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luveline · 1 month

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What about if in Eddie and Roan, Eddie and Reader' are both occupied with wedding stuff or smth else and they left Roan with either Wayne or Steve and Robin, and it's just fluffy fluff about them being the best uncles/grandpa ever?

Roan wraps her arms around his neck. “Why can’t I come?”

Her dad has pretty much always felt like an extension of her. He’s dad. So when she doesn’t get to go places with him that aren't work or school, it doesn’t make sense. She’d care less if Uncle Wayne wasn’t too tired for a slumber party, because her Uncle Wayne is the best uncle ever.

“Baby,” Eddie says, in that soft sweet voice that means she’s being let down easy, “you can’t come because it’s a lot to do in one day, okay?” He encourages her face back. He’s on his knees to be her height, but he’s still taller. “I know you want to come, but it won’t be any fun at all. We have to go argue with people all day. Y/N’s gonna put on her scary mommy pants and I’m gonna have to back her up because she’s my girl.”

Roan just looks at him. Eddie grins.

“Okay, but will you bring me something?” she asks in a whisper.

You laugh where you’re standing in the doorway behind him.

“What do you want?” he asks.

She leans in to whisper in his ear. When she pulls away, he’s squaring his expression into something quite fierce. She’s confident she’ll have what she asks for as soon as he’s home.

You and Eddie kiss her goodbye, hands quick to intertwine as you walk down the driveway, though you take your hand back to wave at her with both hands when you realise she’s waiting on the porch for you to go.

Steve holds her shoulder. “Should we go back inside?”

Roan tips her head back. “Steve…”

“What, babe?”

“Can we get ice cream?”

He holds her gaze. “Maybe. Depends.”

“On what?”

“We have dinner first, and you have to eat two vegetables. Because last time your dad said I’m terrible at looking after you.”

“You’re not terrible,” Roan says, shaking her head vehemently.

Roan offers him her arms and he picks her up. When she was a baby Steve and Robin used to call her Princess Ro on account of her never being put down, but that was usually because she’d been traded from arm to arm rather than her being demanding. She was demanding, of course, she was a baby.

“Thank you, Roan. I know I’m not terrible, your dad just loves giving me a hard time.”

“He does that to me too.”

“He does not,” Steve chastises, “your dad is a great dad. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

“Me and dad don’t have secrets,” she says.

“I know, that’s why he’s a good dad.” Steve sighs forlornly. “Ew. Let’s be less sincere from now on. What movie do you wanna watch?”

“You have The Little Mermaid?”

Obviously Steve has The Little Mermaid. He plops Roan down on the couch and she balls herself up tightly. Steve thinks she might be a bit grouchy today, but it’s hard to say yet. He tries to nip it in the bud before it can start, wrapping her in the blanket she likes with the soft ends and cutting her a boat load of apples for peanut butter. “Thanks, Uncle Steve,” she says, stretching her legs out over his thigh. Steve squeezes one of her feet until she grumbles and pulls it away. “I forgot you do that.”

Steve laughs loudly. “Do what, babe?”

“You’re like dad. You aga-vate.”

“I do, huh?” he asks, patting her leg. “Sorry. Just teasing.”

“Mom says teasing is okay if it doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

“You hurt my foot.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, laughing, because he knows it didn’t hurt too much.

“It’s okay. I don’t want feet, I want a fish tail.”

“You do not,” Steve says, squeezing under her knee. She grumbles more and kicks at him, a few of her apple slices sliding off of her plate and onto the blanket. She doesn’t notice.

Robin lets herself in not long after. She’s in sweatpants with her hair up, arms laden with soda and bags of chips. “Hey, Ro,” she says. Even when Roan was a baby, Robin has talked to her like she’s an adult. “You look comfortable. Did you miss me?”

Roan seems to have missed Robin lots —Robin sits down and within twenty minutes has Roan snuggled under her arm, another twenty and she’s giggling sleepily at the murderous chef trying to cook the Little Mermaid’s crab friend.

Steve and Robin are best friends, and great watchers, though it’s much easier to look after a kid when you’re allowed to spoil them. They feed Roan chips and soda (though they aren’t animals, the soda is limited to one small cup, and the chips are before a dinner that includes three different vegetables), and they let her jump on the couch and climb up on the kitchen counter to play with the soap dispenser.

Pick up time comes and passes. Roan sits kicking her feet on the kitchen table, her coat unzippered and her wellies hitting the chair. “Are they late?” she asks.

Steve offers her a slice of orange. “Yeah, babe, it looks like it.”

“Are they gonna never come back?”

“Of course they’re coming back,” Robin says, “your dad has no personality outside of you. He needs you to be happy.”

Roan smiles to herself. “Yes,” she agrees, taking a bite of her orange.

Steve kneels in front of her and pulls the two sides of her jacket together. “Your teeth are orange.”

Roan accidentally drops the orange rind out of her teeth. It rolls down her legs and hits him in the shirt, leaving a greeny tinged stain on his blue polo. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he says, zipping her coat to the collar and brushing her hair back away from her sticky cheeks gently, “I’ll just charge your dad extra.”

“You’re the best, Uncle Steve,” Roan decides.

He strokes her hair behind her ears. “You are the best, Roan. My favourite Munson ever.”

Her eyes light with joy. “Really?”

“Really truly.”

“That’s a bit controversial,” Robin says, clipping Roan’s backpack shut to house what was left of her chips.

“I don’t like Eddie and Wayne doesn’t tell me good job when I wash my hands.” Steve shrugs. “No competition.”

The phone rings. When Robin picks up, she says that it’s Eddie, and Eddie needs to talk to Steve, who, after a short conversation, passes the phone to Roan.

“Dad?”

“Hey, baby! Sorry we’re not there, we went to the wrong place for mom’s hair stuff and it was a disaster, we won’t be home for another hour, I’m sorry. Are you really mad?”

“I'm not really mad.”

“I’m bringing you a present, remember? So can you keep being a good girl for Uncle Steve? No shouting?”

Roan decides this is alright. Eddie tells her he loves her about six times and Roan hands the phone back up because she can’t reach the receiver, letting Steve hang up. She frowns at the floor, her head hanging, dark hair curling in front of her eyes.

“How about we make use of your shoes and coat and go get that ice cream I promised?” he suggests. “Anything you want. You did eat all your vegetables.”

Robin rolls her eyes. Roan slouches sadly into his legs, the beginnings of a smile on her lips when she looks up at him and asks, “Hot fudge?”

“As much hot fudge as you want,” he promises.

#eddie and roan

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blindmagdalena · 10 months

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Resignation

Summary: 18+ 1.5k homelander x reader, established relationship, dirty talk, thigh riding, grinding.

After you have a particularly rough day at work, Homelander offers you some sound career advice, and a little stress relief.

spiritual successor to Customer Service, but stands alone. this is for everyone who's sick of this capitalist hellscape, and the crummy jobs we're forced to work to survive. not proofread, we die like men. 🖤

Another day, another dollar, another near meltdown.

You spend most of your commute home trying to pull yourself together. After the day you’ve had at work, the last thing you need to do is burst into tears before you even made it home. It’s taking everything in you to keep it at bay.

There’s just something about you that apparently screams Hey! Abuse me! in the workplace.

At least you’ve got something to look forward to when you get home.

Or rather, someone.

“I’m home,” you announce tiredly, stepping inside. You kick your shoes off, and despite your mood, you smile at the pair of tall red boots that sit next to them. It took some convincing to get him to take them off consistently, but ever since he’s started spending more and more time hiding out at your place, you’ve insisted on some ground rules

“Living room,” Homelander calls back.

Walking in, you find him crouched in the living room, staring at your cat with a level of intensity you’re not sure what to make of. “Uh, something going on here?”

“Yep,” he answers evenly. “Asserting dominance.”

You watch your cat blink slowly before lazily rising, stretching into a wide yawn, and hopping down to greet you. Homelander stands, scoffing triumphantly. “I won.”

“Uh-huh,” you give back distractedly, bending down to scritch your cat's ears.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, frowning as he approaches. “Your eyes are all red.”

“Hard day,” you tell him, readily accepting his encroaching embrace. You sink easily into his arms, noting that his gloves are off today. That’s new. You slip your arms around his neck, your body tired and heavy as you trust him with the full weight of it. He holds you up effortlessly.

He exhales a huff of hot air right by your ear that gives you goosebumps. “Quit,” he says, his voice set low.

“That’s what you always say.” “Because I mean it,” he shoots back fiercely, pulling away to meet your gaze. “Quit. Fuck those assholes already. You don’t need them. You have me,” he says, reiterating a conversation the two of you have had at least a dozen times now.

Money is nothing to him. He could buy you out for three times your salary for the rest of your life with his pocket change.

“I can’t just not work,” you say, pulling your hands down from his neck to lay flush on his chest. “I need my job.”

“The only thing you need is me,” he stresses again, kissing you. He always feels like he’s restraining himself when he touches you, holding himself back from moving too hard, too fast, from devouring. It’s thrilling to lose yourself in. “Why do you insist on tormenting yourself?

Stomach fluttering, you can’t help but laugh at the slight petulance that slips into his voice. “Because if I give up and let you take care of me, you might get bored, and then I’ll have nothing,” you say, and though you mean to make a joke of it, to fill your voice with playful whimsy, the confession lands harder than you expected it to. You’re tired, you’re stretched thin, and as your own words sink in, you realize just how bad it’s gotten.

Homelander withdraws, leveling you with a look that confirms it: that wasn’t a joke, and neither of you are amused.

You blink several times, suddenly speechless. “I…” You realize your eyes are burning again, and with every blink, your vision gets more bleary. “I just meant…”

“Do you really believe that?” He asks, his brows pinched.

“No,” you answer reflexively, voice too sharp even to your ears. “No, not that… I don’t know, I was trying to make a joke, but maybe… I don’t know. I get scared sometimes,” you say carefully, trying desperately not to spill the tears gathering in your eyes. “That someday I’m not going to be enough because y–”

His lips meet yours before you can continue, muffling the rest of your sentence. His hands are impossibly warm as they sweep up your back, eventually cupping either side of your neck. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he needs the taste of you to breathe, like he would die without you. He kisses you until your brain feels foggy and there’s a dull throb between your legs.

“You’re ridiculous,” he all but growls against your lips, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I’m not going to get bored. Good fucking luck getting out of this one,” he says, slipping a hand to the back of your neck and squeezing for emphasis. You shiver, your tears lost in the wake of the slow rolling heat moving through your body. “Besides, you know damn well you’re the one who’ll be taking care of me.”

You can feel his smirk against your lips, and you laugh unexpectedly, the sound of it bordering on the sob you had very nearly fallen to. “You need a babysitter now?”

“Why, are we roleplaying? That’s pretty naughty,” he purrs.

“Stop it,” you laugh, pushing his face away, but he doesn’t relent.

“What? Sexy babysitter could be fun,” he says, kissing a trail up your neck.

“Pervert,” you accuse, turning your face to kiss him. He accepts greedily, tongue slipping between your lips. You sigh a soft moan into his mouth, which only encourages his hands to wander even more, eventually settling on your ass. Without warning, he grabs tight and hauls you up, hitching your legs around his waist, swallowing up the startled gasp you give.

He settles down onto the couch, and maneuvers you until you’re straddling his thigh. You can feel the magnitude of his strength thrumming between your legs, pressed up tight against that same throbbing heat he ignited in you with those fervent kisses.

Cupping your face, he pulls you down for more of the same.

“Go ahead,” he says against your lips, his own curved into a gloating smile. “Grind. I can smell how bad you want it.” His voice is low, as coarse and sweet as raw sugar. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, worsening the pulse of your need.

Immediately, you start to rock your hips, grinding down against him. He rewards you with a hand on your thigh, squeezing as it slides slowly higher, his thumb skirting along your inner thigh. “No more stress,” he murmurs, the words warm on your lips. “No more tears. Just you… with me… mine.”

The way he rumbles that word against your ear sends a shiver trilling up and down your spine, the heat at the center of you spiraling up, up, up, blossoming throughout your entire body. He flexes his thigh and gives you one sharp little bounce on it, wringing a moan out of you. You roll your hips faster, tightly clenching your thighs on either side of his. You push both hands up into his hair and hold on tight, panting into the crook of his neck.

Homelander slips both hands back to your ass, gives a generous squeeze while he helps your body move, rolling it in time with the way he flexes and occasionally bucks his thigh against you. “Say it. Say you’ll quit, and you’ll be all mine,” he demands softly, grip flexing on you. There’s a neediness at the edges of his voice. “Give me that. Give me you.”

You screw your eyes shut, keening breathlessly. The grind of fabric against sensitive skin is almost too much, too dry, but it’s fucking good, too. You’re getting wetter and wetter, losing yourself to the relentless pace he sets for you, and the hungry way he kisses at your throat.

“C’mon. Give it up. Give me everything. M’never letting you go,” he pants, at which point you realize he’s also grinding against your leg. The arousal–the sheer animalistic need–in his voice makes your stomach flip, and with one last shuddering noise, you’re coming against his leg, moaning loud in his ear as the wave of pleasure slowly wrings out every last bit of tension that you had been holding onto.

You collapse against him, your arms hanging limply around his neck. He nuzzles at your jaw, kissing a trail to your lips. You reciprocate lazily, your eyes closed as you luxuriate in the aftershocks of the unexpected release.

“Quit,” he whispers persistently, lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. “We’ll take care of each other.”

“This is playing dirty,” you slur, feeling stupefied in your post-orgasm haze.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he says, taking your hand from around his neck, and slipping it between his legs. You bite your tongue. Christ, he runs fucking hot. Even through the fabric of his suit, you can feel the throb of his cock. “You’re gonna be writing your resignation letter in my cum by the end of the night.”

You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and an unsteady moan, clenching against his thigh. “Okay,” you say, lifting your head to kiss him. “Prove it.”

Much to Homelander’s delight, you submit your notice of resignation the very next day.

#i banged this out rly fast bc i notice lotta folks struggling at work lately and i just wanted to offer some support ;;#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #smut

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nerinefy · 3 months

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FOREVER YOURS, TRULY...! — NEW YEAR'S SPECIAL PART II

PART III — GEPARD LANDAU (TO BE FOLLOWED)

★ synopsis: nothing much, just yanqing spoiling jing yuan's plans. pretend you didn't hear anything.

★ details: pronouns: you/yours | imagine | fluff | 600+ words

★ JING YUAN ★

It was a chilly evening at his office. Laying comfortably on a chair that surprisingly appeared after visiting once, you watch your significant other- Jing Yuan, focus on the paperwork he's been stuck on for what felt like an eternity. "Why are you even taking care of those? You're a general." You asked the man beside you with puffed cheeks and a pout which made him chuckle in amusement.

"My love, do you really think all I do is...throw hands and wish for the best out on the battlefield?" He asked, seemingly curious.

"I mean...don't you? Or am I missing something?" You tilt your head as he stifles a laugh.

"It looks like I left you alone for too long, come now." He stands up and reaches for your hand, you take them as you let him lead you outside, leaving numerous documents behind. You watch as his steps take you to the balcony. The wind was blowing fiercely and you shiver at the cold. "I'm sorry 'hun, I forgot it was quite breezy here because of the fire back inside," he apologizes, taking off a large coat he had on to wrap around you. The remaining warmth he'd spread on the coat envelopes you, as you feel a hand intertwine yours.

"You're so warm you know? Like a big fuzzy lion." You utter in between giggles.

"That just shows that..." he leans down inching your face, "I really am fit to be yours, you cold-blooded creature," he mumbles as his eyes stare intensely at yours.

"I am not! It was just co-" You exclaim in defense, when suddenly you feel soft lips crash towards yours, stopping you from completing your statement. These soft lips lingered for a moment, relishing the taste of yours. Warmth spreads throughout your body, and you feel as though it's not just from his touch. After a while, he breaks free from the kiss, catching his breath in the process. "That was rude, General, I was still talking." You say in mock annoyance, him laughing in turn.

"I'm sorry, could I ever make it up to you...?"

"Oh shush."

The cold wind continued to rush through you, as you watched the skies above in astonishment. Slowly, you wonder, and later ask, "Hey um, why are we here exactly?"

"Oh, there's no such reason...It's just that, it's been quite a suffocating few days and I thought I could have the time to breathe here..." He trails off, pausing to think of what to say next. "Anyway, it's nothing really, I'm just glad you're next to me right now." He finishes a slight smile appearing on his face. "I'm grateful, truly, even though I've been very busy with numerous responsibilities I hold with the Luofu, you've been nothing but patient and understanding. It's hard to juggle through my workload but ever since you came and been by my side, it felt like it was a little bearable." He then smiles as he faces you, "It's times like these when I'm reminded that...you're here and I don't have to keep it all in my chest. So my love, thank you-"

"Happy engagement! You didn't tell me it was supposed to be right now- you left the ring at your desk when I came to check in." A voice was suddenly heard, disrupting your man's speech (?) for you. He sighs, looking clearly disappointed despite being surprised for a moment.

He can only mutter a, "Yanqing..."

"Oh, oops..." The boy murmurs, breaking into a cold sweat.

"...What ring..?" You ask with raised brows, still surprised.

"Can we uh, do a redo for the actual thing- just pretend to be surprised when that happens."

"Yanqing..."

author's note: this took- um...a while. better late than never ig hehe

#★ ꒷₊˚ ꒰ఎ rinnie's works! ໒꒱ ‧˚₊꒷#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail jing yuan #hsr jing yuan #honkai star rail #honkai: star rail #hsr #jing yuan x reader

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goosita · 4 months

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hii! i'm obsessed with your writing and how you write billy 🫶🏻 i wondered if you could do a part 2 of the singer!reader x billy one. maybe they meet again and he asks her out or the next time they see each other, reader is singing a song about him 🎀 i'm sure whatever you decide to write will be stunning

she so totally would sing a song about him bro

it becomes a thing after that second time he comes to see you sing.

no matter how tired, beat up, beat down, sunburned or moody billy is, he’s at that table every single friday night. after the 4th or 5th week in a row, he finally plucks up the courage to ask you out. you even use the word finally, which makes him blush but he laughs all the same.

you become inseparable in your moments that neither of you are busy. as soon as billy is finished with his work for the day, he’s high-tailing it to your little house out in the hills. some days he strolls around town with you, some evenings you two lay out in the grass behind your home, gazing at the stars and grazing hands. much to your surprise and delight, it’s billy who kisses you first.

you two are sitting on a blanket, his favorite place in the world woth you at his side and the sun shining. birds tweet happily in the trees, you scribbling in your leather-bound notebook while he braids together pieces of the tall grass and watches you. he loves to listen to you hum different melodies, testing them against the words you put on the pages. he finds a little flower, probably a weed but its still pretty all the same, and weaves it into the little knot of grass he’s been tying together.

