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gemissleeping · 2 months

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Sea Foam | Chapter Four

Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader

Read the other Chapters here.

Summary: After a moonlit swim, you find Theo in the Common Room. Half asleep and buried in a book.

Length: 2.2k

Notes: This is so late and I am so sorry. I really struggled with this chapter, but I hope it was worth the wait! NSFW ahead, minors dni. Soft Theo, Sleepy Theo. First time smut writer and it is relatively soft, not super spicy sorry. It might be bad oops <3

Beams of moonlight broke through the slick of the surface, cutting down to the bottom of the lake. There was a soft current pulling at you, kelp licking at the skin of your back. Arms outstretched towards the rays, fingertips dancing through them curiously.

It was these nights, weightless and floating through the darkness, that you almost found yourself enjoying it all. No full moon to shatter your mind, to cause you to betray yourself. It brought a kind of quiet you were certain you’d never felt anywhere else, and never could.

Theo’s words were heavy on your mind, threatening to sink you with their weight. You’d tried to brush him off again, to pretend that the last few weeks had been easy for you. But it wasn’t the truth. In his absence you had only grown wanting. Finally settling on the undeniable truth of who he was to you. Who he had always been, even when you had tried so desperately to push him aside, ignore the way your eyes found one another in every room. Every breath becoming so unbearably conscious when the other was near.

It was past midnight when you found him in the common room. Tucked into the nook of couches by the window. Your hair still doused in salt. Wind-bitten and bone-tired as you pulled your clothes tighter to your skin.

You’d known he would be here, though you pushed it to the corners of your mind any chance you got. Only watery ribbons of moonlight accompanied him, splayed across his skin. Ripples of light swimming against the marks that dotted the skin of his neck, his cheek. His eyes half-drawn with the need for rest.

A book was strewn lazily through Theo’s hands as he leant back. Head resting against the lounge’s spine, losing his fight against the pull of sleep.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, unable to recall ever having seen him so disarmed before. His chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. It was a brutal thing, to see someone so themselves. To see what they might’ve been like if they’d been left completely unbruised and unburdened. It wasn’t something you allowed yourself to linger on for long.

You drew yourself closer, still engulfed by the dips of shadow that traced the candlelit walls. You came to rest by the high arched window, just a few heartbeats away from him. Wet hair curled, water running down the backs of your arms and onto the windowsill as you lazed into it. Head tilting, trying to catch the title of the leather bound book in Theo’s hands.

Curiosity was biting at you, and so you found yourself leaning towards the boy. One tentative hand on the lounge’s arm as you studied the page Theo had stilled on. It should have come as no surprise when the the candlelight flickered across it, revealing Sirens, Sea Creatures & Other Secrets of the Depths. Fondness licked at your chest, your eyes flickering from the book’s open page to Theo’s dream swept expression with a soft smile.

You turned back to the book, intrigue sinking it’s claws in deeper as you skimmed the inked paper. Reading on in a gentle trance until sleepy fingers brushed your wrist.

Theo gazed up at you through lidded eyes. Unsure if he had truly woken up, or if the dream he yearned for each night had finally come to visit him. His hand encircling your wrist surely, ensuring you would stay right where you were. Right where you were supposed to be.

“Your hair’s wet,” Theo mumbled with a barely-there smile. Your cheeks stained with the heat of being caught as his thumb ran taxing circles over the delicate skin of your wrist. “You went for a swim?”

His tired eyes lifted with question as you glanced down to the water dripping from the ends of your hair. Collecting across his forearm and sliding along the shifting muscles beneath. But he didn’t care, eyes still floating across your face as though he’d finally found his resting place.

“Sorry,” you breathed, reaching out to brush the water from his skin. But his fingers collided with yours, guiding you to a halt.

“Your skin feels like ice,” he murmured, tangling your fingers, only to bring them to his lap. Resting your joined hands atop his book and drawing you towards him, “come here.”

Theo shuffled over, guiding you down softly beside him, his hand still firmly wrapped in yours. You let him direct you, fitting snugly into the couch’s corner. He looked to you, an unguarded affection in his eyes as he watched you settle in.

Once he could feel you beside him, was certain you wouldn’t disappear if he blinked, he peeled off his sweater. Pulling it over his head, making a further mess of his already sleep ridden hair.

He held it out for you, easing it over your arms, your head. Enveloping you in something that was so completely his; the way he wanted you to be. Hands lingering at the sweater’s edges with sincerity, pulling it down until he knew you would be warm.

You smiled at the unexpectedness, settling back into the couch, his hands steering you back. Head lolling against the cushions as your eyes found his, the way they always did. He looked back at you with equal surrender.

“You’re reading about me,” you whispered. Eyes delirious under the candlelight, drinking him in. Softness spilling through your chest.

“Trying to. I like to be familiar with my favourite topics,” his shy smile grew. Head sinking further into the couch as he turned to face you properly. Watched you for a moment; the cold sting of wind across your cheeks thawing at his words. His usually guarded eyes faltered. “Have you thought about it?” he whispered, sounding much braver than he felt. “What I said last night?”

You nodded, eyes drifting from him. Going somewhere deep within yourself. He wished you would take him with you, let him see it for himself. He could’ve well done it, but he hung back, knowing it was wrong. Knowing that at least something between you needed to stay sacred to one, without belonging to the other.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me,” you returned after a moment. The path of Theo’s thumb against your wrist drawing you back to him once again. But still you wouldn’t look at him.

“You won’t hurt me,” he assured, fingers trailing down to brush yours.

“You don’t know that,” you countered, looking down at your hands. The way his fingers danced across the top of yours. How you reached for his even when you wished you wouldn’t.

“Neither do you,” he answered. Knowing he was right when your eyes finally lifted to his once again.

“And if you’re wrong?”

He could see how afraid you were; for him, of yourself, losing the both of you along the way. Every jagged edge that was keeping you away from him. How deeply your care ran. He knew it then; that he would follow you down there, of his own accord. Even if it was foolish, even if it doomed him. He wouldn’t close his eyes, he wouldn’t struggle. Not if it meant his last breath would be yours to keep.

“Then it will be my mistake to make,” he decided. One hand leaving yours, reaching to tuck a loose strand of damp hair behind your ear. Relishing in the way you hugged his sweater tight to your bones. “You can’t decide if I get to love you,” his eyes didn’t dare stray from yours, “I've already made up my mind.”

His words demolished any of your lingering doubts. You fell into him completely, sinking in the sureness of it all. The unwavering way in which he let it leave him; that he wanted to love you. Perhaps even already did. He watched you carefully, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips, fingertips trickling down your neck.

“I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

That was all it took for you to leave it all behind. Everything you had resisted these past weeks, every part of him you’d stopped yourself from touching, basking in. You felt as though the moon had made its path early. Utterly consumed by him as you nodded, nose brushing his as you suddenly grew aware of just how close you had become.

“Please.”

His lips fell against yours within an instant, hungering for you. It almost broke you, caught you alight. Fire spreading from his lips and igniting you after weeks of kindling touches, glances. Hands threading through your hair as he drew you into him. The two of you barely able to breathe from the unbreakable warring of your lips. Your hands flying to his jaw, pulling him closer to you.

You were tired of resisting him, denying both of you of what you wanted most. It wasn’t long before he had hooked his hands beneath your thighs. Pulling you across his lap as you pressed into him, feeling all of him beneath you.

Your desperation was only mirrored in the ferocity of his kiss. A chain left from your lips to the corners of your jaw. Rough kisses smattered across your skin as his hands began to roam. Pushing up the hem of his sweater, curious fingers tracing your sides. You shivered against his touch, your hands travelling the soft skin of his neck. Drifting up its back to tangle through his hair, pulling him inconceivably closer.

In a matter of minutes you found yourself in an abandoned wing of the Slytherin dormitories. Being set down softly atop the bed as Theo hovered over you. The room utterly devoid of light save for a sliver of moonlight from the lake’s windows.

“You’re sure?” Theo asked against your lips. Though from the rasp in his voice, he was barely holding it together to be able to ask the question at all. You could feel him pressing against your thigh, the sensation dizzying as you gasped against him.

“I'm yours.”

Theo groaned at the tremble in your voice, the restraint from the past month dissipating nearly completely as he made quick work of your clothes. Your hands flying to his belt as he pulled his sweater over your head. Lips refusing to leave each other’s, fingers working blind. His hands greedy as he trailed the new skin he’d yet to touch. Both of you driven to madness until nothing remained between either of you.

Sweat and skin pressed against one another as he rolled his hips into yours. Each rock of his hips drawing a gasp from you as you struggled against him, wanting nothing more than to build the friction.

Theo only simpered, enjoying how badly you needed him after denying the both of you of each other for so long. How unashamedly you clung to his arms, the muscles straining as he held himself above you.

The length of him almost tore you apart as he pushed himself into you. Bottoming out as both of you inhaled sharply against one another. A pained sound leaving you in the rush of air from your lips, he faltered.

“Are you alright?” Theo’s eyes flickered open, blinking away the lust that had consumed them as concern overtook everything else. You nodded, adjusting to his size as his eyes softened for a moment, his hand coming to rest against your cheek.

“I won’t move until you tell me to,” he breathed, his eyes falling closed as he rested his head against yours. The pad of his thumb tracing the slopes on your cheek, your jaw.

“I know,” you whispered against him.

A tender kiss pressed to your lips as Theo gave you time. Your hands tangling in his hair, bringing him down to you for a while until he pulled back for a moment. Watching as the moonlight fell across your cheek. Tracing it with his fingertips. Wrapped up entirely by how beautiful you looked beneath him. The light spilling across your skin, catching in your eyes.

You nodded tenderly, his lips pressing against the corner of your own. His eyes flicked up to yours, as he continued to press his lips along your skin.

“You’re all I want,” he breathed, smoothing his fingers through your hair before he kissed you once more.

His lips strayed again, wandering down to the skin of your neck. Hips pressing into yours as he pushed himself deeper. Heat erupted from where he buried himself within you, the sensation buzzing through your body in waves. Pushing the air from your lungs, making you choke on your own breath. Your head falling against Theo’s shoulder, lips parting soundlessly at the fire erupting across your skin. Unable to remove yourself from where you hid in his neck. Each roll of his hips only deepening the feeling.

His hand found the side of your neck with tender fingers. Trailing up to the underside of your jaw as he brought you back, guiding you to look at him. Pulling you into him further while you shuddered against him. Lips still parted and struggling to meet his eyes.

The sight was enough to send Theo over the edge, his pace growing irregular as his thumb brushed your bottom lip. His eyes completely misted at the sight of you before him; of what he was doing to you.

And as you tangled yourself into him, pulling him suffocatingly close, you tried to drown it out; that feeling.

That you had tried, and failed, to save him; and now could only love him.

