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janaispunk · 14 days

Text

just close your eyes

chapter 3 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, implied death of a character, the angst is ANGSTING in this one

a/n: once again, i can't thank that jackson joel pedro photo enough for the inspiration that it's brought me. i hurt my own feelings with this chapter, and truth be told, it's gonna get worse from here.

follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

Over the following days, something of a routine forms between the three of you.

Joel spends most of his time resting, asleep more often than not, the shape of him on your couch a picture that you grow familiar with. But as his fever goes down and the skin around his injury is less red than when you first laid eyes on it, you allow yourself the tentative hope that you might have been able to actually save him.

You’re becoming less skittish around him, getting used to his rather gruff demeanor, slowly realizing that what Ellie said was indeed true, it’s not about you. You come to think he just doesn’t like needing and accepting help.

Ellie follows you around like a puppy, eager to soak up every scrap of knowledge that you can share with her. It’s not much, you think, mostly cooking, the task of turning supplies into various meals, given the limited resources that you have in this world. You like having her around, the almost constant stream of chatter and questions never annoying you.

It fills your usual silence, helps keeping you grounded in the present. Most of the time.

Now that you have company, it becomes painfully obvious to you how much time you spend in your head, just sitting and staring straight ahead, lost in your thoughts, oblivious to the time passing. You have taken to having a book open in your lap, to make it seem like you’re reading, but you find yourself looking down at the page without seeing it, not sure when you last turned it.

It’s not what they would have wanted, you keep telling yourself, trying to shake yourself out of it. Well, it’s not like anything happened the way we wanted, the bitter voice in your head answers.

If Ellie or Joel notice, they don’t ask about it. You hear their voices in the night sometimes, both of them sleeping in your parents’ bedroom now, since the couch was starting to hurt Joel’s back.

You don’t lock your door anymore, leaving it ajar, just like them. The thought of someone else being down here with you is soothing you, the fear of them being a possible threat basically nonexistent at this point. Instead, a different kind of fear sets in.

They haven’t talked about where they are going, but you know that they’re not gonna stay forever. Once Joel is completely healed, and winter has given way to spring, they’ll most likely be off again, leaving you on your own again. You don’t want to grow attached, but it’s difficult not to, while being with other constantly.

You and Joel are taking longer to warm up to each other than you and Ellie have, but you’ve gotten used to having him around you. It’s a quiet, but trustworthy, reassuring thing, his presence in your space. Now that he’s healing, he’s someone who you trust to take responsibility, to take care of things if needed. You’re not sure how you know, but you’re certain that he is.

One evening, Ellie finds the DVD collection that’s stashed away in the cabinet under the small TV in the corner of the room. You hadn’t watched anything in forever, not sure if it’s even still working, but her enthusiasm makes it impossible to turn her down.

Even Joel pipes up at the prospect of a movie night, crouching down next to her to sift through the DVDs. They’re both drawn to the shitty action movies – usually not your preferred taste, but you find the corners of your mouth lifting when they both turn around simultaneously, looking for your approval of their choice.

Joel pushes himself back up with a grunt, pressing the button on the TV and making it spring to life without issue. You settle deeper into the couch cushions, pulling a knitted blanket over yourself as you watch the opening credits play.

It’s so comfortable, so normal, and you want to get lost in the feeling in a way that makes your heart ache. Ellie sits down beside you to share the blanket while Joel stretches his legs out on the other couch. A smile is tugging at his lips when he catches you looking at him, but it can’t hide the wariness in his eyes, mirroring your own. It’s the feeling of things being too good to be true, the fear of nothing good ever lasting, of the world crashing down around you again, that always accompanies you, and without asking, you know that he feels it too. You cast your eyes back to the screen, trying hard not to get yourself lost in the fear, but to enjoy the moments of peace while they last.

Ellie loves the movie, her eyes wide at every action-packed sequence, gasping at every explosion. At one of the more absurd scenes, you can’t contain the burst of laughter that bubbles up your throat. You’re unexpectedly joined by the deeper rumble of Joel’s, a sound that you haven’t heard before.

You glance at him, to find his eyes already on you, an emotion in them that you can’t place. Neither of you say a word, both quietly returning your eyes to the TV.

When you’re lying in bed later that night, you still feel the smile on your face.

While your closeness with Ellie came quickly, almost taking you by storm, it’s a quiet, slowly growing thing with Joel.

It begins with him lingering in the kitchen when you’re preparing the morning coffee, asking you questions about the place, about keeping supplies, electricity, the safety measures. He helps you with cooking, grumbling about giving something back when you protest.

He’s gruff, no comparison to Ellie’s lively chatter and endless questions, and it makes you nervous at first. But you get used to him, his more quiet demeanor, his dry humor. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to scare you again, avoiding sudden movements or getting loud, and while you appreciate it, you also can’t help but wonder how broken you must seem from the outside.

He doesn’t ask prying questions about your past, how you’ve come to live here all alone, though you have to imagine that he’s curious. You don’t ask him about his either, even if you do wonder how he and Ellie ended up together. It’s a quiet mutual understanding and you’re grateful for it.

You have to believe that he had his fair share of loss in his own life, that the both of them had; an inescapable reality at this point in the world’s history.

It’s like a silent camaraderie when he catches your eye as Ellie is reading out puns to the both of you once more, rolls his eyes in a way that still holds so much love for the girl next to you, but that fills you with the urge to giggle. It stops you in your tracks the first time it happens, the sensation so unfamiliar to you that you can’t place it for a second.

When you smile at him, the corners of his mouth rise ever so slightly as well, before he huffs an exaggerated sigh at the joke that you just heard. It riles Ellie up, just like he wanted to, you suspect. But you block out her bickering at him, busy with your own thoughts. One thought in particular, one that you haven’t had about anyone since you were a teenager.

Joel is kind of pretty when he smiles.

The both of them have also taken to working their way through the bookshelf that’s taking up most of one of the walls. It’s mostly guidebooks on hunting, gardening, self defense, anything that your father deemed possibly useful. Over time, you had added books from your old bedroom, the one upstairs, that you had hastily carried down the stairs, hoping for the familiar words to give you a sense of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal anymore.

Joel sometimes talks to you about them, asking your opinion on which ones to read, discussing their contents with you. Over time, you realize that he does it when you’re zoning out, pulling you back into reality with the drawl of his low voice next to you. You’re thankful for it, not used to being cared for like this, but also mortified that as it seems, he does notice when you’re too deep inside your head.

It’s one of those afternoons, you’re just about to start preparing dinner, when Ellie asks if you have more books somewhere, about something cool. “Like what?” you reply, an easy smile on your face.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “like comics, maybe? Ohh, or something about space?”

It takes a moment before the words register, before they form a picture in your mind, the memory of exactly what she’s asking for. You stop in your tracks, frozen on your way to the kitchen. Your toes dig into the carpet beneath your bare feet. A faint trembling starts in your hands and slowly spreads through your body.

Ellie says your name, an edge in her voice. You’re not sure what your face looks like.

Your wide eyes find hers, looking up at you from where she was spread out on the floor, her hair splaying out over the scratchy rug, one of your books held over her head. You had joked about how that position couldn’t be comfortable a few minutes ago.

You see Joel from the corner of your eye, slowly raising to his feet from the couch cushions. It feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re sucking in air but it doesn’t reach your lungs.

A large, warm hand lands on your shoulder, making you jump. Joel rubs soothing circles over your back, your name a low rumble on his lips.

“It’s– it’s not a problem if not,” Ellie murmurs, sitting up slowly, her eyes flicking between you and Joel, uncertainty written over her features.

You force a shuddering breath in, using the sensation of Joel’s hand splayed over your back to ground yourself. Nodding your head, you will your voice to travel up your throat.

“Yeah no, I– just a second.”

Joel repeats your name, more questioning this time, but you ignore it, feet carrying you into the bathroom where you quickly shut the door behind you. Skin stretching over your knuckles, you stand over the sink, gripping its edges to stay upright.

It’s what he would have wanted. He would have been so happy to share them. It’s true, you know what.

You’re not sure what’s worse. Going in there yourself, crossing the threshold of a room that you haven’t entered in years, haven’t even opened the door to, or letting someone else do it, let them disturb the memory of a reality that you’ve tried to preserve in there. Too painful to touch, but too important to let go of.

Steeling yourself, you return to the living area. Ellie and Joel are sitting close to each other, both of their heads flying up at the door opening. It’s obvious that they have been talking about you. You bite your lip.

Ellie rises to her feet slowly, takes a tentative step toward you. “Listen, it’s not that important really–” She sounds like she’s talking to a skittish animal.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice not to betray you. With a deep breath, you cross the room to the door beside yours. One of two that you keep firmly closed.

It creaks on its hinges when you open it slowly, your hand shaking on the handle. You try not to look around, to keep your eyes closed to the truth that nothing changed in here, and yet everything changed. It’s stuffy, stagnant air that’s been untouched for too long, but it smells like him. Like he’s still here with you.

You don’t see the unmade bed, still carrying the trace of the last time he got up, the stuffed lion beside the pillow. Don’t see the half finished drawings on the desk, or the mess of action figures in the corner. You grab the stack of comics from the nightstand, ignoring the way your vision blurs at the edges. Move on to the shelf, smaller than the one in the living room, blindly picking out random books.

When you step out of the bedroom, quickly pulling the door shut behind you again, neither Joel or Ellie have moved. You can’t meet either one’s gaze, don’t want to see the expression in their eyes.

Ellie takes the stack of books from your outstretched hands, murmuring a thanks, and you sense that there are more words on the tip of her tongue. Questions, apologies, you don’t know and you don’t want to.

Turning on your heels, you escape into your own room, closing the door as quickly as you can before you collapse on your bed. Tears flood your eyes in time with the memories flooding your head, threatening to pull you under and drown you under their waves.

You hear their muffled voices through the door, but neither of them comes to disturb you. You’re thankful for it, not needing anyone to witness you in this state. Eventually, you drift off into sleep, your mind gladly giving way to unconsciousness.

The following night is the first time that Joel has to shake you awake from a nightmare.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedrostories #janas fics #fic: safe and sound

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kneelingshadowsalome · 4 months

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prefacing this by saying I have absolutely no information on this period of history, but Rome was sacked and ultimately destroyed by Germanic tribes.

And naturally, the first thing I thought of upon learning that was Invader!König X Roman Maiden!Reader. Similar to your story, I’m thinking he decides to take the Reader as a trophy of war similar to his comrades. You and plenty of other maidens are tied up, thrown across horseback or across shoulders, and dragged off back to Germania. Depending on how dark you want it, König could wait for his little prize to want his cock, or he could have no patience at all and fuck her as soon as he gets a chance. Of course, he’s still somewhat of a gentleman, he’ll make sure she enjoys it, but like it or not his cock’s going in her.

I think this is an opportunity to lean even further into the barbarian König idea, with varying levels of darkness.

