausted breath and lays down beside you.

“Very eloquently put, Daemon.” You bite back, a grin plastered on your face, still on a high from what just might be the best fuck you’ve ever had, as he says.

You let your eyes close for a while, allowing your imagination to play around with what you’ve just experienced, colourful scenarios forming in your mind. You vaguely hear Daemon’s voice pulling you out of your little daydream.

“What’s that?” you turn to him.

“I said, you’re the most beautiful part of this entire fucking world.”

“Oh.”

He adds something, a mere whisper, as if he’s drifting off to some other dimension, “… of my entire fucking world.” Your heart stops at that. You’re not sure if you were meant to hear it, but it feels amazing, all the same.

“Thank you,” you whisper, sincerely. You move onto your side, and let your fingers stroke his cheekbone in adoration, “Daemon? Do you still hear them? Viserys? Rhaenyra?”

“Mhmm,” he only hums in affirmative, after a while. He had revealed them to you recently, their stories, how important they truly are to him. How he hears them almost every night, calling out to him. Like a dream, but it feels much more significant. A call seemingly from the void. Only it doesn’t feel like a void. It feels like a direct tether to his own world.

You try to fight it, but a pang of sadness hits you every time he mentions his desire to return to his world. Because in the end, it would mean having to leave you.

You’re not aware of it, but a thought has been dancing in Daemon’s head. Only a possibility to entertain, at first. However it has grown into something stronger, more resolute. Turning fully fledged tonight. No longer a suggestion, but an unsaid promise he makes to you.

It doesn’t matter where he is. Whichever city, kingdom, world. The one thing that matters is being with you. Wherever you are, there he’ll be. You’re no longer just an anchor in this world, but a solidified anchor for his life in its entirety. His fire may not be meant for this world, but it has always been meant for you. And that’s more than enough.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

June 2023

You push your door open, laughing at some snide remark that Daemon said, as he keeps a hand on your back. You’ve grown to love his dark sense of humour, knowing that although it can be deemed biting or harsh, it stems mainly from astute observation. Daemon simply voices out what other people are probably thinking, but are too afraid to say. You appreciate this routine that the both of you have fallen into. And you wish it lasts. You would make it last, if it was in your power.

Looking back at Daemon, expecting him to follow suit behind you, you notice the sudden change in his expression. His body freezes in the doorway.

Before you could ask what the matter was, you hear a voice coming from your apartment. One that has never graced your ears before.

“Brother,” you finally look at the intruder, and the first thing that catches your eye is the shade of his hair. The same striking blend of golden and silver, even though he seemed frailer, devoid of shadow throughout its length.

You notice that Daemon doesn’t push you behind him, which means that he recognizes this man. Of course. They are, at first glance, the same. Brother? This must be…

“Viserys,” Daemon finally speaks, confirming your thoughts.

“Quite the peculiar realm you’ve landed yourself in, my brother,” The man stands from your couch, drawing closer to you and Daemon, “and quite the woman you have there.”

“Is it really you?” Daemon whispers, and you swear you heard his voice break.

“It is,” Viserys holds his arms out in front of him.

Daemon steps forward, and you can’t help but think that this small motion has drawn him farther away from you. His focus is on his brother, and understandably so, but your heart aches at what lies before you.

I’m going to lose him.

Viserys pulls him close with one arm, and Daemon relaxes into his embrace. He’s home. Well, nearly.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much time, brother. We must leave before the incantation is broken.”

“Incantation?” Daemon asks, and you wonder the same thing.

“We must go.” Viserys beseeches, urgency clear in his voice.

Daemon seems to collect his thoughts, springing into action, “Alright, well, I’m taking her with me,” he takes your hand, “You are coming with me, aren’t you, my love?”

You think of your world, of what you will leave behind. But, you also think, he need not ask. You would follow him anywhere.

“Yes,” you find yourself nodding, “Yes, of course I-“

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Daemon.”

Daemon’s head raises in a flash, “What do you mean, brother?” his menacing tone resurfacing.

“The incantation only accounts for you, and only you can return with me,” Viserys seems apologetic, but it doesn’t bring you comfort. Not at all.

“There must be a way,” you feel Daemon start to shake before you, in equal parts desperation and anger.

“We must go,” Viserys pleads again, and you want to say, No, please don’t take him away, but your voice fails you, and you stand there, unravelling within.

I have to say something. Damn it, say something.

“Go.”

“My love?” Daemon says, perhaps for the last time.

“You have to go home.”

Daemon / General HotD taglist: @omgsuperstarg @moonmaiden1996 @ayamenimthiriel @sebastian025 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @teapartydreams @mercurial-wallflower @vainillasmil157 @eonnyx @ponyboys-sunsets @schniiipsell @isa-beenme @daemonslittlebitch @wasabi-mommy @naelys-the-asterr @dreaming-for-an-escape @my-dark-prince @random-human02 @thelastcitysposts @avalyaaaa @angel6776 @huntycola @sanguinalia @just-a-harmless-patato @outundertheocean

Seven hells, I did not post this as soon as I promised! Uni got in the way 🤷‍♀️

This one did not contain nursing references cause I got a bit carried away with just their dynamic, but nurse!reader will be making a comeback in the 3rd and last part (especially since Daemon will be gone {???} then) 🙊

I've got more time now, so I'll be working on some Aemond and Daemon requests that yous have already sent. As well as part 4 for the Heart on Fire series.

Also, a huge thank you because this blog has reached 1.7k followers and 25k likes in total. That is absolutely insane, seeing as it's only been three months since I began posting! These stories are all for you guys to enjoy, so thanks a million. I wish you all sweet dreams of Daemon or Aemond (or both) tonight! 🖤🖤🖤

[sourjinss]

⁀➷ ‎‎YOU STAY ON MY MIND

➼ CHAPTER ONE ⋆ a happy coincidence ⋆ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

➼ PARING ⋆ tattooartist!taehyung! + bartender!fem!reader

➼ PRÉCIS ⋆  after a rough patch in your relationship you and your boyfriend are finally on solid ground but that all goes to hell when his older brother, taehyung comes to visit.

➼ CAUTION! ⋆ cheating sexual themes verbal abuse toxic relations this is pure fiction does not relate to any idol physical altercations fluffy and sweet (yay) angst (boo) slow burn?? side jungkoook story?

APPLE!! - i feel like the first chapter is always hard to do i hope you guys like it though! it took me while and the writing might be ass (mybadd) but heart it and reblog if you do enjoy !! xoxo

PLAY THIS ⋆ come here by dominic fike , talk 2 you by brent faiyaz

TAEHYUNG had an easy life; he would tell you that himself. but his appearance could tell a different story for anyone who was small-minded.

he could feel the stares from miles away a man around his age who expression spoke envy because his seat partner was too close to drooling on her rather conservative skirt, lust written all over her face.

an older woman, who was disgusted with just being in the same space as him, her daughter had looked at him with admiration despite his tattoos and his many piercings.

he offered her a small smile and looked back out the plane window, he liked a routine he put precision in anything that he deemed worthy.

making a trip to his hometown was not in his plans, not that he was complaining he wanted to see how his little brother was doing but in saying that led him where he is now, trying to find as much peace as he could with his seatmate, jeongguk snoring obnoxiously his thin lips parted like the clouds that they flew by. 

taehyung didn't know why jeongguk was so set on following him, without taehyung at the tattoo parlor he could finally act on his crazy ideas. 

he chose not to think about too much jeongguk was already tired of being nagged by the elder.

mingyu, his little brother suddenly came to mind he was much like his apprentice. “kook” taehyung whispered as he reached over and gently shook him on the shoulder

jeongguk ignored him and turned his head the other way his voice coming out slurred and groggy “is the plane going down?” taehyung smirked and shook his head looking at the people passing them both to board off “well fuck off” “m’kay” taehyung leaped up out of his seat happily and grabbed his suitcase, leaving the stubborn kid by himself after a minute he had realized and cursed at taehyung under his breath, running to catch up with him.  

“bitch what?!” 

 noelani looked as if you had a red ball on your nose and a rainbow wig on. “there’s no way you took his bum-ass back” feeling the heavy embarrassment creep up on you like a bad cold you turned around bringing your focus back on the glass you were previously cleaning.

but you knew your best-friend wasn’t having none of that “yn honey are you serious?” “i know you don't have to rub the shit in..” you sighed turning back to meet her ridiculous stare

“what?” she blinked as if she was thinking about the next words to come out her mouth, which you knew she wasn't “is the dick that good?” she said loudly, inside voice never being considered. glaring at her you snatched her glass of liquor “first of all, that’s enough for you”

it was near closing time, there was a few people in the bar and you was almost done with your nightly duties noelani was drunk and you took that opportunity to tell her what had happened with mingyu, praying that she wouldn’t remember the next day if she were sober she would've taken the initiative and attacked mingyu in the  back of your head you kind of wished that she did. you wished of a lot of things lately  

“okay the only logical reason is that you're with child and he's the baby-daddy” noelani suggested, blowing a tight curl off her forehead, chin rested calmly in her palm “i’m not pregnant..i just forgave him” those words felt nasty coming out your mouth

“what- why do you think what he did to you was worth forgiving yn?” she crossed her arms, swaying gently  

you paused, your mouth ajar and before you could answer the bell on the door rung, the cold air being pushed in. two men sauntered inside “fuck its freezing” one of them seethed, combing their fingers through their jet-black hair he was taller than the other, he dressed in all-black attire his hands covered in tattoos, a ring hanging from the corner of his mouth.  the other was somewhat similar, dark attire, hands covered in ink, but he had honey blonde hair his appearance to you seemed gentler in a way “your dumbass wanted to drink in the middle of the night”  

“you didn’t have to come” in response to that the honey blonde smacked the back of the others head “who the fuck was going to drive your sorry ass home?” he looked around and his dark eyes reached yours and stayed that's when you realized that you were staring at them both quickly you averted your gaze but his eyes stayed on you.

“is that like a turn on of yours or something?” jeongguk mumbled pinching his brows together while they walked to the bar taehyung nodded mindlessly his eyes still perched on your silhouette jeongguk followed his eyes

“dude..am i tweakin' or are you eye-fucking someone” with that taehyung finally removed his eyes

“what are you talking about?” he deadpanned and rolled his eyes “whatever makes your monkey jump..” jeongguk snickered and went back to his phone right when taehyung was about to cuss him out you walked over.

standing in front of them making both of them pause in their tracks to look at you “uhm hi what can i get for you..guys?” either of them uttered a word and it was making you feel extremely awkward pursing your lips tightly you provided a small smile “ill come back later”  

“no that’s okay we’re ready” jeongukk vocalized smiling back “can i get a blueberry daiquiri but frozen please”  

you weren’t expecting such a fruity drink from him you thought as you turn around to face the other “and you?”  taehyung’s hands felt sweaty it was freaking him the fuck out

“i’m actually not drinking tonight” you smiled at him and tilted your head “next time then” when you turned around to make jeongguks order he slapped taehyung on his arm and shook him excitedly taehyung pushed him off him but was secretly geeked out because what did you mean by next time “so how long are you two staying in town?”  

taehyung was feeling himself “how do you know we aren’t from here?” he smiled pulling his sleeves up to lean his forearms on the bar staring at your back his eyes trailing down to your ass, which was doing those jeans a favor

“well are you from here?”

that’s when you turned around to face him “i am my friend here isn’t-“ taehyung stuttered, causing jeongguk to laugh beside him, slapping his thigh and sipping on the drink you served him

“what brings you guys here?” wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he grins, hitting taehyung on the back “taehyung here is visiting his baby brother and helping out a fellow artist in the area and i’m here for the ride”  

“jeongguk here is the tattoo’s shop receptionist back where we live and he had nothing better to do so he tagged along.” taehyung interjected straight-faced

jeongguk ‘s knowing smile deflated and went back to his drink dejectedly. you laughed and nodded, putting the drinks back in destinated places taehyung found himself wondering if that laugh was genuine and if the smile you shown was real   

“i figure you two were artist”  

“oh you’re an artist?” jeongguk interviewed in which you shook your head quite flustered “oh no no i only have like one tattoo”

taehyung wanted to know where it was how big it was, how’d it looks on your skin, what it felt like to trace it with his fingers. “i’m close to some artists” that came out like a question out of your mouth.