“hey, darlin’,” he murmurs, smiling. you glance up with a chirpy little hm?, grinning and blushing when he tucks the little woven plants into your hair carefully. it looks like a little rosette, with the flower at the center.

“how’s it look?” you ask, matching his grin.

“pretty as a picture,” he breathes, letting his hand cup your cheek gently. when you lean into his palm, his heart does this funny little thing in his chest that it’s only ever done for you.

you rest your own hand over his on your cheek, and the next thing you know, he’s dipping his head to brush his lips against yours. they’re warm and soft on your mouth, sweet from the peach he’d eaten earlier. when you sigh into him and press closer, he thinks he might just be the happiest man that’s ever lived.

and so it goes, billy gives you all his attention and you give him all your affection and vice versa, in this perfect little back and forth. what he doesn’t expect, though, is for you to give him your songs.

he’s parked at his usual spot, humming along to all the songs he knows by heart now. he sips his whiskey and watches you, a permanent little quirk to his lips that betrays exactly how much he adores you to anyone who spares him a passing glance.

“alright y’all, i got one more up my sleeve before i take my bows for the night,” you tell the crowd, grinning. “this one’s new, so i hope you like it! but really, there’s only one person here who’s opinion on it matters to me.” You laugh and wink at him, and he smiles but lifts his brow curiously at you.

and then you’re picking up your guitar, voice soft as a cloud as you sing about blue, blue, blue, and cowboys with rough hands but gentle hearts. funny little hats and maroon sweaters that are warmer than any blanket you’ve ever felt. billy swallows hard and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, though still he smiles. you don’t take your eyes off him the entire song, and as soon as its done, you slip your guitar off your body.

you don’t even bow or thank the audience this time, you’re walking straight to billy. he stands up and you smile, standing on your tiptoes and yanking him by the collar down to your lips to kiss him until he feels dizzy with it. he wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush against his body, bending you backwards with how fiercely he returns your kiss.

“i love you,” he pants softly against your mouth, not caring about who sees. you break away with a giggle, the sweetest thing billy has ever heard.

“i love you too, cowboy.”

he grins and takes his hat off, placing it on your head. then, he cups your cheeks and kisses your forehead, both of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips one more time. billy bonney is the happiest man who’s ever lived, no doubt about it.

#billy bonney x singer!reader #billy the kid #william h bonney #billy the kid fluff #billy bonney x reader #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #anon

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taiyeoki · 6 months

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PRETTY LITTLE PUSSY | Kashimo Hajime

↳ Kashimo + Reader

Genre : Smut

W/C : 4.8K

Warnings : 🔞Minors do not interact | Contains fingering, edging, squirting, breast play, slight electrocution (come on it's Kashimo🧍🏻‍♀️), pussy drunk Kashimo, dirty talk, praising, a bit of fluff.

Synopsis : Hakari invites you and Kashimo to hangout but Kashimo had been dying to get home. Little did you know he had other plans instead of just relaxing with you. When you wanted to have fun in the café, he wanted to have fun as well, just not in the way you had expected.

A/N : I was bored. Man I can't seem to find Tumblr's HTML part, I wanna make stuff with different colours 💀 Reader is a fem btw.

Hakari knew Kashimo was an ancient man who came from the 1600 so he had to drag him out to town. Kashimo had a hard time understanding the modern world after all, so Hakari would be his "saviour" who would teach him everything he should know. Hence, Kashimo had been invited to hangout at a bubble tea café because he said that it was "trendy" and lots of people had been buying from that café recently.

It was funnier how he would honestly lecture everyone in this modern era, repeating "sorcerers these days..." or "back in my day..." Like an old man that he is despite being in his prime. Plus he couldn't understand much of what Hakari and Kirara spoke of;

"What are you slaying?"

"What is a 'Pikachu vibe' and why do they keep calling me that? Is it a bad thing?"

"Period? Y/n are you on your period? Should I get a heating pad for you?"

Which is why you were here now because number one, you knew Kashimo would disappear the moment he even thinks about leaving Hakari's side and number two, you had been invited anyway. You were currently standing in line to buy your drinks while Kashimo and Hakari sat at a nearby booth next to the window to keep a spot for you guys to hangout at, the sunlight shining down on them. The sunbeam hits Kashimo's face as it gave him a glowing look, caressing his skin and giving life to his warm eyes. His cyan orbs were complimented with the pinkish hue of lightning patterns under his eyes. Kashimo's eyebrows were furrowed as usual and his eyelashes looked naturally curled. He had a calm yet fierce expression which honestly turned you on as a slight aching between your legs appeared.

Kashimo had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows the way he knows you like it. You could see how veiny and muscular his arms were when he didn't have his bandages wrapped around his forearm. You tried shaking off any thoughts that were creeping into your head though as a pool began forming in your pants. Meanwhile the two of them had privacy to themselves as they waited for you to return with their drinks.

"Well?" Hakari initiates as Kashimo responds with a hum to let him continue his question. Instead, Hakari stared at him with a cheeky smile as he had his left hand held an 'O' shape while his right hand had his fingers moving in an out of that 'O' in a fucking motion. "Y/n?"

"... Is that a domain expansion?" Kashimo asked, confused on what Hakari was doing with his hands.

"PFFT A DOMAIN EXPANSION?" Hakari laughed out loud, cackling so much that it caught everyone's attention and yours. You turned back to see what the two were talking about although you couldn't hear what they said other than Hakari's laughter. It made you happy to say the least as you saw your boyfriend chatting with someone since he was never the type to be a social butterfly. Although you don't think that he cracked a joke since Kashimo looked even more confused than you did. The poor man couldn't understand the action Hakari did. After all they never had such an openly explicit movement back in the Edo period.

It looked like Hakari was dying from laughter as he held his abdomen, wheezing as he spoke, "what kind of sex domain is that?" After a while though his cackling died down and you finally return with all your bubble tea. Hakari looked like he lost all the oxygen in his body.

"What happened?" You tried to inquire, wanting to know what they were laughing about but Hakari just chuckles as he was reminded of what did happened. Shrugging it off as he replied, "don't worry about it. It looks like I broke him though," Hakari said as he points to Kashimo. As you looked over to him, Kashimo had his forehead planted against the edge of the table, face hidden and his body still. You decided to brush it off since the cyan haired man looked like he didn't want to say anything else.

Unbeknownst to Hakari though you and Kashimo had already have a fair share of lovemaking together. He just never expected that a 400 year old man was still capable of fucking since he always looked too busy wanting to fight Sukuna anyway.

Throughout your time with the two you noticed Kashimo being silent. You knew he wasn't too talkative especially with anyone other than you but this time he was oddly quiet. When you looked over to him he looked a bit bothered. Is he sick?

"Jime? You alright?" You checked up on him wanting to make sure he's fine. His face was a bit flushed and he looked like he was trying to stabilize his breathing but little did you know his head was full of erotic thoughts of fucking you till your legs won't work.

Soon enough you all decided to part ways and Kashimo was especially persistent on it. You didn't understand why but he looked... Upset?

By the time you entered your welcoming home you both shared, he almost seemed to rush in, passing you as he accidentally bumps into you. Kashimo exhaled, making an exhausted sigh which sounded as if he's been holding his breath in and it made you worried. You were too concerned for him to even notice the growing tent in his pants.

"Hajime? You alri—" Kashimo's lips crashes into yours before you can even finish the sentence. Fingers firmly holding your jaw as his tongue invades your mouth, the kiss forceful and demanding. His other hand grips your waist tightly, pulling you closer to him. He was such a good kisser, always so passionate and he knows exactly how to tease you to keep you on edge. You're completely caught off guard, hands holding his wrists, whining as he cages you on your back against the wall between his strong arms.

You manage to let go, gasping, "Hajime! What are you—"

"Fuck. Been needing you all day long," his hand travels up your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt softly yet urgently.

"Do you know how long my cock's been aching huh? God knows I wanted to just bend you over back at the café and eat you out right then and there," he groans, kisses trailing from your neck to your collarbone as he takes in your sweet scent. He knows how much weaker you are compared to him— soft, delicate, and sensitive to touch. His touch was a perfect mix of gentle and rough, the man knew how to work with your body and have you screaming and begging for him.

"Need you so much," he mumbles against your skin. He swiftly shoves your pants down, revealing your cute panties that you were wearing and he drags his fingers through your folds, tracing against the wet patch that had already formed.

"Hajime," you mutter out to your boyfriend breathless, desperate for any touch at all as you instinctively spread your legs open with the help of Kashimo's knee pushing you further apart and whine, trying to hold his broad shoulders for support.

He traces soft kisses down, following from your neck to your collarbone then to your chest and further below to your waist. Soon enough he's settled between your legs and you feel his hot breath against your panties.

"Trained this pussy so well," he hums, pulling off your panties and revealing the wet mess behind the fabric. "You're already so wet just from my kisses," he smiles knowing you're just as touch starved as he was.

Blushing, your jaw clenched, trying to hold your composure but only to yelp when you felt his face sink in your wet pussy. Kashimo takes in your erotic scent, diving between your legs. Fuck— he's too good. Kashimo drags his tongue from your clit up towards your aching sex. He licks you tenderly, exploring your folds with his tongue, "you taste so good."

He groans against your skin as he speeds up his ministrations, tongue working in you with rhythm as he tastes all your love juice, prodding inside your pussy and feeling the spongy insides. You feel his lips wrap around your clit as he starts sucking almost desperately. In fact you feel as though he was enjoying this more than you were. His nose nudges against your skin, face smothered in your wet pussy as he eats you out.

You were practically shaking now, his hands gripped your thighs to keep you spread apart as you buck your hips and whine, needing to cum yet he doesn't give enough pleasure just to keep edging you. You can feel him smirk, his hungry gaze took in the sight of you squirming with need as you moaned desperately with tears pricking the corner of your eyes. Unfortunately for you the moment you felt the familiar knot form in your abdomen, Kashimo pulls away before you can even release, leaving you whining.

Stiffled moans left Kashimo, his cock pulsing in his pants as it only grew. He groans from seeing how fucked out you are, your face was flushed and you had tears dripping down, saliva wetting the edges of your lips as you pant. The sight made his dick want to explode.

"Hm? You're gonna have to tell me what you want. Whining isn't gonna help," Kashimo smirks, his expression looks smug seeing you writhe as he takes full control of your orgasm.

"You're so close," Hajime teases, knowing full well that he could end this torment at any moment. "Tell me, y/n. Do you like being on the edge like this?"

"Fuck- Hajime please, don't stop," you pleaded desperately, face flushed but you couldn't care about anything else right now. Kashimo's smile tugs at his lips as it grew with smugged pride. He knew only he could get you to beg for him like you are now.

Kashimo doesn't hesitate doing what you wanted, taking a whiff of your soaked pussy and once more the man is being pussy drunk. This time though he isn't as gentle as he was which caught you in surprise and yelp. Kashimo was aggressively sucking on everything he could as if it was going to be his last meal, lapping up anything at all and leaving no drops of your slick pussy juice. It drove you wilder as his hand slides between your legs, finding your entrance. He teases you for a moment before slipping one finger inside, slowly stretching you open for him, moaning at the feel of his large hand

"That's it," he murmurs, his finger moving in and out of you, easily finding your G-spot. His other hand slips underneath him to rub against his own hard length. "Tell me how it feels."

"Ah fuck— Hajime- it feels s'good!" You cry out with a stutter in between moans. With Kashimo's quickening pace, his finger thrusts into you mercilessly, getting greedier than he already was. You could feel his long finger slide in and out of you as his large hand palms at your clit while he eats you out, spreading sweet kisses over your pussy. He was falling harder for you by the second if it's even possible anymore considering how much he showers you with affection. A couple if seconds later you start falling apart, gasping and moaning as you tried to push his head away.

Kashimo only groans at you when you tried to remove him from your overstimulated pussy in vain. "Too much," you gasp. "Can't take it- Hajime!" You stutter in between moans and gasps, crying out as he has your brain turning into mush with just a single digit and his tongue. Watching you pull at your lip with your teeth has his cock drooling more than it was and he knew you were about to cum. Kashimo easily slips another finger in, and you feel his thick finger prod in your spongy walls. Both fingers immediately abusing that one spot in you which has your eyes rolling back to your head and crying out loud moans. The moment your pussy tighten more than it already was, he knew you were about to reach your high with the bubbling feeling once more.

"Don't you fucking dare cum," Kashimo however demands which has you desperately whining for sweet relief. He keeps his eye contact with you, watching how vulnerable you are right now and you feel so exposed as he takes in your form, drooling, moaning, gasping, writhing, anything at all. Kashimo's still palming himself, his red tip just begging to be relieved as well but he's holding back so he could cum with you too. "Please Hajime," you weakly cry out. It's as if you've lost all your energy already but to your luck, Kashimo grunts and finally allows you to release.

"Alright, since you've been such a good girl. My cute little slut deserves to cum doesn't she? Fucking do it then. Cum on my face," he groans, voice laced with lust. Finally he gives one hard thrust which has you sent over the edge, immediately cumming all over his fingers and tongue as he drinks it up. It intensifies when Kashimo sends a spark of electricity adding to the sensation, your sensitive pussy squirting all over his face which has him releasing his own load, making a gutteral moan.

"Fuck- Hajime!" Crying out loud moans, you've never felt this good before after being edged so much. The moment you finally stop squirting, your body falls limp and he pulls away as you pant heavily. His face is covered with your sweet juices and the floor splattered with his own seed.

Kashimo drags his tongue over his teeth, cleaning himself up and showing off those fangs as drops of pussy juice fell on his tongue to lap up. He brings the back of his veiny hand up to wipe his face off, "what a fucking whore. You made a mess."

Kashimo stands up and towers over your frail form, watching the art he made out of you as you held onto him for support, panting still. He delivers a harsh smack to your pussy, causing a wet slap to be heard as he chuckles darkly when you yelp. "You're so damn wet. C'mere," Kashimo easily picks you up, laying you over his broad shoulder with your ass next to his face and he takes a rough slap on your plush skin. "Hajime, you're the reason I'm wet!" Blushing, you try and retort his words to which he only chuckles at. It's as if he was carrying a feather, almost like you were just a pillow to him when he brings you along with him into your shared room. He doesn't struggle at all, entering both your room and gently kicking the door close behind him, flopping you down on the soft bed with a bit of bounce.

With the cyan haired man towering over you, he's eyeing you as if a hungry predator full of lust and it already has you aching once more, wet dripping slowly down your folds. He doesn't break eye contact with you when he reaches over to grab his nyoi staff at the corner of the bed, his seductive smirk revealing the sharp fangs as if he was ready to shove his teeth into you. Kashimo brings his muscular arm under your knees, bringing your legs up to expose your core and you feel like burning up from being flushed and from your own body reacting to him. The spherical tip of his staff presses against your wet folds has you gasping, looking down to see him tempting you as he rubs your own juices around your pussy. Your wet slick spreads onto his staff, lubricating it. "What do ya want? You're not speaking but your body is telling me everything I need to know. What's wrong? Don't tell me you're shy now? A moment ago you were moaning and crying like a slut."

"Fuck— Hajime please.." you pleaded, you can't take this aching anymore. Your walls are throbbing painfully and it's killing you. You needed to have him, to have everything he gives you but Kashimo only teases you with the nyoi staff and presses it harder against your pussy but it doesn't go in. He rubs the tip of it up and down from your pussy to your ass, the lubricated stick playing with your asshole and it made you feel dirty. "Hm? What's that? I can't hear you. Speak up." You knew he heard you. He just wanted to enjoy this moment and his smirk showed how entertained he was. A light spark of lightning flashed between his buns and he led a gentle course of it run through his nyoi staff against your aching pussy which has your hips bucking in surprise, a harsh moan caught in your throat.

"Ah— Fuck, need you. I need you please. Please just fuck me with your big cock. Can't take it anymore!" You begged for him to stop teasing and the more you pleaded the more satisfied he got, his predatory smile only grew. He took the staff away from your pussy which has you whining. He takes the spherical tip of it to his face, keeping eye contact with you as he licked the tip of it, tasting your pussy on it. His cyan orbs kept a sharp gaze on you, lustful as he savours your taste.

Kashimo satisfied himself with your taste on his nyoi staff. His dick couldn't wait either and he places it back down on the bed, crawling over your small form compared to him. His muscular arms caged you within, toned chest and chiseled abs hovering over you. The sight of body already already had you drooling, blushing at his divine looks. His soft hair fell to his sides and down above you and you got to see his features up close. He looked incredible with his fierce expression, sharp jawline and it all shows off how much power the man has, emanating dominance but to Kashimo he was the one who got lucky enough to have you all for himself. His heart fluttered at the sight in front of him, taking in your beauty, soft lips, glowing skin, bright eyes. Sometimes you wonder how a man like him fell in love with you but he genuinely did find you as the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in these 400 years. To him you were perfect. Your body was perfect and he wouldn't want you to change anything about yourself at all. He loves you the way you are now.

The aching pain at Kashimo's dick snapped him out of the trance you had on him. "You're already so warm and ready for me," he murmurs, leaning in to place a tender kiss on your lips. His hand continues to explore your body, tracing gentle patterns on your abdomen, fingers dancing over youe body. He trails his fingertips down to your inner thighs, brushing lightly against your sensitive folds. He lines up his dick against your entrance, tempted to just dive right in but he keeps his impatience at bay.

"You ready?"

"Mhm," you hum, prepared for him for fuck you senseless. "Perfect," he whispers, leaning down to kiss your stomach.

The moment you replied, he immediately entered your heat but he takes his time savouring it. The painfully slow pace causing a gutteral moan from him as he groans, finally feeling your pussy wrap around his length. Your own moan got cut off by him leaning in to kiss you, sharing your passion with one another. Kashimo pulls out of you and dives back in roughly, causing his dick to attack your G-spot with precision and you moan out loudly. He starts thrusting more, increasing the speed of it as Kashimo couldn't withstand being patient anymore.