Keep an eye out for Chapter Five here, or comment to be added to the tag list for future updates <3

Taglist: @hemlockmuncher @hoeforvinniehackerrr @moonlightttfae @thecraziestcrayon @itssomeonereading @weird123abc @dulcesfolklcre @amongemeraldclouds @mrsriddles-blog @cumberbitchhhh @rabbitholeee @diorandcigaddict @lovelyygirl8 @elsie-bells @thegirlwhosimpstoomuch @camille-1019 @simping-for-marvel @slytherinboysappreciation @leona-hawthorne @liaaanie @not-so-bad-ass @wildestdreamslover @nat1221 @melllinaa @aykxz98 @chgrch

if i missed anyone please let me know!

#gemwrites #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys #theodore nott angst #theodore nott fic #theodore nott #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott imagine #theo nott #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x siren!reader #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theodore nott smut

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peterspinkrobe · 9 months

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Confession - priest!Miguel O’Hara x Reader [part 2]

Word count: 2,270 (oops)

Rating: mature for suggestive content. Mentions of masturbation. You have a dirty mind… tsk tsk. Religious content. Mentions of parental death (sorry for not tagging last time).

A/N: Thank you for your feral support in reading part 1! The art above is again by @Ejpuki on twt. They drew this moment from part one and JUST LOOK AT IT! They also did a pre-reading which I greatly appreciated. Go support them over there <3 I only tagged the people who explicitly stated bc I don’t want to overstep. Also, I guess I should watch Fleabag? Enjoy! part three is cookin’ in my noggin’

// Psalms 32:3-4

When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me;

Rumbling sounds drone from the engine in a constant hum as the bus wheels roll down the asphalt, occasionally shuffling the passengers inside. Yourself included.

The wheels in your mind are conjuring images of too much skin, friction, and want. The mental pictures… different positions and other things that you’ve only read about - all featuring the same tall deacon from your small church.

You curse yourself for both your overactive imagination and forgetfulness for having left your headphones at home. Some loud music would drown out the whir of the bus and push out the flashes of lewdness that plagued you.

Reverend O’Hara, you learned that’s what transitional deacons are usually called after inquiring about the proper title on Google the second you got home from that communion, occupied the majority of your mind. He took up residence in your thoughts without even asking permission and you didn’t know the proper way to absolve your sanity of him. It had only been two weeks since you’d met him, two Sunday services, but you were hooked. This trip into the city was supposed to get you out of the house and help clear your mind of its recent inhabitant.

The methods you were currently using were certainly of no help. Nearly every night, for the past two weeks, you’d given into temptation. Allowing the streaking images of what you could only envision his toned body looked like to remain longer in your mind’s eye. His thumb on your lip, the quick swipe across - became more inquisitive of the inside of your mouth in your imagination. You pressed into yourself and thought of those long, thick fingers. You carried yourself away on highs with only his hands in mind. You yearned to baptize him in your waters.

You buried fingernails into your palms to ground yourself as the scenery outside the bus began the change drastically, pulling you out of your daydream.

Your hometown along the Catskill Mountains was enveloped by the natural world - tucked into valleys of the vast countryside. In the three weeks you’d been back home, you had already gotten used to surrounding greenery. You’d forgotten the toll that city expansion was having on the rows of vegetable and orchard farms in the surrounding areas.

Your gaze out the window watched tree lines and grassy hills give way to glimmers of futuristic architecture as the bus entered Nueva York. The rhythm of wheels on tarmac became a backdrop to the din of honking horns, shouting pedestrians, and blaring sirens. You had only recently left a city not too different from this one, but the drastic change in landscape from the mountains made your head spin. The inertia of the bus braking and accelerating over and over on the intersecting streets only added to the motion sickness. You recognize the next stop as the usual one you and your mother used when coming into the city. You quickly get off the bus, blessing the steady ground underneath as your boots hit the pavement.

Towering structures of carbon fiber and glass dominated the skyline, some illuminated by bright neon light displays, others blending into the afternoon sunshine. Advertisements for fast foods, fast money, and fast cars flickered on screens everywhere. You look to where the bus carried you from and, in contrast, the countryside stretched out, calling you back. Despite the slight familiarity in the maze of metal, the sudden change in surroundings made you slightly anxious.

The steady stream of citizens didn’t help your nerves either. You take a moment to get yourself together before following the foot traffic flow up a familiar street.

Your eyes recognize a food spot from a bygone era and you can’t help but smile. You picked up the pace as you headed to the establishment your family used to frequent. Timeless Treats is still here?! You pull on the long handled door and a wave of music, chatter, and sugar hit you at once. Much more pleasant than the waves of anxiety from moments before.

Entering the quaint eatery, you’re transported into a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of an old fashioned diner. A cheerful man at the front waves you in and shouts for you to ‘sit where ya want!’.

You recognized the vintage decor: rusted signs with cartoon mascots and ads for ice cream floats that cost only $2. Imagine! You select one of the smaller retro tables with two stools and hear a jukebox play a song you don’t recognize but tap your foot along to.

There was more to this diner than what it seems at first glance. A few more glances noticed the subtle touches where the diner had embraced the future where it mattered, with high-tech kitchen appliances that helped the staff immensely. A holographic menu pops up across the portion of the table you're sitting at and you slide your finger along the options.

This bakery specialized in delicious treats with a futuristic flare, with many favorites being popular since the establishment opened generations ago. Your eyes fell onto the pastry menu and your curiosity piqued as you ordered the ‘Time Traveler’s Torta.’

All the hustle of the city had occupied your mind until you were sitting alone at the table. Your eyes scanned the other occupants and you wondered what they were all talking about with their sugary sweets. It made you think of him again.

Dammit. A whole ten minutes without thinking of Reverend O’Hara, that’s a record! You couldn’t help the images of Miguel that fluttered now. Only this time you pictured him sitting at the table with you. The two of you share a dessert and you smile at the thought. You visualize his thumb coming to your face to wipe whipped cream from your lips only to plop the finger into his own mouth. That moment as mass replayed in your mind with differing flavors of spice on repeat.

The torta arrives and you gawk at the presentation of the treat. A classic cake with layers of light vanilla sponge, intricately placed swirls of sweet cream cheese frosting, and decadent chocolate sauce. This sweet was the perfect balance of timeless and futuristic as it sat on an oblong, ornate plate.

You savored the flavors as you ate and continued to imagine a date with the deacon. You ask yourself if deacons can even date and the thought pulls you out of your delusions for a moment. Get it together…

As you scooped the last bits of the pastry into your mouth, you pondered your dilemma. Mom always said that confession cleared a clouded consciousness, but there was no way you’d divulge this information to her. Her hypothetical reaction to your crush on a clergy member makes you shiver.

An idea comes to mind that makes you think to yourself that you’ve really gone mad.

The madness pushes you from your seat after paying for the dessert. There’s a slim chance what you’re looking for is actually there considering the cities expansions. That doubt doesn’t stop you from following a semi-recognizable path down the busy streets.

Every tall figure you pass makes you do a double take. The idea of the deacon brushing alongside you making you smile. You turn a corner as your imagination creates sweet scenarios with Reverend O’Hara and stop in your tracks. You cause people behind you to push into your back and spit harsh murmurs at you.

It was still there.

You were surprised for good reason. You were headed towards a relic of past times, nestled between buildings of glass and metal. There was some scaffolding supporting it as the building you headed towards was centuries old. Other than that - the structure you now stood and stared at jutted towards the sky in the old brick and mortar style you were used to seeing in your hometown.

But the Cathedral of Nueva York wasn’t like the humble church in your hometown. The ornate bell tower and large cross atop the chapel in front of you proved that. The only thing to change about the building was the name as the state itself saw many changes a few decades ago - including the name of the actual city.

You find yourself reminiscing on the few times you’d been to the church as you walked inside. Your family used to attend the fancy Easter services and Christmas plays. Those trips stopped after your father passed, and your mother rarely came to the city at all anymore. You remember seeing pictures of them on their wedding day at this very church. Priesthood is a tight knit group and Father Steen knew the head priest, who extended their church for their wedding services.

Given it was a weekday afternoon, there weren’t many souls inside. Despite the numerous options for seating, you sat in your usual middle pew, aisle seat.

You eyed the part of the church that had brought you here in the first place. The confession booth. Its cherrywood exterior made you think of those eyes that bore into yours that day of communion. You shake your head but the visual remains.

The church in your hometown didn’t have a confessional booth. Even if they did - why the hell would you confess there? To the subject of your lustful desires? So many questions and doubts enter your mind.

Could you really do this? Confess to a priest that you pined over a man in his chaste brotherhood? Think of the judgment!

Another thought occurs to you: their whole shtick was that only one entity could do the judging. And it was confidential. If you received some good ol’ fashioned Catholic scolding and Hail Mary’s, maybe that would be enough to get you back to your senses. Reverend O’Hara is a man devoted to God and cannot be hindered by the whims of a degenerate like yourself.

Emboldened by the potential to relieve yourself of your corrupt thoughts, you stand and approach the far right front of the church. The confessional is smaller than it looked from how you remember as a child and teen but it doesn’t stop you from nearly yanking the door open. You don’t even knock.

Thankfully no one is on the confessing side as you burst into the tiny box. The confined space became even smaller as you closed the door behind you quickly. Your mind races towards impure thoughts of the deacon pressed against you in the tight booth space. His height would force him to bend slightly over you and the visual almost knocks you onto the bench which would probably be right at crotch level…

You remember the times you’d done this before and cry out the usual, “Forgive me, for I have sinned and it has been many years since my last confession…”. Who were you even asking for forgiveness? You think for a moment about the last time you were in this booth. You felt so guilty about stealing from the general store all those years back. This was a different kind of confession. This would hopefully absolve yourself of the sinful attraction to the forbidden.

You start light, fumbling over the words, “I’ve gotten drunk and high, uh, a good bit while in college. I lied to my mother and got into major trouble as a result. I’ve been selfish and lazy.”

The anonymity and the release of it all lit a fire under you and you kept going.

“While I’m in this confession booth, and I know it is a sacred and holy place”, you sigh and hear shuffling on the opposite side of the wall, the priest waiting patiently on the other side. “I’ve been struggling with my faith and don’t believe in god…”

You hear the clergyman start to interject but the voice that comes out of you has a fierce tone.

“I’m not done.” Now it was the priest’s turn to sigh and you see movement through the small slits in the partition, but hear nothing else. You continue. The most scandalous part to admit had yet to be said.

“Father, I’ve been lustful over the deacon at my church.” There’s silence on the other end and before embarrassment can take over you continue, “I’m constantly thinking of him and having impure thoughts that drive me to-“ oh god, here it is

“Touch myself. Daily. With this deacon on my mind.” You can’t stop the heat from painting your cheeks a deep red.

“I feel guilty because he isn’t for me to think that way about. From just the two times I’ve seen him, I know he is a good man who does good things. He’s on a path towards righteousness. He’s worthy.” To your shock, you feel tears form and they begin to fall.

“I’m a sinful nonbeliever. Definitely not someone he could be with, unworthy of devotion of any kind. And I’m not good.” Your breathing becomes shaky as the tears fall harder. Despite the fact that you feel your words are the truth, you can’t help but imagine him there now. Comforting you as you cry.

Now that you’ve finished confession, you expect to hear an outburst of disapproval or at least ‘50 Hail Mary’s’ to absolve you of your confessed transgressions.