“really? name some we might know them” 

you were about to tell them about mingyu’s work, in the past you had boasted about how hard he works to create art and bring into life, but something stopped you “there's my friend, noelani she's super talented”  

as if she was summoned noelani somehow managed to stand on her own and came over “yn i’m going to head to the crib” she slurred but tried to give the impression that she was dead sober

“yeah, no” you said as you grabbed your bag everyone but them had left.

 one thing you knew about her is she was really good at fronting, pretending be someone who had their shit together, noelani was one of artist you are close with she is a taller woman with dark red hair tanned skin incorporating many fine line tattoos, color etched in each one she was a few years older than you and both of you were roommates in college and since been inseparable. 

“i am not even drunk-” she leaned her hip on the stool and turned to look at jeongguk who was drinking quietly

“what are you looking at?”

his doe eyes widened and blinked you covered your face with both of your hands and groaned internally “ignore her please”

you sighed while untying your black apron and walking over to your friend, wrapping your arm around her waist

“we’re actually about to close.”

“shit- sorry” taehyung said as he stood up burning a hole in jeongguk’s head who was still in his spot, ignoring taehyung he turned to you and pulled out his wallet “how much do i owe you”  

“don’t worry about it, hope you two enjoy your stay!” you smiled tightly struggling moderately to hold a drunk noelani up jeongguk bit his lip

“can i at least help with your friend?”

  you looked between them “and how do i know you two aren’t like perverts or something?” noelani all of sudden stood up straight and squinted “the tall one is someone i’d still be with if he dogged me out” noelani spilled before going limp into your arms once more 

a-beat passed and you kind of wished you died a quick death right there jeongguk smiled awkwardly and taehyung stared at you in disbelief a look in his eyes you couldn’t read

you looked at jeongguk and carefully offered your friend “i have a gun” you lied swiftly as jeongguk gently carried noelani on his back and in response she rested her head on his shoulder, he blushed profusely.

you and taehyung were left alone behind the duo 

“if me and my friend make it out alive tonight, i truly hope you and him have a nice stay” you humored.

taehyung looked at you and grinned his lips stretched into a boxy shape

you thought it was cute

“i promise we have no intention to do such a thing” you nodded and shyly tucked a stray hair from your ponytail behind your ear, you were both walking slow and it was nice, talking to him was pleasant “how long have you been a tattoo artist?” 

taehyung stuffed his hands into the red leather jacket that hugged his frame and hummed as he pondered

“about five years or so?”  jeongguk and noelani had probably reached the vehicles but he couldn’t find a reason to care.

“how long have you been bartending?” “for 8 years or so..” you looked at his coated arms shamelessly and it was like each piece stuck to his skin perfectly

“it was my mother’s bar; she would haunt me if i let it to waste” you kicked a small rock and smiled to yourself an apologetic expression flashed over his face "way to ruin the mood y/n you thought" and quickly raise your hands  

“i’m fine it was years ago”   

taehyung looked back at the bar, his dark eyes shining with adornment “she would be so proud of you y/n”  

a lot of people said that to and you never really knew if what they said was truthful, taehyung made it seem almost believable.  

Before taehyung could see how thrown off you were by his statement jeongguk yelled from where he was “if you two don’t hurry your asses up!”  

you brushed off the feeling that settled in your stomach and quickly opened the back door to your car helping jeongguk put her in looking at him strangely when he put his coat over her torso.  

taehyung raised a brow and looked at him skeptically.  

jeongguk only shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck “what? she said she was cold” he then circled around and got into the car him and taehyung rode in 

with that you and taehyung was left by yourselves and to be truthful taehyung wasn’t rushing to leave you for some unknown reason you were incredibly interesting to him; the way your hair flowed with the cold breeze, how your arm flexed slightly when you wrapped it around your friend's waist it all drew him in, and that made him anxious hell you made him blush for fuck sakes.  

“so um i guess ill see you guys around?” you say with a sweet smile planted on your lips, taehyung only nodded and licked his lips silently.

you turned your back on him but before you could climb in and drive off taehyung stopped you by gently grabbing your wrist.  

“if you want anything done— tattoo wise please come by, i'm down the street from where your bar is” he suggested shyly and took his hand off your (he noted) much smaller wrist.  

you grinned and climbed into your car taehyung closing the door for you. “that’s nice of you, stranger” he shared the simper and leaned down to your window, his face dangerously close to yours “i have to repay the kindness you showed my apprentice”  

“maybe ill use the favor soon, maybe not” you teased lowkey getting into the little moment you both were having

“i would hope so, i hate leavin’ debts neglected”  

“it was just a drink-” you started  

“i know just lemme repay the favor, ma” he sent his award-winning smile before leaning back up and hitting the top of your car

“drive safe its ice on the road” he offered before going back to his own car, which was much nicer than yours.  

but he never drove off, it took you a minute to realize that he was indeed was waiting for you to leave and that made you smile a little bit and while you drove off you waved a hand out the window. 

jeongguk looked at him and shook his head “I know you fucking lyin”  

taehyung rolled his eyes and drove out the parking lot “what are you talking about?”  

“flirted her head off dude knowing damn well she got a man” he stated and looked at taehyung like he had sticky note on his forehead that said ‘biggest dick walking here!’

“she got a boy and he don’t even deserve all that” taehyung knew what he was doing was morally wrong, but it felt right and- hold up

“didn’t you give her homegirl your jacket?” jeongguk suddenly was very interested in the amazing city lights that flew by “how you think yoongi’s shops doing?" 

taehyung chuckled and reached over to pinch his cheek “nah nah nah playboy you did that smooth as hell, now she gotta see your dumbass again”

 jeongguk grumbled, a warm blush creeping up his neck “if that’s how you flirt i feel bad for her” 

he couldn’t stop thinking about you, about your body filled out perfectly in your work outfit he couldn't stop wondering where that tattoo of yours laid, if it was done on a drunken night or were you feeling frisky due to boredom, he wanted study it like he was testing for his license again and he hoped to see you again, even a glance will do..

"this is bad" he notioned the smile quickly being wiped off his face

you chose not drive noelani home instead you took her to your place, your house was your family home you grew up in it, it was left to you by your late mother she knew how much it meant to you.  

after a failed call with mingyu and about all your dying strength you got noelani situated in one of the guest rooms, knowing she was going to hot in the middle of the night you took off her clothes and tucked her in, not forgetting to put a bucket with a trash bag by her side and water on the stand.  

closing the door you practically dragged yourself to your bedroom, opening to see mingyu sleeping peacefully in your bed, in your room. the same room he fucked another bitch in, the same room you grew up in.  

you heaved a heavy sigh and silently got a tee-shirt and closed the door gently

walking back to where noelani remained and threw off your soiled clothes, residing in nothing but a tee-shirt and your panties, climbing into bed with her and resting your face in the hollow of her back

the last thought crossing your tired mind is how taehyung called you ‘ma’ causing you to sleep with a small smile  

the next morning you awakened by the sound of your annoying ass alarm, waking noelani up too, “ow ow ow” she winced holding her head with her hands, “fucking hell-” she moaned as she got out of bed and rushed to bathroom which you presumed to throw up and shit. 

the winter sun shined heavily into the room, and you founded it irritating, the past few weeks you found a lot of things irritating.   

getting out of bed reluctantly, the scent of eggs and bacon forced itself into your nose  

did mingyu really took the initiative to make you breakfast?  

“mingyu?” you called before walking around the corner, yawning and stretching your arms above your head only to bump into a broad chest.

“fuck my nose-” you whined, now you were not a morning person at all, and you were seconds away from cussing mingyu's ass out for not watching where the fuck he was going  

little problem though, you looked up it wasn’t mingyu it was taehyung like the guy who charmed you last night like the same guy with the pretty works of art on his body and even a prettier smile.  

you both stared at each other in utter shock, and you swore he could your heart beating out your chest.  

noelani came out the bathroom and rubbed her eyes, pausing a few steps away from you both announcing what was going through both of your heads  

“what in the absolute fuck is goin’ on?” 

-

[rosewaterandivy]

the rumored nights & the rendezvous

Summary: a prep-school princess and cuntycountry club queen always gets what she wants

Pairing: s.h. x f!feader

W.C.: 752

—

It was nearing the end of term, graduation looming the distance and close enough to touch. There were murmurings of yet another party this weekend, something down at Lover’s Lake.

The heat was beginning to get oppressive in the building, the school resembling its colonial inspired architecture in more ways than one. Air conditioning, for example, and the fact that the board believed it would “degrade the grandeur of the campus.”

You’d rolled the band of the boxers you were sporting underneath your uniform skirt twice that morning, the worn cotton fabric brushing mid-thigh and even that wasn’t enough to keep the encroaching summer sweat from your skin.

Most girls opted for the regulation gym shorts under their skirts, but when you couldn’t locate yours that morning, you slipped on the nearest thing to hand— blue and white striped boxers discarded hastily on the floor of your room.

Heather was honking from her Jeep and you slipped them on without thinking before grabbing your book bag and rushing out to meet her.

And it’s only now, in gym class, that you’re realizing the precarious situation you’ve inadvertently placed yourself in— no gym shorts, and you definitely do not want to explain why you’re currently sporting boxers that differ from your favored plaid pattern.

With some quick thinking you pinch your cheeks and ruffle your hair with wet hands before walking out into the gymnasium with a hand placed against your abdomen. Cramps were a sure-fire way to remedy what would otherwise be something to tarnish your pristine reputation.

”Coach Stark?” You say, letting a slight whine slip into your voice. “My monthly just arrived, so I need to sit out today.”

Receiving a grunt and nod in response from the older woman, you make a show of walking over to the bleachers and taking a seat. A few of the other girls greet you with a wave and you smile in return, getting a book from your bag to pass the time.

Not that it did anything to distract you from the thoughts running through your mind, harkening back to the party last week that began at the country club pool after-hours and featured guest appearances from some of the Hawkins High students, only to end at your empty house in Loch Nora.

Your mind wanders back to chapped lips and a hungry mouth - eager and willing. A hushed voice: how do you like it? and the falling litany of your name. Too tight denim pulled taut against thighs, thin t-shirts bunched up to reveal summer warmed skin.

Fingers slip against damp heat, a soft curse escaping lips, a bruising kiss, an apt tongue. A canting of hips as clothes are shed, fervent and impatient hands caressing in the dark. Sweet nothings whispered against exposed skin: that’s it baby, right there—oh, fuck.

Shaking yourself from the recollection, you ignore the pulsing of your thighs and turn the page of your novel. If only you’d had some sense and ignored the rumblings of the rumor mill. If only he hadn’t looked so damn delectable, a cigarette dangling from his plush pink lips, beer grasped casually in one hand. If only you hadn’t batted your lashes and laughed at something that dumb lacrosse player said.

But no, you did all that knowingly, artfully, and with precise calculation which guaranteed his arrival at your side, the ghost of his hand at your back.

He smiled and made meaningless conversation with the other guy, let you pluck the cigarette from his mouth and take a few drags yourself, and, when the opportunity presented itself as the party favors began to kick in distracting everyone, he led you up the stairs and down the hall to a deserted room.

Your room, as it so happened.

And, as you would come to learn, they did not tell a lie when the girls in the locker room crowed that Steve Harrington needed only ten minutes to take you to the moon and have stars bursting behind your eyelids.