"You're such a needy little slut," Hajime whispers against your lips between passionate kisses, groaning from time to time as he tries speaking with occasional moans which only turned you on. His dick continued to work inside of you, pounding into your tight pussy with greed.

Kashimo smirks against your lips before continuing to kiss you deeply. He moves his hips gently, grinding against you creating an intensified sensation as the tip of his dick constantly hits your spot. "You're just a dirty little whore for me."

Hajime presses his lips to yours, his tongue dancing against yours as he continues to thrust inside of your spongy walls. Whimpering and moaning, Kashimo already has you getting fucked out that you can't even form proper sentences to say. "You're such a filthy little slut," Hajime groans, his cock finding the perfect rhythm inside of you. "I bet you beg for more every time."

Kashimo doesn't neglect your breasts, noticing the hardening mounds, his large hand wraps around your soft chest and starts to knead. Your moans were muffled into the kiss, nipples being tugged and played with. Kashimo brings the kiss down from your jawline to your collarbone and soon reaching your sensitive breasts, feeling his hot breath fan against you.

At this rate your body couldn't take any more, the man was too good. He fills your head with sultry whispers as he fucks you dumb.

"So damn cock hungry and I've only started," "you like me pounding into your guts don't you?" "That's my good little slut."

You were getting fucked senseless especially with occasional sparks of lightning that seeps out from him being unable to hold back. Kashimo intensifies the pleasure though, even catching you in surprise as you didn't think it was even possible to be fucked any better. His muscular arms easily work with your body, snaking under your fragile legs to swiftly put you in a mating press. He had a look of greed and lust as he almost desperately pound into you.

The position you were in now allowed his dick to hit places even you can't reach. You gasp at the feeling of his tip expertly hitting your womb, eyes widening as your moans only grew. The way you were now has you trapped between him and Kashimo had full control over the situation. You were simply under his mercy and his predatory smile only grew. The only thought in his mind now was to just fuck you.

"Fuck," Kashimo growls against your ear, his length working faster inside of you. His hand grips your hips tightly as he continues to bring you pleasure. "You're fucking incredible."

Sweat drips down from him onto you. "Fuck, you feel so good y/n," he groans, his eyes locked onto yours as his thrusts start to get sloppy. His hips slam into you roughly now. He releases one hand to grip your neck, the other now clenching the sheets beneath him. "You're so damn perfect."

"Shit- Hajime I can't—" you were beginning to reach your climax, unable to hold back any longer. Your whimpers turned into cries and he only made it harder for you to hold back with how he had you in a gentle choke, his grip on your neck sends a light course of electricity running through your body. Your eyes rolled back a bit more as your body turns out limp in pleasure just for him to use.

"Fu- hah shit- you wanna cum? You wanna c-cum huh?" Kashimo breathes, the words more of a moan than anything else. He's close now, feeling you wrap around him, milking his cock as he fucks you faster and harder. You could only nod vigorously, overstimulated by all this and moaning desperately for sweet relief. "Let's- ah fuck. Let's cum together."

Kashimo's just as impatient as you are now, both of you needing to reach your climax. "Y/n—" Kashimo groans, feeling his climax building once more within him. "I love you so much." With one last powerful thrust, he releases his hot seed deep inside you, tip entering your womb as he fills you up and his face is dusted with a reddish blush. Your mixed fluids coating your insides. He gives your ass a rough smack and with his spanking came more electrifying sensation sending you over the edge.

He leans in close to your neck, biting your supple skin and his teeth digging into you, leaving bite marks. You could feel his veiny cock twitching and throbbing inside of you, pussy clenching around him. Kashimo fits perfectly into you as if you were made for him.

"Hajime!--" Crying out his name loudly, you scream in pleasure and the room is filled with both your moans and grunts, whimpers and cries. You're drooling with tears pricking your eyes, blushing and taking in the erotic sight of milking him dry.

Kashimo then moves to kiss you, lips locking and intertwining as his groans are muffled and so are your cries.

Your back arches, practically screaming moans now as you squirt once more, both your release mixing as your walls tighten around to keep him inside. He groans at the feel, riding out his orgasm. Coating his cock with love juice, you're gripping the sheets beneath you and finally Kashimo's thrusts slow down into a halt and he pulls away from the kiss, looking down at the mess below him, taking in the sight of your beauty.

Both of you are panting heavily, unable to say anything yet from how much stimulation you went through.

His abs were splattered with your squirt due to the mating press, balls deep in you and his hard cock painted with both your cum. You both stayed there until he finally speaks up.

"Fuck, y/n," Kashimo murmurs as he pulls out of your pussy, his lips and tongue trailing over your jaw in sync. "You make me so fucking happy."

He chuckles when you can only whimper as a response, "was I too rough? Sorry. Couldn't help myself, after all your fucking perfect." He leans down closer to you, hot breath fanning your ear when he mutters, "love you so much baby..."

"Love you too..." You croak out, tired from earlier.

Kashimo nibbles at your earlobe, his warm lips against your colder skin then he showers you with sweet kisses. Making sure to give attention to your lips, cheeks, forehead, neck, anything at all, he lays soft kisses on them.

Kashimo plops himself down beside you, chest heaving from panting and he wraps his strong arms around your small frame. He hums and nuzzles against the crook of your neck, resting there for a moment and it makes you giggle from seeing this soft sight. Kashimo had always been a brute fighter so it made you feel special whenever he only shows this sweet side of him to you.

"Jime..." You call out to him, your angelic voice like music to his ears. He'd always melt to your touch, your voice, your love.

"Hm?"

"That was amazing."

Kashimo chuckles more, his smile was so captivating to you. He looked so soft and gentle when he smiles, so sweet and it makes you forget that this man was the strongest in the Edo period who goes around causing mass murders to challengers who provoke him.

"Love you so much y/n. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You bring your small hand up to cup his cheek, pulling him closer into a comforting kiss and he reciprocates, returning the love as you felt his smile grow. You stay there for a moment until soon enough both of you ran out I'd breath, panting when you pull away.

Kashimo wanted more kisses but he didn't want to tire you out too much. He hums, "do you wanna drink anything?"

"Water is fine."

"Alright," he sits up and gets off the bed, leaving you alone for a moment but you can still feel his warmth in his side of the bed. He made sure to cover you with the blanket first and you cuddled into it, nuzzling his pillow and taking in his comforting scent.

Kashimo returns with a glass of water, his other hand held warm cloth for you to clean yourself up with.

You attempt to stand, seeing him invite you to join him and clean yourselves up but as you laid your foot on the ground, you wobbled a bit. Kashimo instantly catches you before you could fall though. "Are you alright? Do you need me to carry you?"

You laugh a bit, "yeah. You did this after all."

"Pfft, alright," he sets the glass down on the nightstand and easily carries you up in his muscular arms. He gives you a peck, being held in a bridal style, allowing you to take in the view of his chiseled chest, sharp jawline, soft cyan hair. The golden light shining in through the window also reflected his good looks.

Your hand goes up to gently brush over the lightning patterns at his bottom eyelids and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. You stayed there for a few seconds and it was the most comforting silence you've ever felt. Kashimo's eyes open, showing off his bright cyan orbs, smiling down at you.

"Come on. Let's take a shower."

#kashimo #hajime kashimo #jjk kashimo #kashimo x reader #kashimo x y/n #jjk men #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #smut

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happy74827 · 5 months

Note

Lucas Lee x reader fluff✨️ I'm sad there isn't a lot of fanfics of this himbo..

Tough Guy

[Lucas Lee x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Lucas Lee confronts you and a friend on set, things take a turn for the worst.

WC: 1894

Category: Fluff, Protective!Lucas

Honestly, I’m sad there’s not a lot of fanfics with any of the exes. Gideon seems to be the most popular out of the bunch, but even then he’s still low and the other 6 deserve a lot more hype.

But, anyway, this anon was so real for requesting Lucas because I absolutely adore him (the series did him SO RIGHT). So, hopefully, I did him right here too :)

『••✎••』

“Hey, Bucko!”

You turned around at the sound of that voice. It was loud and obnoxious, as usual, but you could never help but grin when you heard it.

That was, after all, the voice of Lucas Lee.

Lucas Lee was your current colleague on set. He was in the big leagues, an A-lister, a celebrity. The two of you had only just met a few weeks ago, and since then, you had both taken quite a shine to one another.

It wasn't surprising to you. You have always had a way with people, especially famous ones. Maybe it was your personality. Or maybe you were just so used to them by now that nothing fazed you anymore. You were currently on set for a new movie, and you had already worked on two other movies and one TV series with big names before this.

But Lucas Lee? Oh, he was different.

Maybe it was because you were the same age. Maybe it was the fact that he had such an easygoing personality.

Maybe it was how hot he was.

Yeah, he was totally hot. You didn't like to admit that. It was embarrassing and cliché and unprofessional and-

No, who were you kidding? You totally thought Lucas Lee was hot.

It was hard not to, really. The way he smiled, the way he talked, the way his eyes seemed to be laughing even when his mouth was. Not to mention, the boy was tall and buff as hell. You had no idea what kind of workouts he did, but they were definitely paying off.

You were so engrossed in your thoughts you didn’t realize how he stormed over to you and your friend until he was standing right in front of you, hands on his hips.

"Um, hi," you said, smiling shyly at him.

He didn’t bat an eye towards you. Instead, he looked down at your friend. "Is there… a problem here?" he asked.

It was then you noticed his posture, how he was practically towering over your friend, who was now shrinking back, trying to look small.

You frowned.

What was going on?

"Well, I-" your friend started, but he was immediately cut off.

"Listen, dude, I'm a professional, you know," Lucas said, a dangerous tone to his voice. "I've been doing this for years, and I don't appreciate a little no-name rookie trying to hammer down on my girl like that."

"Wait, what?" you said.

"Your... girl?" your friend said.

You and your friend glanced at each other before looking back up at Lucas, confused.

Lucas, though, didn't seem to notice the looks on your faces or how you had spoken.

“You don't think I know your type? Harassment. That's what it is. Harassment pure and simple. And it's not gonna fly, you hear me? You've been warned."

You looked at him, your eyes wide, and your mouth open, too, but nothing came out. You had no idea what the hell was going on.

And then, you watched as your friend took a step forward. "Wait a second, dude. I wasn't harassing her," he said. "She's my friend, I was just helping rehearse some of her lines—”

Lucas interrupted him. "You were touching her arm."

"I was just—"

"And she was looking down."

"Yeah, but—"

"She was obviously uncomfortable!"

“Actually, I wasn’t…” You tried to say something, but no one heard you.

"Dude, she wasn't looking down. She was looking at the script!"

"So, what? Are you calling her a liar?"

Lucas was glaring at your friend. His expression was fierce, and his muscles were tense, his fists balled up tightly. He looked like he was ready to punch someone. It was a scary sight, to say the least.

You could feel the tension in the air, and your stomach twisted in knots. This wasn’t good.

Your friend, though, didn't back down. He stood up straighter, looking Lucas in the eyes.

"I'm not calling anyone a liar," he said calmly. "I'm just saying that maybe you should check your facts before you accuse someone."

Lucas growled.

"Listen, punk," he said, jabbing a finger into the other man's chest. "I have a reputation to uphold, you know. People rely on me. I've got fans. I can't afford to let people like you ruin things for me. So, why don't you just take a hike, alright?"

"What are you gonna do if I don't?" your friend challenged, and your stomach sank.

Shit.

"Guys, come on. Let's just—"

"What did you just say to me?"

You knew Lucas had a temper; you’ve seen it once before on set—valid reasons, of course. You understood where it came from, and you understood his passion for what he did. But still, his temper was scary, and it didn’t help to notice he was even angrier than usual now.

"Lucas, listen," you started, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He didn't mean it like—"

You gasped as Lucas shoved your friend hard.

"Lucas!"

The shove made your friend fall back, landing on his butt. It was quite ironic, really, considering his height. He wasn’t small by any means, and yet Lucas had just made him look like a small child.

Still, it was a sight you were not happy to see.

"What are you doing?!” You practically screamed at him. “Are you insane?!"

"Stay out of this," he said, not taking his eyes off of your friend. "This is about honor. Respect.”

“Respect… I— What?!” You sputtered, completely baffled.

Your friend had gotten to his feet, looking absolutely pissed. He took a step forward, glaring daggers at Lucas.

"You're gonna pay for that, you bastard!" he spat, and Lucas smirked.

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try."

“Alright, enough! That's it!"

You stepped in between the two men, blocking them from each other's view. Your arms were spread wide, and your eyes were darting between the two.

"Both of you are being idiots!" you yelled. "Lucas, why are you acting like a caveman? And you, I can't believe you're stooping to his level!"

"I'm the idiot? What about him?" your friend pointed an accusatory finger at Lucas. "He's the one who started this whole thing."

"Oh, sure, blame me, why don't ya," Lucas sneered.

"Both of you, shut up!"

They both turned their attention to you.

"Look," you said, sighing. "I'm sorry, but this is completely ridiculous. Lucas, why did you even go after him? What was that about?"

"Yeah, why'd you do that?" your friend echoed, a smug look on his face.

Lucas huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's none of your business."

"Yes, it is," you argued. "You attacked my friend, Lucas."

"I wasn't attacking anyone. I was just defending your honor."

"Honor?"

Your friend scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Right. That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard."

Lucas glowered at him. "Watch it, buddy. I'll deck you again."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"GUYS!"

Both men stopped, turning to look at you.

You glared at the both of them.

"You," you pointed at Lucas. "Need to learn how to keep your cool. This was totally uncalled for. And you," you pointed at your friend. "You need to learn how to walk away from an argument. You're not a little kid. Don't let him bait you like that. Okay?"

You waited for them to answer, but neither of them spoke. They just kept looking at you.

Finally, Lucas was the first to speak.

"Okay," he mumbled, his voice low.

"Yeah, whatever," your friend replied.

You let out a sigh and placed a hand on your hip.

"Good," you said. "Now, Lucas, can you explain to us why you went after my friend?"

You saw his hesitation. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, and his hands were balled up in tight fists.

"Well..."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

He looked at the ground, kicking his foot against the floor. The skateboarder in him was showing, you noted.

“I was over there, drinking my coffee, and I heard what you were talking about, and I thought you looked uncomfortable, and I... I guess I just lost my cool, alright?"

Your friend looked at him, confused.

"Wait, you were eavesdropping on us?"

"I wasn't eavesdropping!"

"That sounds like eavesdropping to me."

"You little-"

"Lucas, stop," you snapped, and the blond stopped, glaring daggers at your friend.

Your friend just rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, dude," he said, shaking his head.

"Lucas, look," you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it soothingly. He seemed to relax under your touch, and you felt a surge of pride.

"I appreciate you standing up for me," you continued. "But you can't do stuff like this. Okay? It's not right. You could get in trouble or, worse, fired."

He scoffed at that but nodded. "Yeah, right," he said.

"I'm serious," you said. "If something like this happened, you could be kicked off the project. And then what would we do? Who'd play the lead role with me?”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his blue eyes boring into yours. There was something unreadable in them, and it made you nervous.

"Lucas?"

He sighed and looked away. "I know, I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Promise me you won't do anything like this again."

"I promise."

You smiled and patted his shoulder.

"Good."

"What about me?" your friend piped up. "Am I free to go now?"

"Yeah, whatever," Lucas waved him off.

Your friend glared at him.

"Whatever," he mocked and turned on his heel, leaving the two of you alone.

Lucas watched him go before turning his attention back to you. His blue eyes were bright, and his lips were curled in a small smile.

"I'm totally hotter than him anyway. No competition," he said, his voice low and husky. It made you chuckle.

“Well, that's debatable," you replied, giving him a sly wink.

"Maybe a black eye would fix that," his tone gave it away that it was a joke, but his body language said otherwise. He was tense, and his knuckles were white.

"Lucas," you warned.

He held up his hands in defense.

"I'm joking, I'm joking," he said. "Don't worry. I'll leave the guy alone."

"Good."

"In my defense, it really did look like he was bothering you. I wasn't totally crazy."

You laughed. "No, you were. Totally crazy. You know, they say you're the cool, collected, bad boy of the big screen, but I don't know. You're more like the hotheaded, passionate, and protective bad boy of the big screen. Or even the small screen. Whatever the case, you're not exactly what the media paints you to be."

Lucas shrugged.

"It's the same old, same old," he said. "People always seem to be so fascinated with me. I can't blame em', really. I'm a pretty interesting guy."

"Oh, yes, definitely. The most interesting man in the world."

"See? You know it."

The two of you laughed, and the tension that had been hanging in the air was now gone.

You were glad. It had been an awkward moment, for sure, and you would have to make sure your friend didn’t sue Lucas since that could get the production on halt or even canceled. But it was over now, and all was well.

For now, at least.

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nanamisflowerfield · 2 months

Text

The Bird Who Fell In Love With A Spider – Alternative Universe (Dick Grayson x f!Spiderwoman!Reader)

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(Y/N) (L/N), known as the Spiderwoman from another universe, found herself in an unexpected adventure yet again. A dimensional mishap during a fierce battle transported her into an unfamiliar world – a world where she crossed paths with the masked vigilante, Nightwing.

Slowly, she starts to like this universe, even though she has to find a way back to her universe. But will she go back or stay in Blüdhaven at the side of her new friend, Dick Grayson, who she has a crush on? Idea/request: ao3: Iauny_poppies: "I would love to see vigilante reader x Nightwing heheheheheeh"

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They thought that it would be a normal day…

The vigilante named Nightwing, fought in a dark alley against a few criminals. Punches and kicks were thrown and bullets being dodged. His mind focused on the fight, not noticing a strange orange colored portal appearing nearby and through this portal jumped out the one and only friendly neighborhood Spiderwoman.

With a small gasp, she landed safely on her feet, surprised by what just has happened. Just a few seconds ago, (Y/N), also known as Spiderwoman, swung through the bustling streets of her own universe, engaging in a fierce battle against a strange bearded wizard. But now, disoriented and surrounded by unfamiliar surroundings, she found herself standing on a dimly lit alleyway. “Why does this day get weirder and weirder?” She huffed to herself, before she heard a scream.

The masked Spider ducked, walking sneakily towards the corner and watched a masked vigilante kicking another guy so hard, that the guy fell into a trash bin, making her chuckle at the criminal that lied there unconscious and banana peel on his face.