Save me dark barbarian!König... 🖤💋

CW: dark content, noncon groping, noncon cuddling, fear of SA, König's idea of hot sex is problematic to say the least, reader's level of enthusiasm/consent is ambiguous

He doesn’t care about your delicate sensibilities or noble background, he’s here to bring your Empire down and your weak men to their knees. It’s about time someone burned Rome to the ground; no amount of foreign perfume can cover the smell of shit in these streets…

But he won’t say no to gold or jewels, they might some day decorate his future wife's neck and wrists perhaps. Neither will he ride homeward without a slave to keep him warm. He hasn’t had a woman in months, the only thing closest to a cunt has been his calloused fist and he’s grown tired of that, nothing can compare with the real deal so a soft little female is exactly what he needs to keep him company when he and his warriors return North.

Your options are either freezing to death or crawling inside this giant’s cloak when he holds it open for you come nightfall, the voyage to Germania bringing with it the first snow and cold winds straight from Hades. You have no option but to go to this man for some body heat, the low rumble in his chest resembling the pleased purr of some untamed beast as he envelops you in wool and a hungry embrace.

He never speaks to you, only talks with his hands that roam all over your body as you cling to him with clattering teeth. Examining the wideness of your hips, the plumpness of your ass and tits, he serves himself a handful and some pinches as if he’s sampling fruit at the marketplace. Rubs your nipples between the pad of his thumb and pointer until you flinch from pain, mutters something pleased when he sees your skittish reaction. He won’t allow you to pull away however, not when you’re finally here, so back to his arms you go as he crushes you against his chest.

He’s amused at your attempts to both huddle closer and squirm away: why are you being so difficult when clearly, you want this too?

He saw how you looked at him back there when he was drenched in blood, that’s the reason he chose you. You’re sweeter than an apple, didn’t even scream when he swept your hair from your face to have a better look at you, you only eyed him with challenge when he inspected your lips, waistline and hips. A scared female would have avoided his eyes and begged not to be killed or worse, but you only lifted your chin and spat on his face, practically begging to get fucked…

And now you’re acting like you don’t want his cock while at the same time, you continue to stare at him like a deer in heat. If you don’t want him to fuck you then you should stop making him hard, but in truth König is only glad that he chose you out of all women. The ride back home won’t be dull with a fiery fox woman like you, he has to be careful that he doesn’t get bitten and bruised… How his men would laugh in the morning if they found out that the vixen he stole has made him hers, little teeth marks decorating his skin and betraying everyone your claim.

He would only be proud of you if you did that; women are quite adorable when they have some fire in them. But make no mistake, he won’t let you go no matter how hard you act like you hate him… Everyone here knows you want to jump on his cock; had he decided to inspect your pussy too while covered in your husband’s blood, he could’ve bet all his fortune along with his horse that you were already wet for him.

He could take you right now on this cold, hard ground, try to see how long it takes to make you wet and pliant. The only thing really keeping him from doing so are his men, no doubt wanting to see how a Roman lady takes their giant leader's cock. But he’s not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you naked, let alone watching him fuck you, he'd have to kill them all afterwards...

So he settles for making his naughty little slave warm, and both of you a little breathless. He can find a more discreet place for you tomorrow, order a break or two to ease the heaviness of his sacks, the aching hard ons he’s had ever since he saw you. He has to be careful not to break you, and remember to kiss you on your neck, he heard that that’s the key to make women wet and willing.

You seem so fragile and frail when you fall asleep, finally surrendering to him, your body yielding and molding against his. In the morning, you whimper sweetly when he squeezes your now warm, plush body, and plants kisses on your face, your neck. You have no idea that the warriors are already mocking him for “making you wait so long”, that he has listened to stupid jokes all morning with you securely tucked inside his cloak. You bite him when he tries to come too close, all the brutes around you burst to laughter as he howls from pain.

Not feeling at all sorry for him when he rubs his neck and looks at you with drowsy curiosity, you rise and spit again on the ground as if you had just tasted something vile. He can’t stifle his smile then, your idea of foreplay is much more fun than what he had in mind…

And you aren’t flung over his horse, but actually get to ride it with him, the arm around your middle like iron as he keeps you as close to him as possible. You don’t know that he’s reluctant to take an unwilling woman, and that this preference makes him the laughing stock of the group. Neither do you know that König has already pictured you inside his hut, baking bread and scolding children like the firebrand that you are, giving him a naughty little wrestle and a fistfight every night before bed... Shuddering from want like you do now on his horse as he exposes your breasts to the approaching winter.

You are about to faint as tiny snowflakes land on your nipples, melting instantly as this man starts to fondle your tits. Slumping against his blazing form, you can do nothing but accept your fate as the horse keeps walking and the men around you shout and whistle at the sight of your breasts. The rough barks of your captor quickly end their excitement upon seeing your exposed tits, the whistles stop and the men turn their eyes quickly away from you.

The man behind you is now perfectly content, riding in the crisp morning air while pawing your breast with one hand and holding the reins with the other, his groin grinding against you with the movements of the horse, making it clear that he might soon stop this torture altogether and take you to the nearby woods for a quick fuck…

#barbarian!könig #dark content #spoils of war #historical au #tw: slavery #tw: dark themes #cw: dark content

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joonberriess · 2 months

Note

Listening to Britney Spears Toxic right now. How about a little something to this lyrics

With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride

You're toxic, I'm slippin' under

With a taste of a poison paradise

I'm addicted to you

☆ mafia!jk, mentions of threats and toxic relationships, oc is a little…interesting to say the least.

you know you shouldn’t. ‘he’s not good for you’ the tiny voice in your head screams at you.

but why do you keep coming back and letting him in..? it’snotyourfaultit’snotyourfault, it’s.not.your.fault.

“go away jungkook,” you yell from the other side of the door, there’s only one thing stopping him and it’s this flimsy door. you try not to imagine him breaking this door down, there’s nothing holding him back.

“isn’t this what you wanted though? to talk? so here i am baby, why don’t you open the door yeah? we can have a niceeee long talk, talk about us allll you want.” the door knob wiggles.

you want to, but then you remember the person you found out he was an hour ago when you walked into his apartment and he stood there in his crisp suit, all bloodied and a gun and knuckle brass tossed to the side. that’s how you found out your boyfriend was not a fucking chairman to a company, but a whole mob boss.

“c’mon baby,” he whispers, “open this door and let me in.”

you curl into yourself, “no, go away. i’m not changing my mind and i don’t ever wanna see you again!” your poor heart races in fear. you can hear him let out a disappointed sigh, but the next thing has you shaking.

“open this door y/n, or else more people are gonna die—you want that hm? i’ll kill everyone in this fucking building with a snap of my fingers.”

you’re insane because no way are you trembling in excitement now. you scream in shock as he kicks the door in and stands there with a menacing grin. he comes barreling in as he cups your face in his big hands, backing you into the counter as he lays rough kisses over your lips.

“oh how i missed these little lips of yours,” he murmurs in between the harsh kisses.

you whimper and grip his wrists tightly, but he has a feeling he won’t be needing to convince you any further with the way you timidly stand on your tippy toes to give him more access. “oh, you like that don’t you,” he whispers, “i’ll burn this fucking city to the ground if you don’t come back.”

#thirst night

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tiredfox64 · 1 month

Note

Can you write about the reader tagging along with Lin Kuei brothers on a mission and where they are us cold, which the reader hates and gets cold very easily and each opportunity the brothers would find a way to warm the reader themselves?

Ice Can Help

Prior notes: I would complain about the cold but I need to complain about the heat now. Tell me why it’s gonna be 80 tomorrow and almost 90 on Monday 💀

Pairings: Lin Kuei Bros x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: You shall walk with no fear

And you thought home was cold. Forget it, you rather take that than this.

The finest fake fur can’t save you right now. Nor any thermal wear that covers your arms and legs.

Yet the brothers walk in this harsh blizzard with ease. Not a single goosebump rises on their arms from the snow that comes pelting at their skin. That same snow feels like it’s aiming constantly at eyes. You’re lucky it’s not sticking to the couple of inches of snow that is already on the ground. If it raises any higher you’ll be doing a weird march just to move forward.

Your teeth clattered together as you hug your body to keep yourself even the tiniest bit warm. You’re constantly trying to keep your snot in but your nose is so numb you can’t tell if it’s still leaking. Why the hell would Liu Kang send you out to help the boys? You already hate the cold. This just feels like torture or some sort of mental training. See how long you can last before you snap.

“What is taking you so long?” Bi-Han yelled at you from a distance.

You didn’t even realize how far behind you were until you looked up.

“It’s hard walking in this weather. It’s freezing.” You answered back.

“It is not. Why did you come if you cannot handle this mere weather.”

“Because I was freaking told to, Bi-Han! I ain’t have no choice!” If Bi-Han is gonna give you attitude you gonna send it back.

Tomas was kind enough to walk over to you to keep you company as you guys kept moving. His arm wrapped around to to bring you close. It’s incredible that he still can maintain his body temperature at a healthy level. You forget that these guys train to handle intense circumstances and weather counts as an intense circumstance. Now you’re grateful that his body was still very warm cause you started leaning into his more than you meant to. He noticed you actions and he decided to check on your temperature by placing the back of his hand against your cheek.

“Are you okay? You’re freezing. You can’t go on while you’re nearly freezing to death.”Did your mother possess Tomas, what the heck is going on?

He brings you into a hug, your face now shoved in his chest area. It actually helps to warm your face since it prevents the snow from pelting you. It gives you the change to warm your nose up so you could breathe properly. You can’t lie you could get used to this. His hugs are healing.

“What now?!” You heard Bi-Han yell once more.

Tomas started explaining that you were horribly cold. Bi-Han didn’t want to hear that complaint again today. Kuai Liang was the one who took it seriously and before Bi-Han could stop his brother from paying any mind to you he was already in front of you.

“You should have told me they were like this. I could have warmed them easily.”

Of course, Kuai Liang would be the best option here. He used his pyromancy to cause flames to ignite, forming a circle around you three. The heat that emitted from the flames was much more pleasing than the harsh cold the wind produced. For extra measures Kuai Liang decided to hug you as well. Him and Tomas basically sandwiched you to help warm you up. Oh and it was working. A moment ago it felt like your cheeks were about to lose feeling and now they are burn up like you had hot coals shoved inside your mouth. This works in your favor. Thank goodness the fur of your jacket helped hide that satisfied smile that naturally produced from this hug session.

The only one who is not satisfied is Bi-Han. Times being wasted and he wants to get a move on. You three seem to be happy just where you are. Even the snow can’t hide the smiles on Tomas’ and Kuai Liang’s face as they look down at you. You did look pretty adorable snuggling up to them. If only Bi-Han could get in on that action. But now’s not the time! Y’all have a mission to get it.

“Fine, if they need to be warmed up let me in so we can be done with this.” Bi-Han started to make his way towards you before Kuai Liang gestured for him to stop.

“No, brother, you are too cold. You will only reverse all the efforts we have made.” Plus, there’s not enough room for another man to cuddle you.

Oh so Bi-Han is the problem now. He’s just about done with this. So they think he will make things worse? He begs to differ.

You started to hear the cracking and squeaking of ice as it starts to formed around all of you. It formed into a dome and soon you were unable to hear the wind blowing. There is no more snow striking you as if it were blades.

Of course, an igloo. Why didn’t you think of that.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Tomas stared in awe at the icey walls.