You were curious and tended to get what you want, and what you’d wanted that night was some alone time with Steve.

Which is how you wound up throwing on his boxers this morning in a rush to get ready for school. He’d left them behind and made his grand escape through your window as your parents arrived home the next morning.

Of course, he had a parting gift too. And what a shame because he pocketed your favorite lace underwear that had to be special ordered goddamnit. He wouldn’t know what to do with French lace anyway.

And you would get them back, come hell or high water.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Locked Out (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content, language, mentions of blood Word count: 4.2k

Summary: When you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, Anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

Author's Note: Inspired by true events that involved all the frustration but none of the fun 😜 This was just an idea that rooted itself. A silly little fic outside my usual style. Thanks to @faye-tale for chatting with me while I waited for a locksmith. 😊 And thanks to @colettebronte who always has the right JB pic for the job. 💜

You knew this would happen. You had never trusted the smart lock ever since Anthony had installed it. Either some criminal masterminds would hack the whole network of them, or the battery would die and leave you precisely where you were now, standing on the stoop in the chilly air as midnight approached, the moon and your phone as your only light sources. Again you wondered what was so bad about traditional locks as your phone flashed the error message. But Anthony had to get his way, as usual. One news story about a burglar three towns away and the next day he had bought every ‘smart’ home security device on the market.

Well now the stupid lock didn’t work. The first time you had pressed the button you assumed you had tapped something wrong, given how distracted you were. Anthony was crowding against you, one hand slithering over your backside while the other moved to wrap lightly around your throat. He was breathing heavy in your ear, licking your neck with his untamable tongue, a move that always made your eyes cross a bit. But now you had tried three times to unlock the door and it clearly wasn’t working.

“Anthony…”

He just rumbled in response, biting your lobe.

“Anthony!” You nudged him back with your hips, trying to snap him out of it. “The damn lock is broken.” 

“What?” Of course he then had to inspect it himself for a full five minutes, trying every trick on his phone that you had, to no avail.

You stood with your arms crossed. “Where’s the spare key?”

Even in the dim light you could see his jaw set with aggravation. “Inside.”

You scoffed, “You didn’t hide it outside like you said you would?”

“I don’t want to leave a key to our property lying around for anyone to find. This thing was supposed to be top-of-the-line.” He growled.

You couldn’t help your eyes from rolling. “Anthony, that’s why you hide it…”

“Let me try the back.” He jogged off the steps and around the house through your garden gate. You both knew full well that he had rigged your back door with the same space age lock as the front and wasn’t likely to have any success. All you wanted was to get inside, to get warm and have a glass of wine. You looked up at the glare of the full moon. That must be to blame for your misfortune.  

You weren’t going to wait forever and searched the number for a 24-hour locksmith. You were just about to dial when the sound of shattering glass echoed over your lawn followed by a loud curse. Oh good lord…

Before you could even detect which side of the house it came from, Anthony stepped out of the shadows, holding a forearm aloft.

“Anthony Bridgerton, what the hell did you do?” You hissed as loud as you dared, mindful of disturbing your neighbors.

But you knew exactly what he had done when he drew closer and you could see the bloody pulp that now constituted his knuckles. More alarming was the long, jagged tear in the sleeve of his shirt through which you could see the matching slice on his skin, blood already seeping out to darken the fabric.

“Broke the side window,” he grumbled. 

“And how did that work out for you, genius?”

His eyes flashed. “The damn latch is too high. I couldn’t reach it inside.”

Excellent. Now you would need to replace your window as well as hire a locksmith. Your simple date night was turning into quite the misadventure. The cold was starting to seep in. Not expecting to spend time outside, you wore only a dress and no coat. You were so tired and irked you were bordering on a tantrum. But your husband was bleeding, quite a lot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ream him out while he was injured.

“Jesus,” You huffed, taking his good arm and pulling him over to your car in the drive. Fortunately this piece of your property had a keyfob, making it your only form of shelter at the moment. “Sit down,” you ordered, opening the driver’s side door and pushing him into the seat. You crouched next to him and turned his wrist to inspect the damage. It was ugly, the whole sleeve from the elbow down stained red already. 

Before you even suggested it, he tugged the cuff of his other sleeve with his teeth, slipping his whole shirt up and over his head until it hung only on his bloodied limb. 

“Haven’t you ever watched movies?” You chastised as you began to wind the fabric around the gash. A gorgeous knit shirt ruined forever. “You wrap your arm with your shirt before you punch through glass.”

“Well I’m sorry for trying to solve our problem.” He snipped. You responded by pulling a tight knot, causing him to hiss. 

But your frustrated energy threatened to redirect into something else entirely as you surveyed him. Even after all this time together, you went a bit speechless whenever you saw him shirtless. It really was obscene for someone to be so attractive. Broad-shouldered and muscular, with the most perfect patch of soft hair across his chest. Running your hands over him had reached the level of compulsion, beyond mere desire. Seeing as his torso was streaked with blood from his haphazardly bandaged arm, you gave in under the pretense of tending to him. You drifted your fingers up his carved abdomen and onto his chest where his movements slowed under your palm, his breaths deepening. 

“I don’t have anything to clean you up with.” You were more agitated than apologetic. How fast were you going to devolve into naked, bloodied neanderthals all because you didn’t have a house key?

“It’s fine.” He laid his good hand over yours, holding it in place. You could feel the strong thrum of his heart. He knew what he was doing. Trying to dissipate your anger by turning himself into a distraction. But you wouldn’t let him. Someone had to remedy this situation. 

You quirked a brow. “Should I call the paramedics or the locksmith?”

His pursed-lips look of annoyance was one you saw often and always relished. It was usually the only way he admitted you were right in a spat. Nudging him a few inches, you perched next to him on the seat.

“How long will they take?” he asked when you hung up.

“Half an hour.”

“What are we supposed to do until then?” You knew that silky edge to his voice and turned to look at him. His eyes, always dark, glinted most dangerously at night. Darkness suited him much more than daylight and even though you knew your husband was putty in your hands, one flash of those eyes made you feel like prey.

You shivered, due to him as much as the wind. “Whatever we do, I’m staying in here. It’s too cold.” You wouldn’t give in that easily. You stood and moved to walk to the passenger side but an arm curled around your waist and tugged you back onto his lap, then the door was pulled shut beside you. 

“Imagine how cold I am without a shirt on.” His low voice reverberated through the enclosed space and soft lips landed on your shoulder. His arm was still banded around you, holding you tight. The devil. 

You twisted to face him again, already knowing you would lose this battle. He smirked, just a glimpse of teeth in the blue glow of the fading dash lights lending fangs to your predator. Wasn’t he the wounded one? How did he gain the upper hand so quickly? You rested your hands on his chest again and knew he was lying. He was warmer than you and heating up by the second, his breath gusting over your forearms as you stared each other down. Each time you touched one another in places otherwise typically clothed, it brought out your animalistic tendencies. But seeing him like this, cast in shadow and roughed up, was causing something especially carnal to simmer inside you.

“We can turn the car on for heat.” You argued, never wanting to grant him the last word.

But then he pressed himself against you, hands spreading wide to grasp your bottom as he nuzzled his jaw against your cheek. He knew all of your buttons. One pass of his short beard across your skin and it was over. 

“Mmmm…” he hummed in your ear, the baritone he reserved to devastate you. “Bad for the environment. We can keep each other warm.”

Then his tongue resumed its journey up your neck, leaving you gasping until he traced it into your waiting mouth.

Damn him. You hated and loved how easily he made you go to pieces. If you were being honest, the feelings worked in tandem. It was often when you were the most aggravated with him that you reached the highest peaks in your lovemaking. As your tongues swirled around each other, you knew this would be one of those times. But you’d have to be quick unless you wanted to put on a show for the locksmith. This was reckless, juvenile, but you didn’t care. 

“I suppose you’re right.” You murmured over his lips then pushed him roughly back against the seat. His eyes lit with excitement as you maneuvered to straddle him, hiking your skirt up your thighs, kicking off your heels and underwear as you went. His splayed hands ran up to your back and crushed you to him for another hungry kiss. You moaned into one another, overcome with the rush of it all, with the risk you may be seen. As you held his jaw possessively, you wormed a hand down to the seam of his trousers.

“Do you have enough blood left to power this thing?” You smirked, nipping at his lower lip.

“See for yourself,” came the husky reply. Pressing down, you felt the bulge and rocked your palm against it. His responding noise caused a familiar jolt of desire to shoot through your every cell. You knew you were already soaking, aching and ready for him. In a flurry, the two of you fought off his belt and buttons and shoved his clothes down his thighs until his cock sprang free, rigid and hot in your hand. Positioning yourself, you swiped the head across your entrance, gathering the slick then swirling it around your throbbing clit. Anthony groaned, biting his lip and gripping you tight by the hips as you lined up and sank down onto him, your cry seeming all the louder in the small, insulated cab.

There was a reason you had given him the private nickname ‘Logsplitter’. Getting far too candid over too many drinks one night, you had told him how fantastically split open he made you feel. Had described that meniscus seal between pain and pleasure and how his body drove yours to it perfectly and kept you dancing upon it until it fractured and plunged you into liquid bliss. The next day you had been mortified but he eased your anxieties by making it the most enduring joke in your relationship. The bastard had even woven it into his wedding speech, announcing that he would still find joy in life’s mundane tasks with you, whether it be laundry, dishes, or log splitting. Public mentions of it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, but in practice behind closed doors it sent heat rocketing under every inch of your skin. He was so stiff and formidable, stretching you so splendidly. You began to move so that you could savor every inch.

Planting your hands on his shoulders for leverage you began to ride him at a steady clip, reminding yourself that you couldn’t dally. His fingers pressed deeper into your hips as his breath turned staccato with whispered curses. You gave a passing thought to the fact that his injured arm was probably streaking blood across your dress, but thankfully it was black and therefore might be saved. 

As much as you were enjoying yourself, this was still a ridiculous situation. Bleeding and rutting in the driver’s seat of your car like you were criminal lovers on the lam and not just idiots who hadn’t kept a spare key to the house. And you were on a timeline. Fueled by a potent blend of frustration and arousal you began to move faster, pistoning on your knees as the leather squeaked. There wasn’t much extra space on the seat for your legs and your increased pace made you slip, pitching forward as one shin fell off the side.

Anthony caught you, hands moving up to your ribs as he chuckled. “Woah. Do I need to strap you in, baby girl?”

You could have slapped him. He only used that name for you when he really wanted to get you riled. Clearly he was enjoying your little tryst, finding the fun in this mess that he caused.  You’d like to see him try and fuck you in the front seat. Glaring, you stepped on the recline controls and he stuttered in surprise as he sank backward until he was supine beneath you. Steadying yourself again you doubled your efforts, riding him hard as you held him pinned at the chest.

“You’re enjoying this too fucking much.” You ground out.

“What?” He played the innocent.

“We could be inside,” You panted, every word bouncing with your movements. “In bed. Uninjured. If you had just hidden the key…” Your breath caught as you tilted your hips and felt him strike against the deepest part of you, a twinge that increased your ache. “...and not changed the stupid locks.”

“So this is my fault?” His voice was all seduction, no remorse to be found. His eyes, what little you could see of them, gazed up at you as a hand moved to knead your breast.

“Yes.” You moaned, starting to climb the ladder as his fingers and his cock simultaneously found all the right spots to make you mindless. 

“And you’re mad at me?”

“So fucking mad.” You gasped, leaning forward into his palm and angling yourself just so, feeling the ridge of him deep inside start to massage your center of sensation.

He craned his neck to ghost his lips over yours and whispered, “How can I apologize?”

Then his hand moved below your skirt and his fingertips found your clit. Pierced with sensation, you screamed some garbled syllables of his name.