But that’s not what you heard next.

You hear your name. You hear your name in that sweet music that’s been ringing in your ears the last week or so. This time the musical tone is cautious. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes glue to the wall where the music came from.

To confirm your suspicions, you grab the knob on the partition and yank it back.

Through the small window you see a familiar pair of eyes analyzing your face, heavy with worry.

Reverend O’Hara had just taken your confession…

I pray you liked this, dear reader.

Tagged ppl - @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts it won’t let me tag you @hoelychildofgod

#miguel o'hara #fanfic #miguel x reader #priest!miguel #priest au #au fic #across the spiderverse #miguel x you

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fiapartridge · 4 months

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wedding bells | quinn hughes

summary: in which y/n and her fiancé, quinn hughes, plan their long-awaited wedding.

request: [...i read invisible string...and it made me think of when they’re actually engaged and planning their wedding...quinn would love cake tasting and picking out the menu...and the bride loves planning the wedding but...[it's] stressful and she wants everything to be perfect. some minor thing goes wrong and she has a bridezilla breakdown moment and quinn is so sweet and calms her down...]

author's note 💌: eeee i love this request!!!! thank u anon for requesting; it's so cute!

cake tasting

“I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment I learned this existed,” Quinn beamed, his eyes fixed on the road as he exited the freeway. His right hand rested gently on your thigh, and you couldn’t help but grin, happy that he finally wanted to be involved in a part of the wedding planning process—even if today was all about cake.

With a playful tilt of your head, a mock tsk of disapproval escaped your lips as Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be eating healthy for your game next week? How about I eat the cake and you watch.”

“And watch you live out my dream?” he scoffed. “Yeah, the game’s not that important.”

“That game is gonna secure your spot in the playoffs, Captain,” you smirked, playfully poking his arm. You loved teasing him about his captaincy, like saying Aye aye, Captain whenever he asked you for a favor, or your personal fave, So when does the team give you your honorary eye patch and silver hooky thingy? To which he always responds with, Not that kind of captain, babe.

As Quinn pulled into the bakery’s parking lot, he cupped your cheeks in his hand, his face growing serious, feeling almost like a team huddle. His voice lowered, and his face drew close to yours as he laid out some sort of plan. “I’m gonna eat a lot of cake today, so much that I wore my stretchy pants-”

“Oh, the Lululemon ones that I bought you?” You got them for him as a Christmas gift along with other items. You were happy that he actually wore them outside the house for once.

“Yes those ones, but we need to stay focused.” You nodded intently, totally focused. “Jack is gonna call you later and he’s gonna ask you if I ate any of this cake today, and I’m gonna need you to lie.”

A burst of laughter escaped you. “You want me to lie to Jacky? About you eating cake? During our cake tasting? Because…”

“Because him and Luke have a bet going on that I’m gonna break my diet for this, and Luke said that if he wins we’re splitting the cash 50/50, so I really need you to lie, baby.”

Rolling your eyes, you opened the passenger door, Quinn doing the same on his side. “I really don’t understand you guys. Like, why not just be normal and bet on who’s winning the next Super Bowl or something?”

Quinn wrapped around the front of the car, intertwining his fingers with yours as you approached the bakery’s entrance. “Did that a few years ago, we each lost $700 to Luke.”

“Jesus, you guys are loaded. The last time my family and I had a bet, we each did $10 and whatever old gift card we had stowed away in our wallets. Apparently mine was from 2015 and the place it was for got shut down for rat poisoning? I don’t know,” you shrugged.

As the hours passed and the 20th cake flavor came around, Quinn felt like his stretchy pants were out of stretch, and you felt like you could take a nap right on top of the table. Cakes were not for the weak, let me tell you that.

“I feel like everything tastes the same now,” Quinn struggled to get the words out. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he was trying not to heave and talk at the same time.

“I feel like I can’t feel my legs,” you replied, a visible food baby proudly displayed on your belly.

Dipping your finger into the frosting of the pink champagne cake, guaranteed to be the most fanciest cake you’ve ever had, you swiped it across Quinn’s nose. “Oops,” you grinned. “I’m just so full; I must’ve twitched or something.”

Rolling his eyes, Quinn smeared the orange creamsicle cake across your face, as if you were donning eye black and dodging defenders past the 40-yard line.

“Oh, you’re getting it,” you laughed, swiping a finger across the blueberry with graham cracker crumble, a grandma’s dying wish, planting strokes on his chin and forehead. “Aw, don’t you look cute?” you teased.

He smirked, getting impossibly close. It was good that the wedding planner and cake baker were in another room chatting, or else they would probably be yelling at you two to get your hands off each other at once. “Wanna make a bet?”

“Hm, does it involve me losing thousands of dollars?” He shook his head. “Hundreds?” Another shake. “Any money?” One more. “Then you’re on, pretty boy. What’s your proposition?”

“We leave right now and you can lick all of this off in the car-”

“Amy!” you shouted for your wedding planner as she came stumbling into the room, afraid something was wrong. “We have to go; family emergency,” you pouted, really selling it. “I’ll see you next weekend, okay?”

“Oh, yeah, okay!” she nodded. “Take care of the family!”

“Will do!” you shouted, dragging Quinn behind you as if you were Lightning McQueen in any of the Cars movies. Boy, were you quick. Even Quinn was shook and he skated with some of the fastest hockey players around.

“I win,” Quinn whispered, his lips pressed to the crown of your head as you reached the car, pushing him inside.

“Yeah? Kinda seems like I’m the winner.”

the wedding rehearsal

“Oh, don’t you flower girls look cute?” you smiled, drawing your knees to your chest as you bent down to meet them eye-level. “You ready to walk the runway?”

“Daddy said this was a wedding,” Ella, your brother’s daughter, shyly replied, playing with a couple of petals in the basket.

“Wedding shmedding,” you grinned, earning giggles from the little ones. “Think of it as a runway, and you’re the models.”

“What about,” Grace, Brady and Emma’s daughter piped up, “it’s a runway and I’m the airplane?”

“Oh,” you said, eyes widening a bit before breaking into a giggle.

“That works too! Just don’t be afraid, okay? If it makes you two feel any better, Uncle Jacky has to walk the aisle and he can barely skate on two feet.”

“Hey!” Jack popped out of the line forming behind the three of you, a procession of earthy-toned dresses and black-and-white suits ready to rehearse for the big day. The sight made you want to cry. Everyone you ever cared about was here for you and Quinn, for your big day.

It brought you back to the moment you met Quinn, the moment your life truly began. You were friends with Emma, having met in college at Boston University where you also met Brady. You had just gotten out of a year-long relationship and were stressed over midterms, so Emma suggested that you get a “sex-tox” — a detox involving, well, sex. It sounded perfect at the time. Fuck a stranger, never see them again, release some stress, and live your best life.

But that’s kind of hard to do when that stranger is Quinn Hughes. You fell in love with him the moment Brady introduced you. Maybe it was the way his hand lingered in yours for a just a second longer than what’s considered a “normal” handshake, or maybe it was the way his eyes followed you throughout the bar like he was scared that you would come back to the table with another guy’s arm draped over your shoulder, or maybe it was the way he said your name, like it was made for his lips and his voice.

He was just so perfect and now you were marrying him. It all felt so much like a dream, like you’ll wake up one day and everything will be gone. But when you see Quinn laughing with his groomsmen, his eyes immediately finding yours, his arms flying around your body, hundreds of whistles and hoots coming from everyone around you as you tuned them out, your attention solely placed on the man you’ll be able to call your husband as little as tomorrow, you know that this is real, and he is yours, and this is peace.

the wedding day

This is a disaster. The centerpiece flowers are sky blue instead of columbia, your grandma wants to trade seats with William Nylander because she has this newfound obsession with Mitch Marner which would put William Nylander with your grandpa and the weird uncle that always gets way too drunk at weddings but will never admit that he has an alcohol problem, chalking it up to a “one time thing.” Even though we all know that he’s gonna do it again at the next wedding! And to top the shit-cake that is this day, your wedding planner decided to be selfish and break her water overnight, so now she’s in the hospital trying to push a tiny human out of her uterus while you’re here trying not to physically strangle every single person that comes to you with a question.

You were tired, and nervous, and your makeup looks terrible, and you feel bloated, and you don’t feel pretty enough to walk down that aisle, and you don’t feel pretty enough to be with Quinn, and why would he want to be with a girl that can’t even plan her own damn wedding correctly? And you just feel…defeated.

“Hey, Y/N,” Luke bounced through the door of your bridal suite, his hand hovering over his eyes.

“You don’t have to cover your eyes, Luke, you’re not the groom,” you muttered, fiddling with the ends of your hair.

“Right,” he chuckled nervously. “Um, so there’s a problem.”

You closed your eyes, sighing. You felt like your head might explode. What else are we going to add to this ginormous shit storm of a day? Let me guess, Cole already got shit-faced at the mini bar, or Nico got lost on the way here and that car held Jesper, Holtz, and Dougie, or oh! Did your brother get into conversation with Trevor on how he can perfect his alley-oop if he substituted Milano with him? Seriously, what else can get worse than this?

“We can’t find Quinn.”

You’re gonna throw up. Are you already throwing up? Because there’s this tingly feeling that’s bubbling in your throat, and you don’t know if it’s from the copious amount of champagne you consumed last night or the urge to find Quinn and murder him with your bare hands. I think it’s the latter.

Before Luke could say anything else, you dashed towards the door, his calls fading behind you. You didn’t know if you were running to find Quinn or to escape this hell hole for yourself. Maybe Quinn was onto something. Maybe this was a bad idea. I mean, were you that naive to believe that someone like Quinn would actually want to marry someone like you?

With your shoes discarded, you found solace on a rock overlooking a small lake near the venue. Your once pristine white gown was now engulfed in the grass, your disheveled hair was poking out of its metal claw clip, your mascara was noticeably smudged, and the tears wouldn’t stop streaming down your face no matter how hard you tried to stop it. You were nervous about the wedding, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore since the groom is apparently missing and nothing else is working out. Ha! Now they don’t even have a bride. This is terrific.

With crunching leaves, you heard a small, “Hey,” behind you.

You turned slowly to find Quinn, the man of the hour, finally present. You didn’t say anything, fearing that your words would come out with a choke. You couldn’t stop crying.

Quinn settled down on the rock next to you. “I’m sorry for leaving like that, I just—had to clear my head for a bit. I’m a little nervous.”

“Are you getting cold feet?” you mumbled, scared to hear his answer. You knew he loved you, but you also knew that he would put people’s feelings way above his own. You didn’t want to marry him if he was having doubts.

He shook his head. “No.” His hands found yours amid the puffiness of your dress. “I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that you’re the woman I want to marry.”

“So why-”

“There’s like 300 people out there waiting to see us get married, and Jack’s already talking about us having a kid in the next couple months, and—it’s a lot, you know? You?”

You furrowed your brows. “Me, what?”

“Getting cold feet?”