“Of course I can, Tomas. Never doubt me again.” He said it like he actually knew he could do this. He just did it out of pure anger.

You were feeling way better than before. You don’t have to worry about hypothermia taking one of your toes. Kuai Liang produced more fire to help warm you up while Tomas used his body heat to deal with the rest of your body. And Bi-Han…ah he’s a little grumpy. Leave him be but thank him for his amazing abilities.

By now you were able to feel every part of your body again. Nothing felt stiff or numb. You were even sweating a little from all the heat that was being trapped in the igloo. Kuai Liang and Tomas were happy to see some color in your face again that didn’t signify you were freezing.

“Thank you guys. I’m feeling much better. Maybe I should have you guys visit in the winter more often to save me some money on the heating bill,” you joked while looking at Kuai Liang and Tomas, “Okay, Bi-Han, I’m ready to move on.”

“Good, great, wonderful, come on!” He yelled the last part at you before kicking open a hole in the igloo.

He was already on the move, ready to get this mission over with. He’s gonna have a nice talk with Liu Kang about sending you out here with them.

You’ll do the same. You’ll let that fire god know that you won’t ever do another mission in the cold weather. You rather stay home with a bunch of blankets wrapped around you than deal with this hell. But you did get a nice cuddle session out of this. This won’t be the last time, you’ll make sure of it.

After notes: The state that I live in has summers that are like hell and winters where you are at the lowest part of hell and the devil is constantly flapping his wings. Maybe cause a sort of devil does live in this state. Whoops. Welp I hope you don’t mind that this was simple and short. Sorry if this isn’t what you want. Now I have to get goin, Adiós!

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ceruleancattail · 1 year

Note

Yandere Malleus??? So many possibilities with the future king

Ok as someone who plays on the en server, I'm going to write for him based on what I know. JP Malleus can stay far far away from me. Let me level my boys in peace.

tw:yandere, Malleus being a gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss/hj

Yandere Malleus Draconia

The Crown Prince of Briar Valley. Seated on his throne of thorns, surveying the land that lies before him. His subjects, taking a knee before him. The back of their heads exposed to him, eyes kept down.

Out of respect? Out of fear?

He's not too sure.

No one tells the truth in his court. Everything's hidden behind a veil of lies, woven with flattery as smooth as silk. They wrap around his eyes, tightening slowly but steadily. Blinding Malleus from the schemes of the court.

He thought that Night Raven College would be different. Life as a student, interacting with others like equals, for once in his life. Unfortunately, his reputation precedes him. The students all duck around him, scuttling away like ants from a fire.

His dorm mates worship him like a god. Malleus' flanked by two guards at all times. Everywhere he goes, people are watching. Flinching when he approaches. They hold him at arms' length,treat him as someone untouchable.

Out of respect? Out of fear?

Again, he does not know. Does it matter? It's a peaceful life. No one bothers him.... no one ever approaches him, for that matter. Malleus tells himself that it's fine. He enjoys the solitude.

That is, until he met you. The prefect of Ramshackle. The student who belongs to nowhere. A fresh face from another world. A brand new page, unsoiled by the norms of Twisted Wonderland. Someone who doesn't know him as Malleus Draconia.

Your eyes met his. You didn't wince at the sight of him. Even going as far as to dub him as "Hornton", you weren't afraid in the slightest. Drawn like a moth to the flame, Malleus finds himself drifting towards you. He finds comfort, in your company.

Child of man, you've bewitched him, have you not? This burn in his chest is unbearable. Tongues of flame searing your image deep into his heart.

You're the only one for him.

Malleus takes it upon himself to keep you protected. You have no need for other influences. The wagging tongues of people may lead you astray. He knows better, having grown up with the dizzying politics of the royal court. You, however... are a mere child of man. He'll take it upon himself to protect you.

Slowly, but surely, you'll start to realise that your friends are a little.. distant. They ignore you in the halls, turning tail whenever they catch a glimpse of you. Even Magicam is silent, no one ever reaching out to you.

No one but Malleus. He seeks your company at odd hours of the night. He stands over your sleeping form, offering a hand to you. It hurts, does it not? He knows how you feel. Take a walk with him, Prefect. His company may not be much, but he'll take away your pain.

Hand in hand, he guides you through the school grounds. It's somehow ethereal, the way something so familiar could look so different bathed in silvery moonlight. With a flick of his wrist, flames of emerald burst into life, swirling around you two. They hang in the air like fireflies, twinkling mischievously at you.

It's nights like this which help make you feel alive again. For those brief moments, your loneliness is banished. All you can feel is the warmth of the flames, and Malleus' fingers intertwined with yours. That's all you need to feel, really.

He’ll keep you by his side.

Out of Respect? Out of Fear?

He doesn’t care which.

Now, Prefect dear. Take his hand, and let him show you a piece of his world.

It'll be all you'll ever know.

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ghouljams · 2 months

Text

Home [Chapter 6]

Prev Part

Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, slow burn, f!oc cameo(Witch), sea travel, grief, kidnapping(sort of)

Summary: Again you find yourself at the mercy of the Vikings' will, moved without your consent to a place you'd rather not go. You must be going mad, somehow it all reminds you of home.

Packing up camp takes less time than you’d thought, though you suppose many hands make light work. Your hands aren’t saved from that work either. Despite decidedly not being a viking you’re directed to assist with collapsing and packing tents. Mactavish points out where to store them on the ship, before picking up crates and barrels with a soft grunt. You resent being given the easy work, relegated to burden before you even set out, but you would resent being given anything harder too.

Working with vikings. Your blood boils at the thought, but you have no other way to go. With no pressing medical needs you’re treated the same as every other man in the crew. You’re not sure whether to resent that fact or laugh. Are you a woman or aren’t you? Are you surrounded by wolves or are you taken into their burrow? Will you find hands shoved under your clothes, or won’t you?

You stick to Mactavish, try not to be underfoot after the first viking you bump yells at you. The men are all preoccupied with carrying their burdens, if it weren’t for Mactavish you might see threads of escape. You might have taken the chaos of packing the ship as your best chance to get out of here. But Mactavish seems to welcome your company, chattering away as he directs you to grab crates and load the long boat. His hand is firm on your back, always touchy even when it’s not called for.

“Is nae a long journey,” He explains, “jus’ across the straight. We’ll be there before ya ken it.”

It doesn’t escape your notice how excited your viking counterpart is at the prospect of going home. If it were you, and to some extent it is, you wouldn’t be so eager to part with your homeland. As you see it Mactavish may as well renounce the tartan he wears over his shoulders, eager as he is to be a viking. You don’t have much choice in where you go, but you’ll be damned if you’re eager to leave.

You’re employed, that’s it. You work or you die. You catch the captain’s eye as Mactavish shows you where you’ll be stationed for the journey. He tips his head to talk to the viking in the skull mask, his attention off of you as quickly as it had found you. Mactavish catches you staring and sighs.

“He’s just nervous about ya runnin’.”

“As if you wouldn’t strike me down before I left camp,” You mumble, your eyes following the trails of axes and swords where they sit on the hips of the men loading the ship. Mactavish winces. You don’t see how it could mean much to him, you’re just extra cargo, another mouth to feed that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“Ah wouldnae,” Mactavish tries, you push past him. You’re uninterested in empty promises, in words that have the same substance to them as the air they whisper through. He would, he just needs to be given the order and your life is forfeit. Wants disappear when viking’s greed is on the line.

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him, you’re already stolen, you’ve nothing to return to, what reason could you have for running? You’re the only woman on the ship, and for who knows how long. That’s reason enough to run. There’s space to run on land, but at sea? You pause, frown at the rocky beach below your feet. You’d be better served dead than passed between oars.

The fears of women, you have no sane way of voicing them to your captor. Mactavish hands you a bag, the contents of it shift with strange shapes as you find your hold. It’s smokey, smelling of meat and brine. It grounds you a little. You clear the anxiety from your mind and glance out over the sea, trying to find the other side the way you used to when you were small.

You’re reminded almost immediately that Mactavish owns you as the longboat pushes off the shore. You’re caged between the wall of the ship and your least favorite viking, his words bouncing around your head as he directs men to row. “My catch,” “my watch,” “prey.” He calls you that again in a hushed tone,

“Dae ya get sea sick, Vaenn?”

You ignore him, turn your head to rest it against the wooden wall of the ship. There’s little for you to do on the ship but wait. You patch a few blisters on the youngest vikings, and tend to the fever that’s brought on by a night of rain. Mostly you find yourself with Mactavish pressed to your side. Big and warm, sturdy when you try to push him off. His eyes are stormy each time you look at him, the clouds parting when he turns to meet your stare.

He pulls on smiles like an old pair of shoes. They’re well worn, practiced to his face, but they never reach his eyes. You wonder what he must be thinking. You try to drown out that curiosity with a different one. What are you meant to do when you get to shore?

Four days of sailing and the only thing you’ve come up with is: doctor. You suppose there must be more vikings, more warriors returning from different pillages, that need patching up. You can’t imagine what that must look like, a whole village of brutes. You wonder if they kidnap all their women, or if you’re a special case.

Exhaustion weighs on you. The rocking of the boat, the unease in your stomach around sleeping with so many strangers nearby, you find little rest and in the short grabs of it you jerk awake to the heat of fire. Your grief has started to numb you, or perhaps that’s the ocean’s chill. Mactavish fixes his fur around your shoulders more tightly, checks the heat of you with a cool hand against your cheek. You wonder if he even has the capacity to worry for others. A man that would turn away from the screams of an entire village is a man that holds no one but himself in his heart. You turn away from him more often than not, feel the frustrated curl of his fingers before they’re dropped in a fist to his lap.

You can see it every time you close your eyes, so you don’t. You can hear your own sobs ripping from your chest, can feel the strength of Mactavish’s arm around you, in your dreams. You don’t sleep. What’s lost can never be regained, and now you slip further from it. Your skin is cold and your stomach churns with the waves. You tuck your resentment close to your chest, and nurse it with bitterness.

You’re not going home. You don’t have one of those anymore.

You’re startled awake by a familiar melody, words you know from your mother’s tongue. You mutter her name, still addled by sleep, and split your eyes open. Mactavish is studying his hands beside you, digging his short nails into the calluses at the base of his fingers. His voice is low, but the tune carries. The usually noisy ship seems to hold its silence. In the dim grey light of dawn you wonder if it’s just the two of you awake.

The only two souls alive that carry the land’s proper tongue.

And yet he mutters it, the words of the lullaby said under his breath, breathed through the chopped melody that leaves his lips. He doesn’t even seem to pay attention to it, his eyes focused on his hand’s work more than the tune. You listen to the sharp pick of skin, nearly louder than the familiar tune, and try not to move.

“-found the trial o’ mountain mist, but ne’er a trace of baby o,” He hums, his lips twitching with pain as he digs his nail too deep. Mactavish looks up towards the bow of the ship and you follow his eyes as best you can, watching Gaz and the Captain speaking in quiet tones.

Gaz holds a telescope to his eye, nodding and directing course when he brings it down. The air waits for them. There’s a near silent beating of wings, and the captain holds out his arm for a black bird to perch on. He strokes its beak with a finger, the creature clicking pleasantly before it alights again, back the way it came.