He chuckled, warm and dark. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Oh, he was awful. Driving you to delirium even when you were the one on top. You had found your rhythm, rolling your hips to sink him perfectly into place over and over. Coupled with the press of his circling fingers, you were shooting up the ladder, your blood beginning to hum with anticipation. Maybe you could pull this off in time after all. 

“Fuck you…” you hissed.

“You certainly are.”

“Anthony, shut up!” You clamped a hand over his mouth, bringing the other to claw into his shoulder. You had assumed Anthony Bridgerton, man of refined tastes, would have found this all as debased as you did, but he was evidently having the time of his life. Maybe the laugh riot was precisely because he knew you were so flustered, which just made you angrier. But the anger was consigned to your mind only, as your body delighted in him. Warm and firm beneath your palms, he started to move with you, thrusting ever so slightly while his mangled hand pulled you down at the hip, slamming your bodies together as tight as he could on your every descent. His fingers swirled faster, just where you needed them, and soon enough you reached the top rungs, everything surging within.

Anthony mumbled something against your fingers, his breath hot and short, matching yours as you hovered over him. You released him, your mind too clouded with pleasure to fight him anymore. Your thighs began to quake while the rest of you started to tense.

“It feels like you’re about to forgive me.” He purred, and all you could do was whine, squeezing your eyes shut as your hips bucked against him desperately. “Come on then,” he coaxed. “I think I’ve earned it.”

One more thrust and circle of his fingers and you peaked, crying out as your nails sank into the flesh of his shoulder and your other hand scrabbled for purchase in his thick hair. Release radiated out from the epicenter of his touch, spasms clenching around his cock which now felt impossibly huge, fanning out through every muscle. You writhed, circling your pelvis against his as you rode it out and moaned.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he growled from the darkness. “That’s my girl.”

Gasping, you collapsed on top of him, basking in the warmth of his bare skin and the caresses of his hands across your back as aftershocks curled your spine. As you floated, you trailed your fingers into his chest hair. You contemplated extending your forgiveness verbally too, but when you propped up to look at him you saw a flash of headlights through the back window. A truck was turning down your street. 

You cursed under your breath and glanced a kiss across Anthony’s lips before pulling yourself off of him and opening the door, stumbling out into the driveway, your mind still swimming. You tugged your skirt down and tried to smooth your hair as Anthony scrambled to hitch his clothes back over his stark erection. 

“Stay here,” you cautioned and closed the door.

The truck was indeed the locksmith, a very beatific fellow named Lumley. He didn’t cast any judgment as you explained your situation. He professed to having seen it all and you believed him. But you might have been added to his list of unusual encounters after he deftly popped the door lock and let you in to turn on your lights. That’s when his eyes widened and he asked if you were alright. You looked down and realized he was gesturing to the blood streaks on your exposed arms. The way he fixated on your chin, you suspected you had a streak there too.

You laughed to calm him, explaining that your husband had cut his hand (you elected not to tell him how) and that you were both perfectly fine and would clean up now that you could get inside. A little shaken, he politely wrapped up your transaction and drove away. You were too relieved to be embarrassed and went to collect Anthony from the car.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” You swung the door open to find him still reclined. His trousers were back on thankfully, but he was slumped, eyes closed, cradling his raggedly wrapped arm. “Anthony?” You put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

He blinked his eyes open and looked at you blearily. “Feeling a bit woozy.” He mumbled.

Fantastic. Not only had he lost blood, he had sent whatever remained shooting down to his cock and now there was none left in his brain. You didn’t think you were strong enough to carry him indoors if he collapsed, but you wouldn’t leave him in the damned car any longer. Tugging him by his good arm to slowly stand, you then draped it over your shoulders and steered him inside. He could walk just fine even if his head was drooping a bit. 

You kicked the door closed behind you and walked to the sofa, easing him onto it.

“Aright, sit down. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

You turned but were immediately halted by a hand around your wrist.

“There’s only one thing that’s going to make me feel better.”

The next you knew, you were on your back on the sofa, Anthony pressing you down as his lips consumed yours. He vocalized his want down your throat as his beard rasped against you. What happened to woozy? Maybe being horizontal was the only way he could function at the moment. He rocked his hips between yours, his unsatisfied stiffness insistently seeking entry. Within seconds you were ignited again, helpless against the weight of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. 

“Anthony, if you stain the couch too, I swear…” You mumbled as he sucked at your neck. Tallying the cleanup that remained between the shattered window and your ruined clothes, you would not sacrifice your plush upholstery too. Reaching behind your head, you dragged the throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and quickly bunched it under his blood soaked shirt bandage. He didn’t seem to have heard you, or perhaps he just didn’t care, as he balanced on that elbow and used his other hand to tear open his trouser buttons. You lifted your skirt and helped him, as eager for this as he was. 

You groaned in stereo as he sank into you once again, the sensation more overwhelming now that he was on top of you. His tongue dove into your mouth as well, the most delicious parts of him penetrating you as deeply as they could simultaneously. Vanilla as this position may have been in comparison, you loved it. Being completely underneath him, crushed, consumed and controlled by him. You had taken your pleasure and now you wanted to be a ragdoll in his arms. You didn’t know if your desires were romantic or perverse, but you didn’t care. The feeling of being filled and surrounded by the man you loved made you wildly aroused. 

With no pretense, Anthony went to work pummeling you, chasing his release as urgently and selfishly as you had chased yours. You opened your legs wide, locking your ankles around his back and letting him plough even deeper. You still found this entire ordeal comical, but the man deserved some relief. In the span of an hour he had been chastised, injured, exposed and now blue-balled. This was his only reprieve until you had to undertake the ghastly business of dealing with his wound. And he was bringing pleasure to more than just himself. Predictably, his every thrust teased your clit, his sizable cock pulling all of you so tight that every feeling was heightened. While he panted harsh in your ear, you ran your nails down his rippled back and pert bum, leveraging with your wrapped legs to push up into him, the two of you grinding into one another as you whispered encouragements.

He was splitting you, sending you back to that place where all of your focus zoned in on the feeling of him inside, the relentless pounding of his body into yours that promised to quell every need of your flesh. Your whispered filth turned into small cries and then into silence as he drove harder and harder, his movements frenzied as he started to growl, pushing for the finish. All you could do was hold on as your whole body shifted beneath him, wearing tracks into the upholstery under your shoulders. You held your breath as your mouth fell open, unfailingly stunned at how he could propel you to the edge so easily. He shifted to look down at you. His hair was growing damp with sweat, a chestnut curl falling beautifully across his forehead.  His dark eyes locked into yours, molten. You could read it in each other’s faces - you would come undone together.

Sparing Anthony the balancing act, you brought your hand between your legs and in seconds were breaking, tossing your head back as you succumbed. While the rest of you trembled, you clung to him with your limbs, luxuriating in all the hallmarks of his orgasm, triggered by your own. The way his back arched under your hands as his hips stuttered between your thighs. You loved how his whole body went rigid just before you felt the pulsing inside. He made the most beautiful gasping sound, so contrasted with his animalistic growls leading up to it, his mouth hanging open against your cheek, hot breath stirring your hair.

Absorbing each other’s tremors, he melted into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck and going full dead weight. You tightened your hold around him before he rolled onto the floor. You wound a hand into his hair, tracing patterns across his scalp as you both caught your breath. You looked over at his maimed arm and grimaced. It was a bloody mess. How he had been in the mood for not one, but two romps without a single complaint about an open laceration was a level of stubbornness and libido possessed only by Anthony Bridgerton. Now playtime was over. You had to be adults and handle this.

You kissed the top of his head. “Anthony.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even grunt in acknowledgement.

You felt a stab of alarm and shook him lightly. “Anthony?”

Then he groaned, nuzzling closer into you. “I think you’re right,” he slurred against your neck. “I need stitches.”

You rolled your eyes but rubbed his back reassuringly. It appeared the adventures of the evening would continue. You just hoped he could still stumble back to the car.

“Okay. I’ll get you another shirt and then drive you to the hospital. And we are taking the spare key with us.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

[fanfic-obsessed]

Somehow Palpatine Returned

Ok I had a hilarious thought and I need to share it with all of you. I don’t normally venture into the Sequels, for all that I have been a FinnPoe and a FinnPoeRey shipper for years, or into anything close to canon,  but I want to share this with you. 

Picture if you will the moment where Poe is telling the audience that ‘Somehow Palpatine has returned’. Ponder for a moment Obi Wan Kenobi, in the Force, at that moment. The look on his face. 

We are going with, somehow, Palpatine managed to hide his real identity from the Force Ghosts so they did not know he was still alive. 

We are also, from my own personal headcanon, going with the idea that Obi Wan severely dislikes (as close to hate as he is capable of) Palpatine and has for almost fifty years at this point.  Like 90% of the horrible things that happened in Obi Wan’s adult life can be traced back to Palpatine (both directly and indirectly).

At the moment that Poe reveals that Palpatine is back, in the Force Obi Wan starts swearing. He starts swearing in every language he knows. He starts mixing languages in his swears. He starts inventing new curses and new languages to be able to express his displeasure at the news. 

Obi Wan Kenobi is about ready to materialize into the mortal plane for the sole purpose of ripping Palpatine’s arm off and beating him with it (in a way that violates all manner of physics and Force). 

Slightly to the Left of Obi Wan, Anakin Skywalker is staring at his grandson in mild horror going ‘why are you…this’. 

The Force starts manifesting people to calm Obi Wan Kenobi down (For fear that Obi Wan will break…everything). First Force Sensitives and Jedi he cared for, then Clones, then non force sensitives, even a few old enemies.  

Note 1: Maul appears at one point and screams ‘Kenobi’ for a really long time, to the point that everyone else (other than Obi Wan) looks at him. He shrugs and goes ‘I just wanted to get your attention’ then goes to sit down next to Satine so they can both score Obi Wan’s curses while splitting a bottle of Force Wine. 

Note 2: Maul and Satine have a weirdly cordial relationship for being a pacifist government official ex girlfriend of a Jedi and the Sith Warlord that murdered her in front of said Jedi, but they have found in the afterlife that they both get joy from the face Obi wan makes when they argue about something inane with him. Also they may be each scoring Obi Wan’s swears (with the occasional addition of Yoda, Dooku, Ventress, and Padme) but they are using different metrics so their scores are vastly different at all time (Maul is scoring on Creativity, Violence, and the number of organs violated; Satine is scoring on creativity, number of languages used, how poetic/rhythmic, and how well it translates into basic).

A battalion's worth of clones are arrayed around Obi Wan, taking notes. Quinlan Vos appears and vanishes in rapid succession as he helps to calm then egg Obi Wan on (at which point the Force yanks him away only to be convinced to put him back). Cody tries to calm Obi Wan down for precisely three minutes, then he realizes what has Obi Wan so steamed. At that point he goes ‘no this reaction is completely valid’ and starts discussing how one would make some of those curses a reality (as they do violate physics, the Force, and human structural integrity. Also Palpatine does not even have some of those organs) with Qui Gonn Jinn, who is deeply amused but happy to bond with his pseudo son in law. 

Plo Koon wanders through and announces that he is adopting all of the new stormtroopers both dead and living (in the mortal plane Finn, Rose, and others suddenly get the feeling that they have been absconded with and have no idea why). 

In one corner Anakin, still despairing over Kylo Ren/Ben Solo and his life choices, is having an ongoing yet supremely awkward family reunion with one or more of the following at any given point and time: his wife, whom he had a hand in killing; his daughters adoptive parents, whom he helped murder; his daughter’s husband, who he tortured, froze in carbonite, and sold to a bounty hunter; and his step brother and step sister in law that rose his son on a planet that Anakin hated, whom he only didn’t torture because he never remembered they existed; Assorted Jedi who he had been close to, whom he might of had a hand in murdering.