You shook your head. “I’m tired,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I feel like everything’s going wrong today. Amy’s out having a baby, the flowers are the wrong shade of blue, Grandma wants to sit next to Mitch Marner, I thought you left, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Quinn cupped your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs, just as he has done time and time before. The gesture never fails to give you a sense of comfort. “Years from now, when we’re old and living in a house in the suburbs, and you’ll probably have an orange tabby cat on your lap, and we’ll be telling stories to our grandchildren about our wedding day, we’re not gonna remember the color of the flowers, or who sat next to Marner, or any of that, okay?”

You nodded.

“We’re gonna remember you and me. We’re gonna remember how much I love you. And we’re probably gonna remember us sitting on rocks, stalling our own wedding day.”

A giggle escaped you because this was all so ridiculous. Quinn was right; you’re not gonna remember everything that went wrong. You and Quinn—that’s all that matters.

You pressed a long, innocent, and probably salty kiss on his lips. He saw you in your wedding dress, a superstitious hockey player breaking a centuries-long superstition, but for once, you didn’t care.

“You ready to get married?” Quinn grinned, holding his hand out to you.

You nodded, taking his hand. “I’m ready.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fluff #vancouver canucks

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inmyloveworld · 5 months

Text

in a world of boys (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader)

word count: ~1.5k

synposis: dating was hard. tiptoeing the line between casual and official always had you stumbling. and bradley, in spite of how good he made you feel, was no exception.

warnings: insecurity, allusions to anxiety (spiraling thoughts, disassociating, just a LOT of self-doubt and questioning)

a/n: i have cute fluff ideas i swear! but writing from experience always just gets the words flowing. here's to hoping we all find someone as emotionally mature and empathetic as bradley bradshaw.

bonus note: i looped slut by taylor swift writing a majority of this oops

The words had always come easy to you. Every conversation was effortless, no matter what the context. Quips and jokes flowed through you as the blood flowed through your veins. It never took careful thought or pondering. But pondering was consuming you as your fingers hovered over the letters at the bottom of your screen.

Bradley and you had been seeing each other for nearly two months. Late-night rides in his Bronco and one overnight at your apartment had filled the weeks since you had first bumped into him at the Hard Deck. His charm and humor lit up your days. His heart and warmth soothed you in moments of weakness. And for once, you had opened yourself to all of it; to all of him.

There was no limit to the dishonesty and complacency you'd been shown in your prior dating history. Bradley was neither of these things, as far as you were aware. Yet, the lack of clarity for what he felt was beginning to plant a sick feeling in your gut.

Things were going so well. Never had you felt more assured in someone's affection and interest in you. Never had you felt more cared for and adored. You loathed yourself to think of gambling that for the sake of your security.

Me: Hey.. not to ruin the mood, but I was just wo

Pathetic. Delete.

Me: Is this just a sex thing?

Abrasive. Delete.

You groaned to yourself in frustration. Judging by your history, this would only end one way. Still, you weren't sure how much longer you could bear the fluttering in your chest under the guise of nonchalance.

Me: I really like what's between us right now. But can I ask where you think this is going?

Here we go.

You hit the 'send' arrow before you could think through it for another second. God, why did this have to be so complicated? Were you the source of all the complications, with your need for control to figure out how everything had to go? Was this the reason no one would commit to you in the past? Or was the dating world simply reduced to nothing but souls too fearful to stick it out, for what could be lying ahead of them? Were you settling? Were you making him settle?

Two buzzes of your phone jolted you in your seat.

Flyboy: I think it'd be better to talk about this in person. You up for a drive?

Oh god.

You sent back an answer and ran your hands through your hair. Tears started to prick at your eyes already as a familiar sinking feeling settled in. Quickly, you were trying to soothe yourself with the small comforts of the situation.

His car always felt musty anyway.

You won't have to worry about accidental pregnancy!

It's face-to-face, at least. Maybe you'll get proper closure for once.

A dozen other weightless sentiments were stacked in your head by the time you heard the purr of a familiar engine outside. You drew in a deep breath, collected yourself as much as possible, and swiped up your keys.

Flyboy: Here!

You didn't even open the text thread, opting to keep your head bowed as you locked your front door. Goosebumps rose along your skin as it met the night air. With much effort, you inhaled deeply. Your feet were leaden as you trudged toward the Bronco.

All the darkness swirling in your head gave way to that bright smile Bradley held just for you. Something in your chest twisted sharply at the show of affection. Every moment of this adoration passing was the last, you reminded yourself. This drive would loop you right back to the somber state you were in before the greatest man you'd ever known walked into your life.

"Hey there, angel," he greeted. The rasp in his voice warmed you the same way a glass of whiskey would. Steadily, slowly, and then all at once.

"Hi," you called back as you hopped in the passenger side. You kept your gaze ahead, hands beginning a nervous pattern of threading fingers. Bradley raised a brow at the action but didn't call further attention to it. His eyes hooked to the road as he pulled the pair of you off into the night.

There was almost an ache in the absence of his hand on your thigh. Both of the worthy appendages anchored themselves to the wheel, no yield in their grip.

Safe driving; he's just practicing safe driving. It's a late night, dark even with the street lamps, and the Bronco's headlights didn't match the brightness of modern LEDs.

But perhaps it's the first thing to go. Bradley needed to take the first baby step away from this.. whatever it was. And he was having you take it with him.

Was there something you did? Maybe the night you spent together had been too soon. Or maybe you had been too forthcoming in your own intent, without clarity on his own.

You never let things simmer. You always had to know, that eternal impatience winning out against the chance of a simple slow burn. But maybe this wasn't meant to take that direction; maybe that's not what Bradley wanted.

Would anyone ever want that? Was it just that they didn't want it with you? What was so wrong with you? Were you so horribly broken to everyone else that no relationship could ever be fulfilled? What were you not seeing in yourself?

"Hey, earth to angel." An empty parking lot surrounded you. The sounds of crashing waves and the warm autumn breeze replaced the storm of neverending thoughts ringing in your ears. Bradley had his hand on your arm, the first touch he'd granted you the whole evening, the touch that broke your trance. His brows were furrowed again in concern as he scanned your sorrow-filled face. Not wanting to startle you further, he kept his voice soft. "Talk to me. What's going on in there?"

You took a moment to compose yourself. Your eyes shut as you drew in another deep breath, letting it out with a drop of your shoulders. And then, you told him.

Each one of your fears and anxieties, a summation of how your heart and body were carelessly juggled in the past, how you found yourself at fault in every instance. How even in that moment, when everything seemed to be right with him, something had clearly gone wrong out of your view and it was all about to crash. But it wasn't on him, you insisted. It was on you.

The waves and breeze continued to sound long after your voice faded from the air. Tears pricked at your eyes slowly in sullen acceptance. You had nailed your own coffin shut with this whole conversation. You should have stayed silent. Being lost on your path was better than taking an exit, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Look at me." Bradley was an emotional man, you had come to learn. He wore his heart out on his sleeve the moment he felt safe enough. So, the absence of emotion from his voice churned your stomach worse than anything else. You met his eyes sheepishly, preparing for a more brutal "break-up" than you originally anticipated.

He sighed, the hand on your arm shifting up to cup your cheek. The touch warmed you and drew the tears from your eyes at once. Droplets rolled down your cheeks in single strands, yet you could not bother yourself with embarrassment. This would be the last he would see of you.

Bradley chuckled. "I did this all wrong, didn't I?"

What was there to laugh about? Had he meant to be more direct in his lack of intent, or in ending things-

"My mom's yelling at me from up there, I know it."

What?

Bewildered was the perfect word for your changed expression. And Bradley now knew better than to let you sit on coded messages.

He took your hands into his, rubbing soft circles along your knuckles as he told you, "I'm serious about this, angel. About us, you. I have been from the get-go."

A flurry of feelings coursed through you. Shock and relief mixed with the confusion still lingering behind in the wake of this confession. It was as if you didn't believe what you were hearing, because part of you really didn't. The part of you that had doubted a silver lining to your history of heartbreak was incapable of believing in a resolution.

You didn't know how to accept it or respond. Excitement was chomping at the bit to break your otherwise unsettled demeanor, but fear still held a tight grip on the reins. "Are.. are you sure?"

Bradley could've laughed again, the question ridiculous in his mind. Being with you was as clear as day to him. The ways in which you eased his soul, sparked life back up amidst his dreary routines, and made him picture a future ahead was something he knew he could not be without. He now realized his failure in communicating as such to the person needing to hear it most.

So he held back the laugh and held your hands instead. "I've never been more sure of anything than I am of you."

tags: @avengersfan25

#bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #top gun x reader #top gun rooster #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

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sayafics · 4 months

Text

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl @queenmendes @the-lil-spud

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slafkovskys · 1 month

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Imagining lovie going feral over Jack and Quinn wearing baby carriers strapped to their chest with drew and wren on them 🥰

was reading this like oop, not for me, then saw wren and drew and was like maybe it is

the boys started up a development camp for kids the summer after the twins were born. for two weeks, they had left the house just after the twins woke up to go and help out and it was on the last day that angel decides to surprise them.

there’s workout equipment outside and she watches as quinn and jack curiously watch her car pull into a spot. one of the babies makes a noise and she grins, “your dads look so confused.”

jack pulls open her door with quinn lurking behind, “what’s-”

he’s interrupted by another squeal and both of their eyes widen in realization. quinn blinks slowly, “you brought the babies?”

“i brought the babies,” she confirms with a nod and jack is immediately abandoning her to open up the back door, dropping his voice to the tone he only allows their children to hear. she barely gets her feet on the ground before jack is pulling drew out of his car seat, “i was going to put them in the stroller-”

“don’t you have those carrier things?” quinn calls from where he was getting wren, “that way they can watch.”

and god, if watching the boys direct workouts with babies strapped to their chests, shouting commands while adjusting their little sun hats or letting them hold onto their fingers while they gently bounced them, wasn’t the hottest thing that angel had ever seen, she didn’t know what was.

#hughes bros x angel #jack hughes #quinn hughes

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amhrosina · 2 years

Text

“Why are you so nice to me?” (Frank Castle x Reader)

MASTERLIST // TAG LIST REQUEST FORM

A/N: oop- i’m in my frank castle era and no one can stop me. this was meant to be 500 words and then i accidentally wrote 3,000. soft!frank is my comfort character and that’s the hill i’m choosing to die on.

Summary: Frank and Reader unexpectedly confront their feelings for one another on a rooftop.

Warnings: mentions of blood/past injuries, soft smutty frank, reader is female presenting w/ long-ish hair

You glared at the bouquet of roses that had mysteriously appeared in your kitchen window, thrusting your purse against the couch with a huff. You had been gone less than five minutes, but you knew that was more than enough time for Frank Castle to send you a message.

You knew it was Frank’s doing. The flower vase had been plucked from the top shelf of your kitchen cabinets, a place that, conveniently, only Frank could reach. His signal was simple, but effective, and the only way he had been communicating with you for the last six months.

Six months. That’s how long it had been since you stumbled across his unconscious body on your rooftop, covered in blood and bruises. When he came to, you were in the middle of stitching up a cut on his arm. He had thrashed around, trying to get away from you in his vulnerable condition, but his head had been thoroughly battered, so you had won that struggle. That was the first and likely the last time you would be able to subdue the Punisher.