Your heart pounds in your chest. The threat of land never closer than it is when the Captain turns to the ship and announces,

“We’ll be sleeping in beds tonight, lads.”

Mactavish smiles to himself, his head bowed, while the rest of the crew cheers. You don’t share their excitement.

The port you dock in is nothing like you expected. Mactavish offers you a hand to help you off the ship, and though you reach for it instinctually, you ultimately spurn the gesture. You’d rather make a fool of yourself tripping over your skirts than take help from that man. Again you see his fist clench, dropped heavily to his side as he stares at the space you used to occupy. The skull faced viking directs the unloading of cargo, barking orders to the others while you look out at the town.

It’s not what you thought it would be. There’s no dismal hopelessness to the buildings that dot the grassy landscape. Women and children move between the houses without fear, and market stalls exchange their goods for coin under colorful banners. In the distance you can see sheep grazing, men fish along the shore, farms and gardens dot the landscape. The dirt path that winds around town works its way inward, all roads leading to the center, a longhouse built up on a hill. It reminds you too much of your own home. Bigger perhaps, but twisting the knife in your heart as clearly as your mother’s face might.

A viking carrying a heavy crate bumps you from your observation, and your arm is caught by another. You give a shout of surprise, looking around for Mactavish and finding the Captain instead. He all but drags you along the dock, his grip firm and unyielding even when you struggle against it. You’re deposited in front of a woman. There's darkness under her eyes, runes in coal over her cheeks, and bone woven into her red hair. She smiles at you warmly, and you jerk back away from her.

There’s something unnerving in her smile, in her movements.

Her brows draw together, concern coloring her expression. The black bird that you’d seen greeting the ship rests on the staff she’s holding, its beak clicks curiously at you. You ignore it. Birds like that are only good for eating.

“One Læknir,” The Captain presents you, he says something else, a word you don’t understand that makes the woman laugh. She looks more alive when she laughs.

“You are-” She seems to struggle for the word, your language ill-suited to her tongue, she asks the Captain something uses that same word “Læknir” and he responds with his correction:

“Healer.”

“Healer,” The woman finishes, you glance at the captain and give a small nod. She speaks to the captain again, speaks past you, you try not to take offense. You’re starting to get the feeling this woman isn’t used to people let alone talking to them.

“Need a translator?” Mactavish’s voice jolts you from your thoughts, too close beside your ear. He grins when you glare at him. The woman seems almost relieved to see him. She speaks to him now, and you hear him say it again:

“My catch, Völva, I’ll watch ‘em.” His eyes dart to you as you bristle. The woman, the Völva (you heard him use that word before, you file it as a proper noun, a title maybe), glances at you as well.

“You stay with -” She says a word and you frown.

“Soap,” Mactavish fills in, leaning to murmur it by your ear.

“Soap,” You confirm, “I’m staying with the lye.”

“You’re stayin’ with Mactavish,” The Captain tells you, no hint of amusement in his tone, it startles you still to hear your own tongue so proudly fallen from his lips.

“Not a proper name,” You grumble.

“Needed a bath when we caught ‘im.” The Captain sniffs, “If he’s smart he’ll give you one too.” You stiffen, any humor you may have found in the nickname lost with those words. You don’t look at Mactavish, at Soap. You keep your eyes on the Völva. She must understand that they can’t force you into lodgings with a man. She tips her head, smile blank. You can’t hold her gaze for long.

“You wanted responsibility,” The Captain pushes you towards Mactavish, “there it is, your catch, your watch.”

You suppose it makes sense, you stay with the person that caught you, but it still drops like a rock in your stomach. Mactavish may speak your language, but as far as you’re concerned he’s a viking through and through. You’re not safe with him, not safe in this village. Mactavish settles his hand on the small of your back, and leans close for a third time, his voice is softer but still rings like a death knell.

“Let’s go Vaenn,” He must take your hesitance for exhaustion because he adds, “it’s nae far, then ya can rest.”

You very much doubt that.

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cocteaucherry · 3 months

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trials and tribulations .2

summary- falling in love with your sworn enemy was not something you planned.

cws- p&p au/ bridgerton au, inaccurate use of regency language, 18+, misogyny, sexual tension, future smut in later chapters, slow slow burn, LENGTHY descriptions, ooc Suguru, suguru x f!reader, accidental groping, not proofread

taglist- @mandysfanfics

a/n-(I wanna go ahead and apologize for putting this out so late, I truly wasn’t prioritizing this part as much as I needs to ^^ but I hope you enjoy more treats coming soon)

“Y/N it wasn't that awful.”

“I feel as if I were choking, can't believe I made a fool of myself in front of him.”

“There was more than one man there.”

“Don't humor me, Mr. Geto glared at me as if I was a stain on his perfect coat.”

Shoko groaned as she laid flat on the blanket you laid out, usually you a Shoko spent your days outside when finished with chores, and seeming as it was blooming through spring it was perfect.

“He's just a highly disciplined man I guess.”

“But it's no excuse to be so rude and conceited.”

“He's a wealthy man- he can basically do anything.”

“Whatever..” you mumbled plucking a blade of grass from the ground to hold in between your fingers.

Although no matter how many times you say “whatever” you could truly never get Suguru Geto off your mind, it angered you whenever he’d make an appearance, most recently in your dreams.

Waking up abruptly to only groan and try to drift off into sleep, maybe if you just stay inside you’d never see him again.

“Y/N! Letter for you!”

Your hands halted from sewing immediately placing the sharp needle down, “From who?”

Your mother smiled giddily as she gave you the letter, the thick paper and the large G seal told you everything you needed to know.

“Dear, Y/N,

“We really enjoyed your company and presence at our estate last Friday, we’d really appreciate if you could be present tomorrow for a more formal tour of the estate,

Yours truly,

Satoru Gojo

“Wow..” you were breathless having to lightly beat your chest to restart your fear-stricken heart, “This is-”

“Amazing I know, this is your chance y/n! No more chores for you I need to make sure you're in pristine condition”

You were put on bedrest for the rest of the day.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The estate looked a lot different in the daytime, the lamps at night just fully added onto the mystical ambience but now it was just ethereal.

You had worn a nice emerald gown, contrasting perfectly with your updo, you weren’t being led through the manor alone though one of his many servants led you down the halls.

“Sir Gojo will accompany you shortly, he’s slightly busy at the moment.” The man smiled pushing his glasses further on his nose, the man had short dark hair and somehow looked old but young at the same time.

You smiled bowing politely as you glanced around the globe shaped room, “I’ll be waiting.”

“Great, if you need anything miss you may call me Ijichi,” he bowed curtly before walking down the pristine hall.

Seems like everything needs to follow a code in this place.

You thought to yourself as you stepped towards the very large window, the clouds had gathered to a moody gray but the flowers still flowed wistfully.

Somehow the walk here wasn’t as tantalizing as you thought.

If you weren’t as engrossed in your thoughts you would’ve felt or heard the presence that approached behind you.

“Nice to make your acquaintance again miss l/n”

Jolting slightly you placed your hand on your heart, “you frightened me Mr-“

Wait you knew that voice.

You turned slowly hoping to be met with the familiar snow white locks but were instead met with black hair tucked tidily into a bun and a strand of hair falling above his forehead.

Of course..

“Mr Geto,” you pushed out a fake smile trying your best to convince him and yourself that you were delighted to see him, “Delightful to see-“

“Why are you here?”

Wow, okay, very polite.

“Sir, Gojo wanted to give me a tour of the estate.”

He stared at you with narrow eyes as he smirked, “Impossible, Satoru has been ill for the past days.”

“…”

“Uhm, excuse me but..- I don’t think erm-“

“Please stop with the stuttering and spit it out.”

you let out a seething sigh composing yourself, “I was sent a letter.. stating himself he’d like to give me a tour.”

“I heard you the first time,” he groans quietly, rubbing his temple irritatingly.

You both stood in a suffocating relative silence before he surprisingly broke the silence, “I will give you a tour of the outer areas of the estate, that is all I can do. I'm very busy at the moment.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head in agreement, this man couldn’t be kind to save his life but you’d take anything at this point.

“I’d love to.” A small smile appeared on your face but before you could see his reaction he turned walking out of the room, “Follow closely, I don’t have time to waste.”

You hurriedly picked up your pace as you followed after him, hopefully a change of scenery could help the mod.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The wind had picked up as you and Geto continued your walk outside, flowers and lush trees surrounded the back area, a path of white colored flowers falling into a different path.

“White flowers lead to the garden, purple to the fruit groves.” Geto kept his hands behind his back at all times as he stared blankly forward, occasionally glancing at the now darkly gray sky threatening to spill at any moment.

“Woah..” the tone of shock came from your lips with a smile, “this is incredible.”

Geto’s jaw ticked as he stopped dead in his tracks feeling a small droplet of water fall on his forehead, “It truthfully is the standard of the Gojo’s, they’ve truly never known poverty.”

So they’re born into this, “it’s truly an amazing feat.”

he sighed quietly, feeling the light drops of water beginning to fall, “let’s get inside, looks like it’s gonna pour heavily.”

Your smile fell as you nodded quickly, beginning to walk back towards the steps of the back door Geto following in pursuit.

You were just content that he had engaged you in conversation, as you began your descent up the stairs something felt wrong and low and behold.

You lost your footing on the slippery steps.

A yelp left your mouth as you prepared yourself for the tumble and for the insults coming from Geto, you quickly shut your eyes.

Except you didn’t fall, you were caught.

You slowly opened your eyes to see and feel a pair of strong hands, one beneath your breast and one on your waist. A blush creeping on your neck feeling the warm sensation on your body.

You stared up in horror at Geto’s petrified face immediately pushing yourself off of him, the blush on the tips of his ears gave him away as he cleared his throat. “I-Ijichi should be able to help you inside.”

You hummed in response trying to contain yourself as you attempted to calm the blush and hoarseness in your throat, “I-ll get to it.” You watched your step more carefully rushing through the back door.

Once you were in the clear you met out an exasperated sigh clutching your hand to your chest, “Mr Ijichi!” You whispered hoarsely beginning to walk through the hall.

What was this feeling? What were you feeling? Surely this was embarrassment correct?

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto angst #gojo satoru #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto x female reader #pride and prejudice #bridgerton #regency #slow burn #jjk smut

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brewed-pangolin · 6 months

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Excuse me while I whip this out....

NSFW under the cut. As per usual

Reference to this post here

Soap loves to fuck you in the back of his 4Runner. Even more so than in your shared bed.

He always invites you out on his camping trips. He says he does so because he adores your company while in the wild and can't get enough of how much of an adorable novice you are in the art of deep wilderness living.

He used to only set up camp on the ground, as before you it was just him he had to worry about. But that first time you tagged along and begged to sleep in the trunk space of his SUV in fear of getting mauled by a bear, he caved immediately.

He was reluctant at first to admit how much he enjoyed the vehicular enclosure deep in the woods. And the way you snuggled yourself up against him to keep warm did nothing but fuel the burning fire of arousal deep within his loins.

It didn't take long before you were naked, having only a blanket draped around your shoulders as you vigorously rode on his hardened cock. Your fingers digging into the flesh of his chest, his strong hands gripping your hips as he guided your soaking heat along his length.