That one corner has so much passive aggressiveness that it is insane.  A lot of Anakin asking out loud why Kylo Ren is…like that with one or more of the previously listed people going ‘Maybe if his grandfather didn’t become a Sith, Ben wouldn’t have gotten the idea’. Which is both slightly unfair, as Anakin had been dead by the time Ben Solo was born, but also funny as anything. 

Also no one in that corner was actually discussing their elephant in the room, which was Anakin turned out to be THE PROBLEM for two decades. 

There is an ever growing parade of everyone Obi Wan has ever met being thrown at him by the Force because the Force effectively went: SHIT that is a lot of anger. Deflect.Deflect.

[chernabogs]

i really like the concept of the draconias being cursed with their love, although love is a curse and heart is a heavy burden in itself,,, it's still a fun subject to talk about. your fic in maleficia pov is such an eye opener for this 🥺 id love to see more of your insights w that trope lol

Ouagh idk if you're aiming to let me just yap away about this, but that's precisely what I'm going to do because the prospect of bloodline curses/hereditary curses is one of my FAV things in folklore. This isn't a theory as much as it is me talking about just some things I've noticed and how I interpret it

To preface this, this has absolutely no hold in canon LMAO. This is just what I've noted when taking a step back and looking at the Draconia family—which is that they have a shitty track history with things happening to them. As a secondary point, I have no idea what Yana is pulling from for her background of fae information. Myths of fae come from all over the world; you got them in Europe, in Scandinavian countries, Oceania, Africa, etc (like really, they're all over). I do know her bits and bops about Malleus loving ice cream/dairy items falls more in line with European interpretations, so I'm rolling that she's drawing somewhat from that.

Which kind of leads me to noting the poor luck the Draconia's seem to have. In a lot of European folklore, fae love to curse (most often piseóg)—be it humans, dwarves, elves, or even their own kind (this really fantastic thesis digs right into that concept via an analysis of european folk stories). One story I like a lot is The Two Sisters and The Curse, a lovely tale of pride and fae. One sister brags that her sister has a fae lover, failing to follow the stipulation that she's never to tell anyone about that fae lover. The result is tragic, as expected, but the line 'If a fay-being has power, revenge will be taken though it may be on your descendants.' really sticks out in this.

Hereditary curses are curses passed through a bloodline that, understandably, can only be broken when certain stipulations are met; the ancient Greeks especially loved them. Some might think them as geas (a curse/gift, which is kind of what Meleanor put on Malleus before he was hatched; humans would fear him, fae would adore him, etc.). A lot of piseóg in European folklore are hereditary curses intent on really fucking with a family.

In my opinion, it kind of feels like the Draconia's either have the worst luck streak on record with how many things happen to them, or they have a curse. We don't know what happened to Maleficia's husband, but the assumption is that he's probably dead. Meleanor's husband went MIA in the middle of a war that her family and her people were also dragged into. Then, Meleanor died, robbing Maleficia of her only daughter. Upon her death, Maleficia was unsuccessful at hatching Malleus' egg because he began to reject her magic; if Lilia hadn't existed or had declined to help, Malleus would have died too, leaving Maleficia.

In addition, Malleus (due to his nature as sole heir and only family) was raised in an incredibly contained environment his entire life. Hell, he was chronically alone since he was in an egg. Even now he still holds this belief in his mind that he has no one except for the same 4 people he's known his entire life, and even then, one of them (Lilia) who he cares for a lot is also about to die. Silver will die before him. Sebek will die before him. His grandmother will die before him.

Really, it looks bad when you step back. This is kind of why I focused the Maleficia fic on the concept of a curse. I wrote it like she had an inkling someone in her family line had crossed the wrong person and it resulted in a piseóg, and she just doesn't know how to break or stop it.

Frankly, I love the trope to bits. I love the tragedy, I love the many ways it can happen (pissing off fae, pissing off a tenant, evicting a fairy king from your farm because you're just tryna do your harvest, etc.), and I love when one person finally manages to figure out the niche needed to break the curse. I imagine the relief of freedom from generations of tragedy is immense.

I kind of hope that happens with the Draconia's, or at least their luck turns around with Malleus. I feel like the whole family has been dragged through the mud enough LMAO.

[permanentmess]

can i request a romantic cherik x mutant! reader where her powers are about the nature like they can control plants and after a long while they finally achieve ultimate control of their power? (like transform into a dryad temporarily)

a/n: i was not sure what to do for this one at first, i won’t lie! i don’t know anything about dryads so i researched a bit for it! i know dryads are primarily female but this could be read as any gender, so lets just pretend hehe. also, sorry for the delay, college is kicking my ass; who knew senior year would be so hard???

title: a stunning transformation (cherik x mutant!reader)

word count: 1607

warnings: canon-deviant, obviously. slight worrying/anxiety. possibly, slightly ooc for erik and charles but i did try my best. reader is able-bodied, but pronouns, y/n, and other features have been omitted. use of the word “darling” and one (1) curse word. 

mostly just fluff! 

GIF NOT MINE

~~~

You only hear whispers of their conversation at first. Mutters through the closed door to his office. You’re sure that Charles can hear your thoughts, but maybe he isn’t entirely worried about you hearing. 

“...is gaining power, I can see it in…subconscious. …been tending to my grandfather's tree…” He continues on, and you know for sure it’s about you. You’re the only person around with the ability to control plants, and the only one who’s been working on Charles’ grandfather’s tree (which was nearly destroyed by Scott).

You loved Charles and knew how much the entire property meant to him. You’d even consulted Erik first to make sure it was a good idea. You hear his voice next through the door, which is unsurprising to you. The three of you are constantly in one another's presence. 

“Yes, but is that a bad thing? Transformation is…” Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that as a possibility for yourself. But, what, transform into a tree? That would be odd…

You shake your head and decide to finally reveal yourself. You knock on the door and hear a “Come in” from Charles, prompting you to open the door. The two immediately greet you with a smile which you return immediately as you close the door. 

You go to sit on Erik’s lap, leaning your head against his. “What are you guys talking about?” You play coy, but Charles immediately sees through it and smiles. 

“You, darling, and your powers.”

“Yes, Charles here was saying how he thinks you could have the potential to transform,” Erik says, finally resting his head against yours. 

Your eyebrows furrow slightly. “Transform into what exactly?” The thought of doing so but getting stuck frightens you. You were finally feeling comfortable in a routine you had formed; not just with your relationship with Erik and Charles, but with your teaching and training, your friends at the school. You don’t want that to disappear if something goes wrong. 

Charles reaches his hands over his desk and you reach to take them. “Nothing bad would happen to you, we can find a way to make sure it’s not permanent if you can’t switch back,” he pulls them back, leaning back in his chair. “To answer your question, I think the possibilities are endless. A tree, a deity, even just a flower.”

“A deity, like a dryad or a nymph or something?”

“Precisely.”

You move your head so you can look at Erik. “What about you, do you think I could do it?” 

His eyes soften as he looks at you. “Absolutely. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” You smile at that and give him a soft kiss on the cheek, before motioning for Charles to move closer so you could do the same for him. You lean back against Erik again. 

“I’ll think about it,” you say and the two men nod. “Anyway, that’s not why I came here. What’s for dinner?” They laugh at that, and you all break into conversation.

~~~

A week has passed since the conversation in Charles’ office. Although there was never any pressure from either one of them, you could see the looks they’d give you and then each other as they watched you train. They often did this, but it seemed to increase in frequency since then. 

You’re resting against the tree you’ve been nursing back to health, gently using your powers to give it some life (you’ve been trying to get it to grow taller). It doesn’t take much concentration, so you’re reading as you do so. It’s a lovely September afternoon – the wind is blowing just enough to feel nice but not too much to be annoying, the temperature and humidity aren’t too high, and the shade of the tree makes your spot feel comfortable. 

Having been so engrossed in your book, you didn’t even realize that Erik and Charles were in front of you until Erik nudged you lightly with his foot. You look up and brighten at their presence. “What are you guys doing out here? I thought you both taught around now.”

“I gave the students time off to work on their essays,” Charles said. 

Erik quickly follows with an explanation, “And Maximoff has been begging me to let him teach one of my training sessions.” 

You nod, waiting for them to say something. But they don’t, so you’re all awkwardly staring at each other. Finally, you break. “Did I do something?” 

“No.” Charles says at the same time that Erik replies “Not yet.”

You narrow your eyes at the two of them. “Is this about the transformation thing?” 

“Yes.”

You debate it in your head. It would be fun to see what happens, and it opens a lot more possibilities during missions. But you don’t even know what would happen if you couldn’t transform back…

“Would you guys still love me if I was stuck? Even if it was as a venus flytrap?” They both laugh, bemused by your worries.

“Of course, darling.”

“I don’t know, it’d be nice being able to sleep under the covers,” Erik teases and you scoff, playfully smacking his shoe. 

“Please, the real target is Charles, how do we know he isn’t taking them with his mind powers to make us cuddle him on purpose?” 

He gasps and holds his chest in fake hurt. “How dare you insinuate such a thing?” 

There’s a bout of laughter and grins before you take a deep breath. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll try it out here though in case something goes terribly wrong.” You stand up, readjusting your clothes and handing your book to Erik to hold. “Maybe stand back though, just in case.” 

Neither man moves very far, but you know how protective they are of you sometimes. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You’re not sure how one could go about transforming, so you try to do what you do when you need to use your powers in a specific way. How you first trained with them, too. 

You reach inside yourself, trying to imagine the spirit of a dryad coming through you. You begin to feel warm as you imagine the nature around you, the strength of the tree. You want it to ground you, but also help you evolve and transform into this ancient being. You feel something stirring inside you, but refuse to open your eyes. 

In fact, you don’t until Charles speaks in your mind to do so. You’re terrified, but elated at seeing what has occurred, what you’ll look like. 

Looking down, you notice your body is glowing a soft green, but not changing your skin. Vines and leaves twirl their way around your skin, accenting your arms and legs. You reach and feel for your head to notice that branches have protruded, covered in leaves and flowers to create a crown for you. But not only do you look different, inside you feel different. It’s like the trees and grass and lake are filling you with energy. You feel much more attuned to everything around you, calmer even. 

You glance at the men who are simply staring; Charles with a grin filled with pride, and Erik with slight shock and wonder, but you can’t miss the joy in his eyes. 

This was a drastic improvement in your powers, but you can’t help but wonder if Charles was right. It seemed to have been building inside you for a while, and you had felt it. You had wanted to go outside more, sit in the trees, and just relax in it. The draw to the natural world had become so strong the past month, that you wonder if it was your body’s way of reacting to the strengthening of your powers. 

You decide to turn around to face the tree you’d been working incredibly hard at nursing back to life. You place a hand on the trunk and allow the energy you feel to flow through it. You watch as it slowly grows, trunks and leaves branching out from it. In your gut, you know when to stop, when to just let it continue on its natural course, and so you remove your hand. 

You see and feel your transformation leave from your body. Your legs begin to feel weak and you feel someone, or something, holding you up. In the back of your mind, you know that Charles has used his powers to stop you from falling. Erik moves forward to grab onto you and you lean your weight on him, walking you to Charles. 

You still have energy, but it feels weird being in your body again. Whatever you transformed into felt much freer, much larger even if not in a physical sense. Walking feels like a chore, your limbs feel heavy. Maybe without the energy you previously had flowing through you, you feel weaker. 

You take a moment to wrap your arms tightly around Erik, before leaning back and pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s gentle, but enough to make him reciprocate. You move to Charles next, with Erik still holding gently onto your shirt. Your kiss is just as gentle, but as you pull back you rest your forehead onto his. 

“Thank you,” you whisper before you pull back and stand up straight. You turn to Erik. “And you.” They murmur small “you’re welcome”’s before you all fall back into silence.

Like the other day in the office, there’s a moment of silence. But this time, you’re all trying to understand what happened. 