When you had finished patching him up, you helped him to his feet and said your goodbyes, convinced that you’d never see him again. Then the flowers started arriving. Every once in a while, a new bouquet would appear in your windowsill, and you’d know that Frank wanted to see you. Sometimes he came to your door and knocked, other times he’d slide through the window from the fire escape. A few times, after especially hard nights, you’ve had to track him to the rooftop, where you’d sit with him for hours, not saying anything to each other.

Frank liked that you didn’t ask too many questions, and at first, that was an easy thing to offer him. You barely knew anything about him, other than the fact that he made sure bad people paid for their wrongdoings. But, as your relationship with Frank had evolved, so had your concern.

It started really subtly. You would see a report on the news about a warehouse explosion and wonder if Frank was involved. That quickly developed into hoping you’d get flowers so that at least you’d know that he was alive after bad shit went down in the city.

Now, you were harboring a big fat crush on the big bad Punisher, and you didn’t know what to do about it. Frank was easily one of the prettiest men you’d ever seen, but his demeanor was what drew you to him. Yes, he was responsible for killing some really bad men. Yes, he was violent and angry at the people who took his family from him. Yes, he was extremely grumpy sometimes and would distance himself from you for a couple of weeks at a time.

But he was also very gentle and caring. You felt it in the light touches he’d press into your back as he walked past you in your tiny kitchen, and in the way he’d consoled you after your favorite stray cat passed away. Even when you had tried to carry too much up the stairs and scraped your knees to high hell, he had gently cleaned the wounds while you tried and failed to hold onto your pride in front of him.

Frank Castle was a deeply misunderstood human being, but you saw him, and he saw you.

You glanced at the clock – 11:48pm – and went to put your shoes back on. If it was this late already, he’d be up on the roof waiting for you. You grabbed your first aid kit, which had been emptied and restocked about a million times since meeting Frank, and the bag of sandwiches you’d ordered at the bodega on the corner, grateful that you’d bought enough for two.

New York City was beautiful during the day, but at night, when the city was lit, and the streets weren’t crowded with cars and people, it was encapsulating. October called for cold nights, so you shivered as you walked through the roof access door. You hadn’t thought to bring a jacket.

Frank was sitting in his usual spot, back against an air vent, legs stretched out in front of him, looking out into the city. The only indication that he knew you were there was a slight head tilt. His face, in all its beauty, was stoic and surprisingly unmarked. Tinges of yellow and green were scattered across his face – old bruises that were almost completely gone. His expression suggested that he was thinking hard about something, which meant he might not even say a word to you tonight, other than a quiet “Goodnight,” when he was leaving.

You gently sat down next to him, handing him a sandwich and tearing into your own.

“Thank you.” It was a hushed whisper, barely audible, but you bumped his shoulder with your own in response. You were both silent as you ate, and you spent a lot of that time scanning his body for injuries. He didn’t seem like he was in pain, and you couldn’t see any wounds, but that didn’t mean he was untouched. Frank was a master at pretending he was okay.

You were startled out of your thoughts as Frank slowly leaned his leg towards yours, brushing up against your own in a warm and comforting manner. Your gaze flicked up to his face, only to flick back down to where your legs were touching.

“Are you okay?” You asked, tilting your chin towards his body. A breeze picked up, and you involuntarily shivered as you turned to look at him.

“Are you cold?” His voice was a smooth, warm injection into your veins, something you felt in the pit of your stomach. He had already begun taking his jacket off, apparently uninterested in your response. He gently wrapped the jacket around your shoulders and untucked your hair for you, taking care to tuck any loose strands behind your ears. You muttered a thanks, before turning away from him so that he couldn’t see the blush creeping up your neck. He had no idea how crazy he made you.

His gravelly voiced echoed across the rooftop as he said your name.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I mean, the sandwiches, the stitches, the late nights. You let me into your home. You could’ve easily left me for dead when you found me the first night, but you didn’t. You could’ve easily forgotten about me. Gone on with your life and pretended you’d never seen me.”

You met his fiery gaze, curious as to where this was coming from. Your arrangement worked because neither of you asked each other tough questions.

“I...I don’t know, Frank. Maybe I’m just a nice person.” You shrugged.

“No. Not this nice. There are plenty of people who would’ve run screaming if the Punisher ended up half-dead on their rooftop. Some might’ve finished the job. Why did you help me? Why do you help me, even now?”

His gaze was determined, and it dawned on you that he might be asking these questions out of insecurity. Did he think you were doing this in exchange for something? You were as honest as you could be without letting your feelings for him loose.

“I don’t have a good reason for why I helped you the first time. I couldn’t just leave you for dead, I guess.” You shrugged again, looking everywhere but his face. “I help you because I think you might be lonely. And I’m lonely too. And because I believe you’re a good person, Frank,” you finished, giving him a pointed look.

He took a slow breath, looking down at his lap. You guessed you were right in your assessment. You gnawed at your bottom lip, hoping you hadn’t crossed a line that would cause him to distance himself from you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, shaking your head, “I shouldn’t have said that about you. I’m-”

“I think you’re probably right,” he interrupted, looking back at your face, “You make me feel...less alone. Which is probably why I keep coming back.” He granted you a small smile, something you’d only seen on a few, rare occasions.

“You make me feel less alone too, Frankie.” You whispered, tucking your knees into your chest and resting your chin on them.

You sat in comfortable silence, looking over his features as he did the same.

“Is that why you came tonight? If you’re not hurt...,” you raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not hurt, right?”

Frank chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m not hurt.”

He paused, looking directly at you. You felt a sturdy warmth in his gaze. His eyes, usually distant and cold, were soft and unwavering as he shifted his body to face yours.

“I think...I mean I’m pretty sure I came because I wanted to see you. Is that such a bad thing?” His question was barely spoken above a whisper. He wore a vulnerable expression, an expression that you’d come to yearn for. Frank Castle was not a vulnerable man, but you’d seen him at his worst, and you’d stayed anyway.

You faced him, crossing your legs so that your knees were touching his. Slowly, you lifted your hand, softly tracing the scars that littered his face. The scars that you’d sewn together time and time again. Across his eyebrow, down his nose, across his lips, and along his jaw line, until you finally rested your palm on his cheek.

“It’s not a bad thing, Frankie.” You murmured.

He leaned into your hold, squeezing his eyes shut. You know it must be hard for him to admit his feelings, however confusing they may be. For the short time that you’ve known him, you could clearly tell that he has an undying loyalty to his late wife and kids.

He leaned in, resting his forehead on yours. His hands came up to cup your neck and jaw. He repeated your name under his breath like a mantra.

“I don’t know if this makes me a bad person, but when I’m with you, it just feels,” he paused, “it just feels right, ya know? I don’t have to hide from you. You see me. You see me, and you don’t run.”

You shook your head. “You’re not a bad person, Frank.”

Slowly, he leaned in further, pressing his lips against yours. It was a soft kiss, but the intent was clear. Tingles ran through your body he kissed you like you were the most important thing in the world. His hands tightened around your head, pulling you towards him.

His tongue ran against your bottom lip, asking for permission. You’d never given permission so quickly before. Your tongue met his in a searing kiss. You’d never been kissed with so much passion. Then again, it seemed Frank functioned on passion, whether it be with anger or otherwise.

You parted from him, catching your breath. His expression immediately turned apologetic, but you shook your head before he could get a word out.

“Let’s go inside.” You gestured to the door.

He followed you down the stairs, fiddling with your fingers as you led him to your apartment.

As soon as Frank closed the door behind him, he was on you, his front to your back. He slowly stripped his jacket off your shoulders, dropping it to the floor beside him. His body was warm, despite the chill in the October air. He tilted your chin towards him, angling your head so that you could look at him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You can tell me to stop. I won’t be upset.”

“There you go again, trying to give yourself an out.” You smile at him, turning so you could fully face him. “I want this, Frank. I have for a long time. Do you?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He backed you into the wall, pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. His hands roamed down the sides of your body, from your waist to your hips, cupping your ass as he molded his body to yours. Your body responded, arching towards him. He left a trail of kisses from your jaw to your neck, where he focused the attention of his tongue.

You let out a soft moan, running your hands down his torso. You pawed at the bottom of his shirt, slowly lifting it up his body and over his head. You’d seen him shirtless before this, but he was usually bleeding or unconscious, so you stifled another moan.

Your eye caught a new bruise, blooming ugly and purple around his ribs.

“Frank! You said you weren’t hurt!”

“’s nothin, sweetheart. Just a bruise,” he mumbled into your neck.

Your body clenched at the pet name. You could definitely get used to that.

He molded his body into yours again, lifting your body and wrapping your legs around his waist. Navigating to your bedroom was easy for him, considering all the times he’s had to walk through it to get to your bathroom.

He softly placed you on the bed, bringing your shirt up and over your head. His lips met yours again, and you quickly started undoing his belt buckle. His hands stopped yours from reaching their goal.

“I got it, baby. Let me take care of you, like you take such good care of me.”

You laid back, panting as he unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down your legs. He stifled a groan and gazed at the ceiling. You were wearing a matching set of black lace bra and panties. His hands roamed up your legs, pausing at the tops of your thighs. He leaned in, licking a line from your navel to the top of your panties.

You moaned, arching into his touch.

“Frankie, please.” You gasped, begging for him to keep touching you.

He gazed at you, before reaching behind your back and unclasping your bra. Slowly, he brought his hands down your sides again, pulling your panties down and placing them in his back pocket.

You were now completely bare before him, gazing up at him with a doe-like expression.

He mumbled your name under his breath, running his hands across your stomach.

“You’re...amazing. You’re beautiful. I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I never thought...,” he trailed off. His voice was breathless, like he was trying to take in the sight before him.

“Please, Frankie. Please.” You pleaded with him to touch you, voice breaking.

His eyes darkened as he slowly took his pants off, holding your gaze.

Your eyes widened at his size, although you shouldn't have been surprised. You’d seen the man in his underwear many times before when you were patching him up, so you had a good idea that he was big, but you never let yourself think about it too much.

You shuffled back on the bed as Frank crawled up your body, stopping when his head hung above yours.

“Is this still okay?” He murmured, looking for any signs of regret in your eyes.

You groaned. “Frank, if you don’t fuck me into next week right now, I’m never speaking to yo-”

You were cut off with a searing kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, and he swallowed your moans as he lined himself up with your entrance.

He pushed into you with the gentlest thrust he could muster. You pulled him closer to you, arching into his body.

He let out a muffled moan into your shoulder when he was fully inside of you.

“So wet for me, baby. Fuck.” He grunted as he pushed into you again with more force.

An overwhelming warmth overtook your body as he got rougher with his thrusts. He was moving at an agonizingly slow pace, but you could already tell you’d be sore in the morning.

“Please, Frankie. Faster.” You moaned into his chest. He obliged, slamming into you faster.

The room became a den of moans, skin slapping skin as he fucked you raw. He reached down, circling his thumb around your clit. Your heart very nearly leaped out of your chest. The knot at the bottom of your stomach became tighter and tighter as you got closer to your orgasm.