The small noise of the stranger startled Nightwing and when he turned his head to the direction, he heard it coming from, his eyes met hers.

Two butt-kicking vigilantes stared at each other, until Spiderwoman saw one of the criminals raise his hand, holding a dark gun in it. She stepped closer, shooting her web to the old criminal and catching his gun. With it, she threw it at the head of another one, before she gracefully swung to the crowd and defeated them with ease.

Nightwing couldn't resist throwing in a few cheeky lines amid the chaos, while he punched another guy in the face. “Web-slinging into my city, huh? Hope you have a permit for that.” He quipped, a smirk playing on his lips.

(Y/N) snorted, holding the fist of the criminal in front of her, who gasped in shock at her strength. “I left it in my place, sorry. Hope you don't mind the visit.”

They continued their fight and banter, until the last one fell and the vigilantes hearted the sirens of the police cars getting closer. Spiderwoman swung up on a rooftop, escaping the sight of the police and behind her was the tall man, she had talked with.

“Thanks.” He said and nodded towards the direction of the police cars. “No big deal. It’s part of the job. Uhh… And… It's not every day I get to crash a superhero party.” She shrugged her shoulders and leaned towards the fence of the large rooftop they were standing on. It was a beautiful sight and it felt… nostalgic? As if she has seen this sight before. But she never has been here. This city was unknown. It was different and mysterious.

It felt like… yeah, maybe she really was in another universe, just like that crazy wizard wanted to teleport her to.

A playful smile played on Nightwing’s lips. “So, what do we have here now? A spider spinning her webs in my city?”

“Looks like your city just got a little more exciting… Uhm…” She looked down on his chest to see a blue emblem, but not figuring out how she could call him.

He chuckled. “Nightwing. And you must be…?” – “Spiderwoman.”

The dark-haired man laughed loudly at the name. “Very creative.” You shrugged your shoulders, grinning under your mask.

“Hey, that’s how many people call me.” Spiderwoman laughed as well, glancing from Nightwing up to the bright shining stars at the sky.

Nightwing tried to calm himself and cleared his throat. “So, where are you from?”

The (h/c) woman smiled at him, knowing that he couldn’t read her facial expressions due to her mask. "From another universe." His eyebrows shot up in shock and he couldn’t form out any words, but she ignored it. “Yeah… A crazy wizard used a spell and now I’m stuck here. I should be in my universe and fight crime there… But now I’m here…” The young vigilante whispered under her breath, eyeing her own hands.

“Well…” She finally heard the man speak up after a couple of awkward minutes of silent. “… Blüdhaven is quite a great place. We have a great coffee shop around the corner, great rooftops. A few criminals that need their asses getting kicked and also…” He points at himself, smirking at the lovely woman.

Her cheeks turned red, burning at his charming expression before Spiderwoman let out a small giggle and bumped into him lightly with her shoulder.

“Yeah… Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

As they stood there, leaned against the rooftop ledge, their bodies almost touching, sharing stories of their respective universes and some other ones, they started to enjoy their time together. They find common ground in the struggles of maintaining a double life.

Minutes and hours have passed. The sun rose and they parted their ways.

Nightwing had to go back to his place and live his life. A life that Spiderwoman haven’t known, as they haven’t shared any personal information and (Y/N), she found later on an apartment and a job. A job as a journalist for Blüdhaven Bulletin. Thanks to her powers, her job was quite easy.

Time flew so fast and only one thing has changed for Nightwing and Spiderwoman. Their feelings for each other. Every night, he had met her and they fought against some criminals together, spending time at rooftops and even drank some drinks, having banters, laugher and even a few pickup lines thrown around.

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Nightwing swung from rooftop to rooftop at night. His eyes scanned the city, trying to find any signs of trouble. Meanwhile, (Y/N), moved through the streets of Blüdhaven with her camera, full of hopes to find something for her job.

But suddenly (Y/N)'s heightened senses tingled. Danger was nearby, and her instincts guided her toward an alley. She ran towards it, no plan in head. To her surprise, Nightwing found himself outnumbered, facing a threat stronger than himself.

(Y/N) clenched her teeth and jumped into action without a second thought. She pulled her hood up, hiding her face. If only she hasn’t forgotten her mask on this day!

Her agile movements and web-slinging skills became useful. Punches, webs and a few amazing kicks were thrown until (Y/N) turned around. She tried to hide her face, but Nightwing was faster. He saw a glimpse of her face and grabbed her by the wrist. She suddenly felt herself being pulled up onto a rooftop.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, standing next to her. “No problem.” She whispered, her back facing him.

Nightwing grabbed her wrist again, turning her around so she will face him and with his other hand, he took of his mask, as a sign of gratitude and trust, exposing his face. She gasped, not knowing what to do and closed her eyes. “You don’t have to do it, Nightwing.”

He slowly touched her cheek, a smile on his lips. “I know. But I want to.”

And that’s how the vigilantes have finally seen the others face, before they revealed their identities and phone numbers.

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Days turned into nights, and their connection deepened. Coffee shops became heaven for Dick and (Y/N) during their off-duty hours. The masks were set aside, allowing them to normal conversations.

They loved spending their days together at different places like coffee shops or even the carnival and amusement park. Having fun at so many civilian activities, while they held each other’s hands, pulling the other one to get cotton candy and hotdogs. They even went to a circus show. It was one of Dick’s favorite days, as he watched the elephants and laughed with (Y/N) at the antics of the clowns. The black-haired man had a feeling that his heart stopped beating, when he saw her grinning oh so brightly at the show. Something that he always has loved. It was always lovely to see ones past intertwine with their present and seeing (Y/N) in his present, made him happier than he already was. The thrill of rides created wonderful memories, that the two vigilantes still love to think about.

However, the week took an unexpected turn.

(Y/N) has waited on a rooftop, phone in hand and pacing around impatiently. She was waiting for Nightwing the whole day and he still hasn’t shown up. Usually, he would text her, but no text message has reached her.

But this couldn’t stop her. She worried about him a bit too much, so she did what any Spider-person would do and hacked into his phone to track down the place he currently was and it was… A warehouse? “What the hell are you doing there, Dick?”

…

“He knew that it was stupid to do this alone and now no one can reach out to him.” A fist collided onto a table. “Master Bruce, please calm down. Nothing bad will happen. Oracle is tracking them down and Red Hood and Red Robin are on their way to Master Dick.”

Bruce shook his head. If only he could go with them, but Gotham needed Batman and Robin. They couldn’t leave the city right now. “Father, don’t worry. Grayson might be an idiot, but he will survive it.” Said a familiar voice. Damian Wayne. His son.

“You are hurt, so lean down, Father.” He pointed at Bruce’s broken leg and then at the lonely chair that stood there in the Batcave. His father nodded, sighing before he sat down, still angry at the whole situation.

And in the meantime, Red Hood kicked a man down, chuckling at his brother. “Sooo, Dick. You looking good there.”

He crossed his arm, smirking under his mask at his brother, who sat on a chair, tied with handcuffs and chains on a chair. “I’m sure that I look better with these things off of me.” He scoffed, making Red Hood laugh louder, while Red Robin defeated a few other criminals.

“Hey, I need some help here, Red Hood. Take care of him later. He is probably safer there on his throne.” The younger brother yelled towards them, making Dick roll his blue eyes and Red Hood nearly rolling on the ground and wheezing at them.

A man suddenly fell and before his back could touch the ground, a web spined around him and he was glued to the wall upside-down. “Don’t worry, I’m there.” All three brothers turned their heads up, seeing a masked woman.

With elegance and finesse, she jumped down, stopping a few men, while the two younger brothers stood there in shock. Who was that woman?

“Hey, Spiderwoman.” They heard Dick say, a grin plastered on his lips and eyes twinkling in adoration at the vigilante.

All the criminals were either lying on the ground or webbed on walls. Red Robin walked to Spiderwoman, thanking her and even shaking her hand, before he introduced himself, while Red Hood crossed his arms over his chest, standing next to the tied-up Dick. “Damn… She’s cool.” Dick’s gaze moved from the little scene of his brother and crush to his other one. Jealous, he muttered. “She’s taken.”

It wasn’t true, but Jason shouldn’t know that…

“Fuck… Really?” He grumbled to himself and walking away, leaving Dick on the chair, as he yelled at them for being idiots and not helping him out of there, but thank goodness that Spiderwoman was there, because she helped him out. Well… After she let out a few jokes and teasing comments at his situation.

Dick cleared his throat, glancing at Spiderwoman. “You know, Spiderwoman, I think I owe you one.”

The vigilante smirked. “Oh, I can think of a few ways you could repay me.”

Their playful banter was interrupted by two men coughing. Dick and (Y/N) looked at the younger men. “Sorry.” They both apologized. They shared a knowing glance, their unspoken desires hanging in the air. It was like a dance. A dance they knew all too well - one of flirtation, attraction, and a shared understanding.

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Nightwing and Spiderwoman sat in comfortable silence on a ledge of a rooftop. The city's heartbeat echoed in the distance.

“Have you ever wondered...” Dick began, his voice thoughtful, “about the other universes? The ones where we might not be vigilantes and live different lives.”

Her (e/c) eyes moved to him. “Yeah, sometimes. It's strange to think about all the possibilities. I bet there's a universe out there where I'm a circus performer, and you're a renowned journalist.”

Dick laughed. “Shouldn’t I be the circus performer?” She chuckled, “Hey, we were talking about other universes, right? There could be a chance of me being one!”

Her friend and crush, glanced between you and the street lights. “Or maybe, where I’m the vigilante and you an investigative journalist. Writing thousands of amazing headlines, while I’m beating up some people.”

“Sounds like one amazing universe…” She whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder, watching the stars now.

“I think, in every universe, I'd still find you. You'd still be the one who catches my eye in a crowded room. The one who I feel so connected with. It's like... fate.”

(Y/N)'s expression mirrored his seriousness. “Maybe it is. Maybe we're destined to find each other.”

“Destined or not,” Dick whispered, “I'm glad we found each other in this universe. I wouldn't want it any other way.”

She leaned back, eyes meeting his ocean blue orbs. “Me too.”

Their hands slowly moved, touching each other, just like their lips. A soft kiss, shared by two star-crossed lovers on a rooftop. And their love story…? Well…

Their love story echoed across universes, as the two were indeed lovers in so many universes.

🔖 Taglist: --- (if you want to get tagged, dm me)

Masterlist ❀ DC Comics Masterlist ✿ City Lights and Secret Meetings Masterlist ❀ navigation

Reblogs, plot ideas, comments and a ko-fi are appreciated. ( ‘ω’ ) © nanamisflowerfield. Do not repost, rewrite, plagiarize my work.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #nightwing #dc comics x reader #dc comics #city lights and secret meetings

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sailorshadzter · 3 months

Text

just some jonsa because i MISS THEM.

Lost in the depths of her own mind, oblivious to the conversations happening around her, she wonders if things could have been different… Or if in the end, things would have turned out exactly the same.

She looks up and across the room their eyes meet, over the dragon queen’s shoulder. She’s seen this look before; smoldering, wanting, longing. But quick as it comes, it’s gone, his gaze returned back to those darting, violet eyes of Daenerys Targaryen, his ears listening to the words falling from her plump, frowning lips. A sigh escapes her, she cannot help it, as she returns to her own companion: a single goblet of spiced wine.

The room is warm and full of laughter, but she finds she’s anything but happy. They had won, it was true, they had lived through the long night to live another day… yet… Another sigh and she drowns her goblet, pouring another before someone can come her way. The Night King was defeated and the war against the undead was won, but she wonders at what cost, considering all that they had lost. The thought of Theon is enough to dampen her eyes and she steels herself against the pain, against the heartache, hoping that with one more swig of wine she might leave it all behind.

Then, just like that, there’s eyes upon her once more.

He cannot look away, no matter how hard he tries. She’s lovely in that scaled gown, her red hair twisted back in her ever familiar braids. He longs to run his hands through the red lengths, as he’s done before, the silky strands soft between his fingers. But… He’s kept from her side, laughing with Tormund and the others… Occupying the dragon queen... Every moment he spends without her is like a lifetime of despair.

With every glance her way he hopes she might understand, that she might hear his silent pleas, that she might even just spare him a passing glance from across the hall. And then, to his delight, she’s looking his way, the goblet of wine she holds steady at her lips. “Jon…?” Daenerys questions, turning to follow his line of sight, frowning when she sees Sansa there at the head table. “Lady Stark certainly looks beautiful tonight,” she comments, turning back to Jon with a smile she must think will placate him… At least for the time being.

“She does,” he’s barely breathing, the grip on his heart she holds twisting something fierce.

If only things could be different.

[ x x x ]

When it’s hours later and he’s alone in his rooms, the knock comes, making his heart skip a beat. The dragon queen had already come and gone, so he cannot imagine who else would come to him at such an hour. But, he rises up from the chair he sits in, crossing the room to open the door, revealing to him the one person he wanted to see most. “Sansa,” he breathes, his lips curving with the smile he’s been dying to wear all night long. Her own lips curve with a smile, hesitant as it was, as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “It is late,” he observes and she winces, cheeks flaming as she glances over her shoulder, as if she thinks she might find someone hovering just behind her. “I thought you would be abed by now.” He goes on, realizing his mistake as she turns back to face him.

“I could not sleep,” she admits, though she’s still fully dressed in that scaled gown.

“Nor I,” he says, taking a step back so she can slip inside, the door falling closed behind her.

They’ve been here before, of course, standing in strained silence, both of them wondering just what the other might do next. Always torn between what was right and what they wanted more than anything else in life. “So…” She says softly, wringing her hands before her, blue eyes glimmering in the firelight that dances behind her. “We are alive.” For once in her life, she had believed with an utmost passion that things would turn out fine- Jon had never once let her down before, so she believed in him more than she believed in any god or man. “We are alive because of you.”

Jon thinks for a moment he might open his mouth to argue- Arya had been the one to deal the final blow, after all. But then he thinks better of it, for despite his humble nature, he was the one who sailed for a foreign land to meet with a foreign queen to ask for help. And he knows better than to argue with Sansa. “Aye,” is all he says instead, watching her closely as she takes a single step closer to where he stands. She’s so close now that when he inhales, he catches her familiar scent: rosewater and lemon. “Sansa… I…” His hand reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, the softness of it reminding him of all the nights they spent together in the days before he left for Dragonstone. “I’ve missed you,” softer still, fingertips trailing the curve of her cheek. He has missed her while he was away, certainly, but he’s missed her while he’s been home, trapped in a world where his only role was keeping the dragon queen on their side.

She smiles, her one hand outstretching to press against his chest, so against her palm she can feel the steady beating of his heart. “I’ve missed you as well,” she whispers, coming closer now, so close that when she lets out the breath she’s holding he can feel the warmth of it against his lips. “You know… Everyone in the castle spent what they thought would be their final night alive with who they loved most… Except for me.” Jon’s breath catches and he’s sliding his hands into her hair, uncaring of the pins he’s knocking loose. “So I thought I might spend my first night celebrating survival with him instead.”

When her lips find his, he’s sinking into it, having never wanted anything more. He’s longed for this moment for so long now he cannot remember a time where he wasn’t wishing to kiss her, to hold her, to spend every last moment with her. “Sansa!” He gasps when he pulls free simply so they might catch their breath, laughing, grinning, brimming over with the joy and love he’s kept inside for all this time. “I have wanted this for so long…” He whispers and she’s smiling once more, tilting her head back to look up at him in a way she’s never done before. “Far too long.” She nods, for she feels the very same way. “This is what you truly want?” He thinks of the truth he knows and she doesn’t, wondering if it’s wrong of him to keep it from her even now, but she’s nodding and her arms wrap around his waist, warm and gentle. Suddenly it all makes sense, suddenly they are exactly where they’re supposed to be. For one single night, they could forget the world around them- no war, no titles, nothing but the two of them.

Nothing but love.

And so he’s the one kissing her now, drawing her in as close as he can, relishing in the warmth of her body against his own. He’s wanted this for so long now, since perhaps those earliest days back at Castle Black, when she had been little more than a ghost of who she used to be. Every moment had brought them here to this very moment, the place where they were always meant to be, even if it had taken all this time. It was worth it, every moment without her, every moment of fear, of sorrow, of pain, simply so they could end up where they were now.

A short while later, when she’s tucked beneath his arm in his bed, fast asleep, Jon knows that this moment was worth waiting for. That this one single moment was worth everything it took to reach it and that no matter what happened after this night, he’d never give up on what he felt for her. He would love her like this until his last day, until his final breath, no matter what the world around them might think.

He leans in, pressing a kiss against her temple, before he settles in beside her, content on staying there forever if the world just might allow it.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #my writing #i wrote this

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harryforvogue · 3 months

Note

Perhaps…spare…some…Annalise & Harry crumbs miss 🙈👀

these are CRUMBS fr so sorry <3

***

"Harry?" Annaliese calls from their room.

“Yes?” Harry answers back from his place at the dining table.

She skips down the steps to see him. He’s got one hand in his hair, elbow against the table, and the other holding a pen poised over paper with scrawls on it. “It’s ridiculous,” he mutters. “We’ve spent an entire 5 weeks on the French Revolution and not one student has mentioned Robespierre thus far.”

Annaliese sits beside him, leaning in. “That was the terror guy right?”

He looks up. “Oui, ma femme française. The terror guy.”

She grins, reaching out and plucking the pen out of his hands. “How long do you think you’ll take on this? Will you be done by 7?”

“Did you need me for something?”

“Yes. You know how we’ve got the women’s town hall meeting? So we kind of need some security while we’re actually having the meeting so ensure people don’t come barging in and all that.”

Harry’s eyebrows pull together. “Barge in?”

“Yeah, and all my friends are trying to convince their husbands to form a little troop and hang by the entrance to make all the weird people go away, and I thought I’d ask you.”

He leans back in his chair. “Whoa, whoa. Has it happened before? Like, the weird people hanging out by the front.”

“Yeah, I mean, women talking about having rights isn’t exactly what most men want to hear. They kind of just show up and linger. But that’s not thepoint. The point is–”

“Has that happened at the meetings you’ve gone to in the past? Like the one last week?”

Annaliese laughs fleetingly. “Yes, but it’s nothing severe. A few hurls here and there, some taunts. Really. We have thicker skin. But I think it would help us women feel a lot better if you and some of the other husbands and brothers stood by the entrance of the hall.”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. Her hair is in neat finger waves, a pin holding her bangs back. She’s in trousers (which has been a lot to take in already), and a shirt that’s tucked into her waistband. Her boots make a loud noise against the hard floor.