“That, was so fucking cool,” you grin as you say and they return the gesture.

[babbymochiiii]

ON MY YOUTH: TEN LEE

↪︎pairing: idol! ten x ngs! reader ft. xiaojun

↪︎genre: angst

↪︎warnings: crying, conflicted feelings, minor yelling, confronting on ten's bs, break up, more crying, just angst after more angst

↪︎synopsis: you’ve noticed ten has been weird ever since his recent comeback, and with one text message it confirmed everything. But you weren’t going to let him do that to you through the phone so you confront him in person.

↪︎word count: 1.9k words

link to part 2 🧡

✨note: this fic is very much inspired by On My Youth by WayV…this song put me through all sorts of stages when I heard the English ver. 😭 idk about y’all but I felt like I was going through some sort of emotional breakdown 💀 but it inspire this fic so we gucci :P anyways, enjoy! 🧡

divider credit @plutism 🖤

We should stop seeing each other.  

It was already a shitty day as it was due to work going south with the boss yelling at everyone, including you, and it was pouring rain as you walked home as you forgot completely about the umbrella waiting at the front door.  

But this...this takes everything by the win.  

You of course felt pure rage at the fact this was the way he decided to end things with you, coping the fuck out, but you weren’t about to be disrespected like this especially when you knew that this was going to happen. Ever since he left to do some small concerts and with his most recent comeback, he’s been distant and acting like you didn’t exist at all. You had your suspicions and mentally prepared yourself for the day but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt you still.  

You looked at the time on your phone and knew that you would find him in the practice room here and his members had reserved at this time. So, that’s where you find your feet taking you.  

Once you reached the floor where you knew the majority of the big practice rooms were at, you walked down the hall straining your ears as much as you could so you could hear WayV’s music against the other SM artists. As you walked a little further down, you could hear WayV’s newest song blasting through the speakers. You picked up your pace slightly until you were at front of the practice room door. As you were in front of the door, you tried to control the heavy breathing as you took hold of the door handle. With one last breath, you opened the door. 

Inside, you met with the members of WayV and staff members recording one of their dance practice videos.  Through the reflection of the mirror, you could see Ten in the middle of the formation dancing passionately as he always has. You feel mesmerized by the way he dances so fluidly and with such precision. It was one of many things you fell in love with Ten.  

Ten caught your gaze in the mirror which causes him to stumble in one of the moves and for Xiaojun to bump into him.  

“Ten? You okay?” Xiaojun asked as he looked towards Ten, who looked like he’s seen a ghost. Xiaojun followed his gaze and saw your trembling form standing by the doorway. “Oh.” He said softly.  

At this moment, all the staff members and WayV looked between you and Ten. The couple of staff members that had the cameras rolling stopped recording and lowered the camera.  

“Can we talk?” You shakingly asked while maintaining eye contact with Ten through the mirror. Cursing to yourself internally for not holding onto whatever confidence you had left.  

“I guess.” Ten said lowly with a shrug.  

“Why don’t we all take a break and give them space?” WayV’s manager said with a gently clap of his hands as he gave everyone a straight smile. He eyed the two of you as everyone else walked out of the room before he followed them, closing the door behind them. 

“What are you doing here?” Ten asks with a sigh as he looks anywhere else but directly towards you.  

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” You almost practically whine as you started to feel all the emotions you were suppressing rise up to the surface, considering you never knew how to hide how you felt from Ten.  

“Look, I don’t have the time to be playing your guessing game here.” Ten said with an eye roll as he finally looked towards you.  

You bit down on your bottom lip to the point where you almost drew blood. You dug into your bag for your phone and pulled up the text message he sent you a couple of hours ago, that you only saw on the way out from work.  

“Oh, that.” Ten said with a flat tone.  

A scoff leaves your lips as you brought your hand down and tightly gripped at your phone. “Yes that." you mimicked as you tried to control your breathing.  

“So, what about it then?”  

You stared at Ten and really tried to understand what was happening here. How can he be acting like this? After everything… “‘What about it then?’ Ten are you that fucking dense?” You asked as you looked at him with a frown on your face.  

“I said what I said okay.” Ten says as he turns around and grabs his water bottle from the floor.  

“Ten, really? Like are you really going to be like this?” You questioned as you felt your eyebrows crease close together.  

“I honestly have no clue what you’re talking about.” he said with a careless shrug as he took a swing of his water bottle.  

“For God’s sake Ten! Talk to me!” You raised your voice as you started to walk on a thin line of patience with him.  

With a roll of his eyes, Ten looked at you with an eyebrow raised as he waited for you to speak.  

You stared at him with watery eyes as you felt all the bewilderment fall on top of your shoulders. You couldn’t understand why this has to happen now, not after everything you’ve been through with him. The more you look at Ten the more you get truly lost at who this person is in front of you.  

“Why?”  

Ten stared at you for another beat before he looked down at his feet with a sigh.  “Because it’s not fair.” He said as he continued to stare at his feet like it's the most interesting thing in the world.  

“Not fair?” you questioned back to him as you started to feel something within you turn in anger. As if you needed something more to add to the already fire induced anger inside of you.  

“I just don’t find it fair that I basically get to live a life while you stay home and wait for me.” Ten said without missing a beat and looked at you with a straight face.  

It was quite a blow... you admit, you weren’t expecting that to be his answer, but the pure anger and stressed feelings consumed your whole body, leaving you to feel overall exhausted at this point.  

“Ten—” you sighed out as you closed your eyes tightly trying to understand everything that’s happening right now. “— you know very well that I was content like that. I was happy to wait for you to come home and spend time with you...why are you making this an issue now?”   

“It just hurts my pride.” He says with a shrug. 

“Your pride? Ten please, that’s such a fucking cop out.” You told you as you truly started to feel the weight of everything fall on your shoulder as you knew that this was it...truly the end of it all.  

Silence wrapped around the two of you in the most gut-wrenching tension as you both just looked at one another. Each waiting to see what the other will say.  

With a defeated sigh, you looked down at your feet with your eyes closed trying your hardest to not let the threatening tears escape. You weren’t going to let him do this to you.  

“Two years...” You told him softly as you looked up and looked at him with a small smile and with tears pooling in your eyes. “Two years I have been so happy with you. We were happy. I love you so much that right now I wish I didn’t because it hurts Ten. It hurts too much.” you said with a dry chuckle as you started to feel your throat tightening and forming a lump in your throat as you started to feel everything wanting to discompose from within you.  

“I gave you so much Ten. So much. But you used me — used me till the last drop. I’m burnt out at this point.” you said as one tear fell out of your eye and created a wet trail down your cheek.  

Ten stared at you with slightly wide eyes, not truly believing that this is happening right now. Yes, he wanted to end things...but he didn’t know you’ve been feeling like this. Genuinely, he thought it would be how it has been lately. He would do something that would upset you, and you forgive him but that isn’t happening this time around. Ten felt himself start to panic internally as he looked at you slowly lose your composure in front of him.  

“No amount of sorrys is going to fix what you just broke Ten. None of your lies are going to sugar coat this and make me “forget” everything you have done to me for the past months Ten...none of it. You fed me so much bullshit lately and you completely lost me.” you said with a sad laugh. “Knowing you, you’re probably gonna say something along the line that we’re too young and that you want to focus on your career.” you said as you watched Ten’s reaction.  

You saw the way Ten sucked in a breath and how his cheeks turned a light pink as he continued to look at you with wide eyes.  

“I knew it. So much bullshit Ten.” you said as you felt more tears falling down your face. “This is where we officially end things, yeah.” you softly said as you tried to hold in the rest of the tears as you turned around, starting to make your way to the dance practice room.  

“Wait—” 

“No Ten. This is what you wanted, right? I’m just making this easier for you, so you don’t have to keep lying to me.” you said with one last glance towards Ten’s figure. You swear you can see a tear fall down his face but you turned your face away quickly so you wouldn’t lose what’s left of your composure.  

“Goodbye Ten.” you gave your final goodbye to Ten before you turned the doorknob and walked out of the room with tiny pieces of what used to be your heart inside of your chest.  

Months have passed since that day you confronted and ended things with Ten.  

You kept some small tabs on him here and there whenever fans would post about WAYV and their group or solo activities. This time though, you’ve noticed that they have come out with a new English version of one of their songs in their latest album.  

Curious, you clicked the link that took you to YouTube, and started to play out the video for the song. Hearing the song for the first time and listening to the lyrics brought back those painful memories as you could hear the hurt in Ten’s voice as he sang his parts.  

You looked at the song title as tears landed on your phone screen. 

On My Youth... 

A sad, watery smile formed on your face as you continued to listen to the song, and you couldn’t help but feel the need to miss him. You know you shouldn’t, but it was a two-year relationship that Ten decided to throw out with one stupid text.  

As the song came to an end, you felt your chest rake with heavy breathing as you continued to quietly sob into your hands. While you used the sleeves of your sweater to clean the tears off of your face, there was a knock at the door.  

Slowly getting up, you made your way to the door.  

You stood at the other end of the door still with your chest rising and falling rapidly. Just as you reached for the doorknob, Ten’s voice was heard on the other side.  

“Can we talk?”

Thank you for reading!!! 🖤 hopefully you guys enjoyed this story! I haven’t written angst in a good while and it took me awhile to get a crack in this story ✋🏼💀

Should I make a part 2? 🧐 lemme know in the comments/in my ask what you think! Should we see y/n and ten talk to one another or just leave it as is?? I’m genuinely curious to see what you guys think! 🖤✨

With much much love from me to you, mochi 🕷️

[xjulixred45x]

To be honest, Yaga was taken from JJK way too soon. Can I please get general platonic Headcanons for Yaga and reader. Reader uses a puppet based CT akin to Kankuro from Naruto.

Ooooohhh this is quite interesting! Thanks anon.

Platonic Principal Yaga x Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: neutral

Warnings: SPOILERS!!!! Fluff and Angst.

although I think it depends on whether the reader is of the age of the current generation or the previous generation (i.e., 2007).

He would definitely be less serious with a reader from 2007, precisely because 1- he hasn't been through so much traumatic shit and 2- being with such strong companions and a healer, he expected them to be safe.

He acts more like an older brother than a father in this case.

Even that would probably change after the Geto incident. There I would take more care that the reader had no problem telling him things and especially if he wanted to stop being a sorcerer. He would understand.

(he would understand even without all the shit that happened in that arc)

He would have been worse at handling the reader emotionally because he would not have had as much experience as his version of the present, it would be a matter of trial and error.

although I feel that he would be less authoritarian.

with the reader of the current generation it is more paternal, more tired, more experienced.

He handles the reader much better having already raised a panda. I'll with this one.

The reader probably belonged to a clan similar to that of Inumaki, that is, although it was powerful, it was not really that recognized, but it was feared.

This is precisely due to their power to manipulate complex puppets for battle using cursed energy. it made them unstoppable in fights, but at the same time it made others fence them in and quote them for conflicts.

The reader probably already grew up with this fixation on creations related to puppets, which was encouraged and refined by their family, but at the same time they did not give it as much relevance due to the complicated social situation of the clan.

Similar to Kanguro also includes a super powerful little brother vessel of a monster? Because if so it would explain quite well why the reader was suddenly orphaned, simply one day their clan could not contain their brother and the vast majority died.

or in the worst case, the other clans set a trap for them to get rid of possible competition or enemies.

In any case, the reader is left alone with the only thing that remains of their family, their puppets, their weapons, their souls.

People may not even have realized that there was still a survivor of the clan until Yaga himself went to see the area (to study the remains of the family's cursed technique for himself) since the reader remained locked in and isolated improving and fixing the remaining puppets.

To say Yaga was impressed is an understatement.

We are talking about how a child, alone, was able to fix hundreds of puppets on their own, make them compatible with their own curse technique and improve said puppets.