“’m gonna come, Frankie.” You shuttered, holding onto his biceps as his finger began making faster circles.

“Come, baby. Come on my cock, sweetheart.”

You groaned as your orgasm washed over you. A sickening wave of heat and pleasure overtook your body, and you swore you saw stars for a second. Frank’s finger didn’t slow, riding out your orgasm as long as possible.

Your heart pounded as you came down from your high. Frank sat back on his knees, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he pounded into you with a newfound force.

“Where do you want me to come, baby?” He grunted through gritted teeth.

“Oh god, please come in me, Frankie. I’m on birth contr-”

His moan cut you off as he came deep inside you. Warm spirts of his cum filled you to the brim. He panted, kissing your inner thighs as you both came down from your highs.

You closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of Frank Castle deep inside of you. You both groaned as he pulled out. Frank disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a cloth, cleaning you. Your legs shook with the overstimulation, which made him smirk and kiss your thighs again.

You were barely coherent as he helped you under the covers, only coming to when you realized he wasn’t crawling into bed next to you.

“Stay. Stay with me. Please” You mumbled, holding onto his hand as he tried to walk towards his discarded clothes.

He nodded. “Okay, baby. I’ll stay.”

He got under the covers, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. He mumbled your name into your shoulder as he left a trail of kisses down your neck.

“I meant to ask you to dinner, tonight. I wasn’t expecting this.” He murmured.

You sighed happily, kissing his scarred knuckles.

“I would love to have dinner with you, but ask me again tomorrow, Frank. I’m sleepy.”

You were falling into unconsciousness quickly. He kissed your temple and nodded.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

End Note:

I hope you liked it. This was not beta read so if you see any mistakes, no you didn’t! I’m newer to writing smut (but not new to reading it! lol) This will likely develop into a series, where we get glimpses of Frank/Reader before this night and afterwards. I’m also a hoe for Matt Murdock so don’t be surprised if he shows up. I don’t have a specific point in Frank’s storylines that this takes place, so let’s just pretend it all makes sense.

If you want to be on a tag list, let me know!

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #jon bernthal #daredevil #frank castle imagine #frank castle smut #punisher smut #punisher imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #frank castle fanfiction #avengers #matt murdock #amhrosina

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smolvenger · 2 months

Text

In A World of Boys, He's a Gentleman (Professor! Tom Hiddleston x Reader blurb)

Summary: Collapsing into tears after a hellish week, your professor boyfriend confesses he loves you.

Warnings: cursing, some work problems (I may have used some of my irl experiences in here, oops) Reader liking Romantasy books, but other than that, some hurt/comfort and lots of fluff!

A/N: I decided to leave it ambiguous if Reader is a student or not, so that is personally up to you. From @holdmytesseract's request for the birthday blurbs! Thanks for your patience!

Word Count: >2K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

If the past week was purgatory, then today was utter hell.

Everything in your life was driving you so busy, you felt both stasis and panic at once. You got so distracted that you would zone out on your phone closing and reopening the same apps for hours. Then at work, people were driving you up a wall. Because you were a good employee who had to get things done in the order and way they trained you or else…less got done. The impossibility of productivity crept on you. Minutes became hours. You had to argue with someone in a conversation that should have been four minutes but lasted eight because she would not shut up, kept repeating the same things over and over, would rarely let you speak and when you did, never replied or added onto your responses. On top of that, your body decided that the buttcrack dawn of morning when it was still dark was a good time to be awake. And impossible to drift back to sleep even when you took cold medicine. Which then made you exhausted at work.

Thank god for your professor boyfriend.

He was your light in the midst of all this. You had dated for some time, and even the sight of him putting on glasses in a nice suit as he headed off ofr work still made you tingly inside. He would leave you little gifts at your place- flower bouquets, cupcakes, and the like. You were at a point where you didn’t have to have romantic dates all the time. You were now just in his place. Just hanging out. Simple as that.

You could be quiet and not interact every second. As cats parallel played you could just be in comfortable silence together. Especially when it came reading- for you had something of a silent book club. You both turned off your phones and would sit devouring book after book.

He was a Literature professor, so it was in his nature. It seemed though sometimes he was never off the clock! He even challenged you- it was one thing that drew you to daring him. He was smart enough- he respected you as an intelligent being in your own right but was able to have questions and discussions. It was the academia in him. It made you grow into wanting to be a better person for him…and he for you.

Though today, your stress, anxiety, and semi insomnia was creeping up on you. You sat on the brown chair and he on his sofa. There was the same book in your hands. He was already rubbing a finger over his lips, pressing his glasses close. Enchanted by the spell words made. It was a well-reviewed piece of literature that won awards and was featured on the official lists of esteemed journals. He recommended this title to you and you were both reading it.

As you sat with your own copy that he leant you, you cracked open the stiff spine from it’s newness and began to read…

You were spacing out on the first chapter. It was dense, poetic, and beautiful….but you had no idea what the heck was going on.

After a few more pages, it was starting to get sad.

What was it with these books? And it was not cheery- Was high literature just sad things happening like people having affairs on their wives or committing abuse or doing drugs or going to war or just being awful with no repercussions?

With a sigh, you reached into your bag and pulled out a different book- an escapist, spicy romantasy that all the girls on social media were losing their minds over. You replaced the high literature book, setting it down quietly, and opened it. Tom was so engrossed in the book he didn’t notice. You didn’t want him to notice.

You found this time you were understanding the words in front of you. And you found yourself drawn. Was it the best piece of literature to be studied in a professors class in the future? Hell no. But you were here for a good time, not a long time. And not to study human nature deeply, but to be in a different world, where you had a different name, a different look, and different problems, but far more magical and exciting than everything crashing down in your dull, grey reality. One where your clothes were beautiful with corsets and fine fabric instead of just jeans. One where you would have a sword with a name then a smartphone that sucked all of your free time. One where you could be a princess, a queen, an assassin, a fae lady, a vampire, a pirate, a goddess, a duchess… anything other than plain old you in a plain old life at a plain old job.

Tom looked up. He then eyed over your cover and back at you.

You looked up at him and grimaced. Then you shoved the book back into your bag.

“Please! Don’t judge me!” you cried.

“Why would I judge you?” he asked.

You gestured over to the book in his hands.

“I’m reading this silly trash book and you have all of your fine literature!” you cried.

He set his own copy down, but his blue eyes softened.

“My dear…Is something up?” he asked.

He knew you well enough he could tell the signs.

“Yes, my day was hell! It was this and this and this and…I try to handle it but..I’m overwhelmed so I can’t…I really can’t…I’m not even smart enough to read this book, because I try and try but I just can’t understand this stuff and I can’t get into it, like you…I’m an idiot…”

You burst into tears, and he came over, hugging and kissing your head in little pecks.

“No…darling, no…” he murmured.

You leaned into his arms. You found yourself vneting and complaining the suffering long inside you.

“I know…I’m a mess…” you sobbed out. “And there was a lady at work who’s a bitch, and my job is so hard, and I can’t sleep at night…it’s just…I wish I could be smarter, nicer, better for you Tom, but…”

“How do you take tea?” he asked.

Looking up, you wiped your tears with your sleeve and answered him.

He made it for you the way you liked. It was the prettiest mug- white with bluebell flowers painted on it. And returned with it. You sipped at it, it was perfect in it’s flavor and so warm, you felt it melt inside you. You placed both hands around it- science said it was like receiving a hug. Feeling the warmth inside and outside as you looked up at him.

He scooted himself to be close, a gentle smile on his face and one of his large, beautiful hands rubbing your forearm in comfort.

“I know I’m a mess.” you said.

“I like you as a mess.”

You began to blink at him.

“No, I…but I’m…I’m trying, but I just…I know I complain and I read trashy books and I call people bitches and all that, you can say it, Tom. It’s the truth,” you replied.

“Set your drink down,” he requested.

You complied.

He cupped your face. A gasp aired itself in your throat.

“My dear, you are perfect as you are. A mess, broken, crying…and I want nothing else than to be with you.” he confessed.

You nearly dropped your jaw.

“That’s…a…you’re saying that…”

“Well…I…yes, I never thought I’d run into someone like you, who’d change everything. Why should I care if you feel upset sometimes like every human being or what you read to make you happy or that things aren’t always wonderful…I…I love you….there, I said it.”

Love. The little word that changed everything. And it was the first time he said it. It was…unspoken. Something you both felt for the long months you dated, but never confirmed. And here it was, materialized and as present as the furniture and mugs and books, for it was just as real.

“I love you too, Tom.”

You embraced him tight, and he embraced back. He then pressed his forehead to yours, squeezing hands.

He then let go, looking down at your mug.

“Here…your tea will get cold…” he said, offering the drink back to you.

“And…my book….” you murmured.

“Oh, I have no problems with you reading it with me! If it’s that good, I’ll make you another cup of tea and get us some biscuits as well! Then you must tell me all about it!” He gave a little laugh. “Who knows, I may even try it myself someday!”

Smiling with him, you gave him a kiss on his cheek. Then, you settled into cuddling him, sipping your tea and enjoying both of your books in a moment of pure bliss.

#carrie writes #professor! tom hiddleston #prof! tom x reader #prof! tom hiddleson x reader #tom hiddleston #fanfiction #fluff #fanfiction fluff #professor fanfiction #prof! tom #prof! tom hiddles #professor! tom hiddleston x you #professor! tom hiddleston imagine #professor! tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston x reader #prof! tom my beloved

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thewulf · 10 months

Text

Iris || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Fem!reader is a pilot and with the Dagger Squad best friend(maybe they are AU and always stationed permanently at the base together). To keep it short: Jake and her are very close (friends to lovers trope) but neither had it admit yet... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ugh, I just love this man. He's so much fun to write. Thanks for all the requests!

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 3.6k +

“Way to go, Seresin.” Smiling sweetly at the just shot down pilot you sat down next to him as he started his punishment pushups, “Mav got your ass again?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He laughed just knowing you came over to give him shit. You were one of the few people he enjoyed taking shit from. You were never mean only funny. He’d grown to look forward to it as he got to know you over the last few weeks. The banter between the two of you coming so effortlessly, “I don’t want to hear it, Iris.” He paused, looked up to you and shot you a wink before continuing.

Iris. Your callsign. You’d gotten after a rather rowdy night out with the girls in your class, all three of them. You managed to black out on your first night at Top Gun, oops. You’d garnered the callsign because you seemed sweet as a flower but required intense supervision. I Require Intense Supervision. IRIS. Iris. You loved it, leaning into it whenever you could.

Leaning back on your hands you silently watched him. Knowing you should say something but coming up utterly short as you watched his muscles work while he continued his pushups. You’d be a dirty liar if you didn’t say you liked what you saw because you did. You loved it. He was so attractive it made it hard to pay attention sometimes. But you’d never admit it to his face. Not unless he confessed his feelings first.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Jake laughed taking a glance back at you. He loved teasing you right on back as much as you seemed to tease him. He knew you could take it. Just one of the many things he’d grown to adore about you. You could dish it and you could take it. A rare woman.