And as you bounced on him, you couldn't help but notice the sounds of the vehicle's suspension creaking at every up and down movement of your hips. Aiding in your upward motions, assisting in your downward plunge until your bodies moved in tandem with the springs of the SUV. The sounds of pleasure mixing with the strain of metallic distress as you rode him like an animal in the midst of the deep wilderness.

You were a staple on his excursions from that point on. He taught you the ways of the wild. The life-saving techniques if you were ever faced with such a circumstance. And within a few months, you were no longer a novice. You were a well-rounded outdoorsman, fully capable and confident in your abilities to even go on a few short solo trips while he was on his extended deployments.

But they were never the same. They were tranquil, yes. But his company always made the trips more enjoyable. Especially when those wildly lascivious needs crawled into your psyche.

And that damn 4Runner. You had to admit, you were getting soft on it. You never drove it while he was gone. It was his baby. And you almost felt like you were cheating on him just looking at it. So it became a quick tradition that within the first few days of him coming home, you took a trip into the wilds tougher. To get away from the world and reconnect after months of prolonged separation.

And of course, fuck in the 4Runner. Your favorite of outdoor activities.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @kkaaaagt @macravishedbymactavish @mykneeshurt @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @haurasha @writeforfandoms @havov973 @luismickydees

#Soap's 4Runner #pleasured bouncy house on wheels #lovers lost in the wilds #let your animal out #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #call of duty #cod #soap squad #4Runner Wingman

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leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Text

To Ease Your Burden

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

For you @tripleyeeet my beloved <333

Little disclaimer that I do not suffer from chronic pain so some of these pain descriptions may not be accurate to what it's really like

Warnings: chronic pain

Word Count: 730

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You’d felt it when you awoke that morning - pain swelling in your joints, like someone had taken a red-hot fire poker and decided to have some fun. You couldn’t hope to continue your journey, not when standing made you dizzy and standing for even a second too long collapsed your knees. No, it was better to stay here and wait it out.

You warned your companions that “waiting it out” could mean days, even weeks, of waiting for your pain to fade enough. They brushed off your concerns for the most part. As you rested, some of them would head out and gather supplies and clear the area of monsters or unsavory types. If the pain worsened come tomorrow, you’d continue to wait here. If it was manageable enough, Halsin or Karlach could carry you to the next campsite. Delays like this meant higher tensions and concerns regarding the tadpoles, but they couldn’t remove them without you.

Astarion “elected” to keep you company while you rested. He stayed by your side, fetching anything you needed with a long sigh or a groan and a dramatic complaint, but he never meant it.

He laid beside you, one hand keeping his book open and the other rested, palm up, in between you. Your hand sat softly on top. The pressure of his hand on top had been too much; this was the best way he could find to keep touching you without hurting you. He read aloud, his voice a soothing balm to your agony. Each character had their own voice - usually an impression of one of your camp-mates. You think he must enjoy mimicking them, or maybe he just likes the way you smile when he goes off-script to make fun of them. (Gale got it the worst.)

You press your hand further into his, trying to be careful so your joints don’t scream at you. He quietens immediately, turning to see if you needed anything. When he got like this, all soft and gentle, his eyes became round and wide, attentive and affectionate. You smiled weakly at him. “Thank you.”

His eyes sharpen again as he smiles. “I’m all too happy to help, my dear.”

“You don’t have to stay…” His brow pinches. “You’re free to go out with the others, explore.”

“If you want time alone, I can leave,” he starts, but you cut him off before that light in his eyes can dim, shadowed by rejection.

“No! No, I like having you here.” You run your thumb alongside his. You can feel his hand twitch, unused to being so close to yours without being able to truly hold it. “I just don’t want you to think you have to stay for my sake.”

His eyes flicker over your face for a moment. Truthfully, he couldn’t bear to see you in so much pain. When you tried standing this morning, you fell to the ground, crying in agony. He’d never felt so awful watching someone else suffer. The worst part was how helpless he felt to stop it. You were writhing in pain, and he couldn’t even touch you for fear of making it worse.

“I want this,” he whispers. “I want to help however I can. Anything to ease your burden.”

He shifts his hand carefully out from under yours so he can prop himself up on his elbow and hover over you. With a barely-there brush of lips, he kisses your forehead. He’s scared to hurt you, especially with something as caring as a kiss. He pulled away to meet your eyes. His were warm with fondness.

“You don’t have to suffer this alone.”

Tears well in the corner of your eyes, heart aching from unbridled joy and love - it wants to burst from you and wrap him up in a hug. You would have, too, if you were certain moving your arms wouldn’t burn like all the fire of the Hells in your body. You thank him again, but it comes out choked up and shaky. He smiles, wrinkles accentuating his mouth as he does.

He pressed another faint kiss to your head. “You’re very welcome, my love.” He lays back down and offers his hand once more as he holds the book up. “Now, come on, it’s just started getting good. I simply must know if Madame Triouse discovers her husband’s affair with the butcher.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @chesb0red

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aemxnd · 4 months

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sliding doors | aemond targaryen x dornish!reader (modern au) part i

Today is your first day in the London grind — how bad can it be?

WARNINGS: sexual assault, tension, angst, mentions of our lord and saviour Oberyn Martell (I know, that’d upset me too), mentions of death, sleazy men, sassy men.

WORDS: 2.1k

A/N: Anybody looking for a slow-burning love story with mystery and intrigue? I gotchu. Part I of maaaany.

Moving to London was a necessary evil.

You couldn’t spend your entire life slaving away at a minimum wage job in rural Dorne forever, or maybe that was your family’s indoctrination talking. Move to London and seek out fame, fortune or both, they had prescribed.

You weren’t truly ready for life in the big city, but being headhunted by a prestigious company days earlier had forced your hand. Several frantic late-night social media searches suggested women your age would kill to work there, although you’d have to admit you hadn’t heard of them until their name slipped into your inbox. No interview required, simply start on Monday.

Their generous salary offer sealed the deal above all else.

Your friends foretold that the worst aspect of London life would be the commute. Stifling, deafening rush hour Tubes and the unpredictable weather above ground would be a culture shock for a country girl, but you felt somewhat compelled to prove them wrong. Dornish women weren’t short of confidence, strength and stubbornness, and you weren’t about to disobey the order of things for the sake of a move to the city.

You promised yourself you would give it a try. Two weeks should do it. If you weren’t convinced by the end of the fortnight, you’d simply pack up and leave on the next train home.

“The next station is Highgarden,” the familiar metallic voice boomed throughout the train, startling you from your daze. Your eyes widened, forcing yourself to focus on your surroundings and contemplate the next stage of your journey into the unknown. Affirmations you’d scrolled through on TikTok the night before ticked through your mind. I am good enough because they hired me, you assured yourself, or at the very least the voice in your mind.

Instinctively gazing down at your handbag resting on the floor between your feet, you swallowed hard and gazed at your black stiletto heels as if willing them to move autonomously.

Up until this moment, the London experience hadn’t phased you. But now, anxiety rising, the thought of navigating the morning rush hour on the Tube paralysed you before you’d even left your seat, an oasis of calm before the storm.

“Change here for the Searoad line,” the voice snapped again, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut as the train began to brake to a halt.

Eyes firmly closed, you reached out blindly to grab your bag and hauled yourself to your feet with blind determination.

No sooner had the seat’s scratchy pile left the back of your dress pants, than a new sensation appeared against your backside. A hand, grasping at the curve of your behind, desperately clawing at your flesh. Your eyes darted open, staring into the middle distance between advertising posters and the carousel of train tunnel walls flickering past the windows.

You froze solid, unable to compute the unexpected feeling. Why was someone touching you, grabbing you? Were you imagining it? Was it a simple mistake and they meant to hold onto a handrail instead?

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and face them, not yet. Your body instinctively snapped bolt upright to escape their clutch, but the hand remained fixed to your curve, gripping tighter as your body straightened out.

Let go, you cried out only in your mind, the words refusing to roll off your tongue with your mouth clamped shut in fear. Let go of me.

Where was your usual attitude? What happened to your usual bark and bite? Why had your trademark fighting talk abandoned you when you needed it most? Dornish women weren’t raised to turn a blind eye.

The indignity of it all had you raise your drawbridge and barricade the gates.

The shock had stolen your identity.

You suddenly lurched forward, the offending hand slipping from your body as a crude slap denoted their limb had dropped into their lap. Hurriedly slinging your bag over your arm, you stumbled aside to reach the train doors and forced yourself to focus your gaze down to your own feet, conscious of tripping over the feet of the other commuters on your escape route.

Other passengers followed, smart shoes and trainers gathering around yours as you approached the door. A misty kaleidoscope hazed the corners of your vision, fear stealing your breath from your lungs as you realised that one of them may be your assailant. You cursed yourself for not looking at what they were wearing or even what they looked like, now you would never be able to identify them.

“Leaving so soon?” A sneering male voice dripped like poison in your ear, followed by a contented hum as a hand grasped your backside again. “We were just getting started, pretty girl.”

A wave of acidic bile rose up into your throat, burning your airways and forcing you to swallow harshly. Clutching at your handbag, your nails carved crescent dips into the leather as your grip tightened with every passing second.

Where’s your fight, kid? A distant echo of your uncle Oberyn’s words the first time you conceded defeat in a childish quarrel with your younger sister. Stand up for yourself!

It’s now or never.

Spinning around on your heels to again release yourself from their grip, you turned to face them. Your gaze fixed upon a tall man with long, golden hair and a bushy beard to match. His eyes were piercing, half-squinting as he observed you, clocking every inch of your face, analysing your reaction. The familiar scent of alcohol pricked your nose as he breathed.

“Look here, asshole, what’s your problem?” You snapped, an electric pulse bringing your attitude to the surface as you raised a hand to jab a finger toward his face. “Just because you can’t get some at home, you think you’re a big man trying it on the Roseroad line before you jerk off in your cubicle all day?”

The carriage fell eerily silent, passengers holding their breath as if waiting for disaster to strike.

Your rural upbringing never suitably briefed you on women’s public safety. You were exclusively educated on defending yourself in any situation, but news reports from city life suggested it wasn’t always a wise move to confront attackers, least of all to humiliate them in front of a packed commuter train.

The red mist had descended and you already regretted snapping back.

The faint notes of a chuckle burst through the stony silence, someone who tried to stifle their amusement but failed miserably. All eyes darted over to the source of the sound only to find a lithe, blonde man unsuccessfully concealing his guilt with a wry smile cinching the corner of his lips. His gaze was fixed to the floor, blissfully unaware that he had attracted the attention of the carriage.

One man’s response on the train quelled the rage inside you, dousing the fire in your chest. Releasing a sigh of relief, it felt as if your ordeal was over. With the attention of the entire carriage on the situation, a calming sense of security washed over you.

Swishing your head back to face the offender at your side, you found nothing but unfamiliar faces. In the aftermath of your outburst, he’d sidled his way through the crowd without you noticing.

Another sigh escaped you.

The train ground to a halt and its doors swooshed open with an unforgiving pace, slicing through the atmosphere in the carriage as passengers clamoured onto the platform.