Yaga simply knew reader had potential, but he had to know if they had the will and motivation to do even more.

Although it was difficult, the kid didn't even speak the first times he went to see them, and Yaga is not the talkative type.

Although he also tried to be friendly with the child, seeing the situation they were in.

Yaga brought them things like hot food, blankets, clean clothes, etc. hoping they wouldn't get sick and would stay healthy.

Little by little the reader began to open up to him, being more talkative and even asking him for advice on certain areas of cursed energy that he doesn't understand (they were a child after all).

This is how the link between them is generated, Yaga used the cursed reader technique as a reference for her own studies with her creations and taught the reader as he went.

Although it wouldn't mean that they would agree to go to a sorcery academy so easily at first NOOOO

We could say that it was quite the opposite. After all, the children of the clans that killed his would be there, what ensured that they wouldn't finish the job?

We could say that the reader's main motivation is to survive and keep his family's legacy alive, so at the beginning he was not willing to risk it just to have "potential."

but at the same time it was that very thing that convinced Yaga even more that they had to give sorcery a chance.

Yaga would assure the reader protection during his training for the jujutsu school, both before and after his entry, a roof over his head, etc.

Although the important thing is that he would give them free rein with their puppets, both in materials, media and experiments if they wanted it.

Do you want to maintain your family's legacy? Well, show them that everything they left behind was not in vain.

If we go to more advanced terms, it is something interesting.

Yaga definitely makes reader and Panda interact, they don't have to like each other if they don't, but it makes Yaga especially happy to see his two children wards getting along even a little bit well.

The reader probably has few social skills thanks to learning Yaga's workaholic tendencies, so Yaga would try to put them in "larger" groups so that they learns to open up and have more "manners" (he actually worries that they won't know how to socialize properly)

reader and Yaga have already worked together on some experiments related to Yaga's creations/reader's puppets, nothing that goes beyond the rules, but it definitely gives...interesting results.

Yaga may even have put the souls of several of the reader's relatives into several of their puppets in case they ever runs out of cursed energy. In addition, this way it better guarantees its protection.

Outside of all predictions, I can see this man telling bedtime stories to the reader. just a hunch. No matter how "old" you are, if you can't sleep, you'll read something together.

Yaga IS NOT letting them meet Satoru, simply NO, he has enough dealing with him at work, he will not let him maliciously influence the reader.

By the time the reader is at the academy, Yaga gives them tutoring when he can or if necessary, but again, it seems more necessary to give them classes on how to socialize with children their age🤣

Yaga definitely encourages the reader to have good grades, he is not a strict parent, but if he knows which reader can do better, he will encourage them to do better.

He is also a father who allows room for mistakes, he cannot avoid them, but he will help the reader learn from them and their consequences. mainly with their experiments.

Like, knows that to learn sometimes it is necessary to fail. You could say that he has more patience with Reader than with Gojo. As always

I don't think he wants to tell the reader about the secret of how he created Panda, not only because it would be dangerous if the reader tried it on their own, but because he fears that those above will come after them if he does.

It is not for lack of trust, it is for the safety of both.

Imagine that some of Yaga's cursed corpses are going to greet the reader every time they come home🥺

Yaga also definitely keeps a low profile when it comes to reader, also for security reasons.

He's the kind of dad who wants you to text him every time you get somewhere, what if you don't? He would think you died.

If we talk about Yaga formally adopting the reader, it would be quite nice.

They are both not very talkative, but there really isn't much need. It is as if they communicate in Morse code in front of the students.

Also thanks to this, Yaga (with a good level of security) can use the reader as a kind of internal agent and know, for example, if someone is leaking information at the academy.

If the reader wanted to learn how to make cursed stuffed bodies similar to him, he would be internally jumping with joy that finally the reader wants to change his habits a little.

The same thing would happen if reader called him "dad", whether by accident or on purpose, he keeps his face straight, but as soon as he is alone, he turns into a waterfall.

(Gojo will definitely use that as blackmail material)

Even after Shibuya and pressure to hand over the last member of the reader clan, Yaga remains steadfast. He may hand over some puppets that he created using the reader's puppets as a reference so that they don't go after them, but not beyond that.

but eventually that is not enough.

When...what happened happens, some special cursed body for the reader will probably be activated, one that will protect him from now on.

Even when he is gone, Yaga continues to take care of them. always.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Ahhhhhhhg i make this a little shorter but i hope it's okay😭 i think this Reader more like Kanguro turns out more like...Sasori? Anyway.

Thanks for the Request ❤️

[dojunie]

into you; hrj [sneak peek]

[★]; YOU LIKE HUANG RENJUN MORE THAN YOU’VE PROBABLY LIKED ANYTHING IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. Sure, you've only been more than friends for like, two weeks— a title-less thing that has you hanging out nearly every day but still hovering in the gray space between people who kiss sometimes and something a little more concrete— but it didn’t take you long to realize that he's pretty much everything you've ever wanted. What you’ve got going on with him right now is perfect in its own way, even if you find yourself almost overwhelmed with how much you like him these days… but considering that Renjun seems perfectly fine with the way things are, you’re not really gunning to tell him that.

(Though, after an incident at a party has you blowing up on your ex for a less than savory dig at your relationship— however unofficial it may be— you might not have to tell Renjun anything at all.)

info;

huang renjun x fem!reader

college au but no learning is going on

oneshot

genre/about; friends-who-kiss-sometimes to lovers, semi-established relationship but much pining is to be had, mc is Smitten, the full fic will have nsfw elements

teaser wc; 1k / full fic wc; 8-10k…ish (5k already written, woo, short fic era incoming)

[a/n: here is a very brief peek into a renjun fic that came to me in a fever dream, the one i’ve been working on non stop for like four days straight!!! renchins and others pls leave your thoughts in the replies or send me an ask, i beg]

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.

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YOU'VE SIMMERED DOWN EVEN FURTHER BY THE TIME YOU'VE GOTTEN INSIDE HIS APARTMENT AND TAKEN A LONG, HOT SHOWER; scouring both the party and Jihoon’s touch from your skin, the nearly burning water is a welcome cleanse from the nights earlier events. (Though, if you’re being completely honest, the reason your face is so warm isn’t only because of the heat.)

Upon opening the front door and hustling inside, not a second had passed after toeing off your shoes off before Renjun spun you around kissed you.

And it wasn’t— It wasn’t rare for him to kiss you first. You didn’t want to make it seem like you had to chase him down for a smooch. But Renjun, as you’d guessed from his personality even before you started dancing around each other like this, was much more reserved than you were. He chose his moments for affection purposefully; a hand held here, a kiss on the cheek there, or (on more delicate occasions) a press of his lips against yours, mainly whenever you’d drop you off late at night, a quiet goodbye whispered against your mouth.

So it wasn’t rare but it wasn’t an exact science either, which is precisely why you didn't know what was happening until it was already over. The giant, dopey smile on his face only served to explain that he’d known exactly what he was doing by surprising you like that, and you held back the urge to launch yourself at him.

“That was my thank you,” Renjun started airily, teasing but still looking a little pink around the edges himself, “For trying to fight someone twice your size on my behalf. No one’s ever done that for me before. However, I would be very happy if you never did it again, because if you got hurt I would be very mad. Do you understand?”

You only stared at him. Your lips were tingling. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured. “Do you want to shower first?”

“…Yes,” you said lowly, finaly finding your voice. God. “Yeah. You take forever.”

“Well then I’ll get you something to change into,” he said. Then, terrifyingly, he leaned in as if he was going to kiss you again— but right when he was close enough for your eyes to cross, waiting, waiting, unwilling to not be ready this time— “What are you waiting for?" he whispered. "You’re blocking the closet. Go.”

He laughed when you ran, cursing him the whole way. 

Once you were out, sufficiently clean and doused head to toe in Renjun’s clothes (despite the fact that after like, the tenth time you’d been here, you brought a change of clothes to keep in his closet for spontaneous nights exactly like these), you found yourself both alone and introspective for the first time since the Jihoon incident. It was only expected that your mind would wander to how you got yourself to this point in the first place, draped across the couch of a guy you hadn’t even known the name of three months ago—

And it had started as a seating chart.

Seating charts were always a risky game. You could either be stuck next to the too-loud or the too-quiet, the cheaters with wandering eyes or the chatty kids who didn’t understand that class wasn’t only for socializing— or you could be put near an angel, someone would end up changing your life in a way that you never would have expected from that first day of classes. 

Thankfully, in Chinese Literature 201, it was the latter.

Renjun was a Language Study major; the pretty guy with soft brown hair, a pair of big silver glasses perched on his face and a sweet little smile to match— the quiet student who sat across the aisle from you in the lecture hall. Being dismissed by row after collecting your midterm practice grades meant that, out in the lobby, he had a front row seat to catch you pulling your hair out over your less than desirable grade— and seemingly out of nowhere, he tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you wanted a little help. Grateful (and frankly terrified by the idea of failing Chi Lit and having to take it again if you bombed this midterm), you’d taken him up on his offer: three times a week in the Sulim Library from 6 to 8PM.

The rest was pretty much history.

You got to know him outside of just flashcards and extra assigned readings, learned that he liked to sing and did ballet for four years in high school and hated the taste of matcha anything. You learned who his friends were and what he liked to do on campus. Renjun wasn’t like any guy you’d— actually no, scratch that, he wasn’t like any person you’d ever met before. He was quiet, but he wasn’t shy. He was able to shut you up with startling accuracy; an ability your friends even found miraculous when you told them after the first few tutoring sessions, a dumb smile on your face and swinging your feet, that you’d finally found someone who could argue better than you could.

Renjun could bring a smile to your face by saying your name alone. He was nice and he was sweet and he was thoughtful, but he had a temper that matched yours and the most endearing frustrated face you've ever seen on another person.

You often left his side feeling almost ill with awe that one person could be so… perfect. As awfully mushy as that sounds.

Thankfully, after a few weeks of woo-ing him with your roguish charm, when you bit the bullet and told him you liked him, he replied with a smile and a challenge— because Renjun was nothing if not focused on the goal of actually tutoring you— he told you that if you passed the midterm with a grade of B or above, he’d let you take him on a date.

Easy fucking money. There wasn’t a chance you were going to let this opportunity slip away from you. You studied so hard for that test that for nearly six days you only came out of your room to eat and pee. 

(You got a 96%— A big, beautiful red A+ on the midterm and a professors recommendation for your accompanying essay. Renjun only later told you that the alternative to a good grade was him taking you out instead, the prick; and he laughed so hard at the look on your face that you thought he was going to throw up.)

[a/n; crying screaming i'm so excited to post this lol]

[will put full fic link here when posted] [other works]

[dirtybg3confessions]

Blog Moderation FAQs

Hi everyone!

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Actually, we do! We've exploded recently, so many of you may not remember ye olden days of our blog's founder doing their best as a one person show and we got one post a day... ish. Then, when the ask box exploded to 100 asks (haha) they brought in the first round of new mods (including me!). During this time, we were able to build a solid queue. We were then able to post 5-6 times a day.

With a healthy queue and a healthy ask box, we were able to bump the post frequency to 12 times a day. Most of the first wave of mods worked through some asks and then largely went inactive. This is fine, it happens. After struggling to keep up a frequency of 12/day as a one person show once again, we recruited new mods with some activity guidelines.

To maintain a posting frequency of 12 times a day, each mod needs to add 3 posts to the queue a day, or 21 posts to the queue a week. We ask that every mod contributes 30 times a week, that way we have a healthy buffer of content for holidays, emergencies, and just general time away from the internet.

While the confessions are sent in by y'all and editing them in photoshop is a generally simple process, it still does take time. Time in the game to find and take the screenshots, time in the editing software to create the image, then posting and tagging appropriately. Those cursed edits y'all love so much take even more time.