“Annaliese,” Harry says quietly after much thought, “I’m not sure I feel comfortable letting you go to this meeting now.”

Annaliese crosses her arms. “Nothing ever happens. You know the nice husbands would never let the weird men actually harm the women, no matter what they’re meeting about.”

“That doesn't mean I’m okay with some asshole yelling and mocking my wife,” Harry says incredulously. “No. I won’t allow it.”

Her eyes narrow. “You can’t stop me from going.”

This he knows. He can’t stop her from doing anything. He doesn't want to stop her.

The meetings at town hall happen every week, sometimes every two weeks. It’s not in the main chamber of course, but a small adjacent room. Housewives and working women meet there to discuss their prospects of gaining more rights. The overarching organization is country wide, and this is a smaller division in New York. Recently, they’ve been organizing a protest. Two weeks ago, they completed their campaign of sending 2000 letters to the mayor, hand written by women about the urgency of the matter of letting women vote in community level elections.

Harry doesn't mind her attending these meetings. In fact, he thinks Annaliese’s understanding and eagerness of her fundamental rights exceed the expectations of her neighbors. Though he’s never been at any meeting, he’s positive that his outspoken and fierce wife has instilled some morale in the other women.

But despite her ability to take care of herself, he feel reluctant.

Harry sighs. “I’ll go with you then.”

She immediately smiles. “Great! So be done by 6:30 so we can catch a bus, okay?” She leans and kisses his cheek. “Wear a warm jacket!”

***

As they approach the building, Harry’s fidgeting. “What if I’m the only man standing guard? What could I even do anyways? I'm good with a rifle, not my fists."

Annaliese fixes her burgundy gloves. “Other women told me their husbands will be there too!”

When they get to the entrance, Annaliese is shivering with excitement. “Oh, I wish you could sit in with us. The things we discuss and plan – it’s all so fun!” She holds his arm all the way until they get to the right room.

Thankfully other men are there. They nod politely at Harry. Annaliese is already fluttering into the room when Harry grabs her waist and tugs her back. “One hour, right?”

“Yes,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly.

(One of the men by the doors whistles. Harry ignores it.)

“Okay,” Harry murmurs.

“Bye!” She closes the door behind her.

He walks to the other side of the door and stands by the wall, hands tucked into his pockets. One man holds out a cigarette for him, but Harry shakes his head. “I’m good.”

It’s quiet after that. Harry makes conversation with the men, telling about his service in France (to which one of the younger men, who must be someone’s brother, salutes him, and Harry turns red with embarrassment), and speculates what they could be talking about in there.

“My wife said they’re planning to storm our workplaces as a protest next week,” one man chuckles, turning his head to blow out smoke. “I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“No? Why?” Harry asks curiously.

Just then, there’s a loud roar in the room. Someone starts banging on the desk, yelling, “Order! Order!” and the man who offered Harry the cigarette chuckles and says, “That’ll be my wife.”

The chaos happens for a very long time, and when the hour is up, women begin to quietly leave as if none of that ruckus ever happened. Annaliese is bright eyed with flushed cheeks when she shows up, looping her arm through Harry’s.

He’s very interested in the organization now. They will definitely be talking about this later at home. He’ll want to know more about the plans they have, including the protests. He’ll want to make sure she’s staying safe. Maybe he’ll buy her those cool brass knuckle things they saw once at a medieval convention downtown. That’ll work.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close when they walk out into the cold air.

“It’s going to be great,” Annaliese whispers excitedly. “Revolutionary, even.”

Harry kisses the top of her head. “I believe it, baby.”

#harry and annaliese #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff

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suckerforcate · 1 year

Text

Protecting Brienne

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Reader

Word Count: 914

Warning: some swearing, that's all

My Christmas Present to all of you, love you!

A/n: So this is my first ever request, I really hope you liked it and that I did your idea justice!! It's a bit shorter than my usually stuff, I hope you don't mind. @pastanest

You were walking through the camp the soldiers had built just a few hours ago, talking to Brienne. You were always quite fond of her coming to these things, even though it also meant you'd be immensely scared for her whenever she went out to fight. You knew she was great at fighting, but maybe, someday there'd be someone better than her.

But you didn't want to think about that now. At the moment you just enjoyed talking to her and making her laugh. Considering she rarely laughs a real, deep laugh. But the chuckles and smiles you got out of her were enough for you to be happy. So when she stopped smiling and looked a little uneasy, you directly noticed and tried to find out what the reason for that was.

At first, you hadn't heard it, but after you had stopped talking you heard it very clearly. A few soldiers, standing in front of their tent, looked at you disgustedly and didn't even try to hide that they were talking shit about Brienne.

You directly walked towards them and even though they were much taller than you, nearly as tall as Brienne, you weren't scared of them and stood your ground.

"What did you just say?" You looked up at them with hatred in your eyes.

"I said, that this monster there," he pointed at Brienne, "shouldn't be allowed to fight with us. Not just that she's a woman, but she's a disgusting one as well." He looked at his friends and grinned stupidly, like he was proud of what he said, like it was the most innovative thing. Even though it was the most uncreative, stupid bullshit you had ever heard.

"I'm sorry?! That "monster" as you call her, has a name. Her name is Brienne, and I swear to the old and the new gods, if you say one more thing about her, you will not see the sun rise again. Ever. Is that clear?" He just laughed. You knew it was probably because you were a woman, and you were so much smaller, but you were fierce.

"You think that's funny?"

Brienne still stood a few steps behind you and just looked at you shocked, it was hard wrapping her head around the whole situation.

"(Y/n), I think that's enough. Let's go."

"Look, poor Brienne is scared. Yeah, let's go (Y/n)." the guy looked at you mockingly. But you didn't think of it as funny at all.

"Fuck you. Brienne is a better and truer knight and soldier than any of you could ever be. She is stronger, better, faster and definitely more fearless. I swear, if you don't stop laughing." You took a step forward and for a split second it actually looked like the guy flinched. You were ready to risk it all.

But in the same second that you back out to punch him, you feel strong hands grab your waist from behind and pick you up. Brienne had enough of this nonsense. She threw you over her shoulder and left.

"Let. Me. Down. Brienne!" You hit her on her back and kicked your feet wildly through the air, but nothing helped. She was strong and determined. The laughing in the background just made you even angrier.

She carried you into her tent and let you down inside. Knowing you fairly well, she knew you'd try to escape, so she blocked the entrance and held you back as you tried to run her down. Unsuccessfully. Of course.

"Why did you do that?" That's when you stopped your wild movements and unsuccessful attempts to escape. That was a stupid question. Why would you not defend her.

Still in rage you answered: "Because I love you, obviously, now if you'll just let me pass my fist has an important appointment with that fucker's jaw, and it cannot be missed...why do you look so confused?"

"What do you mean, you love me?"

"Well, I don't really know what's not to understand about that. I mean I put it quite simple, didn't I? I. Love. You. The only other way to say this would probably be that I'm in love with you. But that doesn't quite put it right, I feel like that makes it sound like I'm still a teenager that..." you couldn't go on, because you suddenly felt lips crash onto yours. Brienne easily picked you up, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around her neck and your legs around her torso. She moved away from the entrance and sat you down on her desk.

Against all your wishes you broke the kiss and looked at Brienne.

"You really didn't know, did you? I kind of assumed you knew and just wanted to take it slow. But considering what just happened I don't think you want to take it slow."

Brienne had to laugh at that, a shy, flustered laugh. But a real one. A true one.

"No, I didn't know. How would I? You never said anything? I don't just go around assuming people love me. I'm used to assuming the opposite." You smiled at her apologetic.

"Well, I thought it was quite obvious. I think you are just really oblivious. But I like that, just like I like the rest of you. All of it." You gently caressed her cheek and pulled her closer again. This kiss felt less passionate and less stormy but for sure neither less true nor real than the one before.

#brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #game of thrones #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader #got #wlw #gay

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wackapedia · 2 years

Text

The Bet | Bob Floyd x Reader

You’re a mechanic, and that human R2 unit Weapon Systems Operator is your boyfriend. And now, he’s drunk.

Word count: 880 Warnings: Drinking, Drunk boyfriend, Mild language, slightly wild kissing (!)

After sunset maintenance checks for government funded fighter planes wasn't how you visualised your Friday nights. If only your fellow mechanics handed in their reports completed and on time, you wouldn't have to be shoulders deep in a two-seater fighter jet's exhaust, clenching a tool between your teeth while one hand holds your phone serving as a flashlight, and the other poking a screw, trying to decide if is it too tight on the hydraulics, or too loose to cause problems on flight. You're being more meticulous with this one tomcat jet though, not only because its worth over a billion dollars, it also carries very special pilots for routine runs and classified missions. Rather, your very special pilot.

"Lt. Robert "Bob" Floyd" it says on the jet's sidepod, just under Phoenix's name. It always brings you a sense of pride to be a mechanic at top gun, working with the best pilots like Maverick, and your best weapon systems operator, Bob.

Pocketing the rest of your tools and satisfied with your routine maintenance, you start to climb down the ladder when your phone suddenly blasts the chorus of the Macarena in full volume and displays a silly caller ID of Rooster. Wobbling a bit on your steps, the Macarena continues to blast as you climb down the rest of the ladder. Landing on your feet, you fold down the maintenance ladder while swiping your phone to answer the call. "Yup?" "Y/n, have you ever seen your boyfriend drunk?" Rooster yells on the other end. He presses his head into the phone's speakers to make out your response against the loud noise on his end. "Oh my go- You got Bob drunk?!" You yell into your phone while hauling the ladder into the storage, slamming the said government property among the rest of the clutter.

"Hey he's only had one, and he's on his way to get a second one. Come see, he's currently challenging Hangman in acrobatic darts." Rooster says. "I thought your were such disciplined model top students at Fighter Weapons Academy..." You grumble, putting on your coat and grabbing your helmet as you leave the hangar. "First of all, no one calls it that anymore, its just Top Gun," Rooster says, in his smartass voice, "...and second of all, you need to get that stick out of your ass, lieutenant top aeromechanics student. Get over here and save your boyfriend!" A cacophony of cheers ring on Rooster's end before he ends the call. ---- "Hey guys! y/n's coming!" Rooster announces and the rest of the squad cheers. "Hundred bucks says Bob's too shy do it." Hangman playfully taunts. The rest of the squad agrees, adding up to the betting pool. Bob looks like he doesn't understand the bet but laughs along anyway, raising the bottle for an acknowledging toast and knocks back his second drink for the night, looking absolutely smashed drunk. ---- "Hey, Bob! Your girl's here!" Payback calls out upon spotting you enter the Hard Deck. You spot Bob standing on the pool table, red faced, glasses askew, and drunk as hell. You shoot Hangman a fierce glare for patronizing Bob on whatever drunken game they were playing. Bob's fuzzy brain finally understands what Payback just said and ungracefully gets down the table, one hand holding a a few darts, and moves to hug you. Eyeing the bunch of darts, Phoenix immediately stops her backseater's wrist and takes the darts before your boyfriend accidentally hurts you or himself. Bob's drunken body drapes itself on you, making you stumble back. "Glad you all find this hilarious" You mutter, making the rest of the slightly tipsy squadron laugh. Among all of them, Bob was the most intoxicated, and it was only nine thirty in the evening. Bob was saying something, his deep voice muffled against your coat sleeve. "What?" You ask, lifting his head by taking his jaw up.

Now, Bob was a simple man. If his girlfriend wanted a kiss, she wouldn't even have to ask. He feels you grab at his jaw and his brain immediately went there. This type of programming on Bob's brain is the reason why he is now giving you the most scandalous kiss in front of his squad. At first they thought it was funny, but Bob doesn't stop. And don't get yourself wrong, every kiss with Bob is magical, but the squad's laughter dies down. Their smiles begin to drop as they continue to watch Bob make out with you. His hand begins to wander and before anything wild happens, you grab your boyfriend's shoulders and gently pull yourself away. The kiss ends with a hot smack of Bob's lips lifting from yours. By this time, everyone around the pool table fell silent. Bob pushes his glasses up and croaks out "I think I'm drunk..." Under his breath. Hangman makes good on his word, which was a rare occasion, and pulls out a hundred bucks from his extravagant wallet. The rest of the team follows suit, shoving wads of cash into Bob's pocket and ruffling his already messy hair, or giving him a pat on the shoulders. Bob is already half asleep, leaning his weight on you. "Should I ask you guys what the bet was? Do I want to know?" You ask Phoenix.

"Absolutely not."

#Bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob top gun x reader #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #top gun fic #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic

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kydrogendragon · 5 months

Text

Dec 1: Ice Skating

(Ao3 Link)

“Make sure those are tight enough, yeah?” Hob says, giving his laces a final tug before tying them. He and Morpheus are sitting on one of the benches near the side of the rink. The weather is chilly, but not too cold for a December day. It's the middle of the day on Friday and the rink is fairly empty. At least for this part of town. No doubt once the clock hit two and all the school children are released for the day, will this part of town get more and more crowded.

Morpheus stares down at his own skates with a stern look of concentration as he meticulously pull the laces tighter. After seeming satisfied with his results, he ties the laces up in a bow and turns to Hob.

It had been just about five months since Morpheus had decided to spend his retirement here in the Waking as a human with Hob. Morpheus always rolled his eyes at his word choice of retirement. In truth, his afterlife would be more accurate, but if Hob thought too hard about his friend dying, even if it brought him here with him now, he’d get teary.

Standing up, he holds out his hand for Morpheus. As the winter weather had rolled in, Hob decided that he’d show Morpheus the classic winter activities. The first one was, of course, a Hallmark movie. As much as Hob found them pretty cheesy, they were a bit of a staple of December nowadays. And he could tell that Morpheus enjoyed the story lines, even if they were all mostly the same plot. It was the Hallmark movies, though, that led them here today. As with most of those movies, ice skating had come up and Morpheus had shown an interest. So here they were, just a few days later, with pairs of rental skates on their feet, all bundled up against the winter wind.

Morpheus grabs Hob’s hand, pulling himself up off of the bench on unsteady feet. The coordination of his newly human body had been an experience. It took a while for the muscles to get strong enough for Morpheus to do much, but his body seemed to take it in stride. After a month or two, Morpheus was as good to go as any other person his perceived age.

Ice skating, however, will probably still be a bit of a challenge.

“Don’t worry if you don’t feel super stable yet. It takes a bit to get your balance on these things,” Hob says, holding his free arm to Morpheus’s side just in case.

“I will be fine,” Morpheus says, taking a wobbly step forward, still holding onto Hob’s hand. The pair make their way, slowly, to the ice rink’s entrance. The moment his skate hits the ice, his foot slides forward, nearly taking Hob along with him. Thankfully, Hob is still outside on the rubber mat and is able to catch Morpheus under the arms.

Hob lets out a laugh. “Well, now you know how slipping on the ice feels!” He helps Morpheus back up on two feet and guides him to the ledge. Stepping onto the ice himself, Hob makes his way to Morpheus’s side. His jaw is clenched and his grip on the railing looks downright murderous. Tilting his head, he asks, “You okay? We can step back out if you want. Maybe we practice just feeling stable on your skates on the mat?”

Morpheus shakes his head and meets Hob’s gaze with fierce determination. “I will skate.”

With a nod, Hob concedes. Morpheus is nothing if not stubborn. “Alright, then let’s take a bit to get steady on our feet, yeah?” Morpheus nods and watches as Hob shifts away from the wall to face him. “Right then, let’s just shuffle along the railing for a bit. It’s gonna feel weird, but hopefully, it starts to feel a bit more natural as you go.”

Hob slowly skates next to Morpheus as they make their way around the ring of the ice rink. They are about half way through when Morpheus looks up to him and says, “I am feeling more stable on these.”

“Great!” Hob says, clasping his hands together. “Want to try just holding on with one hand and we can work through the basic movements?”

Morpheus nods. They maneuver over to the straight away section of the rink and Hob skates to the front, one hand on the railing, facing Morpheus. “Alright, so to move forward, you’re gonna take one foot and lean more on it so you’re kinda straight on top of it, like this.” Hob shifts the weight to his right foot as a demonstration. “Then, you’ll take your other foot and slide it to the side and back like this.” Turning around, Hob pushes against the ice with his left foot and skates forward for a moment. He turns back around and does the motion again, bringing them back together. “Make sense?”

Morpheus nods once again and looks down at his feet with that tense look of concentration once more. Hob allows himself a gentle smile at the sight. Morpheus always did things with the utmost care and attention, even for the simplest of tasks. It make sense. Everything was new, even if at one point he’d held the entire collective subconscious in his mind. Now, he has to experience it like all the other humans in the world.

Hob doesn't doubt Morpheus’s ability to learn to skate, though. In fact, if anything, he's certain that by the end of today, Morpheus will be skating circles around Hob.

He watches as Morpheus practices shifting his weight from skate to skate, looking more comfortable with each passing minute. With small nod to himself, Morpheus shifts to the left and pushes against the ice with his right. Hob watches with a smile as Morpheus moved forward.

Then he wobbles.

“Shit!” Hob skates forward and quickly reachez out and grabs Morpheus’s arm before he crashes onto the ice. Morpheus grabs onto Hob’s arms, one foot sticking out behind him, the other bent under him. Hob chuckles as he pulls Morpheus back onto his feet. “You okay?”

Morpheus keeps his hands tight on Hob’s biceps, the puffs of air from his breath visible between them. Hob’s eyes flicker down to his redder than usual lips.

“I am fine.” Icy blue eyes met his own.

Clearing his throat, Hob speaks. “That’s good. Guess I didn’t really show you what to do after, huh?”

“You did not.”

“Egg on my face then.” Morpheus’s head tilted, his brows pinching together. Hob shakes his head. “Figure of speech. Means it was my fault. Let’s get back to that ledge, yeah? I’ll show you how to keep moving forward and also how to stop.”

The pair make their way back to the ledge, Morpheus already seeming smoother on the ice than he had before. After walking through the basics of moving and how to shift your weight while moving forward, Hob then proceeds to demonstrate how to stop.

“You can Pizza it, that’s probably the easiest to start with. You can get fancy with it later and do a sliding kind of stop. I managed it once, so don’t expect any demos from me on that one.”