“Mind the gap between the train and the platform,” came the disembodied announcement, prompting you to rush forward and drop to the platform as if instinct took over.

As soon as both feet met the concrete, another sigh came forth and you stood still. Gazing up at the bright lights leading the way toward platforms, lifts and exits, you drank in the gleaming scenery as the crowds bustled past you.

Affording yourself time to breathe on the platform, you stayed stationary, passengers dipping and diving around you until the fateful train departed beside you and left you alone in silence.

“You should be more careful,” came a man’s voice from behind you, startling you from your daze.

You turned to face the source and found the chuckling man from the carriage, his poker-straight silver hair framing his pale face and tumbling over his shoulders like a waterfall.

Your focus fell on his eyes - one blue, one purple - he was looking down on the train, they certainly weren’t visible before. But they glistened in the fluorescent lighting like precious gems. His expression was blank, neither reassuring nor stern. Simply unreadable.

“Yeah, I figured that,” you sassed, stepping toward him while tucking your hands in your coat pockets. “Thank you for… whatever that was, Mr…”

“Targaryen,” he proffered without a thought, his countenance still giving away zero emotion. “No matter, it seems you can handle yourself without anyone’s assistance. But it doesn’t always pay to confront people in London, your Dornish ways will make you a target here.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Was it that obvious you weren’t from around here? You glanced down at your outfit, wondering if this was a fashion-related remark. Do London women not usually dress so formal?

As you looked back up, the man paced toward you, but almost as if he aimed to walk right through you.

“Your attitude is a dead giveaway,” he muttered as he passed, striding along the platform and disappearing down a side corridor.

Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as the silence on the platform deafened, the gravity of his words hit you. Perhaps you should have bitten your tongue, moved on, left the carriage without a word. What if your assailant travelled your way every morning at the same time? What if he had plans for you tomorrow morning?

You swallowed thickly, contemplating a call to the police that might cease your concerns altogether. Or it might also make you even more of a target, as the man so eloquently labelled you.

Suddenly, approaching footsteps and a stream of new commuters brought you back to your senses.

“Oh fuck,” you exclaimed to yourself, instantly aware that you would be late for your first day if you spent any longer on the platform. Gripping your handbag and swallowing your trepidation, you scurried in the man’s direction and headed into the unknown.

———

As first days go, yours was remarkably unremarkable. Introductions and office training blended into insignificance, often finding yourself drifting off into a daydream of your home. To you, the arid deserts of Dorne represented comfort, sand dunes whisking away every care you could possibly have in the world. Far from the blocky industrial landscape of the big city, where nothing works unless it’s digitised.

Your lunch break arrived all too late for your attention span, hurriedly retreating to the company’s enclosed garden to touch some perfectly manicured grass.

A buzz in your pocket signalled a notification’s arrival and you prized your phone free from its confines for the first time all day.

A local news article emerged in front of your eyes, blocks of text blurring beneath the headline:

Murder probe after death of man, 44, in Monday morning rush hour

You sucked in your cheeks. After all, that could have been you if your attacker had been less forgiving.

Scrolling down, the subheading read:

Police launch murder enquiry after man’s body found on tracks at Highgarden station

Your brows knitted together as you scrolled further, this time to a photo of a man with long, golden hair and a bushy beard to match.

Your attacker.

Your heart sank as you read on, one hand firing to clasp your mouth.

The Metropolitan police were called to Highgarden Underground Station after reports of a person struck by a train in the morning rush hour.

The man has been identified as 44-year-old Jason Lannister, Director of Casterly Rock Plc, which is widely reported as Highgarden’s most profitable enterprise and Lannister’s net worth reported as £2.9 billion.

Suddenly, it felt as if a train had also struck you. Not only was your attacker a billionaire, but also the director of the company you now worked for. Tears began to well in your eyes as your mind scurried around for answers — if he was as wealthy as they suggested, why was he taking the Tube that morning? Why would he attack his own employee?

A tidal wave of bile rose into your throat for the second time that day. Clenching your eyes shut for a moment, you forced them open to scan the article’s last paragraph:

With the death being treated as suspicious, the Metropolitan Police are appealing for witnesses that may have seen Mr Lannister this morning.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #ewan mitchell fanfiction #ewan mitchell #prince aemond #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #ewan mitchell imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction

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swan2swan · 3 months

Text

"Ozai is just a shallow villain."

I see this argument far too often, so let me put this one in the ground once and for all and explain why Ozai is one of the Greatest Big Bads of All Time...and I'm going to do it with just one shot.

First, before anything else: appreciate the animation here. Not sure who the animator was, but I believe JM studios worked on this, so shout-out to that company and its fine animators!

But now...analysis!

In this moment, right here, Ozai literally burns away any genuine arguments that he is anything less than Him. Yes, just a few hours ago, he was blustering about how he is now "The Phoenix King". Yes, a month or so ago, he held a meeting just to proclaim to all of his advisors and children how he would become the Supreme Ruler of All the World. Yes, he's an egotistical, genocidal lunatic with one of the biggest god complexes ever put to screen.

But then...he sees Aang. The Avatar attacks his airship, knocking it out of the sky. And that's when Ozai snaps out of his power fantasy and becomes the Final Boss.

He doesn't hesitate for a second. The trappings he'd dreamed of wearing for so long, the fine clothes he adorned himself with for the occasion today...he pulls them from his body. The ornate cloak of the Phoenix King, the freshly made symbol of his power...he burns it. He discarded his crown, and already shed his (ridiculous) helmet when he realized that it would hinder him on his mission--so now he's just a man.

In an instant, Phoenix King Ozai has shed himself not only of his cumbersome garments, but of any pretense that he needs anything but himself to show his power.

And that is only the first part!

He does not look around for help. He does not order his crew to follow him from the ship; there is no cry of "Seize him!" He does not turn to minions, or secondary schemes, or even seize a weapon (there is none more potent than him right now). He calls fire from his own hands, and leaps down to enter the battle himself.

He does not curse the ruination of his scheme. He does not tell anyone to bear witness. In this moment, Ozai has one purpose, and that is to kill the one person in the world who can challenge him, the legend that the Fire Nation has feared since the days of Firelord Sozin: the Last Airbender.

All it took was for Ozai to see this challenger, and he descended onto the field of battle himself. He had no interest in backup, no need for witnesses to his glory: he had one task in mind, and he was going to do it.

#firelord ozai #ozai #phoenix king ozai #avatar: the last airbender #atla #ozai is a man with a lot of bluster and ego but unlike so many others he BACKS THAT UP #and while I feel like he might have used guards to fight aang #and certainly ran and hid in a bunker when the fire nation was being invaded #that was pragmatism #had appa not been present the entire invasion force would have been crushed and there would have been nothing left #ozai is proud and evil but he's not stupid #also GOSH this is fantastically animated

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2kmps · 4 months

Text

SMITTEN

dammon x reader | 2.5k

story summary; all it took was an argument with your party leader and an incident of misfortune for dammon to realize he was smitten with you.

story warnings; huge spoilers for act 1 & 2 of baldur's gate 3, mentions of burns and cuts, implication of dammon and mc drinking before a smooch, mc is not tav, no pronouns or descriptions used. very briefly proofread.

if you'd like a part two, please interact & reblog! ❤️

No one knew the time of day as black, tense air splintered those in fitful slumber into wakefulness that made their hearts hammer and bodies cold. There were shouts coming from outside the Last Light Inn, an unwelcome disturbance in these awful, glum days encompassed by death, shadow, and cries of beasts beyond Isobel’s barrier.

Dammon had been one of the first inquisitive souls on scene, already hammering away in his makeshift forge at some hour, surrounded by glowing iron, hot coals, and the smell of ox shit lingering over his workspace like a smoky cloud embedding its malodor into any pororous surface. As long as he stayed busy, deafened himself to all but the sting of metal, vibrations from his hammer memorized deep into his marrow, gave himself to the roar of the furnace—he didn't mind anything else, didn't think about his exhaustion, nor the fear that coiled his spine at every uncertainty around him.

But, he recognized your voice above the fierceness of his fire—knew the one retaliating your indignance just the same. He was drawn to it, leaving his tools by the anvil to step out towards the dilapidated stonework at the center of this improvised settlement, an old water fountain that once was beautiful artistry before the Shadow-Curse.

“I will not be cast aside! I will not be abandoned here to die, Dreston!” you were borderline hysterical, arms strewn about you wildly as you shouted. It was clear no one in your company wanted to feel the venom spitting from your throat. “I survived the crèche—I was integral to us all making it out alive! My abilities to heal are unparalleled, how can you just—”

“They need someone here,” said the tall drow at the core of your ire, leader of your motley crew. “Isobel needs to focus on the barrier. Someone needs to be able to heal the wounded.”

“They have a druid! They don't need me!” you tried again, rage weakening as your voice cracked and eyes gained a watery luster that you blinked back. “I've already done so much for the group. Do you think I'm useless on the battlefield? Is it because I'm not a druid like Halsin? A cleric like Shadowheart? Karlach, speak for me!”

You could've looked through Dreston at that moment and Karlach would've felt the desperation of your stare. She looked towards the ground, pushing stones with her boots. It was so drastically different from how she had been helping you with adjustments to your new armor just hours ago, laying hands everywhere now that she could thanks to Dammon

None of the others spoke for you, either. It was admission of guilt, silent consensus that you were to stay behind here and die if the barrier fell. You couldn't believe it.

“We’ll seek your aid again once we're en route to Baldur’s Gate,” Dreston said, his finality and firmness making words stick in your throat, jaws so tight your teeth could shatter. “Not a moment before. If you leave the barrier, what befalls you is of your own consequence. Protect these people here and wait for us.”

You spat at his feet, wiped your mouth, and then your tears before stalking off until you were far out of sight and alone.

Dammon stayed for the exchange and watched you go, a heart wrenching sight in his mind to be robbed of the love and passion you lived for. Adventuring and healing for you; the smithy and embers for him. Still, he never remembered you with such a temper, at least not one so outward, but these cursed lands had a way of bringing out the worst in everyone.

He had seen it many times over already—in others, in himself as well. Emerald Grove had been a perilous time just as this, but with the light of sunrise and sunset swathing him in some sort of feign comfort. This was not the same, there was no ease except what he knew with flame and steel and heavy hammer.

Still, back then, when he had met you the first time when acquiesced to eradicate the goblin hoards, you were different—brighter, skin aglow beautifully, eyes so radiant and divine. He remembered finding his gaze shifting to you more times than not, catching a jagged end of Dreston’s annoyance when he needed to repeat himself once or twice.

Dammon found it hard to focus in those days until your departure for the goblin camp, and that relief once you were gone had followed until now with your reappearance here at the Last Light Inn.

Now, he had to ask himself why he was standing before Dreston with an approachable smile, hoping he didn't fall on the receiving end of his bad spirits, and spoke his fate aloud:

“Don't worry, I'll keep a watchful eye out.”

He had assigned himself as your custodian like it was nothing, like you actually needed one in the first place. Dreston never mentioned it to you, probably for the best because your foul mood sat on your heels for many days thereafter. It took nearly a week to rouse you out of that state well enough to even visit him at his forge again.