We're all adults here. And your mods are too. They have lives off of tumblr, often complete with bills and day jobs. Honestly, less fun than the little horny blog, but *vague gestures towards capitalist hellscape*

For these reasons, posting 12 times a day is going to be a hard cap for the foreseeable future. In the most loving way possible: If you are submitting an ask now and expecting to see it a week or even a month from now, you are going to be sorely disappointed. Submit your ask and know that it will be appreciated by the community when its time comes.

"A confession is never late, nor is it early. A confession arrives precisely when it means to." - Elminster (probably)

Why don't you just get more mods?

Have you heard the phrase "too many cooks in the kitchen"? Every person added to a process adds another variable, and the more variables, the harder it is to deliver a consistent experience. Additionally, the goal is to find people who can stay pretty consistently active, which can be a hard ask for a lot of people. We're very grateful for the team that we have now, and we aren't seeking new mods at this time.

Why don't you post more confessions about (character/female/etc)?

We are a submissions blog. We work with the content we are given. You need to be the horny you wish to see in the world. I know in general there's a lack of confessions for female characters, and there's an analysis to be made about how different gender/sexual identities interact with fandom and how that affects the content available in communities for consumption, but I'm not the person to make it.

Thank you all for continuing to be amazing, it is truly an honor to serve 🫡

[simplifiedemotions]

Dreams

His love for her was a sharp-edged knife he had to learn to breathe around.

**

First, a seven-year war. A turncoat after his parents were killed. Little reason to live but too much of a coward to die. 

Draco joined the Order. He’d traded in finely-barbed insults for a med kit because they had seemed to know that his greatest torture apart from dying was having to endure the presence of Hermione Granger.

Their great bloody healer with her manic schedules and biting instructions. She’d made it clear she hated him when he showed up to the dingy room she used for potion brewing.

It came as no surprise that he’d fallen in love with her.

It came as no surprise that she’d broken his heart.

**

They had no choice but to keep him on as healer after the war. His skills made him indispensable. Even if they hated him, they needed him.

He looked down at his clipboard, shock stuttering his heart to a stop before it started pounding against his chest.

Patient: Hermione Granger. His eyes skimmed past information he already knew, before they landed on the reason she was there.

It had happened a year before the war ended.

**

She was a Healer and Curse-Breaker. She was never meant to be caught in a skirmish, but she was foolishly soft-hearted and had responded to an urgent call for backup.

He had been in another safe house treating injured Order members when she’d gone.

He returned to see her convulsing on the ground, her throat torn from a precise-impact bombarda.

His hands shook as he healed her ravaged throat, as he directed his wand over sinew and bone, over ruptured veins.

He was the one who took care of her, who took on her workload whilst she recovered. Who shoved potions down her throat when the pain overroad her coherency. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d known intimacy through hurt.

**  

It hurt to look at her now. Sitting primly on the hospital bed, she met his gaze with a shrewd assessment. 

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and he hoped against hope that sound would come out; that she’d somehow reveal to him that her brilliant brain had found a way to heal her ravaged throat. 

Nothing. He watched her take in a heavy breath before exhaling in frustration. 

“If this is some joke, Granger, I’ve not the time nor the energy for you.” He knew he sounded cold. He told himself he didn’t care, even as her face fell, her large brown eyes a spark of hurt.

She rose, untucking her wand from her sleeve and turned her back to him, and he watched the shift of her shoulders as she straightened her spine and raised her wand. He knew what the spell was almost immediately. The flagrante curse, used to make objects searing at first touch. It could also be used to write out words, which she was currently doing.

She’d learned to do a charm known for draining magical energy at an incredible speed—and she’d done it without incanting it.

Anger moved through him suddenly and sharply. He moved quick as a flash, taking Granger by the shoulders and pivoting her towards him before taking both her hands in his, her wand clattering to the ground but he barely noticed because—his eyes widened in horror—there were scorch marks patterning most of her hands.

“You idiot!” he snarled at her. He felt cold with rage. “Have you been using this as your method of communication this entire time? Do I really need to remind the Muggle-born that paper would suffice?”

Hermione shook one of her hands out of his and pointed up and to her side. Realising that he didn’t read what she’d said earlier, he turned his head to see the words outlined in a red-gold hue.

I tried to fix my voice for five years on my own. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

But it ended off there from when he’d grabbed her.

What was the rest of her sentence going to be?

His heart wrenched inside his chest. He turned back and demanded, “why?”

She picked up her wand from the ground, drew out new words. There was something sad and resigned to her face as she turned back to him.

I’ll explain.

**

Granger explained all her attempts at getting her voice back. Potions, spells, even—horrifically—performing surgery on herself.

Draco stood, horrified at what she was telling him, staring at the raised scars on her throat as she took off the scarf she was wearing.

More words, more explanations on procedures they could do if Draco was willing to help her, inspiring in him a maelstrom of emotions: rage, fierce protection. But it was mostly unbearable longing that he felt as he looked at her, remembering the soft moments they’d had, the sound of her voice in his ear as they made love, at the bite in her arguments whenever they would fight, at how she looked softer in sleep, made better by the way she would cling to him, as if he were her only anchor in a desolate sea.

“Why didn’t you ask me, Granger?” He could hear raw pain in his voice, and she seemed to notice because she gave him a wan smile and shook her head.

She didn’t think she needed to consider Draco in her after. He felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach. 

She was softer without the war. It hurt him that he couldn’t have experienced it with her.

He straightened his shoulders. “If you think there is something I can do to help you, Herm-Granger, I will.” 

He gave her a bitter smile. Best not get too vulnerable.

He looked away when she smiled at him again.

**

Bloody weeks spent on every single thing Draco could think of. Potions. Modified spells. He was sure he’d burned through the manor library on every single Charms book just to find a working revitalisation spell.

Tests, speech therapy. He’d even in a fit of mania researched if he could somehow purchase a new voice box for her. It wasn’t an option, but he also realised how much he didn’t want to hear any voice but hers.

There was absolutely nothing he could do. Still, he wouldn’t give up.

I have something to tell you.

Draco looked at her from his crouched position on the small table he’d transfigured for himself to write on. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Granger fidgeted with her wand. She raised it again to write.

I don’t want you to be angry with me.

Still, that didn’t stop her from giving him the truth.

**

Draco stood for long minutes, just staring at her. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to parse out her words into something that made sense.

His throat was dry as he finally said, “If you knew all this time that you couldn’t fix your voice, why did you come to me?”

She drew her wand up, writing, I didn’t know if you’d forgive me. 

Something burned behind his eyelids. He was losing his control. He had to leave before she decided to rip his heart into further shreds. The knife slid deeper. “Forgive you for what, Hermione?” he said, voice cracking on her name.

Tears welled in her eyes. She made slashing movements with her wand, her normally clean letters changed by her emotions as she wrote out another sentence.

I loved you—still love you, but I didn’t want you to be stuck to this broken version of me. I didn’t think you could love me unless I was whole—so I left.

Draco crossed the room in three long strides and crushed her in his trembling arms, ignoring the spark of pain that hit him as he crossed right through her searing words.

Words do hurt, he thought ruefully as he breathed hard against her hair, taking in her flowery scent, feeling at home in the circle of her arms as she pressed herself against him and drew her hands up his shoulders to clutch at his robes.

“You could have told me. I would never have stayed angry with you.”

He just wanted her to stay. Even if it was only as friends. Even if the knife tore at him each time she smiled.

He let her go long enough to meet her unamused expression.

“You can’t love me, though. I know you don’t.” He didn’t know if it was anger, or a bone-deep sadness, that prevailed against his calmer emotions. He’d gotten so good at hiding it all, until the storm of her stepped back into his life. “I know what we had—it was a distraction. You wouldn’t have chosen me in other circumstances.”

He knew he sounded self-loathing. Couldn’t help it. There was a quake of emotion rising in his chest, bypassing all reason and logic.

A raised brow, Granger stepped out of his arms and lifted her wand again.

His eyes widened when he saw the word legilimency in red.

“You can’t be serious.”

She only gave him a nod. He imagined she'd say something like of course, you idiot, if she could speak.

“Hermione, I’m not—” he was interrupted by her stepping right up to him, taking him by the collar and pulling him down to her level. Her eyes were fierce, and in them he saw her demand—and her permission.

She wanted to show him something that he wouldn’t believe with words.

He looked up, meeting her steady gaze, pressing forward as his wand met her temple and uttering the spell, spilling himself inside her head.

What he saw—oh what he saw. He almost called her cruel for the images she gave him, before realising the truth of them.

Him, through her eyes, seven years ago. 

He felt the way she peeled him apart in her mind, that day that was defined by several dust motes in the rickety library where she sat to watch his interview with Harry and Lupin. He expected the riling energy of looking at your enemy, but there was also inquisitiveness there. A curiosity.

Flash forward, one month later and they were screaming at each other. Draco accidentally knocked into her, sending a new batch of healing potions crashing to the floor. Her screams of accusation turned to waves of anger turned to pointing fingers and cruel words.

The next day, he’d brought her a new batch. Ignored her indignation that he’d stolen into her potions stores and demanded he come back as he walked out the door. He watched her as she stared at his younger self’s back, surprised to see her frowning. Still, that feeling of curiosity that went over all other things. 

A rare empty night at the main safe house. They were the only occupants in an otherwise quiet house. A surprise shared drink, but even more was the surprisingly pleasant conversations. He felt the pleasantness between them; he remembered how tense he felt because he was so sure they were about to fight again. But it was only a tentative conversation that was their third guest of the evening.

He still remembered the small smile she’d given him, at how it prompted something in his heart to go wild. Now, he was hit with the force of her emotions, too: a pounding heart, a nervousness she was confused by and didn’t know how to name, a lingering feeling of heightened emotion. 

Was it his or hers?

Later, their first kiss. The boy who had made all the wrong choices never felt more right than in the moment he had grabbed Hermione’s face, stalling her argument about a jealousy she’d insisted she didn’t feel over Susan Bones touching his arm in a flirtatious way.

What she felt for him was nothing soothing. Pure horniness. He’d felt the same.

More scenes flashed. Their first time together, which Granger of the present nudged him to move on from. He could feel her embarrassment through their connection and couldn’t help his grin. 

He loved that night. Loved how she responded to him. Loved how much she could say with her body. He kept moving on, finding more like them. They spoke so often through sex at first. Anger, curiosity, resentment, all wound up as tightly as her legs around his waist.

He didn’t understand what she was showing him.

The scenes slowed down. It was the fifth year of war. She had still looked at him a lot. He’d never realised how much. 

Year six: a sick yearning he would call his own if he wasn’t so aware he was seeing all this through her mind—her heart.

Year seven, near the end: she, watching him as he slept beside her. She’d already lost her voice. It was only days from now that the war would end, and she would disappear from his life for five years. 

He normally slept fitfully. They all did. So he was surprised to see he didn’t wake as Granger tenderly traced his face. As she swept gentle thumbs across his cheekbones and over his closed eyelids, as she used her hand to cup his face and kiss him sweetly, so so sweetly, on his forehead.

She was looking at him—she was feeling something he could never fully put into words. The same as he felt—the same.

it was—

He realised why he couldn’t name the difference. He was looking for something to discern her feelings from his, only to realise they were one and the same.

He pulled out of her mind, wanting—needing to see her face. He knew with certainty her first words to him in the hospital—the words he’d interrupted before she could finish them.

I tried to fix my voice for five years. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

I love you.

He pushed her hair out of her face.

He knew her heart. Her dreams. He knew her.  

They kissed for a long time under the bright hospital lights. Tears stained their cheeks and their teeth clacked as they kissed clumsily, as they slid onto the floor and made a mess of the neat tiles.

There was nothing clean about their coming together. There were no words to carry out the breadth of feeling that passed between them.

Maybe that was the whole point all along.