Very thankful that you put on foundation this morning you knew you had a nice little blush on your cheeks from getting caught staring right at him, “Get off your high horse Seresin, I was just thinking.” You failed to stop the smile that spread across your face as you watched him. You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t have a massive crush on him. You’d admired everything about him. From the way he flew to the way he handled himself. But what you loved most was the way he treated you. Like you were everything in the world to him and maybe even a little bit more. He knew when he could push you and when he needed to take a step back. He could get a read on you so easily. Not many people had been able to do that before you met him. But he continuously surprised you.

“About me?” He continued his push-ups with that signature Jake smirk adorning his lips. One you grew to quickly find so utterly attractive it made you weak at the knees. Thank God you were sitting as he toyed with your head right on back.

“In your dreams.” You wanted to roll your eyes but in reality your cheeks were burning from the big smile that crossed yours. Jake became a fast friend once you were sent on permanent orders to Miramar. You’d been selected with a few other pilots to train as the next Top Gun instructors. These were coveted spots that few people were able to land in their careers and you couldn’t quite believe you’d been selected. It was like being fast tracked. This spot would make or break your career in the Navy.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right about that sweetheart.” He finished up his set after not even breaking a sweat. How was that fair? He sat up next to you in one swift motion.

“You absolute flirt, Jake Seresin.” You wanted to scoot away from him, but you just couldn’t seem to. He drew you in so swiftly, so easily without almost any effort on his part.

He shrugged, “Only for you.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

This time you rolled your eyes, “Were you not trying to pick up that girl at the bar that first night we all met here?” Raising your eyebrows, you needed to challenge him. So far, everything about the man had been perfect. Too perfect. He was so beyond thoughtful when it came to you. You’d never had a man do this simple things so effortlessly for you before you’d met him. He’d raised your standards and he didn’t even know it. Hell, you didn’t even know it.

He nodded, “Yes I was. But that was before I met you, Y/N.” He then raised his eyebrows. Not mocking you. But challenging you all the same. He got you there. You couldn’t recall a time in between then that he openly flirted with anybody, at least not in front of you.

“Alright.” You looked away from him quickly. He made you nervous. The good kind of nervous. But nervous, nonetheless.

“Has anyone ever told you how fucking pretty you are?” He sat back observing your face for the reaction. One of the other things he’d grown to adore about you was how expressive you were. If somebody made a dumbass comment you weren’t afraid to give them an equally grossed out look back at them. You weren’t afraid to laugh or smile when a nice comment was thrown. And your laugh? Oh, he fell in love with it instantly. The way your eyes scrunched up and the absolute joy that crossed your face was enough for him to know he was going to fall in love with you.

He'd been in love before. He always knew those were bound to end before they were even starting. He was so good at that. Picking the person he knew there was no future with. Until he met you. You effortless nature drew him in so quickly. You contrasted him in the best ways possible. His cockiness was matched by your humbleness. You were nearly as good as Jake in the skies, ruthless when needed. But you’d never admit it down on the ground. You were simply good, as you’d tell everybody else. His loud nature was masked by your quiet one. Busy Saturday mornings were replaced by quiet lazy ones as he spent more time with you. He had only known you for a month, but he knew. He knew that if he allowed himself he’d be confessing within only another. You had him whipped and he was afraid he loved it.

“Yeah,” You smiled shaking your head at him, “You, literally yesterday.”

“Mmm,” He nodded his head looking at you with amusement in his eyes, “That’s right. And I’ll tell you every damn day until you believe it.”

Continuing to shake your head you stood quickly ignoring that comment. If you thought too much about it you’d become unraveled right then and there, “Come on, we’re the last ones for the day. Mav’s gotta to tell us how bad we are before we leave for the day.” You offered your hand which he took in an instant. He’d craved your touch since the first time he’d been offered your hand weeks ago. He’d take any chance he could take, that was when you offered it.

You pulled him up slightly. Jake really did most of the work, “I didn’t do that bad today.” He laughed seeing your skeptical expression.

“I did. He got me within a minute.” You’d frowned taking the lead on walking back to the classroom. You hated days like today. They got you down. You were a good pilot. Even great. And everybody had days like today that were just shitty. You’d been up three times and been shot down three times within minutes during each exercise.

He shrugged trying to get you to shake it off, “You win some, you lose some.”

“Not on real missions…” You trailed off.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re training and not on a mission then, yeah?” He squeezed your shoulder as he matched his pace with yours. He had to slow his stride down a bit so he didn’t overcome yours.

“Yeah.” You nodded your head knowing what he was trying to do. Trying to get you to stop thinking about it. He knew how much of an overthinker you were. Not exactly the greatest trait for a Naval Aviator. But you pushed through it.

He opened the door for you into the classroom. The other six pilots turned their head in curiosity at who was coming through. Not seeing Mav, they turned back to what they were doing. You took a seat at the back of the classroom where Jake follows behind and sits down next to you.

He leaned over knowing how to distract you, “Coming to the Hard Deck tonight?”

You thought for a moment. Did you even want to go? It’d be a good way to take your mind off the shit day, “Haven’t thought about it.”

“You should come.” He nudged your shoulder, “I’ll miss you too bad if you don’t.” Eyes lowering, he gave you his best pleading expression. That was really all it took before you gave in.

“Sure. Fine. Yeah I’ll come.” You didn’t really want to, but you really couldn’t say no with a look like that.

“You’ll have a great time. I’ll make sure of it.” He winked at you before Mav entered the room indeed ready to tell the group how piss poor they did that day.

You, in fact, were not having the best time. Turns out two more pilots were hired into the new group of instructor trainee’s. You didn’t think anything of it until you saw the sheer shock outlining Jake’s face when the woman, Lacey, stood up to introduce herself. He brushed you off when you gave him that look of curiosity. He let you know that he’d tell you later.

You’d come to find out she was one of Jakes numerous ex-girlfriends that he’d left behind in the dust. He was sure he’d never see her again. Not because she was a woman but because she wasn’t that good of a pilot when he left his original station years ago. He ended things when he was sent off to Miramar. It wasn’t like things were broken off in bad terms, Jake was just indifferent about the whole thing. Lacey, however, was heartbroken about the whole thing. She didn’t get why he left her, let alone so easily.

He'd been gone awhile leaving you with pilots you’d been acquaintances with. It wasn’t like you didn’t like them. You just didn’t have anything in common with the four men sitting in front of you. So, you silently sat there listening to the conversation hoping that he’d make his return.

You didn’t realize he was with Lacey until he made it back around to the group with her in tow. He handed you a plate with some fries on it. You eyed him curiously but took it nonetheless, “I know you’re probably hungry.” He knew you were a regular snacker and this pit stop probably threw you out of you original plans.

You smiled ignoring the glances from the other pilots. He was always thinking of you. Even when he was with another woman who so desperately wanted his attention. The other pilots sure had ideas in their head after witnessing the kind gesture from a usually unkind man, to them, never to you.

“No shellfish?” You asked.

He nodded quickly, “You think I’m trying to kill ya’ darlin?” He smirked leaning onto the high top you were sitting at with the other guys.

“Nope,” You grinned snagging one of the fries from the plate, “Just checking.”

Lacey stepped up next to Jake, “Can’t eat shellfish?” She asked looking you over more closely this time. Sizing you up that was for certain. Jake didn’t like the look, but he was letting you handle it on your own, for now. He knew you could handle it.

“No, I’m allergic unfortunately.”

She nodded looking you over once more, “Oh, that’s too bad. Shrimp is great.” She half smiled at you before looking back to Jake.

Nodding your head you continued, “So I’ve heard. This one doesn’t shut up about it.” You nudged Jake getting a smile out of him as he nervously watched the two of you interact. He didn’t have any feelings toward his ex. She was pretty, always was. But she wasn’t you. Nobody would be you. Truth be told it made him incredibly nervous how quickly he’d come to feel these things about you. He wasn’t one the catch feelings like that so suddenly. At least not before you came along and fucked his head on up.

“I’m just trying to educate you on all things. It’d be a shame for you not to know how damn tasty some buttered scallops are.” He threw you a wink. Lacey noticed and she didn’t look too thrilled. She quickly picked up on something going on between the two of you. It’s not like Jake was hers but she didn’t like it. She didn’t like how he looked at you. He looked at you so differently than anything she’d ever gotten. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you. Even when she pulled him away from the group he was distracted by you.

You grinned right back at him. The other guys had gotten used to the constant flirting between the two of you. Most of them assumed you were already together the way the two of you acted. Jake had a fierce protective nature over you to boot. He wouldn’t let any of the other guys give you shit or talk shit about you. He was smitten with you. Whether you were together or not.

Lacey looked a little disgusted as she tried to drag him off once again. Jake wasn’t having any of it as he pulled up a chair by you and started talking to you. Turning his attention all the way to you. It pissed her off more than you or him would’ve ever have guessed. She must’ve had enough of it as she disappeared off into the crowd leaving you and Jake almost alone. Not like the other guys gave a shit about what the two of you were talking about. Often lost in your own little world together.

You’d continued picking off the plate of food for the next hour while talking to him not paying much attention. You’d notice her drop by seeing if Jake would pay her any attention. When he wouldn’t she went on her merry way. That’d gone on a few times before she seemed to give up completely.

You were fine until you weren’t. You’d ignored the first symptoms because you were too wrapped up in talking to him. Absolutely enamored by him. It wasn’t until you were feeling a bit dizzy that you realized you were having a reaction. It’d been years, decades even since you had one and it was just as horrifying as you remember.

Looking down at the plate you didn’t know if you were seeing things quite right, “Jake…” You interrupted him sounding a little off. Your throat was closing up and you knew it.

“Yeah?” He looked concerned seeing your expression of panic.

“When did that shrimp get there?” You pointed to the lone shrimp sitting next to the fries you’d polished off. If you allergy wasn’t severe it could’ve been just fine. But you allergy was severe. Foods simply touching shellfish could get you to react. And you’d just eaten an almost full plate of fried that could’ve been touching the damn thing.

His eyes widened as he looked between you and the plate. He’d only now noticed the sweat breaking out on your face and the hives covering one of your arms, “Oh shit.” He jumped into action not taking a second to go through your bag, “EpiPen?” He asked opening it wide to look through.

You shook your head in a little panic. Jakes sudden movement brought the guys out of their conversation watching the two of you again, “I don’t think I have it. Shit.” You knew panicking was the worst thing you could do right now, but you really couldn’t recall where you put the thing after you’d moved onto base.

“It’s alright.” Jake stood up knowing exactly what you were thinking, “We’ll go get it from your room. It’s not too far away.”

You nodded closing your eyes knowing you fucked up, “I don’t remember where I put it Jake. I know I should know but I can’t remember.”

He took your hand, “Come on. You’re fine Y/N.” He reassured you pulling you up from your seat while watching you intently, making sure you could walk to the car, “Come on sweetheart. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” You asked in fear. Fear of the unknown. You felt so damn stupid. How could you not only forget it but completely space on where it was?