“How are you holding up, Dammon?” you had asked with surprising calm, a similar sort of placidity you had when you'd first met. “It can't be easy being in this place. I keep looking at the barrier, expecting something to happen.”

“I can tell, you look tense”—he dunked red, searing iron into a vat of water and walked away as steam rose and hissed while it cooled—”Given the circumstances, I can't say I'm any worse than anyone else. If I worry, I hammer; if I can't sleep, I hammer. That's enough for me.”

You shared a smile with him, eyes wavering from his piercing blue to the arsenal of newly forged weapons he had managed to craft in a single night. He hadn't slept at all, but hadn't felt it until this moment.

“Don't forget to rest or you'll be one of the unfortunates lying unconscious on a bed that I have to take care of.” You said with a certain playfulness, a certain amount of snide and seriousness that he wasn't sure how to respond to. However, you gave a large logbook in your arm a pat. “I keep a record of everyone I've ever cared for—methods and medicine administered. Everything. I'd like to not add you to it.”

Dammon was a new entry in your logs a few weeks later, as it turned out. Misfortune seemed to torture everyone here beneath Isobel’s barrier, and he was not immune despite believing, foolishly, that losing himself to his projects would save him forever.

“Tell me what happened,” you already had an inked quill readied, a crisp, empty page dedicated to him. “The sooner you do, the sooner I can patch you up.”

For once, the makeshift infirmary sat barren besides the pair of you. It had originally been the bedchambers for weary travelers once upon a time, modified into a strategy room for Counsellor Florrick, and then finally commandeered as an infirmary by you and Isobel to bring some temporary sense of normalcy.

Jaheira let you have that small victory.

“Well,” Dammon wasn't sure what all to tell you that was necessary. It had all been an accident—a ridiculous oversight on his part, a disrespect to his craft and the fires of his forge. “You see—I, well, it's been a few days since I've slept. It's been difficult with those ravens constantly taking blows to the barrier. So, I've spent my time hammering away. Gets my mind off of things, off of everything.”

All went silent but the scrawl of your quill upon yellow parchment, faithfully recording his words verbatim. He waited for the feather to fall flat against your hands and eyes to rise to his before continuing:

“Honestly, it was just a freakish thing—a raven struck the barrier, startled that strange ox they have in the stable and I… my hammer missed and the sword I was working on came back on me. I had just taken out of the fire. Infernal blood I may have, I'm not immune to burns and cuts from my own craft it seems.”

Dammon tried to lighten the severity of his embarrassment with a laugh, hoping it would make that harsh crease between your brows smooth out. Seeing you worry over him did not fill him with a buzz of delight, but feeling your cold hands rest over his injured one did.

“Luckily it isn't too bad. Tiefling reflexes are impossibly good.” You sounded impressed, careful as you drew his hand closer, turning it whatever which way you pleased and he allowed it. He wasn't fond of the cold, but found himself reveling the magic that gushed out from your palms and soothed the burnt flesh on the back of his hand. “It'll be an easy enough fix, but, Dammon, you'll have to stay here and rest. You're not to return to your forge until you do. Understood?”

Perhaps, at a different time, such a demand would be reprimanded. To take a blacksmith from his forge is to take a healer from their potions and herbs—it would've at least aroused some frustration, but now, as he there on the edge of a worn mattress with your frigid hands caressing his scorched skin, wrapped in soft white light that reminded him of the long lost sun, he didn't refuse you and didn't think he ever could.

“Amazing,” he breathed out once he was awash in relief from his agony. The blistered, lacerated flesh from his own creation had closed and disappeared. Only the memory remained now, and the sensation of one of your hands hovering over his open palm. “You're no cleric or druid yet you can utilize magic like that. I've never seen the like.”

“Hopefully you never will again,” came your response, this time with much lightness and satisfaction. “How does it feel? Is there any pain remaining? I treat certain wounds traditionally with herbs and potions, but I know burns are in a league all their own.”

Dammon met the space of your palm facing his, fingers closing around you until the ridges of his well-earned calluses pressed warmth into your skin. Yours had a roughness about them as well without the same sinew and narrow bones and nails as him. There was a new sensation that struck him at that moment, like a jogged memory, a renewal of something once forgotten.

This simple touch reminded him of how much he had forced it away since Elturel was swallowed into Avernus—how much of his being now belonged to survival, and whatever was left was spent flattening iron with a hammer so his mind didn't escape him.

“I feel right, thanks to you.” Dammon said in soft, vulnerable tones that made flounder for words and withdraw your hand in a single, sharp motion.

You cleared your throat once and then twice more, closing your sizable book of records and rose from your chair. “Good! Good! I'll—I’m glad to hear it. I'll just step out so you can rest. Sleep well, Dammon.”

He did not rest for a long time because his thoughts were full of you, and that's where they stayed everyday afterward while he worked in the heat of his forge. It became easier to bear the ominous darkness that swirled around the barrier, a mere splinter in concentration away from consuming him and everyone else within.

Your company was a beacon of light to him in these terrible days, something he looked forward to after however many indeterminate hours clanging away on his anvil. He occupied a space next to you at the bar most times, some old beer in a mug that had lost its froth, listening to the dwarves among the settlement drunkenly, vivaciously explain their grand exploits while Alfira made up new lyrics to the strum of her lute.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked this a few times a day, a midday, an evening, a night, because there wasn't much else to do or to ask. But, right now, he was feeling bored and courageous with a pint in him, “Would you like to take a walk? I don't think the dwarves are telling stories we haven't already heard once every night the last tenday.”

You didn't disagree and went with him to make laps along the barrier. There was nothing new about this, either. You could walk the perimeter of the settlement with a blindfold on at this point and never snag a stone, stumble, or catch a briar on your sleeve. Dammon always stayed in stride with you despite his height, always kept himself at a decent distance from you despite how much he wished otherwise.

“What will you do once we get to Baldur’s Gate, Dammon? Hm?” It was a familiar question, one usually forgotten after a glass or two of wine in you. “I’m thinking of telling Dreston to piss off and working as an apothecary. Get some stability in my life, y'know?”

“It’d be good work for you.” He understood that desire for something solid, a safe life. “I’ve realized through all of this that I'm not the adventuring sort. I like my hammer. I like my forge; I like a bed at the end of a long day. I like—”

Dammon was quick with a glance down at you while walking, arms close and brushing. His heart was a growing drumbeat in his ears. “I like the idea of coming home to someone, to share my bed with. After all this, that sounds like a luxury—a dream.”

“Oh~” you put a hand near your lips, pretending to hide a scandalous smile. “So you are the marrying type. A couple of us were talking about that the other day, gossiping about who’d end up married or die alone in a bottle.”

Dammon let a smile grow, fingers edging nearer to your own until he could curl one or two with his. “I’d say the latter is quite extreme.”

Your voice trailed but you didn't pull away, not even as you were led away from the prying eyes of patrolling Harpers into dark foliage behind low hanging trees. It was sufficiently hot behind your ears, beneath your layers of thin clothes, and your throat tightened in your effort to look up at him.

His ribs were a prison for his heart, a good thing in this case as he tucked a hand against your neck and kissed you. He kissed you until the uncertainty fell away, until he felt your hands climb the length of his arms and every touch grew with assurance, fostering the beginning of a new dream.

a/n: possibly a part two if y'all let me know you like this??? so, pls interact and reblog to let me know!

this is also based off of my headcanons for tieflings that they're very loyal once they trust you—but they also fall h a r d.

it won't turn into anything big since I have my major projects going on in the background, but I'm just obsessed with dammon atm and figured the best way to get him out of my system was to write about him 💀. a second part would probs be smut.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 dammon #bg3 dammon x reader #bg3 dammon x you #dammon x reader #dammon x you #dammon x tav #bg3 dammon x tav #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate dammon #2k writes

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hearts4hughes · 11 months

Text

bonfire confessions | jack hughes

lake house summers au

a/n: I tried writing more descriptively, so please lmk your opinions on this. this is the first writing for my new au, 'lake house summers'. hope you enjoy!!!

tags: @sweetestdesire @hughesluv @huggybearhughesy @michaelrikas @spideyy

as the crackling flames danced and leaped, casting a warm, golden glow on the surrounding darkness, you found yourself nestled comfortably beside your best friend, jack, by the mesmerizing bonfire. the tantalizing scent of burning wood filled the air, intermingling with the faint hints of pine and earth, creating an intoxicating aroma that enveloped both of you.

the comforting crackling and gentle rustling of leaves intertwined with the occasional whispers shared between you, creating a symphony of its own. time seemed to lose its meaning as you basked in the company of each other's presence, your bodies drawing closer, seeking comfort and connection in the soft, flickering light.

although you only arrived at the lake house last week, everything felt different. from jack’s lingering gaze on you, to the passion and love held in his voice, everything felt foreign.

you had always loved jack more than best friends should. every moment spent together became a tapestry of emotions, woven with threads of laughter, support, and an unspoken connection that surpassed mere friendship. however, it was only this summer that you felt the same love radiating off of him. as the days went on, the tension grew thicker and slowly started to suffocate the both of you. conversations between you both carried hidden meanings, disguised beneath layers of playful banter and casual laughter. you danced around the subject of your true feelings, your words laced with double entendres that only you could decipher. if you both wanted each other so badly, why couldn’t you just admit it? fear of rejection and the possibility of losing what you both held dear held you back.

in the quiet moments, as you sat snuggled together next to the warmth of the fire, the air shimmered with unspoken confessions. you turned your head to catch a glimpse of his face when your eyes met his. you exchanged knowing smiles, lips still sealed, yet to explore the uncharted territory of falling in love.

“jack,” you called to him. your voice held uncertainty and anxiety. he hummed a yes in response, looking down to you and giving you his undivided attention. “there’s something i need to tell you.”

curiosity sparkles in his eyes as you speak. still, he stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt your thoughts. your eyes quickly turned away from his and onto the ground. they stayed glued there as if you were forbidden to look away.

“we’ve been friends since i can remember. together, we’ve shared every memorable moment, every secret, and every accomplishment.” you nervously rambled. jack’s silence was the que to continue on, “what i'm trying to say is that over the years, my love for you had grown deeper than just friendship.”

he tensed behind you. he was in shock; however, not in a bad way. he opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. his mouth ran dry. along with his breath, words were stuck at the back of his throat.

your gaze moved from the ground over to jack, observing his sudden tension. every single emotion raced through your body, causing a rollercoaster of both serotonin and sadness. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to put you on the spot. i totally get it if you don’t feel the same. this was so stupid of me to do,” you swallowed harshly, an attempt to stop the tears from brimming in your eyes.