“Pizza?”

“A ski term, but it fits here.” Hob tilts his skates inwards and points down to the triangle like shape that they make. “They use the term for kids. Pizza and French Fries. Easier for them to visualize, I think. Just means to tilt your feet in like this.”

Morpheus looks down and copies the stance with a smile.

“That’s most of the basics, really. And that’s about the end of my skating knowledge too.” Morpheus hums in response.

“I shall try.”

Hob watches as Morpheus successfully skates forward a few paces and also manages to stop with a bit of a stumble, but not a fall. He skates up to him with a giant smile on his face and gives him a pat on the back.

“There you go! You did it!” Morpheus looks up to Hob with a soft smile. Hob can feel his heart clench in his chest. Its his soft smiles that always do him in. He's almost always rewarded with one whenever Morpheus accomplishes something new. He swore he was going to die from a heart attack those first few months because of it.

“I had an excellent teacher.”

Hob rolls his eyes. “Not that great.”

“Mm. Perhaps not. But a good enough teacher.”

“Hey!” Morpheus smirks and skates forward, leaving Hob behind. Chuckling, Hob skates his way up to Morpheus.

They do a few laps around the rink. More people start trickling in, so they’ve gotten pushed more towards the center to avoid running down little kids. Thankfully, Morpheus doesn’t seem to be at risk of falling anymore.

They skate, side by side, talking as they often do about any little thing. It’s nice. At some point, they end up holding hands to prevent being skated through and even as time ticks by and the need to do so passes, they continue to hold on to one another.

“So, ice skating. What do you rate it?” Hob asks, after the announcement to clear the ice for the Zamboni finishes. The pair make their way towards the rink exit, shuffling along the crowd of other skaters.

Morpheus tilts his head, pondering. “Hmm,” he says, rubbing a thumb against Hob’s gloved hand. “I think I am quite fond of it. So long as I am skating with you.” Morpheus turns to Hob. “An eight, with you. I would imagine it would fall down to a four without your presence.”

“That’s some high praise. I doubt I make it that much better.”

“You do.” Hob’s breath stutters at the intensity in Morpheus’s gaze. “Your presence has always made things better. I do not see why this activity would be any different.”

“I mean-”

“You are invaluable to me, Hob Gadling. Possibly more so now than ever.” They cross over the ice and back onto the thick rubber mats at the entrance. “I would not see you sell yourself short.”

“Right.” Hob says, because how do you reply to that, in a friendly manner? What Hob wants to do is to hold Morpheus’s face in his hands and snog the impossible creature right here in the middle of it all because the love he has for him is threatening to overflow. But he won’t. He does have some self control after all these years. That doesn’t make the urge easier to ignore, though.

Morpheus walks forward, dipping out of the crowd. The red beanie on his head, a stark contrast to the dark black locks of hair, rest askew on the top of his head. His scarf rests over his neck, but pulled free long ago. He's not the perfectly put together creature he used to be, but he's still gorgeous. He's human and it sends Hob's heart soaring every time the realization hits him again.

God, he loves him.

“In the movies, they go for hot chocolate after skating, yes?” Morpheus asks, pulling Hob out of his mind. They make their way out of the crowd and back to the bench near their discarded shoes.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, hot chocolate or something warm.” Morpheus smiles as he unlaces his skates.

“Good. I look forward to it.”

Hot chocolate it was. Not that Hob was complaining. He knew of Morpheus’s sweet tooth, after all. This man was going to be the death of him.

Sitting down next to his friend, Hob says, "Hot chocolate it is then."

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

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magicalbats · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 2: Titfucking

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 3684

Warnings: Afab!reader, chubby!reader, oral sex (male receiving), titfucking

A/N: This is technically tied into my fic 'never fallen from quite this high' as it uses the same reader character, but its not required to read that first and this works as a standalone too. : )

⭐

It’s no great secret Childe likes your tits.

He could be annoyingly transparent about it at times, pawing at your chest with incessant focus for long stretches until they throbbed and ached something fierce for him. He was like a man obsessed — or perhaps it would’ve been more apt to compare him to a little boy, still fascinated by the warmth and comfort they provide to some innately animal part of his brain. Always eager to rest his head on the pillowy softness or hide his face away in their fleshy cradle, some days it was all you could do just to keep him at bay.

And that was to say absolutely nothing of your success rate.

That he creeps up behind you in the small kitchen of the cabin, sneakily reaching around to cup his big hands around your breasts, isn’t a surprise in and of itself. You startle at the sudden contact though, nearly flinging the ball of dough you’d been kneading into the far wall when your hands instinctively fly up to fight off your would-be attacker. But then the identity of those hands clicks into place and, recalling that you two were the only ones occupying this desolate stretch of land in Snezhnaya’s frozen wilderness, you heave out a deeply bothered sigh.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?”

Laughing, Childe leans closer behind you to tuck his chin against your shoulder despite the formidable height difference between you two, and you let him do it because … because you liked the feel of him against you. His smell and his body heat. It seemed that no matter how much you tried to steel your resolve, you never could quite keep up the pretense for very long.

“Don’t be like that. I just wanted to check in on my favorite girl and see what you’re making.”

You smile even though you try very hard not to, picking up the flour dusted dough once more so you can start rolling it between your hands again. “Sushki, and it’s not going to get done if you keep distracting me.”

Humming against your neck, he slides his hands up a bit higher to readjust and secure his hold on your chest, lifting the weight of them from your body. You falter slightly, feeling your resolve crack just that tiny bit with temptation, but you make a concerted effort to keep your mind focused on the task at hand. There was no justifiable reason to keep rewarding his bad behavior by giving in to his spur of the moment mischief and fancies like this. You were just going to have to stay strong.

“Aww, don’t tell me you plan on ignoring me.” He whines against your neck, sounding appropriately hurt and put out when you don’t give him the reaction he’d been hoping for. You refused to fall for it though. His tricks may have worked on you the first few dozen times but you were putting your foot down.

“If that is what it takes to be left to my baking in peace, then yes.”

A quiet beat passes over the kitchen, and you don’t miss the sly inflection in his voice when he softly hums a moment later. “That sounds like a challenge to me, girlie. Sure you’re up for it?”

You stiffen slightly, the muscles in your body locking tight when he gives your tits a slow, savory squeeze over your clothes and apron. A flood of heat rushes to your face even while you frantically try to stamp that subconscious reaction back down where it belongs, but it’s no use. His hands are large and inviting, easily bearing the full brunt of your chest in his palms, and you were regrettably weak for it. He made you feel delicate and small without even really needing to try when he was just naturally so much bigger than you.

Forgetting about the dough, you just stand there and let him grope at your breasts with slow, steady ministrations that have your mind wandering to decidedly indecent thoughts. Squeezing, kneading; he takes his time with it until you eventually sway on your feet, becoming increasingly more light headed and dizzy. Hungry, for him.

Childe shifts against you and starts peppering your neck in suggestive kisses while his hands move to slip beneath the front of your apron. A quiet whimper bubbles up in your throat when his palms brush over the stiffened teats underneath, already perked up in anticipation of receiving more of that delicious friction. He intuitively knows what will drive you crazy and you don’t have to ask for it as he drags his fingers over them, making sure they catch and rub against the silky inner chemise you were wearing. Haltingly, you reach out to brace against the counter.

You suddenly felt twenty degrees hotter than you had just a moment ago, and it had already been comfortably warm thanks to the cackling fireplace he dutifully tended to throughout the day to make sure you stayed warm enough. One could argue that you were overheated now though, and you don’t complain when he eventually slides his hands back to tug at the tie around your waist. The absence of any layer of clothing would be a welcome one.

The apron comes loose and he turns you around to face him with gentle hands on your hips. You’re not the least bit surprised to find a victorious grin splitting his face in half, but you don’t stop him from pulling the smock over your head so he can toss it aside. He backs you up against the counter then, pinning you against it, and a shuddering gasp rattles out of you when he grabs your chest again, squeezing and pushing up to squish them together underneath your blouse.

“Looks like I win.” He murmurs, blue eyes glimmering as they rake over your expression with a voracity you'd long since come to recognize in him.

“I don’t remember conceding …”

“Oho, we’ll see about that.”

Abandoning your tits in favor of grabbing for the hem of your top, he unceremoniously rucks it up to bunch under your chin. You put up a cursory struggle, pushing at his shoulder even when you think that you would rather be pulling him closer right now, but it hardly seems to matter in the end. Childe was downright undeterrable once he set his mind to something, and he wastes no time shoving your chemise up as well so he can bare your chest to the room. To him.

He quickly swoops down, catching a pert nipple in his hot mouth and you jolt, loosing a surprised moan even as you bring your hands up to clutch at his head. Groaning against your skin, he settles in to suck and work the hardened nub over with his lashing tongue. You sink back against the counter, relaxing into the sensation while he reaches for the other tit to give it a hard, savory squeeze. Sometimes it felt like he wasn’t going to give up until warm milk started coming out of you, and this was one of those times. He was just plain incorrigible.

“Ajax … you don’t have to do that. I got the point.”

Finally coming up off your spit coated teat with a wet pop, he lets out a breathy laugh that tickles your skin. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. I won’t stop until you admit defeat!”

Turning his head, he drags the flat of his tongue across the other nipple and completely ignores your weakly issued protests. That’s not enough for him though, and you whimper when he abruptly pushes your tits together again. Tipping his head, Childe seals his mouth around the tips of both breasts where they’re pressed together so he can easily flick his tongue back and forth between the two. He alternates to suckling a moment later, and then right back to swirling around the now aching points. You squirm against him, unable to stop yourself from acting on it anymore as you press your thighs together in a blithe attempt to alleviate some of the building tension there. Archons, you were already sticky and wet.

You weren’t sure how much more of this you’d be able to take, and you give his shoulder a weak shove to try and push him away from your aching breasts. To your surprise, he actually relents and pulls off you, straightening up from his deep bend this time so he can shuffle back a step. You couldn’t have missed the heady look of arousal flashing across his face even if you’d wanted to, your own seeming to double down at the sight of him so excited and eager.

When he reaches for your waist, affectionately pinching the love handles there, you let him pull you away from the counter towards the open center of the small kitchen. It’s not hard to see he’s up to more mischief the way he looks at you, grinning like a damn fool, but you still gladly relent when he guides you down to kneel on the floor. Your pussy gives a muted throb as he reaches for the front of his pants, growing wetter between the legs at the soft rattle of his belt. There was no denying you wanted him any longer, right here and now, just like this, and you eagerly rise up on your knees to brace your hands on the fronts of his lean thighs as his stiff cock springs free.

Groaning hotly, Childe palms the top of your head with one hand while the other reaches down to grip himself, guiding that stiff, seeking length to your mouth. You open wide and swallow him down as far as you can comfortably take him, sparks of pleasure igniting low in your gut when the taste of him floods your senses. A faint hint of salt and male musk, the pine needle scent of fresh cleaned laundry. It all merged to create a truly potent cocktail on your tongue, and you moan around him as you start bobbing your neck.

“That’s it, get this nice and wet for me.” He grunts, knees bending into a slouch so he can angle his pelvis just right and slowly fuck into your mouth. “I’ve got a surprise for you here in a minute.”

You shoot him a quick, suspicious look but you’re a little too distracted with the task at hand to linger on it for long. Gripping his thighs, you work your mouth over him at a steady pace, stopping only long enough to either drag your tongue across the prominent vein running down his cock or to kiss and suckle at the sensitive glans. He groans appreciatively, bucking his hips just enough to nudge at the back of your throat. But just like with anything else, once Childe has set his sights on a goal it’s impossible to deter him from it and he soon pulls you off him, much to your groaning disappointment.

Licking your spit coated lips, you lean back to look up at him again, this time with a needy, imploring pout. You were ready for him, your pussy so wet with sticky slick you could feel it starting to bleed into your panties. He doesn’t even acknowledge it though, stooping down instead to grab your tits and shove them together. You realize what he’s doing a moment too late, and you squawk a tremulous protest as he edges himself close enough to slip his cock into the meaty press, groaning hotly while he does it.

“Ajax - -!”

The only response you get is another low, rumbling moan while he wedges his rigid length into the warm space between your breasts. Mewling faintly, you tip your head down to watch the head of his cock appear, spearing up through the soft crease of cleavage, before receding again when he angles his pelvis back. Saliva leaves your skin damp in the wake of his stilted, drawn out thrust, lubricating the way for the next, and he quickly settles into a sedate rhythm that leaves you whining in the back of your throat.

“That’s not fair!” You insist, hands hovering uselessly when you were unsure if you wanted to push him away or just accept your fate. The latter didn’t look so bad, even though your pussy gives a muted little clench in response …

“What’s the matter, girlie? Huh? Did you want this cock somewhere else?”

He outright laughs at the frustrated groan you let out, his own voice heavy and strained with most of his focus on keeping the angle just right to fuck your tits. His long fingers dig into soft, cushiony flesh while he holds them in place, tightly pressed together and just shy of discomfort. The stiff glide of his cock sparks another sympathetic flutter in your cunt, increasing the tension and making it that much harder to endure. You wanted him inside you, not like … this!

“You are such a brat.” Practically blubbering there on the floor, you turn your head away from the sight of him using your breasts like this. It was too much for you to bear when your body was practically screaming for him, begging for the intoxicating stretch of his cock.

“Don’t say that,” He huffs, almost laughing again. “I’ll gladly give you what you want if you just tell me what I want to hear. Until then, these gorgeous tits of yours are keeping me quite happy.”

You try your best to ignore him and his taunting, determined to stand your ground instead of giving in like you usually do when he pushes your buttons, but the continuous assault on your senses quickly wins out. From the smooth, fleshy glide of his cock making it so easy for you to imagine it thrusting between your legs and even easier for you to want it more than maintaining your silly pride, to the soft, blatantly provocative sounds he makes for your benefit, it truly was a losing battle.

“Ajax, please …” You whimper at last, wincing at the sharp sting of his fingers digging into your breasts. “You win, alright? I concede, just — please stop doing that! It’s so embarrassing …”

Heaving a harsh grunt, he fucks into your tits a little harder. A little faster. “Now, why would you go and say that when you’re making me feel so good? You know how much I love these … so big and heavy, bless the seven, I don’t think you even realize how much your body drives me wild.”

You bring your head back around, shuddering intensely when you look up at him flexing over you and his narrow hips sputter slightly with the effort of thrusting from this angle. The deeply aroused expression on his face shatters what last little bit of resolve you’d been clinging to and you instinctively arch your back, shoving your tits out towards him with a faltering noise of desperation.

“I need you, Ajax! I want to feel you inside of me,” You tell him in a hoarse, faltering whisper as you finally make your decision and bring your hands to your chest, helping him hold your tits in place. “You can use my breasts like this but then please make me cum while you're on top of me … please.”

“Oh, girlie, don’t say that.”

With a choked off, stuttering groan, he seems to force his hips to still, leaving his cock wedged between your tits for a long, savory moment. It appears to take a great deal of effort for him to do it but, finally, he manages to slowly let up the tight grip of his fingers. Letting go of you with no shortage of reluctance, he gradually straightens up out of that deep stoop and tips his head back, groaning up at the ceiling. One of his hands comes to rest on top of your head while the other hangs loose at his side, posture screaming of confidence and victory.

The height difference makes it somewhat awkward but you shuffle a bit closer and arch your back to better present your tits to him. He still needs to bend at the knee to keep his pelvis level with your chest but it’s clearly much easier for him to thrust now, and he quickly resumes his earlier pace. Although it embarrasses you a great deal to do it, you help him by pulling your breasts up and down the length of his cock, massaging him with your tits. He outright moans in appreciation, his neck lolling back as if he’d never before experienced a more gratifying sensation.

“That feels so good, sweetheart. You’re always so good for me. I think you deserve a reward after this, for sure.”

“Ajax - -“

“Something other than my cock, I mean.” He lets out a breathless laugh. “Of course you’ll have it. You don’t even need to ask … I mean a real reward. A new dress, new jewelry, something, gods, I don’t know! I just want to spoil you rotten.”

Your heart gives a weightless, fluttery jerk in your chest, and you squeeze your tits a little tighter around him in response. “I don’t need any of that. I only want you.”

Humming softly, he tips his chin down to look at you, the deeply satisfied look on his face only making you even wetter for him. Thank the seven he had a bottomless reserve of energy and stamina alike, because you were starting to suspect one round was not going to suffice. You knew he often had this effect on you but, even so, you weren’t sure when last you’d been this hot and impatient for him.

“Spit on it, pretty girl. Get those beautiful tits nice and wet for me.”

A shudder works down your spine as you angle your face downward, waiting until the head of his cock next appears between your breasts to shyly spit on it. You make more of a mess then anything, most of it merely dribbling down your chin, but he just laughs and pauses mid thrust, giving you plenty of time to work up more spit in your mouth and try again. The second time is much more successful, and he slowly pulls back to drag it through the cleft in your skin. You give it one more attempt, spitting after him, and an odd spark of pride lights up within you when you manage to hock it straight down into the space between your breasts.

Your mother would have had an absolute fit if she knew you were spitting like some uncouth bar wench, and all over yourself at that.

Sliding his hand down off the top of your head to cup your cheek instead, Childe gently pulls your face back up to look at him, smiling as he wipes the fast cooling spit off your chin with his thumb. “Would you like a diamond ring or a jade necklace?” He murmurs, making you laugh even though you make a valiant attempt not to.

“Neither. Just you.”

Humming softly in the way he did that always spelled trouble and boyish naughtiness to come, he inches somehow even closer until the flat plane of his lower stomach is right in your face. You give the skin there a kiss even as he gently cradles you against him, big hands heavy on your head and neck. The space between you two is so scant now that it’s hard to move your tits and he doesn’t have much room to thrust either, but that doesn’t deter him at all. He takes his time slow fucking your breasts, almost like he was making love to them, and given his undeniable preoccupation with them you somehow didn’t find it the least bit surprising.

His breathing gradually picks up until he’s panting into the still, statically charged air, faint tremors working down his body. You can tell when he starts to get close by the way he turns a little whiny, a little needy against you, but even then he refuses to back up and give himself enough space to properly move his hips. You just keep peppering his belly with kisses and pecks, feeling the muscles flex against your check as he slowly winds himself up into a shuddering, heaving mess. Finally, he gives a stuttering jerk and you feel his cock throbbing, jumping excitedly between your tits, and then the hot sticky flood of cum rushes out to dribble down your chest.