Not wanting to make a big scene for your sake he leaned in whispering to you, “Just a short drive to the hospital. They’ll have and EpiPen ready to go.”

You nodded letting him pull you right out of the bar. Penny would understand the unclosed tab, he’d just have to talk to her tomorrow. You were really thankful for him in this moment. He seemed to know exactly what to do to keep you steady and levelheaded.

He leaned over to buckle your seat belt knowing you were in a dazed state trying to keep your breathing even, “Hey,” He touched your face, “It’s alright. We’ll be there in three minutes.” You nodded your head not allowing the tears to drop down your cheeks. You’d be lying if you didn’t say you were terrified. Terrified that your throat would close all the way up in between now and the hospital.

“Thanks Jake.” You mumbled out careful not to extend to much of your steady breathing in the process. He was careful but quick. Driving with a purpose. Lucky for you Jake took control. The second he pulled into a spot he picked you right on up out of your seat. You knew you weren’t terribly coherent at this point, but it was rather crazy how fast he was moving now.

You didn’t see how bad you were starting to look. Your normally tanned skin had turned pale and clammy as your body tried to fight of the toxin it didn’t like. The hives had spread down both your arms and was creeping down your leg now.

He didn’t wait as he walked you quickly into the emergency room holding you tight. Everything turned to a blur as your body seemingly decided to give up as you knew you were in safe hands now. You felt Jakes eyes on you as the white coats of the doctors turned to blackness.

“Hey pretty girl, you’re awake.” You felt a hand squeeze your own as your eyes adjusted to the bright hospital lights.

If it was anybody but Jake you’d probably have flipped him off. Your head was pounding, your mouth and throat were incredibly dry, and you just felt weird, “Mhmm.” You hummed closing your eyes letting your head adjust to the change.

“How are ya feeling?” He scooted his chair closer to your bedside looking you over. Your color had returned to a more normal looking state, reassuring him slightly.

“Like shit.” Sighing you opened your eyes taking him in this time. His amused expression wasn’t missed.

“You look it too.” Tossing you a wink to let you know he was only kidding.

You weren’t expecting to laugh but man did it feel good. Jake had a knack for that. Making you feel the best in any situation you found yourself in. When your laugh hit his ears it relaxed him instantly. He hadn’t realized how wound up her had gotten waiting on you to open your eyes again. He knew you were fine, but it still sucked waiting. Even if it were only a few hours.

“Fuck off, Seresin.” You grinned at him, “How rude to make fun of me in my time of sickness.”

He rolled his eyes playfully at you, “Time of recovery darling.”

“Semantics.” You challenged him.

Nodding his head he was giving you that one, “Are you alright thought?” He really needed to know now. As calm as he seemed on the outside he was terrified through the entire ordeal. You’d made it very clear to the group just how allergic you were from the get-go. It terrified him seeing your body shut down right in front of his eyes.

“I’m okay, Jake.” You nodded letting him grab your hand.

“You scared me back there.” He admitted not looking up to you. It wasn’t always the easiest for him to get emotional. But he wanted to for you. He wanted it all for you. He didn’t really care anymore. How you’d managed this in just the mere month of knowing him was beyond his wildest dreams. But he was ready to take it. He wanted you and only you.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know how…” He shook his head signaling for you to stop.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing Y/N.” He paused brushing your hair out of your face, “I think it was Lacey… I’m going to talk to Mav about it. You just rest, okay?”

You shook your head no, “Please don’t go. You can tell him later. Can you stay?”

He nodded his head, “Sure darling. You know what?” He asked scooting his chair right next to yours not dropping your hand.

“What’s that Mr. Seresin?”

He smirked giving your hand a tight squeeze, “You really do require intense supervision.” Kissing your hand, you could only giggle causing Jake to erupt in a fit of laughter. Oh, how your life was going to change here shortly. And only for the better.

Taglist: @hellobroadwaydreamer @zbeez-outlet @bibissparkles @genius2050

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tblsomedoodles · 4 months

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More apocalypse/mutated Jennika.

just some doodles so i can get used to drawing her mutated form for...reasons.

Anyways, i did end up changing her coloring a little, particularly changing up her skintone to be a different/darker shade of green. (i like it more and it blends better with her other colors then the last shade did.

Even future Jenny is still an absolute brat, bullying her brothers and everything lol. Her clone mystics has gotten a lot stronger, with her being able to make a shitton of them and is now, basically, a one person spy system. Most of their intel comes from her and her clones (or donnie's cameras and drones.)

Oh. and her robo-eye glows a bit (she can turn that feature off if she needs to). Which is something i had tried to include in the last doodle, but forgot to turn the glow layer back on before i exported it, so i didn't. oops.

anyways, you'll be seeing more of her at some point. I have a few things i want to do once the holidays are over (hopefully taking my mild art block away with it. this is the only thing i drew this week. and i had drawn most of those doodles before then.)

#tmnt #rottmnt #family web au #apocalypse timeline #my doodles #rise jennika #this is my friday update

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taralen · 2 months

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My Spamton joint headcanon that I explore in my AU LoveLetter.

Spamton is semi-organic, so even though his interior looks similar to the support frames of a doll or puppet, he has veins like wires and blood like oil. A planned scene in LoveLetter makes this "trait" rather significant.

He also has internal organs that I'm too lazy to draw in detail since they're not that different from any human's except for being a little weird-looking.

I actually drew this last week and had the intention of uploading it, but I kept forgetting. Oops.

Fellow figure enthusiasts might recognize the specific joint "signature" I parody here.

#my art #spamton #spamton g spamton #headcanon #ball joints #deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune theory #deltarune au #loveletter au #sketches #concept art #cw body horror #tw body horror #tw blood #horror #body horror

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neverinadream · 1 year

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~~~~~~~~~ | M Y H E A D C A N O N S | ~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~ | A N E W Y E A R W I T H Y O U | ~~~~~~

Summary: Neither of you know where exactly you stand as you celebrate the new year.

Pairing: Christian Pulisic x Reader

Requested: Yes

Song Inspo: Clearest Blue - CHVRCHES

Warnings: fluff, situationship to relationship, feelings of confusion, film student!reader because why not?, not edited

Notes: this is just a headcanon...did you like it? would you like more of them in the future?? i also got a little carried away....oops...anyway, feedback is always appreciated!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To you, your relationship with Christian was a bit of an enigma. You had no idea what you were.

You had met each other through Kai's girlfriend, Sophia, whom you had randomly met when your coffee orders had been mixed up. A few months into your friendship, she had insisted that you came along to a games night that she and Kai were hosting.

At first, you were apprehensive about it, unsure if their friends, footballers with a level of fame you couldn't begin to imagine, were going to accept you, a film student, who worked two jobs to pay for your shitty, little apartment. But you quickly realised your worries were for nothing.

And you also came to quickly realise Sophia's true intentions.

The couple had already picked the teams before any of you had even arrived. They made some excuse about not wanting Mason and Ben being on the same team, when in reality, they were just making sure that you and Christian were paired together.

At first, you were a little shy around each other, saying very little unless it was needed. But when you began to play a round of Jeopardy and one of the categories was film & TV, you quickly impressed him with your ability to recall facts about films, shows and directors he didn't even know existed.

When he asked how you even knew such facts like how Paul Schrader wrote the film Taxi Driver in two weeks, or how it was James Cameron himself that drew the charcoal picture of Kate Winslet, you simply shrugged your shoulders and said you were a film student.

A couple days after the games night, and multiple hours of debating whether or not to message you, Christian, after getting your number from Kai, had finally messaged you.

To say you were feeling a little bit of a thrill when you saw his name attached to the message was an understatement.

And so the next five months began...

At first it was just getting coffee together on the mornings when you both had the time for it. You both met in the same spot: a small, independent coffee shop, that doubled as bookstore. But this quickly turned into him bringing you lunch one afternoon, after you had told him you couldn't make it to one of your "coffee dates."

You had told him you were going to be stuck in the library all day, attempting to finish an assignment at the very last minute, and for him to not think that you had stood him up. That day, when he showed up with lunch for the two of you, easily convincing you to take a break, you knew your crush was so much more than a crush.

After that, your morning coffees became brunch, or even dinner, if you both had the time for it. Christian had even attempted to cook you his favourite dish, but when you turned up at his, the smoke alarm was going off and you had found Christian, with a dishcloth in his hand, trying to get the smoke to go out of the patio doors.

You learnt that day that Christian possessed no ability to cook.

You eventually settled on pizza and shared your first kiss, of which he made the first move, before the ending credits of your favourite film were rolling.

Your first kiss were the many of firsts with him: your first Chelsea match, sitting next to Sophia, who explained the bits you didn't understand, your first time meeting his sister, an slightly awkward encounter over facetime, which had Christian stuttering and stumbling over his own words when she had asked if you were the secret girlfriend, and the reason behind him smiling so much, you first "sleepover" and a manner of other things.

And yet neither had the courage to ask the other what you were to each other.

Christian wasn't just falling in love with you, he WAS in love with you, and he had planned to finally tell you on New Years Eve.

The NYE celebrations were happening in the very first place that you two had met: at Kai and Sophia's place. And Christian had been keeping close attention to the time. When you asked what was distracting him, he justshook his head, gave you a smile, and told you he was just distracted by your outfit, which only earned him a playful smile and a shoft shove of the arm.

For most of the night, you both stood off to the side, content with each other's company, and playing a little game you had both come up with. It was trying to guess what conversations people were having from the expressions they were pulling.

You had danced a little, but it had only happened because Sophia had managed to convince you to, and for the whole time, Christian's attention was only on you.

He had even told one woman that he was here with his girlfriend, which you weren't officially, not yet, when she attempted to flirt with him. He loved how easy it was for him to call you his girlfriend.

His girlfriend....

When it finally came to counting down to the new year, his focus was completely on you. He had even forgotten to count down, of which you had noticed, after you had counted down to seven and hadn't heard his voice.

So when you turned your to face him, you hadn't expected to find him looking at you. There was a look of love in his eyes and you had even thought they had twinkled for a second, but you had convinced yourself it was just the lights. When you went to ask him what was wrong, he cuts you off with a kiss.

And it wasn't one of your usual kisses. There was a hidden message behind it. A message of love.

So when everyone around you was cheering, shouting happy new year at the top of their lungs, and couples were trading notions of affection, Christian released three very important words.

"I love you."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, which he could only presume was a good thing. When you pulled away, you stroked his cheek lovingly with your thumb and smiled as you replied, "I know." He raised his eyebrows and you giggled, telling him, "you sometimes talk in your sleep and last week you said 'I love you, Y/N.' I love you too, by the way."

Both of you had ended the previous year not knowing where you stood with the other and had started the new year knowing exactly where you now stood.

~~~~~~~ | F O O T B A L L T A G L I S T | ~~~~~~~

Football taglist: @shanoontje @maseandkepa @theblxefox @blueathens @ofxinnocence @1-800-benji-chilwell @mrschilly @geek-and-proud @in-my-body-bag @laurasstufff1 @mountchilly @spicysainz @greykitkepa

if you wished to be tagged in what i write please let me know

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic x reader

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