“shit, no that’s not what i- fuck.” he stumbled on his words, unsure of how to respond and comfort you. he removed his hand from its resting place around your waist, to cover the embarrassment on his face. jack wanted to blame the fire for the sudden flush on his cheeks, but he could only blame his love for you. “y/n, i love you. i have for the longest time but i was too scared to admit it because i didn’t want to destroy our relationship.”

a wave of relief washed over you.

instead of responding with words, your lips crashed against his. softly, tentatively, your mouths came together, brushing against each other in a tender exploration. the touch was delicate, like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings, yet carried a weight of emotions that had long been suppressed. the world around you faded into a blur as the intensity of the moment consumed your senses.

time seemed to stand still as the kiss deepened, a gentle exploration evolving into a hunger that defied words. your bodies leaned into each other, seeking affirmation in this newfound intimacy.

and as you parted, breathless, your eyes met once more, reflecting a mix of wonder, excitement, and a newfound understanding. with a shared smile, you both acknowledged what had happened.

jack was the first to speak up, breaking the silence, “would you be my girlfriend?” he had never asked someone that before. it was always the other way around. additionally, he had never been with someone he truly loved and cared for.

“i thought you’d never ask,” you beamed with pride and excitement.

In that moment, a new chapter began, filled with uncertainty but also the potential for something beautiful. together, you ventured on a journey, ready to explore the depths of your connection and discover where your hearts would lead you.

#hearts4hughes #lake house summers au #new jersey devils #jack hughes #hockey blurb #nhl imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagines #nora's writings 💐

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sonorousabyss · 1 year

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Please. Rengoku my beloved. I need headcannons of him with a Electro Hashira. Like the electric Archon but like.. a dude. I love gay people.

-out of pocket anon

𝗞𝘆𝗼𝗷𝘂𝗿𝗼 𝗥𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗸𝘂 𝘅 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗲, 𝗘𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗔𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗻-𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗘𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿:

Much like Rengoku, M/N, the Electro Hashira would be passionate and absolute in his ideal. He yearns for a world in which humans can live eternal, without fear of demons feasting on their flesh. They are the enemy, and as such, none should be spared.

Because of this ideal, it is a known fact that he has immense respect for the master, as well as his fellow Hashira- even if the manner in which they conduct themselves is rather... unorthodox... by his standards.

When meetings come about, M/N's very confident in his stances and sticks very close to this ideal. This trait leads to fairly interesting encounters and debates, in which his stubborn insistence can be both a comfort and a thorn in one's side depending on the situation. That said, it can also make him predictable. If facts are twisted in just the right way, it's easy to gain his support, and immensely difficult to get him to change his mind.

Rengoku admires his passion. He sees it as a raging inferno that must be cherished, elegant even as it burns that which stands in its path. That said? He admires the Hashira's curiosity just as much.

When the Electro Hashira eventually does concede to being wrong or misled, his gaze has a tendency to veer outward, looking to others to see just what else he might be missing. This can lead to some very interesting takes while he reconstructs his ideals.

Rengoku is one of the few Hashira who doesn't mind being put together with M/N in missions. His rigidity is something that Rengoku finds easy to work with, despite it being a quality that others tend to dislike. They find common ground easily enough, and when it comes to mission execution? They finish jobs swiftly together. They can be flexible if absolutely necessary, but why differ from the standard protocol if it's effective?

It's no surprise to anyone when they begin sticking close to each other during meetings. With Rengoku's enthusiasm directed to his duties and the Electro Hashira's unwavering attitude, they aren't often on opposing sides of issues.

The Electro and Flame Hashiras tend to cover each other's flanks in verbal discussions as well as battles.

Pile that on top of the sheer experience they have with each other in the field, and it's a recipe for unwavering bonds. They tend to wander into each other's company quite often, sometimes without realizing it.

Both men were likely so focused on their duties that neither noticed the blatant attraction they had toward each other. Conversely, Mitsuri, Tengen, and the boss noticed their chemistry almost immediately.

Virtually any time that one of them tried to bring it up, save for maybe the boss, they were met with denial on both their parts. As far as they were concerned, they were totally just close friends and comrades. Totally.

As far as their relationship goes, Rengoku was the one who began initiating things at first. When the Electro Hashira was sequestered in their "Plane of Euthymia" in mourning of his men and those lost, he went out of his way to visit them, offer his condolences, or invite them out on excursions, work-related or otherwise. Similarly, if he happened to be by a Wisteria House that M/N was staying in while off duty or injured, he would drop by and give his fellow Hashira a visit.

This may originally have proved annoying at first, the Electro Hashira not really appreciating the intrusions in his home, but the Flame Hashira eventually grew on him. One by one he began returning the man the same courtesies, growing increasingly irritable whenever he came back injured from a mission due to being reckless, giving the man an earful. Kyojuro would always laugh heartily, promising to make up for it later.

They grew rather close over their years of service together, patching each other up between missions and supporting each other as they fought through hell and back, both men acting as a safe haven for each other.

While Rengoku was certainly more verbal about how much he treasured these "momentus occasions"- literally just their outings together- the Electro Hashira was a bit more poised and quiet about the matter, showing their appreciation through various nonverbal means of communication. Perhaps something he'd grow to regret in the aftermath of the Mugan Train incident.

AN: Sorry this one took so long, there were so many places I could take this that I didn't know where to start! Hope you enjoy it, and if you want more? You can always feel free to send another request. May your day be as wonderful as the ocean's abyss is deep.

If you're new here, I take requests. You can find my rules here.

#demon slayer x male reader #demon slayer #kny x male reader #kny #x male reader #rengoku x male reader #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x male reader #rengoku #kyojuro #male reader

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aemondsquill · 1 year

Text

Utter Devotion

Aemond Targaryen x yandere!niece!reader

Reader is Daemon and Rhaenyra's daughter

Synopsis: In which Aemond's devoted wife has enough of his clownery. Hijinks ensue.

Warnings: mention of infidelity, gore and blood, murder, slight angst and toxicity, probably misogyny, FLUFF, lmk if I missed any :)

A/N: omg baby's first fanfic (in 10 years) please let me know what y'all think!

Sweet, docile, little lamb. Those were the words that often described me, the beloved wife of the fearsome Aemond Targaryen. It was a facade my father and I carefully crafted in order to infiltrate the greens when the Stranger beckoned the King Viserys. Unfortunately, I actually fell in love with the fool.

The two months that we've been married I've been nothing but devoted. I worship the ground my dear husband Aemond walks on, he is the love of my life, my muse, and my entire heart and soul. If he was a god, I was his loyal servant. He is the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins.

----------

"My Lady, there are whispers that Aemond allows a witch to warm his bed during his occupation of Harrenhal" Lydia, my ever-faithful chamber maid and confidant tells me. The bile rises in my throat and suddenly my dress feels too tight. Utter betrayal bleeds into my veins and threatens to choke the life out of me. How? After being so loyal and sweet to him, this is how he chooses to repay me?

"Pack my things" I whisper in a clipped voice. I fear raising my voice anymore will display the devastation I feel. I do not know where I am going yet, but I know I need to act fast.

Too many thoughts race through my brain; ways to get even, plots to kill him and his whore, burning down all of King's Landing. Anything for him to feel even a little of the hurt I felt. The thoughts excite me. I can feel the mask I carefully crafted begin to crack. My ugly, obsessive and dangerous side wants to break out and wage war.

My mother had always told me that I was my father's daughter, in the best and worst ways. We're brave and driven, but loyal to a fault. We spill blood willingly and easily. Nothing gets in the way of what we want.

I knew then that I would have to fly to Harrenhal and take matters into my own hands.

--------

Under the blanket of night, I carefully exited the warm bed my lovely, traitor of a husband currently occupies. I knelt down by his side and traced his strong features with my eyes. The slope of his nose, the shape of his light eyebrows, and the beautiful sapphire that sits in his empty socket. My eyes travel down to his plush lips and the urge to feel their petal-softness nearly overtakes me. Heat pools in my lower belly, but anger and sadness ravage my heart. How easy it would be to just kill him now. Too easy.

I donned a thick black cloak and slip through a secret passage that spirals down and out of the castle. The crisp night air pebbles my skin, but I press onward to the dragon pits.

My beast is startled to see me at such an unusual hour. I run my fingers along her black jagged scales and whisper softly for only her to hear. She rumbles in response and allows me to mount her.

The sky glitters with thousands of stars above me with nary a cloud in sight. The wind tangles my hair and the heat from my dragon heats my thighs. For a moment I feel relaxed, almost calm.

Excitement envelops me as I spot the foreboding castle in the distance. I can nearly taste the witch's blood on my tongue as I urge my dragon faster.

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And incessant rapping upon his doors startles the young Prince Aemond as he studies an endless pile of scrolls.

"What?!" He barks out, irritated.

"Your wife wishes to enter" the guard replies.

"Send her in" Aemond speaks dismissively. The large wooden door creaks open and in walks his most beautiful bride. His violet eye glances up at her briefly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, dear wife?" He questions while still attempting to decipher what Lord Lannister has written in his shoddy penmanship.

A wicked glint appears in my eyes as I lug a neatly wrapped brown box in my arms.

"I have brought you a gift from my latest excursion, Lord husband!" I could barely contain the giddiness in my voice and I approached his dark wood desk. He finally fully looked up at me, curiosity swirling in his gaze. I gingerly place the gift upon his desk with a large smile.

If he had been a little more attentive he would've noticed me discreetly shoving my blood-drenched hand behind me.

Aemond begins to tug at the plush pink ribbon with his slender fingers. When the tendrils of ribbon splay out across his desk he grasps the lid and lifts it.

"Wha-what is this?!" He flinches, startled at the cloudy green eyes that stare up at him. I felt proud that I could fit her entire head in that box without cutting off any additional parts.

"You do not recognize her without her body, husband? This is the whore you've been fucking" I speak plainly. A nearly demented smile makes my cheeks ache. He stares up at me with a wide eye, a mixture of shock and...arousal?

"I had heard whispers of you and the Rivers witch. You must understand that I could not simply allow you to besmirch our marriage like this. I have loved you and been nothing but loyal to you, my dear husband" I sneered.

"But all is well. I will forgive you're transgressions, my love" I leaned down to where our noses brushed together and whispered, "if I hear such rumors again I will not hesitate to do the very same to you, your sister, and your lovely mother" I sealed my promise with a chaste kiss against his lips.

"Threatening members of the royal family, wife? I could have your head for such treasonous words" he whispered back, admiration melting into his sultry voice.

"I must ask, where is the rest of her?" Aemond questioned casually, as if he was asking about the weather.

"I allowed my dragon to feast upon her corpse after I was finished with her. I want you to know that she died screaming and begging for her life" I spoke. He chuckled in response, which confused me even more.

"I fear what you might do to the woman who actually dares to sleep with me if this", he gesures to her head, "is all a mere whisper takes."

"You never laid with her?" I asked in astonishment. Relief bloomed in my chest. My husband was indeed not a cunt!

"No, dear wife. I inquired her about her powers, but I never fucked her" Aemond promised. I leapt forward and embraced him tightly. His warm arms slide around my waist and he presses small kisses along my hairline.

"I'm relieved, husband. I feared you were an adulterer! I almost feel foolish" I giggled lightly against his luscious lips.

"I would never forsake our marriage like that, my love. I must say, your devotion to me is highly admirable" he utters softly, "Why did you ever hide this part of you away from me?"

"I did not want to frighten you, my love. I felt if I showed you my true colors then you would hate me" I confessed, slightly embarrassed.

"I could never hate you. You are my beautiful, fierce little wife" he spoke with adoration lacing his words. I smiled at him and kissed him deeply.

"I love you."

"I love you, little wife."

#aemond targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine

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