The two of you just stay like that for a long, intimate moment, allowing him to bask in the lingering afterglow of his climax. Childe recovers as quickly as ever though, and soon eases his softening cock out so he can step back with a rumbled groan. Gingerly, you let up on your breasts only to be hit with the sharp ache in them, your body unaccustomed to being used in such a way.

You mewl, very softly, at the faint discomfort left behind in his wake — but then he’s sinking down to kneel with you, leaning close, and suddenly it’s like a distant memory when all of your focus is on him again.

“See? I knew you couldn’t ignore me even if you tried.” He murmurs, catching your mouth so he can kiss you, hard and fast. It’s demanding and possessive, domineering in the way he nips at your bottom lip like a half-starved stray. One hand comes up to latch onto the curve of your neck as you lean into him, sighing into his mouth. The faint buzz of unbridled victory seems to bleed off him into you, singeing your own veins with static electricity.

Childe was many things, but a humble winner he was not. He did, however, keep his promises, and he makes good on his oath to give you his cock and make you cum on it. Twice, in fact.

And once on his sly mouth, for good measure.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #childe x reader

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acotar-thirst · 2 years

Text

Learning how to hide the overprotective side

Azriel x reader (1301 words)

Summary: Azriel allows himself to watch you at the sparring area with Cassian, until you get hurt and he has to control and hide the instincts that take over him when he sees his mate in pain, even if it was nothing serious. You still don’t know about the bond.

Warnings: Small wrist injury, anxiety of keeping a secret

A/N: Had this idea a few nights later, finally managed to write it the way I was imagining. Probably gonna turn this into a fic, because ‘in love Azriel’ is never too much, right?

Let me know your thoughts about this, it’s really important to me. Thank you for reading!

Requests open

_________________________________________________

Azriel suppressed a smile as he landed in the training area and saw (Y/N) cursing at Cassian as the two fought. The brother was the best warrior he had ever seen in his life, the female was making the general sweat and give his everything to defend himself.

The Spymaster crossed his arms and admired the scene in front of him. His shadows moved with agitation, trying to break free of his control to go to where (Y/N) was. Azriel was increasingly prepared to face their defiance when the female was around.

Taking advantage of the fact that no one else was around and only the two of them fought, not paying attention to him at all, Azriel allowed himself to admire (Y/N). Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail on top of her head and sweat was all over her body.

(Y/N)'s gaze looked wild, it always looked that way when she was fighting. Strong thighs and arms blocked Cassian's blows and then attacked, giving the male no time to adapt to the way she fought.

A laugh rippled from deep in Azriel's chest and rumbled through the training area as (Y/N)'s sword slammed sideways into Cassian's rib, causing him to groan loudly in pain. The Shadowsinger just couldn't get his mind off how amazing this female was.

As if sensing he was thinking about her, (Y/N) looked at him as soon as she heard his laughter. Her cheeks turned red as she noticed him watching them from outside the ring.

Her gaze lasted a second though, the distraction was enough to give Cassian the upper hand. Without a shred of regret, the general swung around and swung his sword which (Y/N) narrowly defended himself.

Her sword fell to the ground as it collided with Cassian's, the moviment hard enough for her to withdraw her hand to her chest and groan in pain. Azriel's shadows reached her faster than his brother.

A fierce rage swept over the Spymaster, his hands clasped at his sides with clenched fists as he charged toward (Y/N), making him use his shadows to hide his shaking arms. Azriel glared at his brother trying to control the instinctive rage that was burning inside of him. It was his laugh that distracted her, he knew, but he still wanted to punch Cassian’s nose.

“Well, (Y/N), I’m sorry, but next time remember to not look at the pretty male while sparring”.

"Get the fuck out of here, Cassian."

Azriel's voice was cold as ice, cutting the humor from his brother's face. Ignoring Cassian's meaningful gaze, the Shadowsinger took the hand that (Y/N) was still cradling her chest.

She looked up at him, her expression showing pain but weaker than before. With the other hand, (Y/N) wiped the sweat from her forehead and looked at Cassian as he walked away.

"It's ok, I just got the wrong angle".

He muttered in agreement, still examining her fingers and wrist movement. When she moaned low in pain, Azriel glared at his brother again. Cassian was standing near the exit, drinking water.

“When are you gonna tell her?” was the expression on the general's face, looking at his brother and (Y/N) with irony. Azriel rolled his eyes at him and returned his attention to the female in front of him.

Trying to control his feelings, Azriel continued to massage her forearm. The approach between them always made him nervous, his entire concentration focused on not showing what he truly felt.

He'd been trying to stay away from (Y/N) for months, ever since the mate connection snapped inside his chest. When he understood that only he had felt it, he tried his best to give her space so she wouldn't feel suffocated.

“Thank you, Az. It's already better.”

Her voice was shy and he smiled at her. One of the shadows climbed to her head, tangled itself in (Y/N)'s hair and then caressed her face. The female grinned and looked gratefully at Azriel.

“How was the meeting last night?”

He broke eye contact, not trusting himself and clearing his throat before asking the first thing he could think of. (Y/N) took a deep breath as she picked up the training sword from the ground and set it in place.

“The usual, you know Keir is a little bitch”.

"He really is".

There was humor on her face when he agreed with her, which served to ease the tightness in his chest that she had visited the Court of Nightmares without him around. Azriel went to the table with the water bottles, Cassian already gone, and poured two cups, handing one to her.

It had taken all the strength he had not to go after her at the meeting with Keir and the snakes in that part of the Night Court. Just the assurance that Rhysand and Feyre would be by (Y/N)'s side made Azriel stay on Velaris, trying his best to occupy the mind that begged to be close to the female.

(Y/N) looked up at the sky, savoring the touch of the sun on her face. Her cheeks were still pink, as they always were when he was around. He took the opportunity to absorb every detail of her again.

The leather of her robes showed the curvature of her body, years and years of training that made her one of the best warriors he had ever seen. Before the bond even settled in Azriel's chest, (Y/N) had all of his heart, even though he was too stupid to notice. The Shadowsinger spent a lot of time chasing after Elain to really understand that it was the newbie who actually put real feelings inside of him, far beyond physical arousal.

She remained completely ignorant of his feelings or the bond of souls they shared, but Azriel told himself he was in no hurry. He had waited for her his whole life, and seeing her there, enjoying the warmth of the still shy spring sun, he knew it would be worth it.

His gaze traveled all over her, as if he needed that to remind himself later, when he would be alone and he had to practically lock himself in his own room so he wouldn't chase after her. (Y/N)'s wrist was slightly swollen and this woke Azriel from his own thoughts and desires.

“You should see Madja, get her to examine your wrist”.

A smile grew on her face, then she looked at Azriel. His heart beat fast inside his chest whenever she looked at him like that… as if she could see the deepest parts of his dirty soul.

“That's not necessary, Azriel. Really”.

She added the last word when she saw that he would insist. (Y/N) put the cup down on the table, approaching him for that and making his hands shake with need to touch her.

“It could heal wrong and…”

“Azriel…”

The Shadowsinger sighed. The idea of picking her up and flying to Madja was growing in his mind, but he controlled himself at the warning tone in her voice when she said his name… Something flashed in response inside him.

"You really shouldn't worry, I'm okay". She said, flicking her wrist in front of him as if to prove the fact. “Plus, I’m kicking Cass’s ass in revenge tomorrow”.

Laughter lit up (Y/N)'s face, as if that thought really brought her joy. Before he could control it, he smiled. The female winked at him and waved, saying goodbye and stepping inside the house.

“That makes two of us”.

He said softly when he was sure (Y/N) wouldn't hear. Cassian would regret hurting her at their training session later.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel #shadowsinger #acotar #sarah j maas #night court #mate

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jaimeslanisters · 1 year

Text

the pawn in every lover's game (part eight)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 6.4k notes: your responses to last chapter blew me away!!! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter too 💚 (:

His grip hurts.

You want to yank your hand away from Victor and rip the crown off your hands and just leave but he holds you in place, his armored hand tight around yours, metal digging into flesh. He’s no longer waving, simply standing and staring back into the royal box at Aemond, but he does not let go, ignoring your attempts to pull free.

He doesn’t care about the pot of gold or even about the pride of winning the first royal tourney in decades. His prize is you and your hand and he’s not keen on letting it go, not even if he’s facing down Aemond One-Eye for it.

Finally, his hold loosens when the royal box begins to clear out, as the court starts to make its way down to the two of you, when Aemond himself turns his back to follow the procession. Quickly, you yank your hand out and move away from him, glaring at him. Your hand aches and you’re sure if you look down, you’ll see the imprint of his fingers gripping you, and the thought of him leaving any type of mark on you makes you want to claw at your own skin. You fold your arms against your chest to resist the temptation, ignoring etiquette for once in your life.

Victor turns to follow you and, when he smiles, you wish you could reach out and slap him straight across the face.

Let me leave my mark on him instead.

“Where did you get the handkerchief?” You ask, your voice dripping poison.

Victor blinks at you before moving his hand up to grip the handkerchief still wrapped around his bicep. “You gave it to me, remember?”

You shake your head fiercely. “No. No, I did not. Today is the first day I have ever handed out my favor and it was to my cousin, Ser Tygett. I’ve never given it to you.”

His smile doesn’t even waver though he does look sheepish. “Your other cousin, Lady Jocasta, gave it to me after I spoke to her at the welcoming feast. She understood that you were too shy and nervous to give it to me yourself. Understandable considering the company you keep.”

“The company I keep?” Your tone is low and dangerous and Victor notices since, for the first time since he’s entered the tourney grounds, his expression flickers into uncertainty.

He opens his mouth to say something but he’s caught off guard when a man comes to a stop next to him, slapping him hard on the shoulder.

“You performed amazingly, my boy,” the man cheers, grinning broadly as he gives Victor a shake. Lord Erren Florent, his father. He is a head shorter than his son but much stockier and rounder in the face, giving him a pleasant and unassuming appearance. But when he turns to face you and the pale gray eyes he shares with his son sharpen, you realize quickly that he wears his own skin like a mask. “Well done on your fine catch! What beautiful Queen you’ve claimed, Victor!”

Hidden in your folded arms, you curl your hands into fists, digging your nails into the palms of your hand. “Thank you, my lord,” you bite out, conscious of the eyes curiously watching your every move. You want to order them all to look away, to entertain themselves with some other tragic affair, but that will only encourage more stares, more whispers. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must meet back up with my family so I may return to the Red Keep. I have business with Princess Helaena to attend to.”

Erren immediately shakes his head, laughing. “Nonsense, my lady. You’re the Queen of Love and Beauty and my son crowned you! Your father will surely come to meet us and we can all ride back together. My litter is certainly big enough!”

You smile tightly. “Lord Lannister is a busy man. I’d prefer not to keep him waiting. I can pass on your request for a meeting, however.”

“Might we accompany you, then?” Victor asks, leaping into the conversation, and you don’t bother to hide the flicker of annoyance on your face at the intrusion.

Lord Erren laughs, the sound ringing false in your ears. Every move he makes is calculated and designed to endear you to him except it falls painfully flat. “That feels like the simplest solution! Come now, my lady, lead the way.”

You stare back for a moment, incredulous, but the Lord of Brightwater does not give anything away, simply keeping his broad smile even if it does not quite reach his eyes. You glance over towards the royal box and spot Queen Alicent, flanked by Ser Criston, speaking in low tones to Helaena.

Aemond and Aegon are nowhere to be seen.

Heaving a sigh, you nod, suddenly too tired to even pretend to entertain this sham, and you turn on your heels. The moment you move to walk away from the tourney grounds, the Lannister soldiers your father had assigned to you appear from who knows where and fall in step around you, forming a wall between you and the Florents.

You vow to increase their wages tenfold.

Leaving, however, is just as miserable a task as staying had seemed. As you walk through the tournament grounds, eager to get to your wheelhouse, people call out to you, congratulating you for being crowned. Nobility and smallfolk alike cheer for you but their praise only makes your resentment grow and grow.

This is what the songs were about. As a little girl, you had dreamed of this moment but it all tastes like ash in your mouth since it’s the wrong man. Instead of someone you cared for, it’s an overeager upstart that’s deluded himself into believing that you want him and only him. You had always imagined that you would cherish your crown of flowers, wear it until it was wilting on your head, and press flowers from it and hide them in your books.

Now, you just want to rip it off your head and burn it. You want Victor to watch.

Your face a mask of pleasantry that you don’t feel, you rush through the festival grounds, finally reaching near where your wheelhouse had been stored. By it, you can see your uncle and father, heads bowed together as they speak, looking like perfect mirror images of each other. Upon your approach, they look up, eerily in sync. Jason gives you a small nod but, when he looks over your shoulder at the Florents, his face flashes with annoyance. Next to him, Tyland’s face is carefully blank with only a perfectly polite smile lighting up his features.

“Lord Lannister,” Erren coos as he steps forward, awkwardly sidestepping your guards in order to bow in front of your father.

A second too late, Jason nods his head, clearing his face immediately. He’s noticed my own frustration and is responding accordingly you realize and, even with all your current anger, you feel a glow of affection towards your father. “Lord Florent,” he echoes back, smiling. His charm is returning readily and, if you didn’t know better, you would think that your father was genuinely pleased to meet the Lord of the Brightwater. “Allow me to congratulate you and your son for the great honor Ser Victor has fought to bestow upon his house.”

Erren smiles as Victor bows his head in thanks next to him. “My son has also bestowed your daughter a grand honor as well. A crown and the title of Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Tyland laughs, teeth flashing. “House Lannister thanks you for it. It’s gratifying to have the rest of King’s Landing catch up to believe that my niece’s beauty is beyond compare.”

Frowning, you shoot a glare at your uncle for his overeffusive praise but his friendly grin only grows bigger when he notices your disapproval.

He’ll have his fun, I suppose.

Lord Erren, however, does not see your stormy expression or, more likely, does not care since he aims directly for the point. “Now, my lord, my son has been captivated by Lady Lannister’s maidenly behavior and looks for quite some time. She is, as we all must agree, a lovely young lady and it is becoming time for her to secure a husband.”

Jason’s smile grows visibly tight. “She has time yet, Lord Florent,” your father says, laughing slightly. “Her eldest two sisters are not yet married.”

“Ah yes,” Erren exclaims, snapping his fingers. “Lady Cerelle and Lady Tyshara, am I correct? Even in Brightwater, I heard tale of Cerelle the Almost Heir and the Golden Beauty of the West. If they’re anything like your daughter here, I’m sure they will secure husbands sooner rather than later.”

Like a bucket of ice water, you, Jason, and Tyland all freeze at the name he had called Cerelle. You had heard it said once or twice in Casterly Rock by visiting nobles after Loren’s birth but your rage at the nickname had been enough to quiet them in the moment. Afterward, Lady Johanna had taken a firmer hand - backed by your father, she had expressly banned the noblemen who had whispered the name from ever visiting the Rock again. Only Cerelle herself had managed to quell your family’s uproar, maintaining the peace and arguing for leniency for the offenders.

“I’d thank you, my lord,” you quietly say, voice as cold as winter itself. “If you would not repeat that name in our presence again. Little Loren is the heir now but, if he had been a girl, Cerelle would have made a glorious Lady Lannister and would have served our house well. She does not deserve to be mocked for her years of service when she was our heir.”

“My father did not mean to cause offense,” Victor says, bowing earnestly, and your father laughs humorlessly.

“And yet, he somehow managed,” Jason says, frowning down at the Florents. In the diminishing daylight, your father looks more golden than ever and his displeasure twists his features into something more leonine and dangerous. He was the Warden of the West, after all, and he would suffer no insults to any member of his house.

Lord Erren, realizing his misstep, bows at the waist. “I hope you will not let my careless words color your opinion of my son. I did not realize the name was hurtful.”

Tyland, always the more levelheaded and diplomatic amongst the three of you, nods his head. “I’m sure you did not mean to, my lord, but my brother and niece are understandably protective of Lady Cerelle. While I will not deny that House Lannister’s time without a male heir brought much uncertainty to our family, if Cerelle had remained as my brother’s heir, it would not have been a tragedy. It’s happened once before in our history and we have only grown stronger.”

“Of course,” Erren nods, moving on the defense now. Next to him, Victor shifts awkwardly and you relish the look of distress on his face. “Lannister ladies are as much lion as their male counterparts. My apologies.”

As much as you would love to storm off now, you know full well that you cannot leave. All around you, people are filing into their wheelhouses to go back and prepare for tonight’s feast. Their eyes are all watching your small group curiously and, even if you and Jason had taken offense, you know the rest of the court will not understand.

You wonder how many of them whisper about House Lannister’s almost heir behind your back.

Plastering a plainly false smile, you nod at Erren. “I thank you for your apologies, my lord. It is a gracious thing to do.”

“It’s only the right thing to do,” Victor interjects, looking at you with undisguised longing. Only by years of etiquette lessons under the strictest septas do you keep your anger off your face. “My father only meant to compliment your sisters.”

“My son has told me grand tale of your beauty and manners, my lady,” Erren says, smiling once more. “I was gratified to find them true. I can only imagine the same for your lady sisters.”

You nod, more to remain silent than caring about his blatant attempts to gain your favor, and Erren takes the chance to barrel forward. “Would you and your father like to join us for tea tomorrow? Before the melee? Our families meeting here today gave you your crown and brought honor to the Florents. Perhaps we can discuss an even greater union.”

You turn to your father, deferring the decision plainly, and, for a glorious and nerve-wracking moment, you think he is too angered to agree and that he will decline the Florents’ request. After a second, however, your father nods, forcing a smile. “Of course, my lord. It is only what is proper.”

It is what is proper. The gossip of King’s Landing would tear you, and only you, to shreds if it came out that your family had not met with Victor’s following his crowning you Queen of Love and Beauty.

It does not make it go down any more smoothly however and, murmuring your farewells in as polite a tone as you can muster, you clamber into the wheelhouse, throwing yourself onto the cushioned seats with a sigh. Your father and uncle quickly follow and the moment the doors are pushed shut by a servant, you rip the crown off your head and throw it to the floor.

“Well,” Tyland says, laughing a little. “None of us need ask how you took it.”

You scowl. “He faked a favor, uncle. A bloody favor and he made me look like a fool in the same move. Everyone saw me give my favor to Tygett and, by Victor riding out with a handkerchief that that idiot Jocasta gave him, he lied to the court and all but said I was a lovestruck dolt who's hiding her grand affair. I’m sure by now they’re all whispering about how I long to become a fox of House Florent with him and live in Brightwater under the watch of his father and brother.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, little one,” he chuckles. “This entire miserable affair will only increase your renown. Perhaps they will give you a nickname to rival Tyshara’s. Nevertheless, the singers will love it.”

Jason frowns. “Love it? Love what?”

Tyland’s smile grows. “Did you not see, brother? I suppose you were in the Lannister box and couldn’t see and the Florents arrived before I could tell you. The gossip will spread soon enough but the royal court all saw Prince Aemond refuse to let our little lady go. He was holding her hand tightly and, when Ser Victor crowned her, he did not clap. In fact, none of his siblings did either and even the Queen seemed hesitant to congratulate him.”

Your cheeks flush. You had only noticed Aemond’s refusal - embarrassingly, you hadn't even thought of looking over at Helaena and Aegon, let alone the Queen. It’s gratifying to know that they weren’t celebrating your humiliation, that they were as upset as you were.

Jason tilts his head in thought. “The prince may be angered but will he do something?”

“He’s Aemond Targaryen, the rider of Vhagar,” you reply, feeling a genuine smile creep onto your face. “He claimed the Queen of All Dragons and there’s no living dragon that can match her ferocity. He is the same.”

Tyland laughs. “Jason, you could marry her right now to Victor Florent and she will wake tomorrow a widow. That situation will sort itself out - or perhaps I should say that Prince Aemond will handle it for us - and your daughter will get herself the prince you sent her to get all those years ago. ”

“May the Seven rest Victor Florent’s soul,” your father says but, when you look over at him, he’s laughing and you grin broadly.

You spend the rest of the ride back to the Red Keep in companionable silence.

——————————–

When you step into the throne room, a step behind your father, conversation falters before dying at your entrance. It’s almost funny in a way, you think, as you walk towards the front with eyes watching you, their gazes fixed upon your unadorned hair. You can hear people whispering at their tables, your name along with Victor and Aemond’s being the loudest words, and it only makes you hold your head up higher.

You can hear their whispers turning away from your lack of a crown and towards the color of your dress. A far cry from the red and gold gowns you had been wearing the past few days during the feast, now you’re dressed in a pale blue gown that flows softly around your body, the skirt trailing behind you. Silver lions are stitched into your sleeves and, when you move, the candlelight catches the metallic shimmer of the thread. Surrounded by the red and gold of the rest of your house all around you, you stick out even as you walk in union with them.

You’re a Lannister. You’re a lion of the Rock.

But you are not the one who gave Victor Florent that handkerchief.

Two nights ago, you had wanted people to notice House Lannister as your house had been introduced. Now, no one looks away as you continue down the center aisle.

It’s not what you had meant but, for the moment at least, you’ll take it.

When you reach the head table, you curtsey low, noting with some degree of displeasure that Aemond is missing still. When you straighten up to head to your seat, the Queen calls your name and the throne room waits with bated breath.

“Won’t you keep my Helaena company, my lady?” Alicent says, smiling. Her face is a picture of perfect courtesy and you can hear the grumble of the court behind you when they are denied more fodder for their gossip.

You easily agree, smiling, and with a quick look at your father, who nods in approval, you head up to the royal table, sliding into the seat next to Helaena. She’s taken Aemond’s old seat, leaving you to be the one between her and the Queen, and you idly wonder if her mother told her to do it.

You want to lean over to whisper and ask her but, with the Queen right at your elbow, you don’t dare. Luckily, or unluckily, the nobles all quickly introduce themselves to the royal family, eager to get to their tables to begin eating and chatting. Unlike the welcome feast, this feast is much more casual in nature. There is no speech from Otto Hightower, no opening dance from Aegon and Helaena. Instead, the food is quickly served and the room all turn to do their business.

As soon as you turn, however, to speak to Helaena, who has once again taken to trying to shred the napkins with her delicate hands, the Queen says your name, her tone soft.

“Your grace,” you say as you spin back to face her, bowing your head slightly. “How may I serve you?”

Alicent doesn’t immediately respond, simply scanning your face carefully as if she’s looking for something, before she sighs. When she turns to face the rest of the throne room, you almost think she won’t say anything anymore. But, when she finally does, her voice remains quiet. “When I was a girl, I thought there was no better honor than to wed a Targaryen. No greater joy. It was the only thing I had ever wanted.”

Somehow, with the pain in her voice, you don’t think she’s speaking about the King. It was an open secret that, while Alicent loved and cared for her husband, she was not in love with him. He could never inspire this much emotion in her voice. You doubt he ever had.

“I’ve learned, however, with time, that the dragons are dangerous, willful. Even the most peaceful amongst them.” Alicent continues, reaching for her goblet. Her brown eyes stare straight ahead, so unlike her children’s but somehow so hauntingly similar. Her children are every bit her’s as much as they are the King’s. “They do nothing by halves. Everything they do, they throw everything they have into it. Ruling. Fighting. Loving.”

“Of course, my queen,” you murmur when Alicent falls silent. “I’ve spent enough time with Helaena and the princes to see that.”

She turns to face you, smiling ruefully. “My children are no exception to it. Their dragon blood runs strong and it is because of that, I worry. Before being a queen, before any of it, I am their mother.”

You can only nod.

“My son loves you,” she finally says and your heart stops. “I’ve known it for quite some time and it’s never bothered me. He deserves his happiness, as do you. But… he’s a Targaryen and I worry about what that love will drive him to do.”

After a moment, you lean in slightly closer, looking at her with openly inquisitive eyes. “What do you mean, your grace?”

Alicent taps her fingers against her goblet. “Aemond’s joined the melee. He trains with Ser Criston even now for it.”

The breath leaves your lungs and you stare in open confusion.

Aemond has entered the tourney?

You shake your head, trying to knock some sense back into yourself. “He hates tourneys. He considers them a waste of his time.”

“He does,” Alicent agrees immediately. “But he does not consider you a waste of his time. I am… worried he’s not entering the tourney with the best of intentions. He does not seek honor or pride. Not his own, at least. He may try to win the crown but… I do not believe that is his main goal.”

Your eyes slide to Victor Florent, just to see him staring at you plainly. He looks stricken and pained, but he’s not fearful. No, his eyes are just glued to your crownless head.

Has he even noticed? You think, feeling nothing - not even pity. Does he know just whose rage he’s invited?

You swallow thickly. “Do you wish for me to talk him out of it, my queen? Are you concerned for his safety?”

She shakes her head immediately. “No, no. That is to say, I am concerned for him. He’s my son - I will always worry for him. I… Ser Criston tells me he’s twice as skilled as any man with two eyes, if not more so but still…”

She appears lost in thought for a moment, eyes staring blankly at her clasped hands on the table, and you know she’s thinking of that night in Driftmark, the night that haunts you all. After giving her a moment, you clear your throat and Alicent’s eyes leap to you. She straightens up again, shaking her head once more.

“I could never ask that of him. I imagine not even you could ever ask that of him. He’s a man grown and moreover, he’s a Targaryen prince. He will do as he pleases but… He’s my son, my precious boy, but he’s a dragon through and through. His way is fire and blood. I just wished to inform you, my lady.” She finishes quietly, eyes staring into yours before she turns to speak to her father on her other side, plainly finishing her conversation with you and dismissing you in one fell sweoop.

You stare after her, stunned. Queen Alicent loves her son, loves him more than she loves herself or any other, and because of that, she knows the truth of him, of all Targaryens.

Whichever Targaryen she wanted taught her that lesson and taught it to her well you think as you look at the Queen’s turned back. She had been burned. Alicent had birthed four dragons but fire still frightened her, still proved too hot for her comfort.

But you weren’t frightened. You couldn’t be. You had long since seen the real Aemond, the one that was vengeful and cruel. Moreover, you had whispered to him in his chambers so long ago that you were the same.

You aren’t kind or gentle by nature. You’re a Lannister, the blood of kings, a lion of the rock.

We may have bent the knee to the dragons but we will never cower before them.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to Helaena, resolved to speak with Aemond soon.

——————————–

In all your time spent at the capitol, you can probably count on your hands the number of times you have visited the training yards. Unlike other ladies of the court, the idea of watching the knights during their daily training had never had an appeal to you. Without the heraldry and opulence of tourneys, training was just men beating each other with sticks while the court rewarded them for it by clapping and cheering. There were countless other things that you would prefer to do and, barring a few times you had wanted to corner Aemond, you had kept your distance from the yards.

Your memories of the few times you had gone down to the yards are hazy but one of the things you do remember is the crucial point that all the men training were using wooden swords to practice, aiming to bruise rather than to maim.

As you watch Aemond duck under Ser Criston’s morningstar, his silver hair a streak in the pale moonlight, you realize with a cold fear that the weapons in their hands are steel.

You openly stare, hands clutched tightly in front of you, as Aemond quickly recovers, circling around the older knight slowly, sword held loosely in his grip. He doesn’t stay idle for long, darting in faster than you register, but, as quick as he is, Criston is faster, quickly moving to keep the distance between him and the prince wide. Aemond doesn’t let up, however, spinning on his heel to shorten the gap and, turning his sword in his hand to avoid harming the kingsguard, strikes Criston with the flat of his blade on the wrist.

Criston lets out a grunt but holds onto his weapon, swinging it in Aemond’s direction almost immediately, but the Targaryen is quick and, with a quick feint, he’s up next to Criston, sword at the knight’s neck.

For a moment, the two men stare each other down, Criston saying something low underneath his breath that you can’t hear, before he takes a step back, nodding his head at Aemond before turning to bow towards you. “Apologies, my lady,” he says, voice steady as if he hadn’t been training long before you had made your way to the yards. “As I’m sure you just saw, I was rather too preoccupied to greet you properly before.”

You shake your head immediately, curtseying back. “Please, do not worry, Ser Criston. You were busy training our prince. That surely has more value than just greeting me.”

Criston gives you a tight-lipped smile in response, stepping back and shooting Aemond a quick look. After a moment of dead silence, in which the three of you all stare at each other awkwardly, the knight heaves a deep sigh, rubbing his hurt wrist. “I’ll be right over here, selecting, uh, a new sword.”

In a clear bid to give the two of you space, Criston walks over to the sword rack, turning his back for some semblance of privacy but purposefully staying close enough to serve as a chaperon.

You stare at the knight for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before you take a deep breath and turn back to Aemond. The prince is already watching, his amethyst eye glowing pale in the moonlight. With his sword still held in his hand, he looks the warrior that you had always imagined when listening to the singers crone their songs; beautiful and dangerous, just like the dragons his family liked to pretend they were.

How can I be frightened of him? When he’s always been everything I’ve ever wanted?

“When were you planning on telling me?” You finally say, eyes searching his carefully. “Did you want me to find out when you walked out onto the grounds?”

He shakes his head, sheathing his sword at his side. “Did Helaena tell you?” He asks in lieu of answering.

“No,” you respond, taking a step closer, conscious of the way he straightens up as if he’s preparing himself for a fight. “The Queen told me. She seems to think I have something to do with it.”

“My mother worries though she shouldn’t have imparted that worry onto you,” he says, voice low, and, quickly, you glance over to Ser Criston, the knight still sorting through the sword rack at a glacial pace. You step closer and feel a rush of gratification when Aemond moves to meet you.

Closer now, close enough to feel his warmth in the cold air, you feel steadied. “I’m not worried,” you finally say, shaking your head firmly. It’s the truth of it. “At ten, you climbed onto the back of the largest and fiercest dragon in the world and claimed it for your own. That same night, you stood in front of the court and defended your mother to a room full of the Princess’s supporters. That was you as a boy. You’re a man now. I pity whoever has to face you in the melee tomorrow.”

There’s a moment of silence, as you watch the tension drain from Aemond’s body, before he moves.

Aemond reaches for you first, hand gently brushing your own. Your breath hitches and you surge forward, bringing it up to hold in between the two of you. His grasp is gentle and loose. Here in the training yard, he doesn’t feel the urge to chain you to him, to hold you steady. You come to him willingly and here, with only Ser Criston for company, there is nobody who seeks to rip you away.

“You surely cannot pity them all,” he says, his voice a grumbling tone that vibrates you to your core.

You smile wryly, laughing slightly. “No. Not all.” You admit freely. “Victor Florent made me out to be a lovestruck fool to the court and crowned me in front of nearly all of King’s Landing. He got his meeting with my father even if his own father only succeeded in angering the Lord of the Rock rather than securing a betrothal. He aims to repeat his success tomorrow and crown me again. If the prize he was fighting for was something more worthwhile than my hand, I’d be impressed with all the effort he’s putting into it. As it is, it’s wasted.”

Aemond frowns down at you, his free hand coming up to tug on one of the strands of your hair that falls free around your face, teasingly scolding you. “Your hand is a worthy cause. Victor Florent is the one not worthy. He shames you by thinking he can honor you in a marriage.”

You grin. “I thank you, my prince, for the credit to my name though I wasn’t trying to devalue it - just merely question the effort put into something that he’ll never have. Before today, my father would never consent to the marriage because I’m a daughter of a High Lord and that entitles me to more than the fourth son of a minor house. Now, he’d rather see me married off to an innkeeper than to Lord Erren’s son for the insults that House Florent has levied towards House Lannister.”

“Has someone broken the news to Victor?”

At that, you frown, tracing your thumb over the ridges of Aemond’s knuckles as you think. “I don’t think he’ll believe that I have no interest in marrying him until the day that a man places his house’s cloak over my shoulders. Even then, he’ll probably still think that I’m only thinking of him, only dreaming of the charming and humble life he can give me.”

Aemond lets out a noise of discontent. “His entitlement has no bounds.”

“Perhaps he’ll learn his place,”

“Perhaps someone will help him find it.” His low response hangs heavy in the silent night air and you look up at him, feeling your chest warm. It’s a prayer, a promise, a vow. It’s all for you.

You stand there for a moment, wishing you could curl up in this feeling and live in it for eternity. “I want to give you a favor,” you blurt out, knowing as soon as you say it that it’s the best you can give right now. His eye darkens as he looks down at you. Somewhere, vaguely in the background, Ser Criston coughs very loudly, as if reminding you that he’s there. Somewhat flustered and annoyed, you barrel onwards, feeling out of balance. There’s no clever wordplay or hiding now - only the bare truth. “A true favor. One that is freely given - not because I’m avoiding Victor Florent but because I want to give you one. I know there are no favors given in the melee - not like in the joust - but I want you to have mine regardless. I-If you’ll have it.”

He looks back at you, his gaze so piercing it feels like he’s peering straight into you and you pray that he is.

All of it is for you. Every last bit of me.

Finally, he smiles except it’s not soft or kind or gentle.

It’s hungry.

“I would accept, my lady,” he murmurs, freeing his hand from yours in order to trace your face. You chase its warmth until he cups your face, his hand large enough to hold it in its entirety. Your eyelids droop, content to stay in his heat. “Except you’ve already given it to me.”

You blink, slightly dazed, before pulling yourself back into focus, embarrassed at your lack of restraint. You frown up at him, quizzical. “The only favor I’ve ever given out before was to Tygett.”

His smile only grows and he leans down until his forehead is pressed up against your own and you suddenly know.

“You gave it to me eight years ago,” he continues in that same low tone and you step closer, crowding into his space. His body heat is blazing but you want more and more and more. You want as much as he can give you right now and you want even more than that. “You gave me your favor alongside a story and a promise. I carry it with me always.”

At that, you pull back, only slightly, so you can scan his neck. There’s no necklace, not even a golden chain that denotes the sapphire necklace your father gave you all those years ago. No sign of the gift you had given him in his room at Driftmark, the night your lives had changed irrevocably, when you had sworn yourself to his cause until your end.

But then you remember.

Symeon Star-Eyes.

Your eyes dart up to his own and his smile only grows.

A distant part of you is aware of what is expected of a lady of your station when confronted with this truth. Your old septas would scream at you that you should pull away in disgust, in horror of what he’s done to himself. Maybe you should even beg him to undo it and remind him that stories are just stories and he shouldn’t harm himself more than he already was.

But all you can think about is that scar; horrible, wide, and gaping. The grievous wound that Lucerys Velaryon had left on him. Even now, you can see the carnage, the butchery. For years, the mere thought of that wound and the way it had bled would be enough to drive you into a boiling and murderous rage.

Except right now, as you think about his scar, you don’t think about the way Aemond had flinched as the maester had sewed it back together, stitch by agonizing stitch. You don’t smell the sickly sweet smell of milk of the poppy or hear the Queen’s sobs. Instead, you think about how he had taken the scar the Strong boys had given him and had opened it back again.

And then he filled it with you.

Breath hitching, you stare back at him, eyes full of amazement and wonder, your hand coming up to touch the ridges of his scar that stretch past the leather of his eyepatch. His other eye flutters close and he leans into your touch and you wonder if it’s possible to love someone as completely as you love him.

For a wild moment, you think about pulling off his eyepatch, about pulling him close and kissing him as hard as you could, about learning his body as well as you know the rest of him. But you can’t, not here, with Ser Criston Cole only steps away, listening closely for any signs that he should intervene and stop the thread of honor snapping under the strain of the two of you.

So instead, you push yourself up on your tiptoes and, as gentle as can be, you press a kiss to his eyepatch, lingering for a moment. Beneath your lips and beneath the cold leather, you can feel Aemond’s breath stutter, feel him push close to you.

You pull away and look at him, wondering if he sees you as completely as you see him. He looks back at you, his amethyst eye as beautiful as ever, and you imagine seeing him with the sapphire one as well and seeing him as he truly is.

You want it. You want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything save, maybe, him himself.

There’s a loud cough in the distance, followed by Ser Criston’s loud declaration that he’s almost selected a sword, and, reluctantly, you pull yourself away. As soon as you do, however, Aemond captures your hand once more and, bowing at the waist, brings it up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles.

You freeze, feeling impossibly hot all of a sudden.

“My lady Lannister,” he murmurs and you can feel each word being said against your hand. “I humbly ask for your continued favor in order to bring you victory.”

He looks up at you, eye gleaming knowingly in the moonlight.

“Of course,” you softly say after a moment. “It’s always been yours.”

#i have been waiting to write the final scene for a while lol #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you

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